parnassus on wheels by christopher morley to h.b.f. and h.f.m. "trusty, dusky, vivid, true" a letter to david grayson, esq. of hempfield, u.s.a. my dear sir, although my name appears on the title page, the real author of this book is miss helen mcgill (now mrs. roger mifflin), who told me the story with her own inimitable vivacity. and on her behalf i want to send to you these few words of acknowledgment. mrs. mifflin, i need hardly say, is unskilled in the arts of authorship: this is her first book, and i doubt whether she will ever write another. she hardly realized, i think, how much her story owes to your own delightful writings. there used to be a well-thumbed copy of "adventures in contentment" on her table at the sabine farm, and i have seen her pick it up, after a long day in the kitchen, read it with chuckles, and say that the story of you and harriet reminded her of herself and andrew. she used to mutter something about "adventures in discontentment" and ask why harriet's side of the matter was never told? and so when her own adventure came to pass, and she was urged to put it on paper, i think she unconsciously adopted something of the manner and matter that you have made properly yours. surely, sir, you will not disown so innocent a tribute! at any rate, miss harriet grayson, whose excellent qualities we have all so long admired, will find in mrs. mifflin a kindred spirit. mrs. mifflin would have said this for herself, with her characteristic definiteness of speech, had she not been out of touch with her publishers and foolscap paper. she and the professor are on their parnassus, somewhere on the high roads, happily engrossed in the most godly diversion known to man--selling books. and i venture to think that there are no volumes they take more pleasure in recommending than the wholesome and invigorating books which bear your name. believe me, dear mr. grayson, with warm regards, faithfully yours, christopher morley. chapter one i wonder if there isn't a lot of bunkum in higher education? i never found that people who were learned in logarithms and other kinds of poetry were any quicker in washing dishes or darning socks. i've done a good deal of reading when i could, and i don't want to "admit impediments" to the love of books, but i've also seen lots of good, practical folk spoiled by too much fine print. reading sonnets always gives me hiccups, too. i never expected to be an author! but i do think there are some amusing things about the story of andrew and myself and how books broke up our placid life. when john gutenberg, whose real name (so the professor says) was john gooseflesh, borrowed that money to set up his printing press he launched a lot of troubles on the world. andrew and i were wonderfully happy on the farm until he became an author. if i could have foreseen all the bother his writings were to cause us, i would certainly have burnt the first manuscript in the kitchen stove. andrew mcgill, the author of those books every one reads, is my brother. in other words, i am his sister, ten years younger. years ago andrew was a business man, but his health failed and, like so many people in the story books, he fled to the country, or, as he called it, to the bosom of nature. he and i were the only ones left in an unsuccessful family. i was slowly perishing as a conscientious governess in the brownstone region of new york. he rescued me from that and we bought a farm with our combined savings. we became real farmers, up with the sun and to bed with the same. andrew wore overalls and a soft shirt and grew brown and tough. my hands got red and blue with soapsuds and frost; i never saw a redfern advertisement from one year's end to another, and my kitchen was a battlefield where i set my teeth and learned to love hard work. our literature was government agriculture reports, patent medicine almanacs, seedsmen's booklets, and sears roebuck catalogues. we subscribed to farm and fireside and read the serials aloud. every now and then, for real excitement, we read something stirring in the old testament--that cheery book jeremiah, for instance, of which andrew was very fond. the farm did actually prosper, after a while; and andrew used to hang over the pasture bars at sunset, and tell, from the way his pipe burned, just what the weather would be the next day. as i have said, we were tremendously happy until andrew got the fatal idea of telling the world how happy we were. i am sorry to have to admit he had always been rather a bookish man. in his college days he had edited the students' magazine, and sometimes he would get discontented with the farm and fireside serials and pull down his bound volumes of the college paper. he would read me some of his youthful poems and stories and mutter vaguely about writing something himself some day. i was more concerned with sitting hens than with sonnets and i'm bound to say i never took these threats very seriously. i should have been more severe. then great-uncle philip died, and his carload of books came to us. he had been a college professor, and years ago when andrew was a boy uncle philip had been very fond of him--had, in fact, put him through college. we were the only near relatives, and all those books turned up one fine day. that was the beginning of the end, if i had only known it. andrew had the time of his life building shelves all round our living-room; not content with that he turned the old hen house into a study for himself, put in a stove, and used to sit up there evenings after i had gone to bed. the first thing i knew he called the place sabine farm (although it had been known for years as bog hollow) because he thought it a literary thing to do. he used to take a book along with him when he drove over to redfield for supplies; sometimes the wagon would be two hours late coming home, with old ben loafing along between the shafts and andrew lost in his book. i didn't think much of all this, but i'm an easy-going woman and as long as andrew kept the farm going i had plenty to do on my own hook. hot bread and coffee, eggs and preserves for breakfast; soup and hot meat, vegetables, dumplings, gravy, brown bread and white, huckleberry pudding, chocolate cake and buttermilk for dinner; muffins, tea, sausage rolls, blackberries and cream, and doughnuts for supper--that's the kind of menu i had been preparing three times a day for years. i hadn't any time to worry about what wasn't my business. and then one morning i caught andrew doing up a big, flat parcel for the postman. he looked so sheepish i just had to ask what it was. "i've written a book," said andrew, and he showed me the title page-- paradise regained by andrew mcgill even then i wasn't much worried, because of course i knew no one would print it. but lord! a month or so later came a letter from a publisher--accepting it! that's the letter andrew keeps framed above his desk. just to show how such things sound i'll copy it here: decameron, jones and company publishers union square, new york january , . dear mr. mcgill: we have read with singular pleasure your manuscript "paradise regained." there is no doubt in our minds that so spirited an account of the joys of sane country living should meet with popular approval, and, with the exception of a few revisions and abbreviations, we would be glad to publish the book practically as it stands. we would like to have it illustrated by mr. tortoni, some of whose work you may have seen, and would be glad to know whether he may call upon you in order to acquaint himself with the local colour of your neighbourhood. we would be glad to pay you a royalty of percent upon the retail price of the book, and we enclose duplicate contracts for your signature in case this proves satisfactory to you. believe us, etc., etc., decameron, jones & co. i have since thought that "paradise lost" would have been a better title for that book. it was published in the autumn of , and since that time our life has never been the same. by some mischance the book became the success of the season; it was widely commended as "a gospel of health and sanity" and andrew received, in almost every mail, offers from publishers and magazine editors who wanted to get hold of his next book. it is almost incredible to what stratagems publishers will descend to influence an author. andrew had written in "paradise regained" of the tramps who visit us, how quaint and appealing some of them are (let me add, how dirty), and how we never turn away any one who seems worthy. would you believe that, in the spring after the book was published, a disreputable-looking vagabond with a knapsack, who turned up one day, blarneyed andrew about his book and stayed overnight, announced himself at breakfast as a leading new york publisher? he had chosen this ruse in order to make andrew's acquaintance. you can imagine that it didn't take long for andrew to become spoiled at this rate! the next year he suddenly disappeared, leaving only a note on the kitchen table, and tramped all over the state for six weeks collecting material for a new book. i had all i could do to keep him from going to new york to talk to editors and people of that sort. envelopes of newspaper cuttings used to come to him, and he would pore over them when he ought to have been ploughing corn. luckily the mail man comes along about the middle of the morning when andrew is out in the fields, so i used to look over the letters before he saw them. after the second book ("happiness and hayseed" it was called) was printed, letters from publishers got so thick that i used to put them all in the stove before andrew saw them--except those from the decameron jones people, which sometimes held checks. literary folk used to turn up now and then to interview andrew, but generally i managed to head them off. but andrew got to be less and less of a farmer and more and more of a literary man. he bought a typewriter. he would hang over the pigpen noting down adjectives for the sunset instead of mending the weather vane on the barn which took a slew so that the north wind came from the southwest. he hardly ever looked at the sears roebuck catalogues any more, and after mr. decameron came to visit us and suggested that andrew write a book of country poems, the man became simply unbearable. and all the time i was counting eggs and turning out three meals a day, and running the farm when andrew got a literary fit and would go off on some vagabond jaunt to collect adventures for a new book. (i wish you could have seen the state he was in when he came back from these trips, hoboing it along the roads without any money or a clean sock to his back. one time he returned with a cough you could hear the other side of the barn, and i had to nurse him for three weeks.) when somebody wrote a little booklet about "the sage of redfield" and described me as a "rural xantippe" and "the domestic balance-wheel that kept the great writer close to the homely realities of life" i made up my mind to give andrew some of his own medicine. and that's my story. chapter two it was a fine, crisp morning in fall--october i dare say--and i was in the kitchen coring apples for apple sauce. we were going to have roast pork for dinner with boiled potatoes and what andrew calls vandyke brown gravy. andrew had driven over to town to get some flour and feed and wouldn't be back till noontime. being a monday, mrs. mcnally, the washerwoman, had come over to take care of the washing. i remember i was just on my way out to the wood pile for a few sticks of birch when i heard wheels turn in at the gate. there was one of the fattest white horses i ever saw, and a queer wagon, shaped like a van. a funny-looking little man with a red beard leaned forward from the seat and said something. i didn't hear what it was, i was looking at that preposterous wagon of his. it was coloured a pale, robin's-egg blue, and on the side, in big scarlet letters, was painted: r. mifflin's travelling parnassus good books for sale shakespeare, charles lamb, r.l.s. hazlitt, and all others underneath the wagon, in slings, hung what looked like a tent, together with a lantern, a bucket, and other small things. the van had a raised skylight on the roof, something like an old-fashioned trolley car; and from one corner went up a stove pipe. at the back was a door with little windows on each side and a flight of steps leading up to it. as i stood looking at this queer turnout, the little reddish man climbed down from in front and stood watching me. his face was a comic mixture of pleasant drollery and a sort of weather-beaten cynicism. he had a neat little russet beard and a shabby norfolk jacket. his head was very bald. "is this where andrew mcgill lives?" he said. i admitted it. "but he's away until noon," i added. "he'll be back then. there's roast pork for dinner." "and apple sauce?" said the little man. "apple sauce and brown gravy," i said. "that's why i'm sure he'll be home on time. sometimes he's late when there's boiled dinner, but never on roast pork days. andrew would never do for a rabbi." a sudden suspicion struck me. "you're not another publisher, are you?" i cried. "what do you want with andrew?" "i was wondering whether he wouldn't buy this outfit," said the little man, including, with a wave of the hand, both van and white horse. as he spoke he released a hook somewhere, and raised the whole side of his wagon like a flap. some kind of catch clicked, the flap remained up like a roof, displaying nothing but books--rows and rows of them. the flank of his van was nothing but a big bookcase. shelves stood above shelves, all of them full of books--both old and new. as i stood gazing, he pulled out a printed card from somewhere and gave it to me: roger mifflin's travelling parnassus worthy friends, my wain doth hold many a book, both new and old; books, the truest friends of man, fill this rolling caravan. books to satisfy all uses, golden lyrics of the muses, books on cookery and farming, novels passionate and charming, every kind for every need so that he who buys may read. what librarian can surpass us? mifflin's travelling parnassus by r. mifflin, prop'r. star job print, celeryville, va. while i was chuckling over this, he had raised a similar flap on the other side of the parnassus which revealed still more shelves loaded with books. i'm afraid i am severely practical by nature. "well!" i said, "i should think you _would_ need a pretty stout steed to lug that load along. it must weigh more than a coal wagon." "oh, peg can manage it all right," he said. "we don't travel very fast. but look here, i want to sell out. do you suppose your husband would buy the outfit--parnassus, pegasus, and all? he's fond of books, isn't he? "hold on a minute!" i said. "andrew's my brother, not my husband, and he's altogether _too_ fond of books. books'll be the ruin of this farm pretty soon. he's mooning about over his books like a sitting hen about half the time, when he ought to be mending harness. lord, if he saw this wagonload of yours he'd be unsettled for a week. i have to stop the postman down the road and take all the publishers' catalogues out of the mail so that andrew don't see 'em. i'm mighty glad he's not here just now, i can tell you!" i'm not literary, as i said before, but i'm human enough to like a good book, and my eye was running along those shelves of his as i spoke. he certainly had a pretty miscellaneous collection. i noticed poetry, essays, novels, cook books, juveniles, school books, bibles, and what not--all jumbled together. "well, see here," said the little man--and about this time i noticed that he had the bright eyes of a fanatic--"i've been cruising with this parnassus going on seven years. i've covered the territory from florida to maine and i reckon i've injected about as much good literature into the countryside as ever old doc eliot did with his five-foot shelf. i want to sell out now. i'm going to write a book about 'literature among the farmers,' and want to settle down with my brother in brooklyn and write it. i've got a sackful of notes for it. i guess i'll just stick around until mr. mcgill gets home and see if he won't buy me out. i'll sell the whole concern, horse, wagon, and books, for $ . i've read andrew mcgill's stuff and i reckon the proposition'll interest him. i've had more fun with this parnassus than a barrel of monkeys. i used to be a school teacher till my health broke down. then i took this up and i've made more than expenses and had the time of my life." "well, mr. mifflin," i said, "if you want to stay around i guess i can't stop you. but i'm sorry you and your old parnassus ever came this way." i turned on my heel and went back to the kitchen. i knew pretty well that andrew would go up in the air when he saw that wagonload of books and one of those crazy cards with mr. mifflin's poetry on it. i must confess that i was considerably upset. andrew is just as unpractical and fanciful as a young girl, and always dreaming of new adventures and rambles around the country. if he ever saw that travelling parnassus he'd fall for it like snap. and i knew mr. decameron was after him for a new book anyway. (i'd intercepted one of his letters suggesting another "happiness and hayseed" trip just a few weeks before. andrew was away when the letter came. i had a suspicion what was in it; so i opened it, read it, and--well, burnt it. heavens! as though andrew didn't have enough to do without mooning down the road like a tinker, just to write a book about it.) as i worked around the kitchen i could see mr. mifflin making himself at home. he unhitched his horse, tied her up to the fence, sat down by the wood pile, and lit a pipe. i could see i was in for it. by and by i couldn't stand it any longer. i went out to talk to that bald-headed pedlar. "see here," i said. "you're a pretty cool fish to make yourself so easy in my yard. i tell you i don't want you around here, you and your travelling parcheesi. suppose you clear out of here before my brother gets back and don't be breaking up our happy family." "miss mcgill," he said (the man had a pleasant way with him, too--darn him--with his bright, twinkling eye and his silly little beard), "i'm sure i don't want to be discourteous. if you move me on from here, of course i'll go; but i warn you i shall lie in wait for mr. mcgill just down this road. i'm here to sell this caravan of culture, and by the bones of swinburne i think your brother's the man to buy it." my blood was up now, and i'll admit that i said my next without proper calculation. "rather than have andrew buy your old parcheesi," i said, "i'll buy it myself. i'll give you $ for it." the little man's face brightened. he didn't either accept or decline my offer. (i was frightened to death that he'd take me right on the nail and bang would go my three years' savings for a ford.) "come and have another look at her," he said. i must admit that mr. roger mifflin had fixed up his van mighty comfortably inside. the body of the wagon was built out on each side over the wheels, which gave it an unwieldy appearance but made extra room for the bookshelves. this left an inside space about five feet wide and nine long. on one side he had a little oil stove, a flap table, and a cozy-looking bunk above which was built a kind of chest of drawers--to hold clothes and such things, i suppose; on the other side more bookshelves, a small table, and a little wicker easy chair. every possible inch of space seemed to be made useful in some way, for a shelf or a hook or a hanging cupboard or something. above the stove was a neat little row of pots and dishes and cooking usefuls. the raised skylight made it just possible to stand upright in the centre aisle of the van; and a little sliding window opened onto the driver's seat in front. altogether it was a very neat affair. the windows in front and back were curtained and a pot of geraniums stood on a diminutive shelf. i was amused to see a sandy irish terrier curled up on a bright mexican blanket in the bunk. "miss mcgill," he said, "i couldn't sell parnassus for less than four hundred. i've put twice that much into her, one time and another. she's built clean and solid all through, and there's everything a man would need from blankets to bouillon cubes. the whole thing's yours for $ --including dog, cook stove, and everything--jib, boom, and spanker. there's a tent in a sling underneath, and an ice box (he pulled up a little trap door under the bunk) and a tank of coal oil and lord knows what all. she's as good as a yacht; but i'm tired of her. if you're so afraid of your brother taking a fancy to her, why don't you buy her yourself and go off on a lark? make _him_ stay home and mind the farm!... tell you what i'll do. i'll start you on the road myself, come with you the first day and show you how it's worked. you could have the time of your life in this thing, and give yourself a fine vacation. it would give your brother a good surprise, too. why not?" i don't know whether it was the neatness of his absurd little van, or the madness of the whole proposition, or just the desire to have an adventure of my own and play a trick on andrew, but anyway, some extraordinary impulse seized me and i roared with laughter. "right!" i said. "i'll do it." i, helen mcgill, in the thirty-ninth year of my age! chapter three "well," i thought, "if i'm in for an adventure i may as well be spry about it. andrew'll be home by half-past twelve and if i'm going to give him the slip i'd better get a start. i suppose he'll think i'm crazy! he'll follow me, i guess. well, he just shan't catch me, that's all!" a kind of anger came over me to think that i'd been living on that farm for nearly fifteen years--yes, sir, ever since i was twenty-five--and hardly ever been away except for that trip to boston once a year to go shopping with cousin edie. i'm a home-keeping soul, i guess, and i love my kitchen and my preserve cupboard and my linen closet as well as grandmother ever did, but something in that blue october air and that crazy little red-bearded man just tickled me. "look here, mr. parnassus," i said, "i guess i'm a fat old fool but i just believe i'll do that. you hitch up your horse and van and i'll go pack some clothes and write you a check. it'll do andrew all the good in the world to have me skip. i'll get a chance to read a few books, too. it'll be as good as going to college!" and i untied my apron and ran for the house. the little man stood leaning against a corner of the van as if he were stupefied. i dare say he was. i ran into the house through the front door, and it struck me as comical to see a copy of one of andrew's magazines lying on the living-room table with "the revolt of womanhood" printed across it in red letters. "here goes for the revolt of helen mcgill," i thought. i sat down at andrew's desk, pushed aside a pad of notes he had been jotting down about "the magic of autumn," and scrawled a few lines: dear andrew, don't be thinking i'm crazy. i've gone off for an adventure. it just came over me that you've had all the adventures while i've been at home baking bread. mrs. mcnally will look after your meals and one of her girls can come over to do the housework. so don't worry. i'm going off for a little while--a month, maybe--to see some of this happiness and hayseed of yours. it's what the magazines call the revolt of womanhood. warm underwear in the cedar chest in the spare room when you need it. with love, helen. i left the note on his desk. mrs. mcnally was bending over the tubs in the laundry. i could see only the broad arch of her back and hear the vigorous zzzzzzz of her rubbing. she straightened up at my call. "mrs. mcnally," i said, "i'm going away for a little trip. you'd better let the washing go until this afternoon and get andrew's dinner for him. he'll be back about twelve-thirty. it's half-past ten now. you tell him i've gone over to see mrs. collins at locust farm." mrs. mcnally is a brawny, slow-witted swede. "all right mis' mcgill," she said. "you be back to denner?" "no, i'm not coming back for a month," i said. "i'm going away for a trip. i want you to send rosie over here every day to do the housework while i'm away. you can arrange with mr. mcgill about that. i've got to hurry now." mrs. mcnally's honest eyes, as blue as copenhagen china, gazing through the window in perplexity, fell upon the travelling parnassus and mr. mifflin backing pegasus into the shafts. i saw her make a valiant effort to comprehend the sign painted on the side of the van--and give it up. "you going driving?" she said blankly. "yes," i said, and fled upstairs. i always keep my bank book in an old huyler box in the top drawer of my bureau. i don't save very quickly, i'm afraid. i have a little income from some money father left me, but andrew takes care of that. andrew pays all the farm expenses, but the housekeeping accounts fall to me. i make a fairish amount of pin money on my poultry and some of my preserves that i send to boston, and on some recipes of mine that i send to a woman's magazine now and then; but generally my savings don't amount to much over $ a month. in the last five years i had put by something more than $ . i had been saving up for a ford. but just now it looked to me as if that parnassus would be more fun than a ford ever could be. four hundred dollars was a lot of money, but i thought of what it would mean to have andrew come home and buy it. why, he'd be away until thanksgiving! whereas if i bought it i could take it away, have my adventure, and sell it somewhere so that andrew never need see it. i hardened my heart and determined to give the sage of redfield some of his own medicine. my balance at the redfield national bank was $ . . i sat down at the table in my bedroom where i keep my accounts and wrote out a check to roger mifflin for $ . i put in plenty of curlicues after the figures so that no one could raise the check into $ , ; then i got out my old rattan suit case and put in some clothes. the whole business didn't take me ten minutes. i came downstairs to find mrs. mcnally looking sourly at the parnassus from the kitchen door. "you going away in that--that 'bus, mis' mcgill?" she asked. "yes, mrs. mcnally," i said cheerfully. her use of the word gave me an inspiration. "that's one of the new jitney 'buses we hear about. he's going to take me to the station. don't you worry about me. i'm going for a holiday. you get mr. mcgill's dinner ready for him. after dinner tell him there's a note for him in the living-room." "i tank that bane a queer 'bus," said mrs. mcnally, puzzled. i think the excellent woman suspected an elopement. i carried my suit case out to the parnassus. pegasus stood placidly between the shafts. from within came sounds of vigorous movement. in a moment the little man burst out with a bulging portmanteau in his hand. he had a tweed cap slanted on the back of his head. "there!" he cried triumphantly. "i've packed all my personal effects--clothes and so on--and everything else goes with the transaction. when i get on the train with this bag i'm a free man, and hurrah for brooklyn! lord, won't i be glad to get back to the city! i lived in brooklyn once, and i haven't been back there for ten years," he added plaintively. "here's the check," i said, handing it to him. he flushed a little, and looked at me rather shamefacedly. "see here," he said, "i hope you're not making a bad bargain? i don't want to take advantage of a lady. if you think your brother...." "i was going to buy a ford, anyway," i said, "and it looks to me as though this parcheesi of yours would be cheaper to run than any flivver that ever came out of detroit. i want to keep it away from andrew and that's the main thing. you give me a receipt and we'll get away from here before he comes back." he took the check without a word, hoisted his fat portmanteau on the driver's seat, and then disappeared in the van. in a minute he reappeared. on the back of one of his poetical cards he had written: received from miss mcgill the sum of four hundred dollars in exchange for one travelling parnassus in first class condition, delivered to her this day, october rd, --. signed roger mifflin. "tell me," i said, "does your parnassus--_my_ parnassus, rather--contain everything i'm likely to need? is it stocked up with food and so on?" "i was coming to that," he said. "you'll find a fair supply of stuff in the cupboard over the stove, though i used to get most of my meals at farmhouses along the road. i generally read aloud to people as i go along, and they're often good for a free meal. it's amazing how little most of the country folk know about books, and how pleased they are to hear good stuff. down in lancaster county, pennsylvania...." "well, how about the horse?" i said hastily, seeing him about to embark on an anecdote. it wasn't far short of eleven o'clock, and i was anxious to get started. "it might be well to take along some oats. my supply's about exhausted." i filled a sack with oats in the stable and mr. mifflin showed me where to hang it under the van. then in the kitchen i loaded a big basket with provisions for an emergency: a dozen eggs, a jar of sliced bacon, butter, cheese, condensed milk, tea, biscuits, jam, and two loaves of bread. these mr. mifflin stowed inside the van, mrs. mcnally watching in amazement. "i tank this bane a queer picnic!" she said. "which way are you going? mr. mcgill, is he coming after you?" "no," i insisted, "he's not coming. i'm going off on a holiday. you get dinner for him and he won't worry about anything until after that. tell him i've gone over to see mrs. collins." i climbed the little steps and entered my parnassus with a pleasant thrill of ownership. the terrier on the bunk jumped to the floor with a friendly wag of the tail. i piled the bunk with bedding and blankets of my own, shook out the drawers which fitted above the bunk, and put into them what few belongings i was taking with me. and we were ready to start. redbeard was already sitting in front with the reins in hand. i climbed up beside him. the front seat was broad but uncushioned, well sheltered by the peak of the van. i gave a quick glance around at the comfortable house under its elms and maples--saw the big, red barn shining in the sun and the pump under the grape arbour. i waved good-bye to mrs. mcnally who was watching us in silent amazement. pegasus threw her solid weight against the traces and parnassus swung round and rolled past the gate. we turned into the redfield road. "here," said mifflin, handing me the reins, "you're skipper, you'd better drive. which way do you want to go?" my breath came a little fast when i realized that my adventure had begun! chapter four just out of sight of the farm the road forks, one way running on to walton where you cross the river by a covered bridge, the other swinging down toward greenbriar and port vigor. mrs. collins lives a mile or so up the walton road, and as i very often run over to see her i thought andrew would be most likely to look for me there. so, after we had passed through the grove, i took the right-hand turn to greenbriar. we began the long ascent over huckleberry hill and as i smelt the fresh autumn odour of the leaves i chuckled a little. mr. mifflin seemed in a perfect ecstasy of high spirits. "this is certainly grand," he said. "lord, i applaud your spunk. do you think mr. mcgill will give chase?" "i haven't an idea," i said. "not right away, anyhow. he's so used to my settled ways that i don't think he'll suspect anything till he finds my note. i wonder what kind of story mrs. mcnally will tell!" "how about putting him off the scent?" he said. "give me your handkerchief." i did so. he hopped nimbly out, ran back down the hill (he was a spry little person in spite of his bald crown), and dropped the handkerchief on the walton road about a hundred feet beyond the fork. then he followed me up the slope. "there," he said, grinning like a kid, "that'll fool him. the sage of redfield will undoubtedly follow a false spoor and the criminals will win a good start. but i'm afraid it's rather easy to follow a craft as unusual as parnassus." "tell me how you manage the thing," i said. "do you really make it pay?" we halted at the top of the hill to give pegasus a breathing space. the terrier lay down in the dust and watched us gravely. mr. mifflin pulled out a pipe and begged my permission to smoke. "it's rather comical how i first got into it," he said. "i was a school teacher down in maryland. i'd been plugging away in a country school for years, on a starvation salary. i was trying to support an invalid mother, and put by something in case of storms. i remember how i used to wonder whether i'd ever be able to wear a suit that wasn't shabby and have my shoes polished every day. then my health went back on me. the doctor told me to get into the open air. by and by i got this idea of a travelling bookstore. i had always been a lover of books, and in the days when i boarded out among the farmers i used to read aloud to them. after my mother died i built the wagon to suit my own ideas, bought a stock of books from a big second-hand store in baltimore, and set out. parnassus just about saved my life i guess." he pushed his faded old cap back on his head and relit his pipe. i clicked to pegasus and we rumbled gently off over the upland, looking down across the pastures. distant cow bells sounded tankle-tonk among the bushes. across the slope of the hill i could see the road winding away to redfield. somewhere along that road andrew would be rolling back toward home and roast pork with apple sauce; and here was i, setting out on the first madness of my life without even a qualm. "miss mcgill," said the little man, "this rolling pavilion has been wife, doctor, and religion to me for seven years. a month ago i would have scoffed at the thought of leaving her; but somehow it's come over me i need a change. there's a book i've been yearning to write for a long time, and i need a desk steady under my elbows and a roof over my head. and silly as it seems, i'm crazy to get back to brooklyn. my brother and i used to live there as kids. think of walking over the old bridge at sunset and seeing the towers of manhattan against a red sky! and those old gray cruisers down in the navy yard! you don't know how tickled i am to sell out. i've sold a lot of copies of your brother's books and i've often thought he'd be the man to buy parnassus if i got tired of her." "so he would," i said. "just the man. he'd be only too likely to--and go maundering about in this jaunting car and neglect the farm. but tell me about selling books. how much profit do you make out of it? we'll be passing mrs. mason's farm, by and by, and we might as well sell her something just to make a start." "it's very simple," he said. "i replenish my stock whenever i go through a big town. there's always a second-hand bookstore somewhere about, where you can pick up odds and ends. and every now and then i write to a wholesaler in new york for some stuff. when i buy a book i mark in the back just what i paid for it, then i know what i can afford to sell it for. see here." he pulled up a book from behind the seat--a copy of "lorna doone" it was--and showed me the letters _a m_ scrawled in pencil in the back. "that means that i paid ten cents for this. now, if you sell it for a quarter you've got a safe profit. it costs me about four dollars a week to run parnassus--generally less. if you clear that much in six days you can afford to lay off on sundays!" "how do you know that _a m_ stands for ten cents?" i asked. "the code word's _manuscript_. each letter stands for a figure, from up to , see?" he scrawled it down on a scrap of paper: m a n u s c r i p t "now, you see _a m_ stands for , _a n_ would be , _n s_ is , _a c_ is , _a m m_ is $ . , and so on. i don't pay much over fifty cents for books as a rule, because country folks are shy of paying much for them. they'll pay a lot for a separator or a buggy top, but they've never been taught to worry about literature! but it's surprising how excited they get about books if you sell 'em the right kind. over beyond port vigor there's a farmer who's waiting for me to go back--i've been there three or four times--and he'll buy about five dollars' worth if i know him. first time i went there i sold him 'treasure island,' and he's talking about it yet. i sold him 'robinson crusoe,' and 'little women' for his daughter, and 'huck finn,' and grubb's book about 'the potato.' last time i was there he wanted some shakespeare, but i wouldn't give it to him. i didn't think he was up to it yet." i began to see something of the little man's idealism in his work. he was a kind of traveling missionary in his way. a hefty talker, too. his eyes were twinkling now and i could see him warming up. "lord!" he said, "when you sell a man a book you don't sell him just twelve ounces of paper and ink and glue--you sell him a whole new life. love and friendship and humour and ships at sea by night--there's all heaven and earth in a book, a real book i mean. jiminy! if i were the baker or the butcher or the broom huckster, people would run to the gate when i came by--just waiting for my stuff. and here i go loaded with everlasting salvation--yes, ma'am, salvation for their little, stunted minds--and it's hard to make 'em see it. that's what makes it worth while--i'm doing something that nobody else from nazareth, maine, to walla walla, washington, has ever thought of. it's a new field, but by the bones of whitman it's worth while. that's what this country needs--more books!" he laughed at his own vehemence. "do you know, it's comical," he said. "even the publishers, the fellows that print the books, can't see what i'm doing for them. some of 'em refuse me credit because i sell their books for what they're worth instead of for the prices they mark on them. they write me letters about price-maintenance--and i write back about merit-maintenance. publish a good book and i'll get a good price for it, say i! sometimes i think the publishers know less about books than any one else! i guess that's natural, though. most school teachers don't know much about children." "the best of it is," he went on, "i have such a darn good time. peg and bock (that's the dog) and i go loafing along the road on a warm summer day, and by and by we'll fetch up alongside some boarding-house and there are the boarders all rocking off their lunch on the veranda. most of 'em bored to death--nothing good to read, nothing to do but sit and watch the flies buzzing in the sun and the chickens rubbing up and down in the dust. first thing you know i'll sell half a dozen books that put the love of life into them, and they don't forget parnassus in a hurry. take o. henry, for instance--there isn't anybody so dog-gone sleepy that he won't enjoy that man's stories. he understood life, you bet, and he could write it down with all its little twists. i've spent an evening reading o. henry and wilkie collins to people and had them buy out all their books i had and clamour for more." "what do you do in winter?" i asked--a practical question, as most of mine are. "that depends on where i am when bad weather sets in," said mr. mifflin. "two winters i was down south and managed to keep parnassus going all through the season. otherwise, i just lay up wherever i am. i've never found it hard to get lodging for peg and a job for myself, if i had to have them. last winter i worked in a bookstore in boston. winter before, i was in a country drugstore down in pennsylvania. winter before that, i tutored a couple of small boys in english literature. winter before that, i was a steward on a steamer; you see how it goes. i've had a fairly miscellaneous experience. as far as i can see, a man who's fond of books never need starve! but this winter i'm planning to live with my brother in brooklyn and slog away at my book. lord, how i've pondered over that thing! long summer afternoons i've sat here, jogging along in the dust, thinking it out until it seemed as if my forehead would burst. you see, my idea is that the common people--in the country, that is--never have had any chance to get hold of books, and never have had any one to explain what books can mean. it's all right for college presidents to draw up their five-foot shelves of great literature, and for the publishers to advertise sets of their linoleum classics, but what the people need is the good, homely, honest stuff--something that'll stick to their ribs--make them laugh and tremble and feel sick to think of the littleness of this popcorn ball spinning in space without ever even getting a hot-box! and something that'll spur 'em on to keep the hearth well swept and the wood pile split into kindling and the dishes washed and dried and put away. any one who can get the country people to read something worth while is doing his nation a real service. and that's what this caravan of culture aspires to.... you must be weary of this harangue! does the sage of redfield ever run on like that?" "not to me," i said. "he's known me so long that he thinks of me as a kind of animated bread-baking and cake-mixing machine. i guess he doesn't put much stock in my judgment in literary matters. but he puts his digestion in my hands without reserve. there's mason's farm over there. i guess we'd better sell them some books--hadn't we? just for a starter." we turned into the lane that runs up to the mason farmhouse. bock trotted on ahead--very stiff on his legs and his tail gently wagging--to interview the mastiff, and mrs. mason who was sitting on the porch, peeling potatoes, laid down the pan. she's a big, buxom woman with jolly, brown eyes like a cow's. "for heaven's sake, miss mcgill," she called out in a cheerful voice--"i'm glad to see you. got a lift, did you?" she hadn't really noticed the inscription on parnassus, and thought it was a regular huckster's wagon. "well, mrs. mason," i said, "i've gone into the book business. this is mr. mifflin. i've bought out his stock. we've come to sell you some books." she laughed. "go on, helen," she said, "you can't kid me! i bought a whole set of books last year from an agent--'the world's great funeral orations'--twenty volumes. sam and i ain't read more'n the first volume yet. it's awful uneasy reading!" mifflin jumped down, and raised the side flap of the wagon. mrs. mason came closer. i was tickled to see how the little man perked up at the sight of a customer. evidently selling books was meat and drink to him. "madam," he said, "'funeral orations' (bound in sackcloth, i suppose?) have their place, but miss mcgill and i have got some real books here to which i invite your attention. winter will be here soon, and you will need something more cheerful to beguile your evenings. very possibly you have growing children who would profit by a good book or two. a book of fairy tales for the little girl i see on the porch? or stories of inventors for that boy who is about to break his neck jumping from the barn loft? or a book about road making for your husband? surely there is something here you need? miss mcgill probably knows your tastes." that little red-bearded man was surely a born salesman. how he guessed that mr. mason was the road commissioner in our township, goodness only knows. perhaps it was just a lucky shot. by this time most of the family had gathered around the van, and i saw mr. mason coming from the barn with his twelve-year-old billy. "sam," shouted mrs. mason, "here's miss mcgill turned book pedlar and got a preacher with her!" "hello, miss mcgill," said mr. mason. he is a big, slow-moving man of great gravity and solidity. "where's andrew?" "andrew's coming home for roast pork and apple sauce," i said, "and i'm going off to sell books for a living. mr. mifflin here is teaching me how. we've got a book on road mending that's just what you need." i saw mr. and mrs. mason exchange glances. evidently they thought me crazy. i began to wonder whether we had made a mistake in calling on people i knew so well. the situation was a trifle embarrassing. mr. mifflin came to the rescue. "don't be alarmed, sir," he said to mr. mason. "i haven't kidnapped miss mcgill." (as he is about half my size this was amusing.) "we are trying to increase her brother's income by selling his books for him. as a matter of fact, we have a wager with him that we can sell fifty copies of 'happiness and hayseed' before hallowe'en. now i'm sure your sporting instinct will assist us by taking at least one copy. andrew mcgill is probably the greatest author in this state, and every taxpayer ought to possess his books. may i show you a copy?" "that sounds reasonable," said mr. mason, and he almost smiled. "what do you say, emma, think we better buy a book or two? you know those 'funeral orations.'..." "well," said emma, "you know we've always said we ought to read one of andrew mcgill's books but we didn't rightly know how to get hold of one. that fellow that sold us the funeral speeches didn't seem to know about 'em. i tell you what, you folks better stop and have dinner with us and you can tell us what we'd ought to buy. i'm just ready to put the potatoes on the stove now." i must confess that the prospect of sitting down to a meal i hadn't cooked myself appealed to me strongly; and i was keen to see what kind of grub mrs. mason provided for her household; but i was afraid that if we dallied there too long andrew would be after us. i was about to say that we would have to be getting on, and couldn't stay; but apparently the zest of expounding his philosophy to new listeners was too much for mifflin. i heard him saying: "that's mighty kind of you, mrs. mason, and we'd like very much to stay. perhaps i can put peg up in your barn for a while. then we can tell you all about our books." and to my amazement i found myself chiming in with assent. mifflin certainly surpassed himself at dinner. the fact that mrs. mason's hot biscuits tasted of saleratus gave me far less satisfaction than it otherwise would, because i was absorbed in listening to the little vagabond's talk. mr. mason came to the table grumbling something about his telephone being out of order--(i wondered whether he had been trying to get andrew on the wire; he was a little afraid that i was being run away with, i think)--but he was soon won over by the current of the little man's cheery wit. nothing daunted mifflin. he talked to the old grandmother about quilts; offered to cut off a strip of his necktie for her new patchwork; and told all about the illustrated book on quilts that he had in the van. he discussed cookery and the bible with mrs. mason; and she being a leading light in the greenbriar sunday school, was pleasantly scandalized by his account of the best detective stories in the old testament. with mr. mason he was all scientific farming, chemical manures, macadam roads, and crop rotation; and to little billy (who sat next him) he told extraordinary yarns about daniel boone, davy crockett, kit carson, buffalo bill, and what not. honestly i was amazed at the little man. he was as genial as a cricket on the hearth, and yet every now and then his earnestness would break through. i don't wonder he was a success at selling books. that man could sell clothes pins or paris garters, i guess, and make them seem romantic. "you know, mr. mason," he said, "you certainly owe it to these youngsters of yours to put a few really good books into their hands. city kids have the libraries to go to, but in the country there's only old doc hostetter's almanac and the letters written by ladies with backache telling how peruna did for them. give this boy and girl of yours a few good books and you're starting them on the double-track, block-signal line to happiness. now there's 'little women'--that girl of yours can learn more about real girlhood and fine womanhood out of that book than from a year's paper dolls in the attic." "that's right, pa," assented mrs. mason. ("go on with your meal, professor, the meat'll be cold.") she was completely won by the travelling bookseller, and had given him the highest title of honour in her ken. "why, i read that story when i was a girl, and i still remember it. that's better readin' for dorothy than those funeral speeches, i reckon. i believe the professor's right: we'd ought to have more books laying around. seems kind of a shame, with a famous author at the next farm, not to read more, don't it, now?" so by the time we got down to mrs. mason's squash pie (good pie, too, i admit, but her hand is a little heavy for pastry), the whole household was enthusiastic about books, and the atmosphere was literary enough for even dr. eliot to live in without panting. mrs. mason opened up her parlour and we sat there while mifflin recited "the revenge" and "maud muller." "well, now, ain't that real sweet!" said emma mason. "it's surprising how those words rhyme so nicely. seems almost as though it was done a-purpose! reminds me of piece day at school. there was a mighty pretty piece i learned called the 'wreck of the asperus.'" and she subsided into a genteel melancholy. i saw that mr. mifflin was well astride his hobby: he had started to tell the children about robin hood, but i had the sense to give him a wink. we had to be getting along or surely andrew might be on us. so while mifflin was putting pegasus into the shafts again i picked out seven or eight books that i thought would fit the needs of the masons. mr. mason insisted that "happiness and hayseed" be included among them, and gave me a crisp five-dollar bill, refusing any change. "no, no," he said, "i've had more fun than i get at a grange meeting. come round again, miss mcgill; i'm going to tell andrew what a good show this travelling theayter of yours gives! and you, professor, any time you're here about road-mending season, stop in an' tell me some more good advice. well, i must get back to the field." bock fell in under the van, and we creaked off down the lane. mifflin filled his pipe and was chuckling to himself. i was a little worried now for fear andrew might overtake us. "it's a wonder sam mason didn't call up andrew," i said. "it must have looked mighty queer to him for an old farm hand like me to be around, peddling books." "he would have done it straight off," said mifflin, "but you see, i cut his telephone wire!" chapter five i gazed in astonishment at the wizened little rogue. here was a new side to the amiable idealist! apparently there was a streak of fearless deviltry in him besides his gentle love of books. i'm bound to say that now, for the first time, i really admired him. i had burnt my own very respectable boats behind me, and i rather enjoyed knowing that he, too, could act briskly in a pinch. "well!" i said. "you are a cool hand! it's a good job for you that you didn't stay a schoolmaster. you might have taught your pupils some fine deviltries! and at your age, too!" i'm afraid my raillery goes a little too far sometimes. he flushed a bit at my reference to his age, and puffed sharply at his pipe. "i say," he rejoined, "how old do you think i am, anyway? only forty-one, by the bones of byron! henry viii was only forty-one when he married anne boleyn. there are many consolations in history for people over forty! remember that when you get there. "shakespeare wrote 'king lear' at forty-one," he added, more humorously; and then burst out laughing. "i'd like to edit a series of 'chloroform classics,' to include only books written after forty. who was that doctor man who recommended anaesthetics for us at that age? now isn't that just like a medico? nurse us through the diseases of childhood, and as soon as we settle down into permanent good health and worldly wisdom, and freedom from doctors' fees, why he loses interest in us! jove! i must note that down and bring it into my book." he pulled out a memorandum book and jotted down "chloroform classics" in a small, neat hand. "well," i said (i felt a little contrite, as i was sincerely sorry to have offended him), "i've passed forty myself in some measurements, so youth no longer has any terrors for me." he looked at me rather comically. "my dear madam," he said, "your age is precisely eighteen. i think that if we escape the clutches of the sage of redfield you may really begin to live." "oh, andrew's not a bad sort," i said. "he's absentminded, and hot tempered, and a little selfish. the publishers have done their best to spoil him, but for a literary man i guess he's quite human. he rescued me from being a governess, and that's to his credit. if only he didn't take his meals quite so much as a matter of course...." "the preposterous thing about him is that he really can _write_," said mifflin. "i envy him that. don't let him know i said so, but as a matter of fact his prose is almost as good as thoreau. he approaches facts as daintily as a cat crossing a wet road." "you should see him at dinner," i thought; or rather i meant to think it, but the words slipped out. i found myself thinking aloud in a rather disconcerting way while sitting with this strange little person. he looked at me. i noticed for the first time that his eyes were slate blue, with funny birds' foot wrinkles at the corners. "that's so," he said. "i never thought of that. a fine prose style certainly presupposes sound nourishment. excellent point that... and yet thoreau did his own cooking. a sort of boy scout i guess, with a badge as kitchen master. perhaps he took beechnut bacon with him into the woods. i wonder who cooked for stevenson--cummy? the 'child's garden of verses' was really a kind of kitchen garden, wasn't it? i'm afraid the commissariat problem has weighed rather heavily on you. i'm glad you've got away from it." all this was getting rather intricate for me. i set it down as i remember it, inaccurately perhaps. my governess days are pretty far astern now, and my line is common sense rather than literary allusions. i said something of the sort. "common sense?" he repeated. "good lord, ma'am, sense is the most uncommon thing in the world. i haven't got it. i don't believe your brother has, from what you say. bock here has it. see how he trots along the road, keeps an eye on the scenery, and minds his own business. i never saw him get into a fight yet. wish i could say the same of myself. i named him after boccaccio, to remind me to read the 'decameron' some day." "judging by the way you talk," i said, "you ought to be quite a writer yourself." "talkers never write. they go on talking." there was a considerable silence. mifflin relit his pipe and watched the landscape with a shrewd eye. i held the reins loosely, and peg ambled along with a steady clop-clop. parnassus creaked musically, and the mid-afternoon sun lay rich across the road. we passed another farm, but i did not suggest stopping as i felt we ought to push on. mifflin seemed lost in meditation, and i began to wonder, a little uneasily, how the adventure would turn out. this quaintly masterful little man was a trifle disconcerting. across the next ridge i could see the greenbriar church spire shining white. "do you know this part of the country?" i asked finally. "not this exact section. i've been in port vigor often, but then i was on the road that runs along the sound. i suppose this village ahead is greenbriar?" "yes," i said. "it's about thirteen miles from there to port vigor. how do you expect to get back to brooklyn?" "oh, brooklyn?" he said vaguely. "yes, i'd forgotten about brooklyn for the minute. i was thinking of my book. why, i guess i'll take the train from port vigor. the trouble is, you can never get to brooklyn without going through new york. it's symbolic, i suppose." again there was a silence. finally he said, "is there another town between greenbriar and port vigor?" "yes, shelby," i said. "about five miles from greenbriar." "that'll be as far as you'll get to-night," he said. "i'll see you safe to shelby, and then make tracks for port vigor. i hope there's a decent inn at shelby where you can stop overnight." i hoped so, too, but i wasn't going to let him see that with the waning afternoon my enthusiasm was a little less robust. i was wondering what andrew was thinking, and whether mrs. mcnally had left things in good order. like most swedes she had to be watched or she left her work only three quarters done. and i didn't depend any too much on her daughter rosie to do the housework efficiently. i wondered what kind of meals andrew would get. and probably he would go right on wearing his summer underclothes, although i had already reminded him about changing. then there were the chickens... well, the rubicon was crossed now, and there was nothing to be done. to my surprise, little redbeard had divined my anxiety. "now don't you worry about the sage," he said kindly. "a man that draws his royalties isn't going to starve. by the bones of john murray, his publishers can send him a cook if necessary! this is a holiday for you, and don't you forget it." and with this cheering sentiment in my mind, we rolled sedately down the hill toward greenbriar. i am about as hardy as most folks, i think, but i confess i balked a little at the idea of facing the various people i know in greenbriar as the owner of a bookvan and the companion of a literary huckster. also i recollected that if andrew should try to trace us it would be as well for me to keep out of sight. so after telling mr. mifflin how i felt about matters i dived into the parnassus and lay down most comfortably on the bunk. bock the terrier joined me, and i rested there in great comfort of mind and body as we ambled down the grade. the sun shone through the little skylight gilding a tin pan that hung over the cook stove. tacked here and there were portraits of authors, and i noticed a faded newspaper cutting pinned up. the headlines ran: "literary pedlar lectures on poetry." i read it through. apparently the professor (so i had begun to call him, as the aptness of the nickname stuck in my mind) had given a lecture in camden, n.j., where he had asserted that tennyson was a greater poet than walt whitman; and the boosters of the camden poet had enlivened the evening with missiles. it seems that the chief whitman disciple in camden is mr. traubel; and mr. mifflin had started the rumpus by asserting that tennyson, too, had "traubels of his own." what an absurd creature the professor was, i thought, as i lay comfortably lulled by the rolling wheels. greenbriar is a straggling little town, built around a large common meadow. mifflin's general plan in towns, he had told me, was to halt parnassus in front of the principal store or hotel, and when a little throng had gathered he would put up the flaps of the van, distribute his cards, and deliver a harangue on the value of good books. i lay concealed inside, but i gathered from the sounds that this was what was happening. we came to a stop; i heard a growing murmur of voices and laughter outside, and then the click of the raised sides of the wagon. i heard mifflin's shrill, slightly nasal voice making facetious remarks as he passed out the cards. evidently bock was quite accustomed to the routine, for though his tail wagged gently when the professor began to talk, he lay quite peaceably dozing at my feet. "my friends," said mr. mifflin. "you remember abe lincoln's joke about the dog? if you call a tail a leg, said abe, how many legs has a dog? five, you answer. no, says abe; because calling a tail a leg doesn't make it a leg. well, there are lots of us in the same case as that dog's tail. calling us men doesn't _make_ us men. no creature on earth has a right to think himself a human being if he doesn't know at least one good book. the man that spends every evening chewing piper heidsieck at the store is unworthy to catch the intimations of a benevolent creator. the man that's got a few good books on his shelf is making his wife happy, giving his children a square deal, and he's likely to be a better citizen himself. how about that, parson?" i heard the deep voice of reverend kane, the methodist minister: "you're dead right, professor!" he shouted. "tell us some more about books. i'm right with you!" evidently mr. kane had been attracted by the sight of parnassus, and i could hear him muttering to himself as he pulled one or two books from the shelves. how surprised he would have been if he had known i was inside the van! i took the precaution of slipping the bolt of the door at the back, and drew the curtains. then i crept back into the bunk. i began to imagine what an absurd situation there would be if andrew should arrive on the scene. "you are all used to hucksters and pedlars and fellows selling every kind of junk from brooms to bananas," said the professor's voice. "but how often does any one come round here to sell you books? you've got your town library, i dare say; but there are some books that folks ought to own. i've got 'em all here from bibles to cook books. they'll speak for themselves. step up to the shelves, friends, and pick and choose." i heard the parson asking the price of something he had found on the shelves, and i believe he bought it; but the hum of voices around the flanks of parnassus was very soothing, and in spite of my interest in what was going on i'm afraid i fell asleep. i must have been pretty tired; anyway i never felt the van start again. the professor says he looked in through the little window from the driver's seat, and saw me sound asleep. and the next thing i knew i woke up with a start to find myself rolling leisurely in the dark. bock was still lying over my feet, and there was a faint, musical clang from the bucket under the van which struck against something now and then. the professor was sitting in front, with a lighted lantern hanging from the peak of the van roof. he was humming some outlandish song to himself, with a queer, monotonous refrain: shipwrecked was i off soft perowse and right along the shore, and so i did resolve to roam the country to explore. tommy rip fal lal and a balum tip tommy rip fal lal i dee; and so i did resolve to roam the country for to see! i jumped out of the bunk, cracked my shins against something, and uttered a rousing halloo. parnassus stopped, and the professor pushed back the sliding window behind the driver's seat. "heavens!" i said. "father time, what o'clock is it?" "pretty near supper time, i reckon. you must have fallen asleep while i was taking money from the philistines. i made nearly three dollars for you. let's pull up along the road and have a bite to eat." he guided pegasus to one side of the road, and then showed me how to light the swinging lamp that hung under the skylight. "no use to light the stove on a lovely evening like this," he said. "i'll collect some sticks and we can cook outside. you get out your basket of grub and i'll make a fire." he unhitched pegasus, tied her to a tree, and gave her a nose bag of oats. then he rooted around for some twigs and had a fire going in a jiffy. in five minutes i had bacon and scrambled eggs sizzling in a frying pan, and he had brought out a pail of water from the cooler under the bunk, and was making tea. i never enjoyed a picnic so much! it was a perfect autumn evening, windless and frosty, with a dead black sky and a tiny rim of new moon like a thumb-nail paring. we had our eggs and bacon, washed down with tea and condensed milk, and followed by bread and jam. the little fire burned blue and cozy, and we sat on each side of it while bock scoured the pan and ate the crusts. "this your own bread, miss mcgill?" he asked. "yes," i said. "i was calculating the other day that i've baked more than loaves a year for the last fifteen years. that's more than , loaves of bread. they can put that on my tombstone." "the art of baking bread is as transcendent a mystery as the art of making sonnets," said redbeard. "and then your hot biscuits--they might be counted as shorter lyrics, i suppose--triolets perhaps. that makes quite an anthology, or a doxology, if you prefer it." "yeast is yeast, and west is west," i said, and was quite surprised at my own cleverness. i hadn't made a remark like that to andrew in five years. "i see you are acquainted with kipling," he said. "oh, yes, every governess is." "where and whom did you govern?" "i was in new york, with the family of a wealthy stockbroker. there were three children. i used to take them walking in central park." "did you ever go to brooklyn?" he asked abruptly. "never," i replied. "ah!" he said. "that's just the trouble. new york is babylon; brooklyn is the true holy city. new york is the city of envy, office work, and hustle; brooklyn is the region of homes and happiness. it is extraordinary: poor, harassed new yorkers presume to look down on low-lying, home-loving brooklyn, when as a matter of fact it is the precious jewel their souls are thirsting for and they never know it. broadway: think how symbolic the name is. broad is the way that leadeth to destruction! but in brooklyn the ways are narrow, and they lead to the heavenly city of content. central park: there you are--the centre of things, hemmed in by walls of pride. now how much better is prospect park, giving a fair view over the hills of humility! there is no hope for new yorkers, for they glory in their skyscraping sins; but in brooklyn there is the wisdom of the lowly." "so you think that if i had been a governess in brooklyn i should have been so contented that i would never have come with andrew and compiled my anthology of , loaves of bread and the lesser lyrics?" but the volatile professor had already soared to other points of view, and was not to be thwarted by argument. "of course brooklyn is a dingy place, really," he admitted. "but to me it symbolizes a state of mind, whereas new york is only a state of pocket. you see i was a boy in brooklyn: it still trails clouds of glory for me. when i get back there and start work on my book i shall be as happy as nebuchadnezzar when he left off grass and returned to tea and crumpets. 'literature among the farmers' i'm going to call it, but that's a poor title. i'd like to read you some of my notes for it." i'm afraid i poorly concealed a yawn. as a matter of fact i was sleepy, and it was growing chilly. "tell me first," i said, "where in the world are we, and what time is it?" he pulled out a turnip watch. "it's nine o'clock," he said, "and we're about two miles from shelby, i should reckon. perhaps we'd better get along. they told me in greenbriar that the grand central hotel in shelby is a good place to stop at. that's why i wasn't anxious to get there. it sounds so darned like new york." he bundled the cooking utensils back into parnassus, hitched peg up again, and tied bock to the stern of the van. then he insisted on giving me the two dollars and eighty cents he had collected in greenbriar. i was really too sleepy to protest, and of course it was mine anyway. we creaked off along the dark and silent road between the pine woods. i think he talked fluently about his pilgrim's progress among the farmers of a dozen states, but (to be honest) i fell asleep in my corner of the seat. i woke up when we halted before the one hotel in shelby--a plain, unimposing country inn, despite its absurd name. i left him to put parnassus and the animals away for the night, while i engaged a room. just as i got my key from the clerk he came into the dingy lobby. "well, mr. mifflin," i said. "shall i see you in the morning?" "i had intended to push on to port vigor to-night," he said, "but as it's fully eight miles (they tell me), i guess i'll bivouac here. i think i'll go into the smoking-room and put them wise to some good books. we won't say good-bye till to-morrow." my room was pleasant and clean (fairly so). i took my suit case up with me and had a hot bath. as i fell asleep i heard a shrill voice ascending from below, punctuated with masculine laughter. the pilgrim was making more converts! chapter six i had a curious feeling of bewilderment when i woke the next morning. the bare room with the red-and-blue rag carpet and green china toilet set was utterly strange. in the hall outside i heard a clock strike. "heavens!" i thought, "i've overslept myself nearly two hours. what on earth will andrew do for breakfast?" and then as i ran to close the window i saw the blue parnassus with its startling red letters standing in the yard. instantly i remembered. and discreetly peeping from behind the window shade i saw that the professor, armed with a tin of paint, was blotting out his own name on the side of the van, evidently intending to substitute mine. that was something i had not thought of. however, i might as well make the best of it. i dressed promptly, repacked my bag, and hurried downstairs for breakfast. the long table was nearly empty, but one or two men sitting at the other end eyed me curiously. through the window i could see my name in large, red letters, growing on the side of the van, as the professor diligently wielded his brush. and when i had finished my coffee and beans and bacon i noticed with some amusement that the professor had painted out the line about shakespeare, charles lamb, and so on, and had substituted new lettering. the sign now read: h. mcgill's travelling parnassus good books for sale cook books a specialty inquire within evidently he distrusted my familiarity with the classics. i paid my bill at the desk, and was careful also to pay the charge for putting up the horse and van overnight. then i strolled into the stable yard, where i found mr. mifflin regarding his handiwork with satisfaction. he had freshened up all the red lettering, which shone brilliantly in the morning sunlight. "good-morning," i said. he returned it. "there!" he cried--"parnassus is really yours! all the world lies before you! and i've got some more money for you. i sold some books last night. i persuaded the hotel keeper to buy several volumes of o. henry for his smoking-room shelf, and i sold the 'waldorf cook book' to the cook. my! wasn't her coffee awful? i hope the cook book will better it." he handed me two limp bills and a handful of small change. i took it gravely and put it in my purse. this was really not bad--more than ten dollars in less than twenty-four hours. "parnassus seems to be a gold mine," i said. "which way do you think you'll go?" he asked. "well, as i know you want to get to port vigor i might just as well give you a lift that way," i answered. "good! i was hoping you'd say that. they tell me the stage for port vigor doesn't leave till noon, and i think it would kill me to hang around here all morning with no books to sell. once i get on the train i'll be all right." bock was tied up in a corner of the yard, under the side door of the hotel. i went over to release him while the professor was putting peg into harness. as i stooped to unfasten the chain from his collar i heard some one talking through the telephone. the hotel lobby was just over my head, and the window was open. "what did you say?" "---- ---- ---- ----" "mcgill? yes, sir, registered here last night. she's here now." i didn't wait to hear more. unfastening bock, i hurried to tell mifflin. his eyes sparkled. "the sage is evidently on our spoor," he chuckled. "well, let's be off. i don't see what he can do even if he overhauls us." the clerk was calling me from the window: "miss mcgill, your brother's on the wire and asks to speak to you." "tell him i'm busy," i retorted, and climbed onto the seat. it was not a diplomatic reply, i'm afraid, but i was too exhilarated by the keen morning and the spirit of adventure to stop to think of a better answer. mifflin clucked to peg, and off we went. the road from shelby to port vigor runs across the broad hill slopes that trend toward the sound; and below, on our left, the river lay glittering in the valley. it was a perfect landscape: the woods were all bronze and gold; the clouds were snowy white and seemed like heavenly washing hung out to air; the sun was warm and swam gloriously in an arch of superb blue. my heart was uplifted indeed. for the first time, i think, i knew how andrew feels on those vagabond trips of his. why had all this been hidden from me before? why had the transcendent mystery of baking bread blinded me so long to the mysteries of sun and sky and wind in the trees? we passed a white farmhouse close to the road. by the gate sat the farmer on a log, whittling a stick and smoking his pipe. through the kitchen window i could see a woman blacking the stove. i wanted to cry out: "oh, silly woman! leave your stove, your pots and pans and chores, even if only for one day! come out and see the sun in the sky and the river in the distance!" the farmer looked blankly at parnassus as we passed, and then i remembered my mission as a distributor of literature. mifflin was sitting with one foot on his bulging portmanteau, watching the tree tops rocking in the cool wind. he seemed to be far away in a morning muse. i threw down the reins and accosted the farmer. "good-morning, friend." "morning to you, ma'am," he said firmly. "i'm selling books," i said. "i wonder if there isn't something you need?" "thanks, lady," he said, "but i bought a mort o' books last year an' i don't believe i'll ever read 'em this side jordan. a whole set o' 'funereal orations' what an agent left on me at a dollar a month. i could qualify as earnest mourner at any death-bed merrymakin' now, i reckon." "you need some books to teach you how to live, not how to die," i said. "how about your wife--wouldn't she enjoy a good book? how about some fairy tales for the children?" "bless me," he said, "i ain't got a wife. i never was a daring man, and i guess i'll confine my melancholy pleasures to them funereal orators for some time yet." "well, now, hold on a minute!" i exclaimed. "i've got just the thing for you." i had been looking over the shelves with some care, and remembered seeing a copy of "reveries of a bachelor." i clambered down, raised the flap of the van (it gave me quite a thrill to do it myself for the first time), and hunted out the book. i looked inside the cover and saw the letters _n m_ in mifflin's neat hand. "here you are," i said. "i'll sell you that for thirty cents." "thank you kindly, ma'am," he said courteously. "but honestly i wouldn't know what to do with it. i am working through a government report on scabworm and fungus, and i sandwich in a little of them funereal speeches with it, and honestly that's about all the readin' i figure on. that an' the port vigor clarion." i saw that he really meant it, so i climbed back on the seat. i would have liked to talk to the woman in the kitchen who was peering out of the window in amazement, but i decided it would be better to jog on and not waste time. the farmer and i exchanged friendly salutes, and parnassus rumbled on. the morning was so lovely that i did not feel talkative, and as the professor seemed pensive i said nothing. but as peg plodded slowly up a gentle slope he suddenly pulled a book out of his pocket and began to read aloud. i was watching the river, and did not turn round, but listened carefully: "rolling cloud, volleying wind, and wheeling sun--the blue tabernacle of sky, the circle of the seasons, the sparkling multitude of the stars--all these are surely part of one rhythmic, mystic whole. everywhere, as we go about our small business, we must discern the fingerprints of the gigantic plan, the orderly and inexorable routine with neither beginning nor end, in which death is but a preface to another birth, and birth the certain forerunner of another death. we human beings are as powerless to conceive the motive or the moral of it all as the dog is powerless to understand the reasoning in his master's mind. he sees the master's acts, benevolent or malevolent, and wags his tail. but the master's acts are always inscrutable to him. and so with us. "and therefore, brethren, let us take the road with a light heart. let us praise the bronze of the leaves and the crash of the surf while we have eyes to see and ears to hear. an honest amazement at the unspeakable beauties of the world is a comely posture for the scholar. let us all be scholars under mother nature's eye. "how do you like that?" he asked. "a little heavy, but very good," i said. "there's nothing in it about the transcendent mystery of baking bread!" he looked rather blank. "do you know who wrote it?" he asked. i made a valiant effort to summon some of my governessly recollections of literature. "i give it up," i said feebly. "is it carlyle?" "that is by andrew mcgill," he said. "one of his cosmic passages which are now beginning to be reprinted in schoolbooks. the blighter writes well." i began to be uneasy lest i should be put through a literary catechism, so i said nothing, but roused peg into an amble. to tell the truth i was more curious to hear the professor talk about his own book than about andrew's. i had always carefully refrained from reading andrew's stuff, as i thought it rather dull. "as for me," said the professor, "i have no facility at the grand style. i have always suffered from the feeling that it's better to read a good book than to write a poor one; and i've done so much mixed reading in my time that my mind is full of echoes and voices of better men. but this book i'm worrying about now really deserves to be written, i think, for it has a message of its own." he gazed almost wistfully across the sunny valley. in the distance i caught a glint of the sound. the professor's faded tweed cap was slanted over one ear, and his stubby little beard shone bright red in the sun. i kept a sympathetic silence. he seemed pleased to have some one to talk to about his precious book. "the world is full of great writers about literature," he said, "but they're all selfish and aristocratic. addison, lamb, hazlitt, emerson, lowell--take any one you choose--they all conceive the love of books as a rare and perfect mystery for the few--a thing of the secluded study where they can sit alone at night with a candle, and a cigar, and a glass of port on the table and a spaniel on the hearthrug. what i say is, who has ever gone out into high roads and hedges to bring literature home to the plain man? to bring it home to his business and bosom, as somebody says? the farther into the country you go, the fewer and worse books you find. i've spent several years joggling around with this citadel of crime, and by the bones of ben ezra i don't think i ever found a really good book (except the bible) at a farmhouse yet, unless i put it there myself. the mandarins of culture--what do they do to teach the common folk to read? it's no good writing down lists of books for farmers and compiling five-foot shelves; you've got to go out and visit the people yourself--take the books to them, talk to the teachers and bully the editors of country newspapers and farm magazines and tell the children stories--and then little by little you begin to get good books circulating in the veins of the nation. it's a great work, mind you! it's like carrying the holy grail to some of these way-back farmhouses. and i wish there were a thousand parnassuses instead of this one. i'd never give it up if it weren't for my book: but i want to write about my ideas in the hope of stirring other folk up, too. i don't suppose there's a publisher in the country will take it!" "try mr. decameron," i said. "he's always been very nice to andrew." "think what it would mean," he cried, waving an eloquent hand, "if some rich man would start a fund to equip a hundred or so wagons like this to go huckstering literature around through the rural districts. it would pay, too, once you got started. yes, by the bones of webster! i went to a meeting of booksellers once, at some hotel in new york, and told 'em about my scheme. they laughed at me. but i've had more fun toting books around in this parnassus than i could have had in fifty years sitting in a bookstore, or teaching school, or preaching. life's full of savour when you go creaking along the road like this. look at today, with the sun and the air and the silver clouds. best of all, though, i love the rainy days. i used to pull up alongside the road, throw a rubber blanket over peg, and bock and i would curl up in the bunk and smoke and read. i used to read aloud to bock: we went through 'midshipman easy' together, and a good deal of shakespeare. he's a very bookish dog. we've seen some queer experiences in this parnassus." the hill road from shelby to port vigor is a lonely one, as most of the farmhouses lie down in the valley. if i had known better we might have taken the longer and more populous way, but as a matter of fact i was enjoying the wide view and the solitary road lying white in the sunshine. we jogged along very pleasantly. once more we stopped at a house where mifflin pleaded for a chance to exercise his art. i was much amused when he succeeded in selling a copy of "grimm's fairy tales" to a shrewish spinster on the plea that she would enjoy reading the stories to her nephews and nieces who were coming to visit her. "my!" he chuckled, as he gave me the dingy quarter he had extracted. "there's nothing in that book as grim as she is!" a little farther on we halted by a roadside spring to give peg a drink, and i suggested lunch. i had laid in some bread and cheese in shelby, and with this and some jam we made excellent sandwiches. as we were sitting by the fence the motor stage trundled past on its way to port vigor. a little distance down the road it halted, and then went on again. i saw a familiar figure walking back toward us. "now i'm in for it," i said to the professor. "here's andrew!" chapter seven andrew is just as thin as i am fat, and his clothes hang on him in the most comical way. he is very tall and shambling, wears a ragged beard and a broad stetson hat, and suffers amazingly from hay fever in the autumn. (in fact, his essay on "hay fever" is the best thing he ever wrote, i think.) as he came striding up the road i noticed how his trousers fluttered at the ankles as the wind plucked at them. the breeze curled his beard back under his chin and his face was quite dark with anger. i couldn't help being amused; he looked so funny. "the sage looks like bernard shaw," whispered mifflin. i always believe in drawing first blood. "good-morning, andrew," i called cheerfully. "want to buy any books?" i halted pegasus, and andrew stood a little in front of the wheel--partly out of breath and mostly out of temper. "what on earth is this nonsense, helen?" he said angrily. "you've led me the deuce of a chase since yesterday. and who is this--this person you're driving with?" "andrew," i said, "you forget your manners. let me introduce mr. mifflin. i have bought his caravan and am taking a holiday, selling books. mr. mifflin is on his way to port vigor where he takes the train to brooklyn." andrew stared at the professor without speaking. i could tell by the blaze in his light-blue eyes that he was thoroughly angry, and i feared things would be worse before they were better. andrew is slow to wrath, but a very hard person to deal with when roused. and i had some inkling by this time of the professor's temperament. moreover, i am afraid that some of my remarks had rather prejudiced him against andrew, as a brother at any rate and apart from his excellent prose. mifflin had the next word. he had taken off his funny little cap, and his bare skull shone like an egg. i noticed a little sort of fairy ring of tiny drops around his crown. "my dear sir," said mifflin, "the proceedings look somewhat unusual, but the facts are simple to narrate. your sister has bought this van and its contents, and i have been instructing her in my theories of the dissemination of good books. you as a literary man..." andrew paid absolutely no attention to the professor, and i saw a slow flush tinge mifflin's sallow cheek. "look here, helen," said andrew, "do you think i propose to have my sister careering around the state with a strolling vagabond? upon my soul you ought to have better sense--and at your age and weight! i got home yesterday and found your ridiculous note. i went to mrs. collins, and she knew nothing. i went to mason's, and found him wondering who had bilked his telephone. i suppose you did that. he had seen this freight car of yours and put me on the track. but my god! i never thought to see a woman of forty abducted by gypsies!" mifflin was about to speak but i waved him back. "now see here andrew," i said, "you talk too quickly. a woman of forty (you exaggerate, by the way) who has compiled an anthology of , loaves of bread and dedicated it to you deserves some courtesy. when _you_ want to run off on some vagabond tour or other you don't hesitate to do it. you expect me to stay home and do the lady eglantine in the poultry yard. by the ghost of susan b. anthony, i won't do it! this is the first real holiday i've had in fifteen years, and i'm going to suit myself." andrew's mouth opened, but i shook my fist so convincingly that he halted. "i bought this parnassus from mr. mifflin fair and square for four hundred dollars. that's the price of about thirteen hundred dozen eggs," i said. (i had worked this out in my head while mifflin was talking about his book.) "the money's mine, and i'm going to use it my own way. now, andrew mcgill, if you want to buy any books, you can parley with me. otherwise, i'm on my way. you can expect me back when you see me." i handed him one of mifflin's little cards, which were in a pocket at the side of the van, and gathered up the reins. i was really angry, for andrew had been both unreasonable and insulting. andrew looked at the card, and tore it in halves. he looked at the side of parnassus where the fresh red lettering was still damp. "well, upon my word," he said, "you must be crazy." he burst into a violent fit of sneezing--a last touch of hay fever, i suspect, as there was still goldenrod in the meadows. he coughed and sneezed furiously, which made him madder than ever. at last he turned to mifflin who was sitting bald-headed with a flushed face and very bright eyes. andrew took him all in, the shabby norfolk jacket, the bulging memorandum book in his pocket, the stuffed portmanteau under his foot, even the copy of "happiness and hayseed" which had dropped to the floor and lay back up. "look here, you," said andrew, "i don't know by what infernal arts you cajoled my sister away to go vagabonding in a huckster's wagon, but i know this, that if you've cheated her out of her money i'll have the law on you." i tried to insert a word of protest, but matters had gone too far. the professor was as mad as andrew now. "by the bones of piers plowman," he said, "i had expected to meet a man of letters and the author of this book"--he held up "happiness and hayseed"--"but i see i was mistaken. i tell you, sir, a man who would insult his sister before a stranger, as you have done, is an oaf and a cad." he threw the book over the hedge, and before i could say a word he had vaulted over the off wheel and ran round behind the van. "look here sir," he said, with his little red beard bristling, "your sister is over age and acting of her own free will. by the bones of the baptist, i don't blame her for wanting a vacation if this is the way you treat her. she is nothing to me, sir, and i am nothing to her, but i propose to be a teacher to you. put up your hands and i'll give you a lesson!" this was too much for me. i believe i screamed aloud, and started to clamber from the van. but before i could do anything the two fanatics had begun to pummel each other. i saw andrew swing savagely at mifflin, and mifflin hit him square on the chin. andrew's hat fell on the road. peg stood placidly, and bock made as if to grab andrew's leg, but i hopped out and seized him. it was certainly a weird sight. i suppose i should have wrung my hands and had hysterics, but as a matter of fact i was almost amused, it was so silly. thank goodness the road was deserted. andrew was a foot taller than the professor, but awkward, loosely knit, and unmuscular, while the little redbeard was wiry as a cat. also andrew was so furious that he was quite beside himself, and mifflin was in the cold anger that always wins. andrew landed a couple of flailing blows on the other man's chest and shoulders, but in thirty seconds he got another punch on the chin followed by one on the nose that tumbled him over backward. andrew sat in the road fishing for a handkerchief, and mifflin stood glaring at him, but looking very ill at ease. neither of them said a word. bock broke away from me and capered and danced about mifflin's feet as if it were all a game. it was an extraordinary scene. andrew got up, mopping his bleeding nose. "upon my soul," he said, "i almost respect you for that punch. but by jove i'll have the law on you for kidnapping my sister. you're a fine kind of a pirate." mifflin said nothing. "don't be a fool, andrew" i said. "can't you see that i want a little adventure of my own? go home and bake six thousand loaves of bread, and by the time they're done i'll be back again. i think two men of your age ought to be ashamed of yourselves. i'm going off to sell books." and with that i climbed up to the seat and clucked to pegasus. andrew and mifflin and bock remained standing in the road. i was mad all the way through. i was mad at both men for behaving like schoolboys. i was mad at andrew for being so unreasonable, yet in a way i admired him for it; i was mad at mifflin for giving andrew a bloody nose, and yet i appreciated the spirit in which it was done. i was mad at myself for causing all the trouble, and i was mad at parnassus. if there had been a convenient cliff handy i would have pushed the old thing over it. but now i was in for it, and just had to go on. slowly i rolled up a long grade, and then saw port vigor lying ahead and the broad blue stretches of the sound. parnassus rumbled on with its pleasant creak, and the mellow sun and sweep of the air soon soothed me. i began to taste salt in the wind, and above the meadows two or three seagulls were circling. like all women, my angry mood melted into a reaction of exaggerated tenderness and i began to praise both andrew and mifflin in my heart. how fine to have a brother so solicitous of his sister's welfare and reputation! and yet, how splendid the little, scrawny professor had been! how quick to resent an insult and how bold to avenge it! his absurd little tweed cap was lying on the seat, and i picked it up almost sentimentally. the lining was frayed and torn. from my suit case in the van i got out a small sewing kit, and hanging the reins on a hook i began to stitch up the rents as peg jogged along. i thought with amusement of the quaint life mr. mifflin had led in his "caravan of culture." i imagined him addressing the audience of whitman disciples in camden, and wondered how the fuss ended. i imagined him in his beloved brooklyn, strolling in prospect park and preaching to chance comers his gospel of good books. how different was his militant love of literature from andrew's quiet satisfaction. and yet how much they really had in common! it tickled me to think of mifflin reading aloud from "happiness and hayseed," and praising it so highly, just before fighting with the author and giving him a bloody nose. i remembered that i should have spoken to andrew about feeding the hens, and reminded him of his winter undergarments. what helpless creatures men are, after all! i finished mending the cap in high good humour. i had hardly laid it down when i heard a quick step in the road behind me, and looking back, there was mifflin, striding along with his bald pate covered with little beads of moisture. bock trotted sedately at his heels. i halted peg. "well," i said, "what's happened to andrew?" the professor still looked a bit shamefaced. "the sage is a tenacious person," he said. "we argued for a bit without much satisfaction. as a matter of fact we nearly came to blows again, only he got another waft of goldenrod, which started him sneezing, and then his nose began bleeding once more. he is convinced that i'm a ruffian, and said so in excellent prose. honestly, i admire him a great deal. i believe he intends to have the law on me. i gave him my brooklyn address in case he wants to follow the matter up. i think i rather pleased him by asking him to autograph 'happiness and hayseed' for me. i found it lying in the ditch." "well," i said, "you two are certainly a great pair of lunatics. you both ought to go on the stage. you'd be as good as weber and fields. did he give you the autograph?" he pulled the book out of his pocket. scrawled in it in pencil were the words "i have shed blood for mr. mifflin. andrew mcgill." "i shall read the book again with renewed interest," said mifflin. "may i get in?" "by all means," i said. "there's port vigor in front of us." he put on his cap, noticed that it seemed to feel different, pulled it off again, and then looked at me in a quaint embarrassment. "you are very good, miss mcgill," he said. "where did andrew go?" i asked. "he set off for shelby on foot," mifflin answered. "he has a grand stride for walking. he suddenly remembered that he had left some potatoes boiling on the fire yesterday afternoon, and said he must get back to attend to them. he said he hoped you would send him a postal card now and then. do you know, he reminds me of thoreau more than ever." "he reminds me of a burnt cooking pot," i said. "i suppose all my kitchenware will be in a horrible state when i get home." chapter eight port vigor is a fascinating old town. it is built on a point jutting out into the sound. dimly in the distance one can see the end of long island, which mifflin viewed with sparkling eyes. it seemed to bring him closer to brooklyn. several schooners were beating along the estuary in the fresh wind, and there was a delicious tang of brine in the air. we drove direct to the station where the professor alighted. we took his portmanteau, and shut bock inside the van to prevent the dog from following him. then there was an awkward pause as he stood by the wheel with his cap off. "well, miss mcgill," he said, "there's an express train at five o'clock, so with luck i shall be in brooklyn to-night. my brother's address is abingdon avenue, and i hope when you're sending a card to the sage you'll let me have one, too. i shall be very homesick for parnassus, but i'd rather leave her with you than with any one i know." he bowed very low, and before i could say a word he blew his nose violently and hurried away. i saw him carrying his valise into the station, and then he disappeared. i suppose that living alone with andrew for all these years has unused me to the eccentricities of other people, but surely this little redbeard was one of the strangest beings one would be likely to meet. bock yowled dismally inside, and i did not feel in any mood to sell books in port vigor. i drove back into the town and stopped at a tea shop for a pot of tea and some toast. when i came out i found that quite a little crowd had collected, partly owing to the strange appearance of parnassus and partly because of bock's plaintive cries from within. most of the onlookers seemed to suspect the outfit of being part of a travelling menagerie, so almost against my will i put up the flaps, tied bock to the tail of the wagon, and began to answer the humourous questions of the crowd. two or three bought books without any urging, and it was some time before i could get away. finally i shut up the van and pulled off, as i was afraid of seeing some one i knew. as i turned into the woodbridge road i heard the whistle of the five o'clock train to new york. the twenty miles of road between sabine farm and port vigor was all familiar to me, but now to my relief i struck into a region that i had never visited. on my occasional trips to boston i had always taken the train at port vigor, so the country roads were unknown. but i had set out on the woodbridge way because mifflin had spoken of a farmer, mr. pratt, who lived about four miles out of port vigor, on the woodbridge road. apparently mr. pratt had several times bought books from the professor and the latter had promised to visit him again. so i felt in duty bound to oblige a good customer. after the varied adventures of the last two days it was almost a relief to be alone to think things over. here was i, helen mcgill, in a queer case indeed. instead of being home at sabine farm getting supper, i was trundling along a strange road, the sole owner of a parnassus (probably the only one in existence), a horse, and a dog, and a cartload of books on my hands. since the morning of the day before my whole life had twisted out of its accustomed orbit. i had spent four hundred dollars of my savings; i had sold about thirteen dollars' worth of books; i had precipitated a fight and met a philosopher. not only that, i was dimly beginning to evolve a new philosophy of my own. and all this in order to prevent andrew from buying a lot more books! at any rate, i had been successful in that. when he had seen parnassus at last, he had hardly looked at her--except in tones of scorn. i caught myself wondering whether the professor would allude to the incident in his book, and hoping that he would send me a copy. but after all, why should he mention it? to him it was only one of a thousand adventures. as he had said angrily to andrew, he was nothing to me, nor i to him. how could he realize that this was the first adventure i had had in the fifteen years i had been--what was it he called it?--compiling my anthology. well, the funny little gingersnap! i kept bock tied to the back of the van, as i was afraid he might take a notion to go in search of his master. as we jogged on, and the falling sun cast a level light across the way, i got a bit lonely. this solitary vagabonding business was a bit sudden after fifteen years of home life. the road lay close to the water and i watched the sound grow a deeper blue and then a dull purple. i could hear the surf pounding, and on the end of long island a far-away lighthouse showed a ruby spark. i thought of the little gingersnap roaring toward new york on the express, and wondered whether he was travelling in a pullman or a day coach. a pullman chair would feel easy after that hard parnassus seat. by and by we neared a farmhouse which i took to be mr. pratt's. it stood close to the road, with a big, red barn behind and a gilt weathervane representing a galloping horse. curiously enough peg seemed to recognize the place, for she turned in at the gate and neighed vigorously. it must have been a favourite stopping place for the professor. through a lighted window i could see people sitting around a table. evidently the pratts were at supper. i drew up in the yard. some one looked out of a window, and i heard a girl's voice: "why, pa, here's parnassus!" gingersnap must have been a welcome visitor at that farm, for in an instant the whole family turned out with a great scraping of chairs and clatter of dishes. a tall, sunburnt man, in a clean shirt with no collar, led the group, and then came a stout woman about my own build, and a hired man and three children. "good evening!" i said. "is this mr. pratt?" "sure thing!" said he. "where's the perfessor?" "on his way to brooklyn," said i. "and i've got parnassus. he told me to be sure to call on you. so here we are." "well, i want to know!" ejaculated mrs. pratt. "think of parnassus turned suffrage! ben, you put up the critters, and i'll take mrs. mifflin in to supper." "hold on there," i said. "my name's mcgill--miss mcgill. see, it's painted on the wagon. i bought the outfit from mr. mifflin. a business proposition entirely." "well, well," said mr. pratt. "we're glad to see any friend of the perfessor. sorry he's not here, too. come right in and have a bite with us." they were certainly good-hearted folk, mr. and mrs. ben pratt. he put peg and bock away in the barn and gave them their supper, while mrs. pratt took me up to her spare bedroom and brought me a jug of hot water. then they all trooped back into the dining-room and the meal began again. i am a connoisseur of farm cooking, i guess, and i've got to hand it to beulah pratt that she was an a- housewife. her hot biscuit was perfect; the coffee was real mocha, simmered, not boiled; the cold sausage and potato salad was as good as any andrew ever got. and she had a smoking-hot omelet sent in for me, and opened a pot of her own strawberry preserve. the children (two boys and a girl) sat open-mouthed, nudging one another, and mr. pratt got out his pipe while i finished up on stewed pears and cream and chocolate cake. it was a regular meal. i wondered what andrew was eating and whether he had found the nest behind the wood pile where the red hen always drops her eggs. "well, well," said mr. pratt, "tell us about the perfessor. we was expectin' him here some time this fall. he generally gets here around cider time." "i guess there isn't so much to tell," i said. "he stopped up at our place the other day, and said he wanted to sell his outfit. so i bought him out. he was pining to get back to brooklyn and write a book." "that book o' his!" said mrs. pratt. "he was always talkin' on it, but i don't believe he ever started it yet." "whereabout do you come from, miss mcgill?" said pratt. i could see he was mighty puzzled at a woman driving a vanload of books around the country, alone. "over toward redfield," i said. "you any kin to that writer that lives up that way?" "you mean andrew mcgill?" i said. "he's my brother." "do tell!" exclaimed mrs. pratt. "why the perfessor thought a terrible lot of him. he read us all to sleep with one of his books one night. said he was the best literature in this state, i do believe." i smiled to myself as i thought of the set-to on the road from shelby. "well," said pratt, "if the perfessor's got any better friends than us in these parts, i'm glad to meet 'em. he come here first time 'bout four years ago. i was up working in the hayfield that afternoon, and i heard a shout down by the mill pond. i looked over that way and saw a couple o' kids waving their arms and screamin'. i ran down the hill and there was the perfessor just a pullin' my boy dick out o' the water. dick's this one over here." dick, a small boy of thirteen or so, grew red under his freckles. "the kids had been foolin' around on a raft there, an' first thing you know dick fell in, right into deep water, over by the dam. couldn't swim a stroke, neither. and the perfessor, who jest happened to be comin' along in that 'bus of his, heard the boys yell. didn't he hop out o' the wagon as spry as a chimpanzee, skin over the fence, an' jump into the pond, swim out there an' tow the boy in! yes, ma'am, he saved that boy's life then an' no mistake. that man can read me to sleep with poetry any night he has a mind to. he's a plumb fine little firecracker, the perfessor." farmer pratt pulled hard on his pipe. evidently his friendship for the wandering bookseller was one of the realities of his life. "yes, ma'am," he went on, "that perfessor has been a good friend to me, sure enough. we brought him an' the boy back to the house. the boy had gone down three times an' the perfessor had to dive to find him. they were both purty well all in, an' i tell you i was scared. but we got dick around somehow--rolled him on a sugar bar'l, an' poured whiskey in him, an' worked his arms, an' put him in hot blankets. by and by he come to. an' then i found that the perfessor, gettin' over the barb-wire fence so quick (when he lit for the pond) had torn a hole in his leg you could put four fingers in. there was his trouser all stiff with blood, an' he not sayin' a thing. pluckiest little runt in three states, by judas! well, we put _him_ to bed, too, and then the missus keeled over, an' we put _her_ to bed. three of them, by time the doc got here. great old summer afternoon that was! but bless your heart, we couldn't keep the perfessor abed long. next day he was out lookin' fer his poetry books, an' first thing you know he had us all rounded up an' was preachin' good literature at us like any evangelist. i guess we all fell asleep over his poetry, so then he started on readin' that 'treasure island' story to us, wasn't it, mother? by hickory, we none of us fell asleep over that. he started the kids readin' so they been at it ever since, and dick's top boy at school now. teacher says she never saw such a boy for readin'. that's what perfessor done for us! well, tell us 'bout yerself, miss mcgill. is there any good books we ought to read? i used to pine for some o' that feller shakespeare my father used to talk about so much, but perfessor always 'lowed it was over my head!" it gave me quite a thrill to hear all this about mifflin. i could readily imagine the masterful little man captivating the simple-hearted pratts with his eloquence and earnestness. and the story of the mill pond had its meaning, too. little redbeard was no mere wandering crank--he was a real man, cool and steady of brain, with the earmarks of a hero. i felt a sudden gush of warmth as i recalled his comical ways. mrs. pratt lit a fire in her franklin stove and i racked my head wondering how i could tread worthily in the professor's footsteps. finally i fetched the "jungle book" from parnassus and read them the story of rikki-tikki-tavi. there was a long pause when i had finished. "say, pa," said dick shyly, "that mongoose was rather like professor, wasn't he!" plainly the professor was the traditional hero of this family, and i began to feel rather like an impostor! i suppose it was foolish of me, but i had already made up my mind to push on to woodbridge that night. it could not be more than four miles, and the time was not much after eight. i felt a little twinge of quite unworthy annoyance because i was still treading in the glamour of the professor's influence. the pratts would talk of nothing else, and i wanted to get somewhere where i would be estimated at my own value, not merely as his disciple. "darn the redbeard," i said to myself, "i think he has bewitched these people!" and in spite of their protests and invitations to stay the night, i insisted on having peg hitched up. i gave them the copy of the "jungle book" as a small return for their hospitality, and finally sold mr. pratt a little copy of "lamb's tales from shakespeare" which i thought he could read without brain fever. then i lit my lantern and after a chorus of good-byes parnassus rolled away. "well," i said to myself as i turned into the high road once more, "drat the gingersnap, he seems to hypnotize everybody... he must be nearly in brooklyn by this time!" it was very quiet along the road, also very dark, for the sky had clouded over and i could see neither moon nor stars. as it was a direct road i should have had no difficulty, and i suppose i must have fallen into a doze during which peg took a wrong turning. at any rate, i realized about half-past nine that parnassus was on a much rougher road than the highway had any right to be, and there were no telephone poles to be seen. i knew that they stretched all along the main road, so plainly i had made a mistake. i was reluctant for a moment to admit that i could be wrong, and just then peg stumbled heavily and stood still. she paid no heed to my exhortations, and when i got out and carried my lantern to see whether anything was in the way, i found that she had cast a shoe and her foot was bleeding. the shoe must have dropped off some way back and she had picked up a nail or something in the quick. i saw no alternative but to stay where i was for the night. this was not very pleasant, but the adventures of the day had put me into a stoical frame of mind, and i saw no good in repining. i unhitched peg, sponged her foot, and tied her to a tree. i would have made more careful explorations to determine just where i was, but a sharp patter of rain began to fall. so i climbed into my parnassus, took bock in with me, and lit the swinging lamp. by this time it was nearly ten o'clock. there was nothing to do but turn in, so i took off my boots and lay down in the bunk. bock lay quite comfortably on the floor of the van. i meant to read for a while, and so did not turn out the light, but i fell asleep almost immediately. i woke up at half-past eleven and turned out the lamp, which had made the van very warm. i opened the little windows front and back, and would have opened the door, but i feared bock might slip away. it was still raining a little. to my annoyance i felt very wakeful. i lay for some time listening to the patter of raindrops on the roof and skylight--a very snug sound when one is warm and safe. every now and then i could hear peg stamping in the underbrush. i was almost dozing off again when bock gave a low growl. no woman of my bulk has a right to be nervous, i guess, but instantly my security vanished! the patter of the rain seemed menacing, and i imagined a hundred horrors. i was totally alone and unarmed, and bock was not a large dog. he growled again, and i felt worse than before. i imagined that i heard stealthy sounds in the bushes, and once peg snorted as though frightened. i put my hand down to pat bock, and found that his neck was all bristly, like a fighting cock. he uttered a queer half growl, half whine, which gave me a chill. some one must be prowling about the van, but in the falling rain i could hear nothing. i felt i must do something. i was afraid to call out lest i betray the fact that there was only a woman in the van. my expedient was absurd enough, but at any rate it satisfied my desire to act. i seized one of my boots and banged vigorously on the floor, at the same time growling in as deep and masculine a voice as i could muster: "what the hell's the matter? what the hell's the matter?" this sounds silly enough, i dare say, but it afforded me some relief. and as bock shortly ceased growling, it apparently served some purpose. i lay awake for a long time, tingling all over with nervousness. then i began to grow calmer, and was getting drowsy almost in spite of myself when i was aroused by the unmistakable sound of bock's tail thumping on the floor--a sure sign of pleasure. this puzzled me quite as much as his growls. i did not dare strike a light, but could hear him sniffing at the door of the van and whining with eagerness. this seemed very uncanny, and again i crept stealthily out of the bunk and pounded on the floor lustily, this time with the frying pan, which made an unearthly din. peg neighed and snorted, and bock began to bark. even in my anxiety i almost laughed. "it sounds like an insane asylum," i thought, and reflected that probably the disturbance was only caused by some small animal. perhaps a rabbit or a skunk which bock had winded and wanted to chase. i patted him, and crawled into my bunk once more. but my real excitement was still to come. about half an hour later i heard unmistakable footsteps alongside the van. bock growled furiously, and i lay in a panic. something jarred one of the wheels. then broke out a most extraordinary racket. i heard quick steps, peg whinneyed, and something fell heavily against the back of the wagon. there was a violent scuffle on the ground, the sound of blows, and rapid breathing. with my heart jumping i peered out of one of the back windows. there was barely any light, but dimly i could see a tumbling mass which squirmed and writhed on the ground. something struck one of the rear wheels so that parnassus trembled. i heard hoarse swearing, and then the whole body, whatever it was, rolled off into the underbrush. there was a terrific crashing and snapping of twigs. bock whined, growled, and pawed madly at the door. and then complete silence. my nerves were quite shattered by this time. i don't think i had been so frightened since childhood days when i awakened from a nightmare. little trickles of fear crept up and down my spine and my scalp prickled. i pulled bock on the bunk, and lay with one hand on his collar. he, too, seemed agitated and sniffed gingerly now and then. finally, however, he gave a sigh and fell asleep. i judged it might have been two o'clock, but i did not like to strike a light. and at last i fell into a doze. when i woke the sun was shining brilliantly and the air was full of the chirping of birds. i felt stiff and uneasy from sleeping in my clothes, and my foot was numb from bock's weight. i got up and looked out of the window. parnassus was standing in a narrow lane by a grove of birch trees. the ground was muddy, and smeared with footprints behind the van. i opened the door and looked around. the first thing i saw, on the ground by one of the wheels, was a battered tweed cap. chapter nine my feelings were as mixed as a crushed nut sundae. so the professor hadn't gone to brooklyn after all! what did he mean by prowling after me like a sleuth? was it just homesickness for parnassus? not likely! and then the horrible noises i had heard in the night; had some tramp been hanging about the van in the hope of robbing me? had the tramp attacked mifflin? or had mifflin attacked the tramp? who had got the better of it? i picked up the muddy cap and threw it into the van. anyway, i had problems of my own to tackle, and those of the professor could wait. peg whinneyed when she saw me. i examined her foot. seeing it by daylight the trouble was not hard to diagnose. a long, jagged piece of slate was wedged in the frog of the foot. i easily wrenched it out, heated some water, and gave the hoof another sponging. it would be all right when shod once more. but where was the shoe? i gave the horse some oats, cooked an egg and a cup of coffee for myself at the little kerosene stove, and broke up a dog biscuit for bock. i marvelled once more at the completeness of parnassus' furnishings. bock helped me to scour the pan. he sniffed eagerly at the cap when i showed it to him, and wagged his tail. it seemed to me that the only thing i could do was to leave parnassus and the animals where they were and retrace my steps as far as the pratt farm. undoubtedly mr. pratt would be glad to sell me a horse-shoe and send his hired man to do the job for me. i could not drive peg as she was, with a sore foot and without a shoe. i judged parnassus would be quite safe: the lane seemed to be a lonely one leading to a deserted quarry. i tied bock to the steps to act as a guard, took my purse and the professor's cap with me, locked the door of the van, and set off along the back track. bock whined and tugged violently when he saw me disappearing, but i could see no other course. the lane rejoined the main road about half a mile back. i must have been asleep or i could never have made the mistake of turning off. i don't see why peg should have made the turn, unless her foot hurt and she judged the side track would be a good place to rest. she must have been well used to stopping overnight in the open. i strode along pondering over my adventures, and resolved to buy a pistol when i got to woodbridge. i remember thinking that i could write quite a book now myself. already i began to feel quite a hardened pioneer. it doesn't take an adaptable person long to accustom one's self to a new way of life, and the humdrum routine of the farm certainly looked prosy compared to voyaging with parnassus. when i had got beyond woodbridge, and had crossed the river, i would begin to sell books in earnest. also i would buy a notebook and jot down my experiences. i had heard of bookselling as a profession for women, but i thought that my taste of it was probably unique. i might even write a book that would rival andrew's--yes, and mifflin's. and that brought my thoughts to barbarossa again. of all extraordinary people, i thought, he certainly takes the cake--and then, rounding a bend, i saw him sitting on a rail fence, with his head shining in the sunlight. my heart gave a sort of jump. i do believe i was getting fond of the professor. he was examining something which he held in his hand. "you'll get sunstroke," i said. "here's your cap." and i pulled it out of my pocket and tossed it to him. "thanks," he said, as cool as you please. "and here's your horse-shoe. fair exchange!" i burst out laughing, and he looked disconcerted, as i hoped he would. "i thought you'd be in brooklyn by now," i said, "at abingdon avenue, laying out chapter one. what do you mean by following me this way? you nearly frightened me to death last night. i felt like one of fenimore cooper's heroines, shut up in the blockhouse while the redskins prowled about." he flushed and looked very uncomfortable. "i owe you an apology," he said. "i certainly never intended that you should see me. i bought a ticket for new york and checked my bag through. and then while i was waiting for the train it came over me that your brother was right, and that it was a darned risky thing for you to go jaunting about alone in parnassus. i was afraid something might happen. i followed along the road behind you, keeping well out of sight." "where were you while i was at pratt's?" "sitting not far down the road eating bread and cheese," he said. "also i wrote a poem, a thing i very rarely do." "well, i hope your ears burned," i said, "for those pratts have certainly raised you to the peerage." he got more uncomfortable than ever. "well," he said, "i dare say it was all an error, but anyway i _did_ follow you. when you turned off into that lane, i kept pretty close behind you. as it happens, i know this bit of country, and there are very often some hoboes hanging around the old quarry up that lane. they have a cave there where they go into winter quarters. i was afraid some of them might bother you. you could hardly have chosen a worse place to camp out. by the bones of george eliot, pratt ought to have warned you. i can't conceive why you didn't stop at his house overnight anyway." "if you must know, i got weary of hearing them sing your praises." i could see that he was beginning to get nettled. "i regret having alarmed you," he said. "i see that peg has dropped a shoe. if you'll let me fix it for you, after that i won't bother you." we turned back again along the road, and i noticed the right side of his face for the first time. under the ear was a large livid bruise. "that hobo, or whoever he was," i said, "must have been a better fighter than andrew. i see he landed on your cheek. are you always fighting?" his annoyance disappeared. apparently the professor enjoyed a fight almost as much as he did a good book. "please don't regard the last twenty-four hours as typical of me," he said with a chuckle. "i am so unused to being a squire of dames that perhaps i take the responsibilities too seriously." "did you sleep at all last night?" i asked. i think i began to realize for the first time that the gallant little creature had been out all night in a drizzling rain, simply to guard me from possible annoyance; and i had been unforgivably churlish about it. "i found a very fine haystack in a field overlooking the quarry. i crawled into the middle of it. a haystack is sometimes more comfortable than a boarding-house." "well," i said penitently, "i can never forgive myself for the trouble i've caused you. it was awfully good of you to do what you did. please put your cap on and don't catch cold." we walked for several minutes in silence. i watched him out of the corner of my eye. i was afraid he might have caught his death of cold from being out all night in the wet, to say nothing of the scuffle he had had with the tramp; but he really looked as chipper as ever. "how do you like the wild life of a bookseller?" he said. "you must read george borrow. he would have enjoyed parnassus." "i was just thinking, when i met you, that i could write a book about my adventures." "good!" he said. "we might collaborate." "there's another thing we might collaborate on," i said, "and that's breakfast. i'm sure you haven't had any." "no," he said, "i don't think i have. i never lie when i know i shan't be believed." "i haven't had any, either," i said. i thought that to tell an untruth would be the least thing i could do to reward the little man for his unselfishness. "well," he said, "i really thought that by this time--" he broke off. "was that bock barking?" he asked sharply. we had been walking slowly, and had not yet reached the spot where the lane branched from the main road. we were still about three quarters of a mile from the place where i had camped overnight. we both listened carefully, but i could hear nothing but the singing of the telephone wires along the road. "no matter," he said. "i thought i heard a dog." but i noticed that he quickened his pace. "i was saying," he continued, "that i had really thought to have lost parnassus for good by this morning, but i'm tickled to death to have a chance to see her again. i hope she'll be as good a friend to you as she has been to me. i suppose you'll sell her when you return to the sage?" "i don't know i'm sure," i said. "i must confess i'm still a little at sea. my desire for an adventure seems to have let me in deeper than i expected. i begin to see that there's more in this bookselling game than i thought. honestly, it's getting into my blood." "well, that's fine," he said heartily. "i couldn't have left parnassus in better hands. you must let me know what you do with her, and then perhaps, when i've finished my book, i can buy her back." we struck off into the lane. the ground was slippery under the trees and we went single file, mifflin in front. i looked at my watch--it was nine o'clock, just an hour since i had left the van. as we neared the spot mifflin kept looking ahead through the birch trees in a queer way. "what's the matter?" i said. "we're almost there, aren't we?" "we _are_ there," he said. "here's the place." parnassus was gone! chapter ten we stood in complete dismay--i did, at any rate--for about as long as it takes to peel a potato. there could be no doubt in which direction the van had moved, for the track of the wheels was plain. it had gone farther up the lane toward the quarry. in the earth, which was still soggy, were a number of footprints. "by the bones of polycarp!" exclaimed the professor, "those hoboes have stolen the van. i guess they think it'll make a fine pullman sleeper for them. if i'd realized there was more than one of them i'd have hung around closer. they need a lesson." good lord! i thought, here's don quixote about to wade into another fight. "hadn't we better go back and get mr. pratt?" i asked. this was obviously the wrong thing to say. it put the fiery little man all the more on his mettle. his beard bristled. "nothing of the sort!" he said. "those fellows are cowards and vagabonds anyway. they can't be far off; you haven't been away more than an hour, have you? if they've done anything to bock, by the bones of chaucer, i'll harry them. i _thought_ i heard him bark." he hurried up the lane, and i followed in a panicky frame of mind. the track wound along a hillside, between a high bank and a forest of birch trees. i think the distance can't have been more than a quarter of a mile. anyway, in a very few minutes the road made a sharp twist to the right and we found ourselves looking down into the quarry, over a sheer rocky drop of a hundred feet at least. below, drawn over to one side of the wall of rock, stood parnassus. peg was between the shafts. bock was nowhere to be seen. sitting by the van were three disreputable looking men. the smoke of a cooking fire rose into the air; evidently they were making free with my little larder. "keep back," said the professor softly. "don't let them see us." he flattened himself in the grass and crawled to the edge of the cliff. i did the same, and we lay there, invisible from below, but quite able to see everything in the quarry. the three tramps were evidently enjoying an excellent breakfast. "this place is a regular hang-out for these fellows," mifflin whispered. "i've seen hoboes about here every year. they go into winter quarters about the end of october, usually. there's an old blasted-out section of this quarry that makes a sheltered dormitory for them, and as the place isn't worked any more they're not disturbed here so long as they don't make mischief in the neighbourhood. we'll give them...." "hands up!" said a rough voice behind us. i looked round. there was a fat, red-faced villainous-looking creature covering us with a shiny revolver. it was an awkward situation. both the professor and i were lying full length on the ground. we were quite helpless. "get up!" said the tramp in a husky, nasty voice. "i guess youse thought we wasn't covering our trail? well, we'll have to tie you up, i reckon, while we get away with this crystal pallis of yourn." i scrambled to my feet, but to my surprise the professor continued to lie at full length. "get up, deacon!" said the tramp again. "get up on them graceful limbs, _if_ you please." i guess he thought himself safe from attack by a woman. at any rate, he bent over as if to grab mifflin by the neck. i saw my chance and jumped on him from behind. i am heavy, as i have said, and he sprawled on the ground. my doubts as to the pistol being loaded were promptly dissolved, for it went off like a cannon. nobody was in front of it, however, and mifflin was on his feet like a flash. he had the ruffian by the throat and kicked the weapon out of his hand. i ran to seize it. "you son of satan!" said the valiant redbeard. "thought you could bully us, did you? miss mcgill, you were as quick as joan of arc. hand me the pistol, please." i gave it to him, and he shoved it under the hobo's nose. "now," he said, "take off that rag around your neck." the rag was an old red handkerchief, inconceivably soiled. the tramp removed it, grumbling and whining. mifflin gave me the pistol to hold while he tied our prisoner's wrists together. in the meantime we heard a shout from the quarry. the three vagabonds were gazing up in great excitement. "you tell those fashion plates down there," said mifflin, as he knotted the tramp's hands together, "that if they make any fight i'll shoot them like crows." his voice was cold and savage and he seemed quite master of the situation, but i must confess i wondered how we could handle four of them. the greasy ruffian shouted down to his pals in the quarry, but i did not hear what he said, as just then the professor asked me to keep our captive covered while he got a stick. i stood with the pistol pointed at his head while mifflin ran back into the birchwood to cut a cudgel. the tramp's face became the colour of the under side of a fried egg as he looked into the muzzle of his own gun. "say, lady," he pleaded, "that gun goes off awful easy, point her somewhere else or you'll croak me by mistake." i thought a good scare wouldn't do him any harm and kept the barrel steadily on him. the rascals down below seemed debating what to do. i don't know whether they were armed or not; but probably they imagined that there were more than two of us. at all events, by the time mifflin came back with a stout birch staff they were hustling out of the quarry on the lower side. the professor swore, and looked as if he would gladly give chase, but he refrained. "here, you," he said in crisp tones to the tramp, "march on ahead of us, down to the quarry." the fat ruffian shambled awkwardly down the trail. we had to make quite a detour to get into the quarry, and by the time we reached there the other three tramps had got clean away. i was not sorry, to tell the truth. i thought the professor had had enough scrapping for one twenty-four hours. peg whinneyed loudly as she saw us coming, but bock was not in sight. "what have you done with the dog, you swine?" said mifflin. "if you've hurt him i'll make you pay with your own hide." our prisoner was completely cowed. "no, boss, we ain't hurt the dog," he fawned. "we tied him up so he couldn't bark, that's all. he's in the 'bus." and sure enough, by this time we could hear smothered yelping and whining from parnassus. i hurried to open the door, and there was bock, his jaws tied together with a rope-end. he bounded out and made super-canine efforts to express his joy at seeing the professor again. he paid very little attention to me. "well," said mifflin, after freeing the dog's muzzle, and with difficulty restraining him from burying his teeth in the tramp's shin, "what shall we do with this heroic specimen of manhood? shall we cart him over to the jail in port vigor, or shall we let him go?" the tramp burst into a whining appeal that was almost funny, it was so abject. the professor cut it short. "i ought to pack you into quod," he said. "are you the phoebus apollo i scuffled with down the lane last night? was it you skulking around this wagon then?" "no, boss, that was splitlip sam, honest to gawd it was. he come back, boss; said he'd been fightin' with a cat-o'-mountain! say, boss, you sure hit him hard. one of his lamps is a pudding! boss, i'll swear i ain't had nothin' to do with it." "i don't like your society," said the professor, "and i'm going to turn you loose. i'm going to count ten, and if you're not out of this quarry by then, i'll shoot. and if i see you again i'll skin you alive. now get out!" he cut the knotted handkerchief in two. the hobo needed no urging. he spun on his heel and fled like a rabbit. the professor watched him go, and as the fat, ungainly figure burst through a hedge and disappeared he fired the revolver into the air to frighten him still more. then he tossed the weapon into the pool near by. "well, miss mcgill," he said with a chuckle, "if you like to undertake breakfast, i'll fix up peg." and he drew the horse-shoe from his pocket once more. a brief inspection of parnassus satisfied me that the thieves had not had time to do any real damage. they had got out most of the eatables and spread them on a flat rock in preparation for a feast; and they had tracked a good deal of mud into the van; but otherwise i could see nothing amiss. so while mifflin busied himself with peg's foot it was easy for me to get a meal under way. i found a gush of clean water trickling down the face of the rock. there were still some eggs and bread and cheese in the little cupboard, and an unopened tin of condensed milk. i gave peg her nose bag of oats, and fed bock, who was frisking about in high spirits. by that time the shoeing was done, and the professor and i sat down to an improvised meal. i was beginning to feel as if this gipsy existence were the normal course of my life. "well, professor," i said, as i handed him a cup of coffee and a plate of scrambled eggs and cheese, "for a man who slept in a wet haystack, you acquit yourself with excellent valour." "old parnassus is quite a stormy petrel," he said. "i used to think the chief difficulty in writing a book would be to invent things to happen, but if i were to sit down and write the adventures i'd had with her it would be a regular odyssey." "how about peg's foot?" i asked. "can she travel on it?" "it'll be all right if you go easy. i've scraped out the injured part and put the shoe back. i keep a little kit of tools under the van for emergencies of all sorts." it was chilly, and we didn't dawdle over our meal. i only made a feint of eating, as i had had a little breakfast before, and also as the events of the last few hours had left me rather restless. i wanted to get parnassus out on the highway again, to jog along in the sun and think things over. the quarry was a desolate, forbidding place anyway. but before we left we explored the cave where the tramps had been preparing to make themselves comfortable for the winter. it was not really a cave, but only a shaft into the granite cliff. a screen of evergreen boughs protected the opening against the weather, and inside were piles of sacking that had evidently been used as beds, and many old grocery boxes for tables and chairs. it amused me to notice a cracked fragment of mirror balanced on a corner of rock. even these ragamuffins apparently were not totally unconscious of personal appearance. i seized the opportunity, while the professor was giving peg's foot a final look, to rearrange my hair, which was emphatically a sight. i hardly think andrew would have recognized me that morning. we led peg up the steep incline, back into the lane where i had strayed, and at length we reached the main road again. here i began to lay down the law to redbeard. "now look here, professor," i said, "i'm not going to have you tramp all the way back to port vigor. after the night you've had you need a rest. you just climb into that parnassus and lie down for a good snooze. i'll drive you into woodbridge and you can take your train there. now you get right into that bunk. i'll sit out here and drive." he demurred, but without much emphasis. i think the little fool was just about fagged out, and no wonder. i was a trifle groggy myself. in the end he was quite docile. he climbed into the van, took off his boots, and lay down under a blanket. bock followed him, and i think they both fell asleep on the instant. i got on the front seat and took the reins. i didn't let peg go more quickly than a walk as i wanted to spare her sore foot. my, what a morning that was after the rain! the road ran pretty close to the shore, and every now and then i could catch a glimpse of the water. the air was keen--not just the ordinary, unnoticed air that we breathe in and out and don't think about, but a sharp and tingling essence, as strong in the nostrils as camphor or ammonia. the sun seemed focussed upon parnassus, and we moved along the white road in a flush of golden light. the flat fronds of the cedars swayed gently in the salty air, and for the first time in ten years, i should think, i began amusing myself by selecting words to describe the goodness of the morning. i even imagined myself writing a description of it, as if i were andrew or thoreau. the crazy little professor had inoculated me with his literary bug, i guess. and then i did a dishonourable thing. just by chance i put my hand into the little pocket beside the seat where mifflin kept a few odds and ends. i meant to have another look at that card of his with the poem on it. and there i found a funny, battered little notebook, evidently forgotten. on the cover was written, in ink, "thoughts on the present discontents." that title seemed vaguely familiar. i seemed to recall something of the kind from my school days--more than twenty years ago, goodness me! of course if i had been honourable i wouldn't have looked into it. but in a kind of quibbling self-justification i recalled that i had bought parnassus and all it contained, "lock, stock, barrel and bung" as andrew used to say. and so.... the notebook was full of little jottings, written in pencil in the professor's small, precise hand. the words were rubbed and soiled, but plainly legible. i read this: i don't suppose bock or peg get lonely, but by the bones of ben gunn, i do. seems silly when herrick and hans andersen and tennyson and thoreau and a whole wagonload of other good fellows are riding at my back. i can hear them all talking as we trundle along. but books aren't a _substantial_ world after all, and every now and then we get hungry for some closer, more human relationships. i've been totally alone now for eight years--except for runt, and he might be dead and never say so. this wandering about is fine in its way, but it must come to an end some day. a man needs to put down a root somewhere to be really happy. what absurd victims of contrary desires we are! if a man is settled in one place he yearns to wander; when he wanders he yearns to have a home. and yet how bestial is content--all the great things in life are done by discontented people. there are three ingredients in the good life: learning, earning, and yearning. a man should be learning as he goes; and he should be earning bread for himself and others; and he should be yearning, too: yearning to know the unknowable. what a fine old poem is "the pulley" by george herbert! those elizabethan fellows knew how to write! they were marred perhaps by their idea that poems must be "witty." (remember how bacon said that reading poets makes one witty? there he gave a clue to the literature of his time.) their fantastic puns and conceits are rather out of our fashion nowadays. but lord! the root of the matter was in them! how gallantly, how reverently, they tackle the problems of life! when god at first made man (says george herbert) he had a "glass of blessings standing by." so he pours on man all the blessings in his reservoir: strength, beauty, wisdom, honour, pleasure--and then he refrains from giving him the last of them, which is rest, i.e., contentment. god sees that if man is contented he will never win his way to him. let man be restless, so that "if goodness lead him not, yet weariness may toss him to my breast." some day i shall write a novel on that theme, and call it "the pulley." in this tragic, restless world there must be some place where at last we can lay our heads and be at rest. some people call it death. some call it god. my ideal of a man is not the omar who wants to shatter into bits this sorry scheme of things, and then remould it nearer to the heart's desire. old omar was a coward, with his silk pajamas and his glass of wine. the real man is george herbert's "seasoned timber"--the fellow who does handily and well whatever comes to him. even if it's only shovelling coal into a furnace he can balance the shovel neatly, swing the coal square on the fire and not spill it on the floor. if it's only splitting kindling or running a trolley car he can make a good, artistic job of it. if it's only writing a book or peeling potatoes he can put into it the best he has. even if he's only a bald-headed old fool over forty selling books on a country road, he can make an ideal of it. good old parnassus! it's a great game.... i think i'll have to give her up soon, though: i must get that book of mine written. but parnassus has been a true glass of blessings to me. there was much more in the notebook; indeed it was half full of jotted paragraphs, memoranda, and scraps of writing--poems i believe some of them were--but i had seen enough. it seemed as if i had stumbled unawares on the pathetic, brave, and lonely heart of the little man. i'm a commonplace creature, i'm afraid, insensible to many of the deeper things in life, but every now and then, like all of us, i come face to face with something that thrills me. i saw how this little, red-bearded pedlar was like a cake of yeast in the big, heavy dough of humanity: how he travelled about trying to fulfil in his own way his ideals of beauty. i felt almost motherly toward him: i wanted to tell him that i understood him. and in a way i felt ashamed of having run away from my own homely tasks, my kitchen and my hen yard and dear old, hot-tempered, absent-minded andrew. i fell into a sober mood. as soon as i was alone, i thought, i would sell parnassus and hurry back to the farm. that was my job, that was my glass of blessings. what was i doing--a fat, middle-aged woman--trapesing along the roads with a cartload of books i didn't understand? i slipped the little notebook back into its hiding-place. i would have died rather than let the professor know i had seen it. chapter eleven we were coming into woodbridge; and i was just wondering whether to wake the professor when the little window behind me slid back and he stuck his head out. "hello!" he said. "i think i must have been asleep!" "well, i should hope so," i said. "you needed it." indeed he looked much better, and i was relieved to see it. i had been really afraid he would be ill after sleeping out all night, but i guess he was tougher than i thought. he joined me on the seat, and we drove into the town. while he went to the station to ask about the trains i had a fine time selling books. i was away from the locality where i was known, and had no shyness in attempting to imitate mifflin's methods. i even went him one better by going into a hardware store where i bought a large dinner bell. this i rang lustily until a crowd gathered, then i put up the flaps and displayed my books. as a matter of fact, i sold only one, but i enjoyed myself none the less. by and by mifflin reappeared. i think he had been to a barber: at any rate he looked very spry: he had bought a clean collar and a flowing tie of a bright electric blue which really suited him rather well. "well," he said, "the sage is going to get back at me for that punch on the nose! i've been to the bank to cash your check. they telephoned over to redfield, and apparently your brother has stopped payment on it. it's rather awkward: they seem to think i'm a crook." i was furious. what right had andrew to do that? "the brute!" i said. "what on earth shall i do?" "i suggest that you telephone to the redfield bank," he said, "and countermand your brother's instructions--that is, unless you think you've made a mistake? i don't want to take advantage of you." "nonsense!" i said. "i'm not going to let andrew spoil my holiday. that's always his way: if he gets an idea into his head he's like a mule. i'll telephone to redfield, and then we'll go to see the bank here." we put parnassus up at the hotel, and i went to the telephone. i was thoroughly angry at andrew, and tried to get him on the wire first. but sabine farm didn't answer. then i telephoned to the bank in redfield, and got mr. shirley. he's the cashier, and i know him well. i guess he recognized my voice, for he made no objection when i told him what i wanted. "now you telephone to the bank in woodbridge," i said, "and tell them to let mr. mifflin have the money. i'll go there with him to identify him. will that be all right?" "perfectly," he said. the deceitful little snail! if i had only known what he was concocting! mifflin said there was a train at three o'clock which he could take. we stopped at a little lunch room for a bite to eat, then he went again to the bank, and i with him. we asked the cashier whether they had had a message from redfield. "yes," he said. "we've just heard." and he looked at me rather queerly. "are you miss mcgill?" he said. "i am," i said. "will you just step this way a moment?" he asked politely. he led me into a little sitting-room and asked me to sit down. i supposed that he was going to get some paper for me to sign, so i waited quite patiently for several minutes. i had left the professor at the cashier's window, where they would give him his money. i waited some time, and finally i got tired of looking at the life insurance calendars. then i happened to glance out of the window. surely that was the professor, just disappearing round the corner with another man? i returned to the cashier's desk. "what's the matter?" i said. "your mahogany furniture is charming, but i'm tired of it. do i have to sit here any longer? and where's mr. mifflin? did he get his money?" the cashier was a horrid little creature with side whiskers. "i'm sorry you had to wait, madam," he said. "the transaction is just concluded. we gave mr. mifflin what was due him. there is no need for you to stay longer." i thought this was very extraordinary. surely the professor would not leave without saying good-bye? however, i noticed that the clock said three minutes to three, so i thought that perhaps he had had to run to catch his train. he was such a strange little man, anyway.... well, i went back to the hotel, quite a little upset by this sudden parting. at least i was glad the little man had got his money all right. probably he would write from brooklyn, but of course i wouldn't get the letter till i returned to the farm as that was the only address he would have. perhaps that wouldn't be so long after all: but i did not feel like going back now, when andrew had been so horrid. i drove parnassus on the ferry, and we crossed the river. i felt lost and disagreeable. even the fresh movement through the air gave me no pleasure. bock whined dismally inside the van. it didn't take me long to discover that parnassing all alone had lost some of its charms. i missed the professor: missed his abrupt, direct way of saying things, and his whimsical wit. and i was annoyed by his skipping off without a word of good-bye. it didn't seem natural. i partially appeased my irritation by stopping at a farmhouse on the other side of the river and selling a cook book. then i started along the road for bath--about five miles farther on. peg's foot didn't seem to bother her so i thought it would be safe to travel that far before stopping for the night. counting up the days (with some difficulty: it seemed as though i had been away from home a month), i remembered that this was saturday night. i thought i would stay in bath over sunday and get a good rest. we jogged sedately along the road, and i got out a copy of "vanity fair." i was so absorbed in becky sharp that i wouldn't even interrupt myself to sell books at the houses we passed. i think reading a good book makes one modest. when you see the marvellous insight into human nature which a truly great book shows, it is bound to make you feel small--like looking at the dipper on a clear night, or seeing the winter sunrise when you go out to collect the morning eggs. and anything that makes you feel small is mighty good for you. "what do you mean by a great book?" said the professor--i mean, i imagined him saying it. it seemed to me as if i could see him sitting there, with his corncob pipe in his hand and that quizzical little face of his looking sharply at me. somehow, talking with the professor had made me think. he was as good as one of those scranton correspondence courses, i do believe, and no money to pay for postage. well, i said to the professor--to myself i mean--let's see: what _is_ a good book? i don't mean books like henry james's (he's andrew's great idol. it always seemed to me that he had a kind of rush of words to the head and never stopped to sort them out properly). a good book ought to have something simple about it. and, like eve, it ought to come from somewhere near the third rib: there ought to be a heart beating in it. a story that's all forehead doesn't amount to much. anyway, it'll never get over at a dorcas meeting. that was the trouble with henry james. andrew talked so much about him that i took one of his books to read aloud at our sewing circle over at redfield. well, after one try we had to fall back on "pollyanna." i haven't been doing chores and running a farmhouse for fifteen years without getting some ideas about life--and even about books. i wouldn't set my lit'ry views up against yours, professor (i was still talking to mifflin in my mind), no, nor even against andrew's--but as i say, i've got some ideas of my own. i've learned that honest work counts in writing books just as much as it does in washing dishes. i guess andrew's books must be some good after all because he surely does mull over them without end. i can forgive his being a shiftless farmer so long as he really does his literary chores up to the hilt. a man can be slack in everything else, if he does one thing as well as he possibly can. and i guess it won't matter my being an ignoramus in literature so long as i'm rated a- in the kitchen. that's what i used to think as i polished and scoured and scrubbed and dusted and swept and then set about getting dinner. if i ever sat down to read for ten minutes the cat would get into the custard. no woman in the country sits down for fifteen consecutive minutes between sunrise and sunset, anyway, unless she has half a dozen servants. and nobody knows anything about literature unless he spends most of his life sitting down. so there you are. the cultivation of philosophic reflection was a new experience for me. peg ambled along contentedly and the dog trailed under parnassus where i had tied him. i read "vanity fair" and thought about all sorts of things. once i got out to pick some scarlet maple leaves that attracted me. the motors passing annoyed me with their dust and noise, but by and by one of them stopped, looked at my outfit curiously, and then asked to see some books. i put up the flaps for them and we pulled off to one side of the road and had a good talk. they bought two or three books, too. by the time i neared bath the hands of my watch pointed to supper. i was still a bit shy of mifflin's scheme of stopping overnight at farmhouses, so i thought i'd go right into the town and look for a hotel. the next day was sunday, so it seemed reasonable to give the horse a good rest and stay in bath two nights. the hominy house looked clean and old-fashioned, and the name amused me, so in i went. it was a kind of high-class boarding-house, with mostly old women around. it looked to me almost literary and elbert hubbardish compared to the grand central in shelby. the folks there stared at me somewhat suspiciously and i half thought they were going to say they didn't take pedlars; but when i flashed a new five-dollar bill at the desk i got good service. a five-dollar bill is a patent of nobility in new england. my! how i enjoyed that creamed chicken on toast, and buckwheat cakes with syrup! after you get used to cooking all your own grub, a meal off some one else's stove is the finest kind of treat. after supper i was all prepared to sit out on the porch with my sweater on and give a rocking chair a hot box, but then i remembered that it was up to me to carry on the traditions of parnassus. i was there to spread the gospel of good books. i got to thinking how the professor never shirked carrying on his campaign, and i determined that i would be worthy of the cause. when i think back about the experience, it seems pretty crazy, but at the time i was filled with a kind of evangelistic zeal. i thought if i was going to try to sell books i might as well have some fun out of it. most of the old ladies were squatting about in the parlour, knitting or reading or playing cards. in the smoking-room i could see two dried-up men. mrs. hominy, the manager of the place, was sitting at her desk behind a brass railing, going over accounts with a quill pen. i thought that the house probably hadn't had a shock since walt whitman wrote "leaves of grass." in a kind of do-or-die spirit i determined to give them a rouse. in the dining-room i had noticed a huge dinner bell that stood behind the door. i stepped in there, and got it. standing in the big hall i began ringing it as hard as i could shake my arm. you might have thought it was a fire alarm. mrs. hominy dropped her pen in horror. the colonial dames in the parlour came to life and ran into the hall like cockroaches. in a minute i had gathered quite a respectable audience. it was up to me to do the spellbinding. "friends," i said (unconsciously imitating the professor's tricks of the trade, i guess), "this bell which generally summons you to the groaning board now calls you to a literary repast. with the permission of the management, and with apologies for disturbing your tranquillity, i will deliver a few remarks on the value of good books. i see that several of you are fond of reading, so perhaps the topic will be congenial?" they gazed at me about as warmly as a round of walnut sundaes. "ladies and gentlemen," i continued, "of course you remember the story of abe lincoln when he said, 'if you call a leg a tail, how many tails has a dog?' 'five,' you answer. wrong; because, as mr. lincoln said, calling a leg a tail...." i still think it was a good beginning. but that was as far as i got. mrs. hominy came out of her trance, hastened from the cage, and grabbed my arm. she was quite red with anger. "really!" she said. "well, really!... i must ask you to continue this in some other place. we do not allow commercial travellers in this house." and within fifteen minutes they had hitched up peg and asked me to move on. indeed i was so taken aback by my own zeal that i could hardly protest. in a kind of daze i found myself at the moose hotel, where they assured me that they catered to mercantile people. i went straight to my room and fell asleep as soon as i reached the straw mattress. that was my first and only public speech. chapter twelve the next day was sunday, october sixth. i well remember the date. i woke up as chipper as any robert w. chambers heroine. all my doubts and depressions of the evening before had fled, and i was single-heartedly delighted with the world and everything in it. the hotel was a poor place, but it would have taken more than that to mar my composure. i had a bitterly cold bath in a real country tin tub, and then eggs and pancakes for breakfast. at the table was a drummer who sold lightning rods, and several other travelling salesmen. i'm afraid my conversation was consciously modelled along the line of what the professor would have said if he had been there, but at any rate i got along swimmingly. the travelling men, after a moment or two of embarrassed diffidence, treated me quite as one of themselves and asked me about my "line" with interest. i described what i was doing and they all said they envied me my freedom to come and go independently of trains. we talked cheerfully for a long time, and almost without intending to, i started preaching about books. in the end they insisted on my showing them parnassus. we all went out to the stable, where the van was quartered, and they browsed over the shelves. before i knew it i had sold five dollars' worth, although i had decided not to do any business at all on sunday. but i couldn't refuse to sell them the stuff as they all seemed so keen on getting something really good to read. one man kept on talking about harold bell wright, but i had to admit that i hadn't heard of him. evidently the professor hadn't stocked any of his works. i was tickled to see that after all little redbeard didn't know _everything_ about literature. after that i debated whether to go to church or to write letters. finally i decided in favour of the letters. first i tackled andrew. i wrote: the moose hotel, bath, sunday morning. dear andrew: it seems absurd to think that it's only three days since i left sabine farm. honestly, more has happened to me in these three days than in three years at home. i'm sorry that you and mr. mifflin disagreed but i quite understood your feelings. but i'm very angry that you should have tried to stop that check i gave him. it was none of your business, andrew. i telephoned mr. shirley and made him send word to the bank in woodbridge to give mifflin the money. mr. mifflin did not swindle me into buying parnassus. i did it of my own free will. if you want to know the truth, it was your fault! i bought it because i was scared _you_ would if i didn't. and i didn't want to be left all alone on the farm from now till thanksgiving while you went off on another trip. so i decided to do the thing myself. i thought i'd see how you would like being left all alone to run the house. i thought it'd be pretty nice for me to get things off my mind a while and have an adventure of my own. now, andrew, here are some directions for you: . don't forget to feed the chickens twice a day, and collect _all_ the eggs. there's a nest behind the wood pile, and some of the wyandottes have been laying under the ice house. . don't let rosie touch grandmother's blue china, because she'll break it as sure as fate if she lays her big, thick swedish fingers on it. . don't forget your warmer underwear. the nights are getting chilly. . i forgot to put the cover on the sewing machine. please do that for me or it'll get all dusty. . don't let the cat run loose in the house at night: he always breaks something. . send your socks and anything else that needs darning over to mrs. mcnally, she can do it for you. . don't forget to feed the pigs. . don't forget to mend the weathervane on the barn. . don't forget to send that barrel of apples over to the cider mill or you won't have any cider to drink when mr. decameron comes up to see us later in the fall. . just to make ten commandments, i'll add one more: you might 'phone to mrs. collins that the dorcas will have to meet at some one else's house next week, because i don't know just when i'll get back. i may be away a fortnight more. this is my first holiday in a long time and i'm going to chew it before i swallow it. the professor (mr. mifflin, i mean) has gone back to brooklyn to work on his book. i'm sorry you and he had to mix it up on the high road like a couple of hooligans. he's a nice little man and you'd like him if you got to know him. i'm spending sunday in bath: to-morrow i'm going on toward hastings. i've sold five dollars' worth of books this morning even if it is sunday. your affte sister helen mcgill. p.s. don't forget to clean the separator after using it, or it'll get in a fearful state. after writing to andrew i thought i would send a message to the professor. i had already written him a long letter in my mind, but somehow when i began putting it on paper a sort of awkwardness came over me. i didn't know just how to begin. i thought how much more fun it would be if he were there himself and i could listen to him talk. and then, while i was writing the first few sentences, some of the drummers came back into the room. "thought you'd like to see a sunday paper," said one of them. i picked up the newspaper with a word of thanks and ran an eye over the headlines. the ugly black letters stood up before me, and my heart gave a great contraction. i felt my fingertips turn cold. disastrous wreck on the shore line express runs into open switch -- ten lives lost, and more than a score injured -- failure of block signals the letters seemed to stand up before me as large as a malted milk signboard. with a shuddering apprehension i read the details. apparently the express that left providence at four o'clock on saturday afternoon had crashed into an open siding near willdon about six o'clock, and collided with a string of freight empties. the baggage car had been demolished and the smoker had turned over and gone down an embankment. there were ten men killed... my head swam. was that the train the professor had taken? let me see. he left woodbridge on a local train at three. he had said the day before that the express left port vigor at five.... if he had changed to the express..... in a kind of fascinated horror my eye caught the list of the dead. i ran down the names. thank god, no, mifflin was not among them. then i saw the last entry: unidentified man, middle-aged. what if that should be the professor? and i suddenly felt dizzy, and for the first time in my life i fainted. thank goodness, no one else was in the room. the drummers had gone outside again, and no one heard me flop off the chair. i came to in a moment, my heart whirling like a spinning top. at first i did not realize what was wrong. then my eye fell on the newspaper again. feverishly i re-read the account, and the names of the injured, too, which i had missed before. nowhere was there a name i knew. but the tragic words "unidentified man" danced before my eyes. oh! if it were the professor.... in a wave the truth burst upon me. i loved that little man: i loved him, i loved him. he had brought something new into my life, and his brave, quaint ways had warmed my fat old heart. for the first time, in an intolerable gush of pain, i seemed to know that my life could never again be endurable without him. and now--what was i to do? how could i learn the truth? certainly if he _had_ been on the train, and had escaped from the wreck unhurt, he would have sent a message to sabine farm to let me know. at any rate, that was a possibility. i rushed to the telephone to call up andrew. oh! the agonizing slowness of telephone connections when urgent hurry is needed! my voice shook as i said "redfield j" to the operator. throbbing with nervousness i waited to hear the familiar click of the receiver at the other end. i could hear the redfield switchboard receive the call, and put in the plug to connect with our wire. in imagination i could see the telephone against the wall in the old hallway at sabine farm. i could see the soiled patch of plaster where andrew rests his elbow when he talks into the 'phone, and the place where he jots numbers down in pencil and i rub them off with bread crumbs. i could see andrew coming out of the sitting-room to answer the bell. and then the operator said carelessly, "doesn't answer." my forehead was wet as i came out of the booth. i hope i may never have to re-live the horrors of the next hour. in spite of my bluff and hearty ways, in times of trouble i am as reticent as a clam. i was determined to hide my agony and anxiety from the well-meaning people of the moose hotel. i hurried to the railway station to send a telegram to the professor's address in brooklyn, but found the place closed. a boy told me it would not be open until the afternoon. from a drugstore i called "information" in willdon, and finally got connected with some undertaker to whom the willdon operator referred me. a horrible, condoling voice (have you ever talked to an undertaker over the telephone?) answered me that no one by the name of mifflin had been among the dead, but admitted that there was one body still unidentified. he used one ghastly word that made me shudder--unrecognizable. i rang off. i knew then for the first time the horror of loneliness. i thought of the poor little man's notebook that i had seen. i thought of his fearless and lovable ways--of his pathetic little tweed cap, of the missing button of his jacket, of the bungling darns on his frayed sleeve. it seemed to me that heaven could mean nothing more than to roll creaking along country roads, in parnassus, with the professor beside me on the seat. what if i had known him only--how long was it? he had brought the splendour of an ideal into my humdrum life. and now--had i lost it forever? andrew and the farm seemed faint and far away. i was a homely old woman, mortally lonely and helpless. in my perplexity i walked to the outskirts of the village and burst into tears. finally i got a grip on myself again. i am not ashamed to say that i now admitted frankly what i had been hiding from myself. i was in love--in love with a little, red-bearded bookseller who seemed to me more splendid than sir galahad. and i vowed that if he would have me, i would follow him to the other end of nowhere. i walked back to the hotel. i thought i would make one more try to get andrew on the telephone. my whole soul quivered when at last i heard the receiver click. "hello?" said andrew's voice. "oh, andrew," i said, "this is helen." "where are you?" (his voice sounded cross.) "andrew, is there any--any message from mr. mifflin? that wreck yesterday--he might have been on that train--i've been so frightened; do you think he was--hurt?" "stuff and nonsense," said andrew. "if you want to know about mifflin, he's in jail in port vigor." and then i think andrew must have been surprised. i began to laugh and cry simultaneously, and in my agitation i set down the receiver. chapter thirteen my first impulse was to hide myself in some obscure corner where i could vent my feelings without fear or favour. i composed my face as well as i could before leaving the 'phone booth; then i sidled across the lobby and slipped out of the side door. i found my way into the stable, where good old peg was munching in her stall. the fine, homely smell of horseflesh and long-worn harness leather went right to my heart, and while bock frisked at my knees i laid my head on peg's neck and cried. i think that fat old mare understood me. she was as tubby and prosaic and middle-aged as i--but she loved the professor. suddenly andrew's words echoed again in my mind. i had barely heeded them before, in the great joy of my relief, but now their significance came to me. "in jail." the professor in jail! that was the meaning of his strange disappearance at woodbridge. that little brute of a man shirley must have telephoned from redfield, and when the professor came to the woodbridge bank to cash that check they had arrested him. that was why they had shoved me into that mahogany sitting-room. andrew must be behind this. the besotted old fool! my face burned with anger and humiliation. i never knew before what it means to be really infuriated. i could feel my brain tingle. the professor in jail! the gallant, chivalrous little man, penned up with hoboes and sneak thieves suspected of being a crook... as if i couldn't take care of myself! what did they think he was, anyway? a kidnapper? instantly i decided i would hurry back to port vigor without delay. if andrew had had the professor locked up, it could only be on the charge of defrauding me. certainly it couldn't be for giving him a bloody nose on the road from shelby. and if i appeared to deny the charge, surely they would have to let mr. mifflin go. i believe i must have been talking to myself in peg's stall--at any rate, just at this moment the stableman appeared and looked very bewildered when he saw me, with flushed face and in obvious excitement, talking to the horse. i asked him when was the next train to port vigor. "well, ma'am," he said, "they say that all the local trains is held up till the wreck at willdon's cleared away. this being sunday, i don't think you'll get anything from here until to-morrow morning." i reflected. it wasn't so awfully far back to port vigor. a flivver from the local garage could spin me back there in a couple of hours at the most. but somehow it seemed more fitting to go to the professor's rescue in his own parnassus, even if it would take longer to get there. to tell the truth, while i was angry and humiliated at the thought of his being put in jail by andrew, i couldn't help, deep down within me, being rather thankful. suppose he had been in the wreck? the sage of redfield had played the part of providence after all. and if i set out right away with parnassus, i could get to port vigor--well, by monday morning anyway. the good people of the moose hotel were genuinely surprised at the hurry with which i dispatched my lunch. but i gave them no explanations. goodness knows, my head was full of other thoughts and the apple sauce might have been asbestos. you know, a woman only falls in love once in her life, and if it waits until she's darn near forty--well, it _takes!_ you see i hadn't even been vaccinated against it by girlish flirtations. i began to be a governess when i was just a kid, and a governess doesn't get many chances to be skittish. so now when it came, it hit me hard. that's when a woman finds herself--when she's in love. i don't care if she _is_ old or fat or homely or prosy. she feels that little flutter under her ribs and she drops from the tree like a ripe plum. i didn't care if roger mifflin and i were as odd a couple as old dr. johnson and his wife, i only knew one thing: that when i saw that little red devil again i was going to be all his--if he'd have me. that's why the old moose hotel in bath is always sacred to me. that's where i learned that life still held something fresh for me--something better than baking champlain biscuits for andrew. * * * * * * * * * that sunday was one of those mellow, golden days that we new englanders get in october. the year really begins in march, as every farmer knows, and by the end of september or the beginning of october the season has come to its perfect, ripened climax. there are a few days when the world seems to hang still in a dreaming, sweet hush, at the very fulness of the fruit before the decline sets in. i have no words (like andrew) to describe it, but every autumn for years i have noticed it. i remember that sometimes at the farm i used to lean over the wood pile for a moment just before supper to watch those purple october sunsets. i would hear the sharp ting of andrew's little typewriter bell as he was working in his study. and then i would try to swallow down within me the beauty and wistfulness of it all, and run back to mash the potatoes. peg drew parnassus along the backward road with a merry little rumble. i think she knew we were going back to the professor. bock careered mightily along the wayside. and i had much time for thinking. on the whole, i was glad; for i had much to ponder. an adventure that had started as a mere lark or whim had now become for me the very gist of life itself. i was fanciful, i guess, and as romantic as a young hen, but by the bones of george eliot, i'm sorry for the woman that never has a chance to be fanciful. mifflin was in jail; aye, but he might have been dead and--unrecognizable! my heart refused to be altogether sad. i was on my way to deliver him from durance vile. there seemed a kinship between the season and myself, i mused, seeing the goldenrod turning bronze and droopy along the way. here was i, in the full fruition of womanhood, on the verge of my decline into autumn, and lo! by the grace of god, i had found my man, my master. he had touched me with his own fire and courage. i didn't care what happened to andrew, or to sabine farm, or to anything else in the world. here were my hearth and my home--parnassus, or wherever roger should pitch his tent. i dreamed of crossing the brooklyn bridge with him at dusk, watching the skyscrapers etched against a burning sky. i believed in calling things by their true names. ink is ink, even if the bottle is marked "commercial fluid." i didn't try to blink the fact that i was in love. in fact, i gloried in it. as parnassus rolled along the road, and the scarlet maple leaves eddied gently down in the blue october air, i made up a kind of chant which i called hymn for a middle-aged woman (fat) who has fallen into love o god, i thank thee who sent this great adventure my way! i am grateful to have come out of the barren land of spinsterhood, seeing the glory of a love greater than myself. i thank thee for teaching me that mixing, and kneading, and baking are not all that life holds for me. even if he doesn't love me, god, i shall always be his. i was crooning some such babble as this to myself when, near woodbridge, i came upon a big, shiny motor car stranded by the roadside. several people, evidently intelligent and well-to-do, sat under a tree while their chauffeur fussed with a tire. i was so absorbed in my own thoughts that i think i should have gone by without paying them much heed, but suddenly i remembered the professor's creed--to preach the gospel of books in and out of season. sunday or no sunday, i thought i could best honour mifflin by acting on his own principle. i pulled up by the side of the road. i noticed the people turn to one another in a kind of surprise, and whisper something. there was an elderly man with a lean, hard-worked face; a stout woman, evidently his wife; and two young girls and a man in golfing clothes. somehow the face of the older man seemed familiar. i wondered whether he were some literary friend of andrew's whose photo i had seen. bock stood by the wheel with his long, curly tongue running in and out over his teeth. i hesitated a moment, thinking just how to phrase my attack, when the elderly gentleman called out: "where's the professor?" i was beginning to realize that mifflin was indeed a public character. "heavens!" i said. "do you know him, too?" "well, i should think so," he said. "didn't he come to see me last spring about an appropriation for school libraries, and wouldn't leave till i'd promised to do what he wanted! he stayed the night with us and we talked literature till four o'clock in the morning. where is he now? have you taken over parnassus?" "just at present," i said, "mr. mifflin is in the jail at port vigor." the ladies gave little cries of astonishment, and the gentleman himself (i had sized him up as a school commissioner or something of that sort) seemed not less surprised. "in jail!" he said. "what on earth for? has he sandbagged somebody for reading nick carter and bertha m. clay? that's about the only crime he'd be likely to commit." "he's supposed to have cozened me out of four hundred dollars," i said, "and my brother has had him locked up. but as a matter of fact he wouldn't swindle a hen out of a new-laid egg. i bought parnassus of my own free will. i'm on my way to port vigor now to get him out. then i'm going to ask him to marry me--if he will. it's not leap year, either." he looked at me, his thin, lined face working with friendliness. he was a fine-looking man--short, gray hair brushed away from a broad, brown forehead. i noticed his rich, dark suit and the spotless collar. this was a man of breeding, evidently. "well, madam," he said, "any friend of the professor is a friend of ours." (his wife and the girls chimed in with assent.) "if you would like a lift in our car to speed you on your errand, i'm sure bob here would be glad to drive parnassus into port vigor. our tire will soon be mended." the young man assented heartily, but as i said before, i was bent on taking parnassus back myself. i thought the sight of his own tabernacle would be the best balm for mifflin's annoying experience. so i refused the offer, and explained the situation a little more fully. "well," he said, "then let me help in any way i can." he took a card from his pocket-book and scribbled something on it. "when you get to port vigor," he said, "show this at the jail and i don't think you'll have any trouble. i happen to know the people there." so after a hand-shake all round i went on again, much cheered by this friendly little incident. it wasn't till i was some way along the road that i thought of looking at the card he had given me. then i realized why the man's face had been familiar. the card read quite simply: raleigh stone stafford the executive mansion, darlington. it was the governor of the state! chapter fourteen i couldn't help chuckling, as parnassus came over the brow of the hill, and i saw the river in the distance once more. how different all this was from my girlhood visions of romance. that has been characteristic of my life all along--it has been full of homely, workaday happenings, and often rather comic in spite of my best resolves to be highbrow and serious. all the same i was something near to tears as i thought of the tragic wreck at willdon and the grief-laden hearts that must be mourning. i wondered whether the governor was now returning from willdon after ordering an inquiry. on his card he had written: "please release r. mifflin at once and show this lady all courtesies." so i didn't anticipate any particular trouble. this made me all the more anxious to push on, and after crossing the ferry we halted in woodbridge only long enough for supper. i drove past the bank where i had waited in the anteroom, and would have been glad of a chance to horsewhip that sneaking little cashier. i wondered how they had transported the professor to port vigor, and thought ironically that it was only that saturday morning when he had suggested taking the hoboes to the same jail. still i do not doubt that his philosophic spirit had made the best of it all. woodbridge was as dead as any country town is on sunday night. at the little hotel where i had supper there was no topic of conversation except the wreck. but the proprietor, when i paid my bill, happened to notice parnassus in the yard. "that's the bus that pedlar sold you, ain't it?" he asked with a leer. "yes," i said, shortly. "goin' back to prosecute him, i guess?" he suggested. "say, that feller's a devil, believe _me_. when the sheriff tried to put the cuffs on him he gave him a black eye and pretty near broke his jaw. some scrapper fer a midget!" my own brave little fighter, i thought, and flushed with pride. the road back to port vigor seemed endless. i was a little nervous, remembering the tramps in pratt's quarry, but with bock sitting beside me on the seat i thought it craven to be alarmed. we rumbled gently through the darkness, between aisles of inky pines where the strip of starlight ran like a ribbon overhead, then on the rolling dunes that overlook the water. there was a moon, too, but i was mortally tired and lonely and longed only to see my little redbeard. peg was weary, too, and plodded slowly. it must have been midnight before we saw the red and green lights of the railway signals and i knew that port vigor was at hand. i decided to camp where i was. i guided peg into a field beside the road, hitched her to a fence, and took the dog into the van with me. i was too tired to undress. i fell into the bunk and drew the blankets over me. as i did so, something dropped down behind the bunk with a sharp rap. it was a forgotten corncob pipe of the professor's, blackened and sooty. i put it under my pillow, and fell asleep. monday, october seventh. if this were a novel about some charming, slender, pansy-eyed girl, how differently i would have to describe the feelings with which i woke the next morning. but these being only a few pages from the life of a fat, new england housewife, i must be candid. i woke feeling dull and sour. the day was gray and cool: faint shreds of mist sifting up from the sound and a desolate mewing of seagulls in the air. i was unhappy, upset, and--yes--shy. passionately i yearned to run to the professor, to gather him into my arms, to be alone with him in parnassus, creaking up some sunny by-road. but his words came back to me: i was nothing to him. what if he didn't love me after all? i walked across two fields, down to the beach where little waves were slapping against the shingle. i washed my face and hands in salt water. then i went back to parnassus and brewed some coffee with condensed milk. i gave peg and bock their breakfasts. then i hitched peg to the van again, and felt better. as i drove into the town i had to wait at the grade crossing while a wrecking train rumbled past, on its way back from willdon. that meant that the line was clear again. i watched the grimy men on the cars, and shuddered to think what they had been doing. the vigor county jail lies about a mile out of the town, an ugly, gray stone barracks with a high, spiked wall about it. i was thankful that it was still fairly early in the morning, and i drove through the streets without seeing any one i knew. finally i reached the gate in the prison wall. here some kind of a keeper barred my way. "can't get in, lady," he said. "yesterday was visitors' day. no more visitors till next month." "i _must_ get in," i said. "you've got a man in there on a false charge." "so they all say," he retorted, calmly, and spat halfway across the road. "you wouldn't believe any of our boarders had a right to be here if you could hear their friends talk." i showed him governor stafford's card. he was rather impressed by this, and retired into a sentry-box in the wall--to telephone, i suppose. presently he came back. "the sheriff says he'll see you, ma'am. but you'll have to leave this here dynamite caboose behind." he unlocked a little door in the immense iron gate, and turned me over to another man inside. "take this here lady to the sheriff," he said. some of vigor county's prisoners must have learned to be pretty good gardeners, for certainly the grounds were in good condition. the grass was green and trimly mowed; there were conventional beds of flowers in very ugly shapes; in the distance i saw a gang of men in striped overalls mending a roadway. the guide led me to an attractive cottage to one side of the main building. there were two children playing outside, and i remember thinking that within the walls of a jail was surely a queer place to bring up youngsters. but i had other things to think about. i looked up at that grim, gray building. behind one of those little barred windows was the professor. i should have been angry at andrew, but somehow it all seemed a kind of dream. then i was taken into the hallway of the sheriff's cottage and in a minute i was talking to a big, bull-necked man with a political moustache. "you have a prisoner here called roger mifflin?" i said. "my dear madam, i don't keep a list of all our inmates in my head. if you will come to the office we will look up the records." i showed him the governor's card. he took it and kept looking at it as though he expected to see the message written there change or fade away. we walked across a strip of lawn to the prison building. there, in a big bare office, he ran over a card index. "here we are," he said. "roger mifflin; age, ; face, oval; complexion, florid; hair, red but not much of it; height, inches; weight, stripped, ; birthmark...." "never mind," i said. "that's the man. what's he here for?" "he's held in default of bail, pending trial. the charge is attempt to defraud one helen mcgill, spinster, age..." "rubbish!" i said. "i'm helen mcgill, and the man made no attempt to defraud me." "the charge was entered and warrant applied for by your brother, andrew mcgill, acting on your behalf." "i never authorized andrew to act on my behalf." "then do you withdraw the charge?" "by all means," i said. "i've a great mind to enter a counter-charge against andrew and have _him_ arrested." "this is all very irregular," said the sheriff, "but if the prisoner is known to the governor, i suppose there is no alternative. i cannot annul the warrant without some recognizance. according to the laws of this state the next of kin must stand surety for the prisoner's good behaviour after release. there is no next of kin...." "surely there is!" i said. "i am the prisoner's next of kin." "what do you mean?" he said. "in what relationship do you stand to this roger mifflin?" "i intend to marry him just as soon as i can get him away from here." he burst into a roar of laughter. "i guess there's no stopping you," he said. he pinned the governor's card to a blue paper on the desk, and began filling in some blanks. "well, miss mcgill," he went on, "don't take away more than one of my prisoners or i'll lose my job. the turnkey will take you up to the cell. i'm exceedingly sorry: you can see that the mistake was none of our fault. tell the governor that, will you, when you see him?" i followed the attendant up two flights of bare, stone stairs, and down a long, whitewashed corridor. it was a gruesome place; rows and rows of heavy doors with little, barred windows. i noticed that each door had a combination knob, like a safe. my knees felt awfully shaky. but it wasn't really so heart-throbby as i had expected. the jailer stopped at the end of a long passageway. he spun the clicking dial, while i waited in a kind of horror. i think i expected to see the professor with shaved head (they couldn't shave much off his head, poor lamb!) and striped canvas suit, and a ball and chain on his ankle. the door swung open heavily. there was a narrow, clean little room with a low camp bed, and under the barred window a table strewn with sheets of paper. it was the professor in his own clothes, writing busily, with his back toward me. perhaps he thought it was only an attendant with food, or perhaps he didn't even hear the interruption. i could hear his pen running busily. i might have known you never would get any heroics out of that man! trust him to make the best of it! "lemon sole and a glass of sherry, please, james," said the professor over his shoulder, and the warder, who evidently had joked with him before, broke into a cackle of laughter. "a lady to see yer lordship," he said. the professor turned round. his face went quite white. for the first time in my experience of him he seemed to be at a loss for speech. "miss--miss mcgill," he stammered. "you _are_ the good samaritan. i'm doing the john bunyan act, see? writing in prison. i've really started my book at last. and i find the fellows here know nothing whatever about literature. there isn't even a library in the place." for the life of me, i couldn't utter the tenderness in my heart with that gorilla of a jailer standing behind us. somehow we made our way downstairs, after the professor had gathered together the sheets of his manuscript. it had already reached formidable proportions, as he had written fifty pages in the thirty-six hours he had been in prison. in the office we had to sign some papers. the sheriff was very apologetic to mifflin, and offered to take him back to town in his car, but i explained that parnassus was waiting at the gate. the professor's eyes brightened when he heard that, but i had to hurry him away from an argument about putting good books in prisons. the sheriff walked with us to the gate and there shook hands again. peg whickered as we came up to her, and the professor patted her soft nose. bock tugged at his chain in a frenzy of joy. at last we were alone. chapter fifteen i never knew just how it happened. instead of driving back through port vigor, we turned into a side road leading up over the hill and across the heath where the air came fresh and sweet from the sea. the professor sat very silent, looking about him. there was a grove of birches on the hill, and the sunlight played upon their satin boles. "it feels good to be out again," he said calmly. "the sage cannot be so keen a lover of open air as his books would indicate, or he wouldn't be so ready to clap a man into quod. perhaps i owe him another punch on the nose for that." "oh, roger," i said--and i'm afraid my voice was trembly--"i'm _sorry_. i'm _sorry_." not very eloquent, was it? and then, somehow or other, his arm was around me. "helen," he said. "will you marry me? i'm not rich, but i've saved up enough to live on. we'll always have parnassus, and this winter we'll go and live in brooklyn and write the book. and we'll travel around with peg, and preach the love of books and the love of human beings. helen--you're just what i need, god bless you. will you come with me and make me the happiest bookseller in the world?" peg must have been astonished at the length of time she had for cropping the grass, undisturbed. i know that roger and i sat careless of time. and when he told me that ever since our first afternoon together he had determined to have me, sooner or later, i was the proudest woman in new england. i told roger about the ghastly wreck, and my agony of apprehension. i think it was the wreck that made us both feel inclined to forgive andrew. we had a light luncheon together there on the dunes above the sound. by taking a short cut over the ridge we struck into the shelby road without going down into port vigor again. peg pulled us along toward greenbriar, and we talked as we went. perhaps the best of it was that a cold drizzle of rain began to fall as we moved along the hill road. the professor--as i still call him, by force of habit--curtained in the front of the van with a rubber sheet. bock hopped up and curled himself aginst his master's leg. roger got out his corncob pipe, and i sat close to him. in the gathering gloom we plodded along, as happy a trio--or quartet, if you include fat, cheery old peg--as any on this planet. summer was over, and we were no longer young, but there were great things before us. i listened to the drip of the rain, and the steady creak of parnassus on her axles. i thought of my "anthology" of loaves of bread and vowed to bake a million more if roger wanted me to. it was after supper time when we got to greenbriar. roger had suggested that we take a shorter road that would have brought us through to redfield sooner, but i begged him to go by way of shelby and greenbriar, just as we had come before. i did not tell him why i wanted this. and when finally we came to a halt in front of kirby's store at the crossroads it was raining heavily and we were ready for a rest. "well, sweetheart," said roger, "shall we go and see what sort of rooms the hotel has?" "i can think of something better than that," said i. "let's go up to mr. kane and have him marry us. then we can get back to sabine farm afterward, and give andrew a surprise." "by the bones of hymen!" said roger. "you're right!" it must have been ten o'clock when we turned in at the red gate of sabine farm. the rain had stopped, but the wheels sloshed through mud and water at every turn. the light was burning in the sitting-room, and through the window i could see andrew bent over his work table. we climbed out, stiff and sore from the long ride. i saw roger's face set in a comical blend of sternness and humour. "well, here goes to surprise the sage!" he whispered. we picked our way between puddles and rapped on the door. andrew appeared, carrying the lamp in one hand. when he saw us he grunted. "let me introduce my wife," said roger. "well, i'll be damned," said andrew. but andrew isn't quite so black as i've painted him. when he's once convinced of the error of his ways, he is almost pathetically eager to make up. i remember only one remark in the subsequent conversation, because i was so appalled by the state of everything at sabine farm that i immediately set about putting the house to rights. the two men, however, as soon as parnassus was housed in the barn and the animals under cover, sat down by the stove to talk things over. "i tell you what," said andrew--"do whatever you like with your wife; she's too much for me. but i'd like to buy that parnassus." "not on your life!" said the professor. updates to this ebook were provided by andrew sly. the haunted bookshop by christopher morley to the booksellers be pleased to know, most worthy, that this little book is dedicated to you in affection and respect. the faults of the composition are plain to you all. i begin merely in the hope of saying something further of the adventures of roger mifflin, whose exploits in "parnassus on wheels" some of you have been kind enough to applaud. but then came miss titania chapman, and my young advertising man fell in love with her, and the two of them rather ran away with the tale. i think i should explain that the passage in chapter viii, dealing with the delightful talent of mr. sidney drew, was written before the lamented death of that charming artist. but as it was a sincere tribute, sincerely meant, i have seen no reason for removing it. chapters i, ii, iii, and vi appeared originally in the bookman, and to the editor of that admirable magazine i owe thanks for his permission to reprint. now that roger is to have ten parnassuses on the road, i am emboldened to think that some of you may encounter them on their travels. and if you do, i hope you will find that these new errants of the parnassus on wheels corporation are living up to the ancient and honourable traditions of our noble profession. christopher morley. philadelphia, april , the haunted bookshop chapter i the haunted bookshop if you are ever in brooklyn, that borough of superb sunsets and magnificent vistas of husband-propelled baby-carriages, it is to be hoped you may chance upon a quiet by-street where there is a very remarkable bookshop. this bookshop, which does business under the unusual name "parnassus at home," is housed in one of the comfortable old brown-stone dwellings which have been the joy of several generations of plumbers and cockroaches. the owner of the business has been at pains to remodel the house to make it a more suitable shrine for his trade, which deals entirely in second-hand volumes. there is no second-hand bookshop in the world more worthy of respect. it was about six o'clock of a cold november evening, with gusts of rain splattering upon the pavement, when a young man proceeded uncertainly along gissing street, stopping now and then to look at shop windows as though doubtful of his way. at the warm and shining face of a french rotisserie he halted to compare the number enamelled on the transom with a memorandum in his hand. then he pushed on for a few minutes, at last reaching the address he sought. over the entrance his eye was caught by the sign: parnassus at home r. and h. mifflin booklovers welcome! this shop is haunted he stumbled down the three steps that led into the dwelling of the muses, lowered his overcoat collar, and looked about. it was very different from such bookstores as he had been accustomed to patronize. two stories of the old house had been thrown into one: the lower space was divided into little alcoves; above, a gallery ran round the wall, which carried books to the ceiling. the air was heavy with the delightful fragrance of mellowed paper and leather surcharged with a strong bouquet of tobacco. in front of him he found a large placard in a frame: this shop is haunted by the ghosts of all great literature, in hosts; we sell no fakes or trashes. lovers of books are welcome here, no clerks will babble in your ear, please smoke--but don't drop ashes! ---- browse as long as you like. prices of all books plainly marked. if you want to ask questions, you'll find the proprietor where the tobacco smoke is thickest. we pay cash for books. we have what you want, though you may not know you want it. malnutrition of the reading faculty is a serious thing. let us prescribe for you. by r. & h. mifflin, proprs. the shop had a warm and comfortable obscurity, a kind of drowsy dusk, stabbed here and there by bright cones of yellow light from green-shaded electrics. there was an all-pervasive drift of tobacco smoke, which eddied and fumed under the glass lamp shades. passing down a narrow aisle between the alcoves the visitor noticed that some of the compartments were wholly in darkness; in others where lamps were glowing he could see a table and chairs. in one corner, under a sign lettered essays, an elderly gentleman was reading, with a face of fanatical ecstasy illumined by the sharp glare of electricity; but there was no wreath of smoke about him so the newcomer concluded he was not the proprietor. as the young man approached the back of the shop the general effect became more and more fantastic. on some skylight far overhead he could hear the rain drumming; but otherwise the place was completely silent, peopled only (so it seemed) by the gurgitating whorls of smoke and the bright profile of the essay reader. it seemed like a secret fane, some shrine of curious rites, and the young man's throat was tightened by a stricture which was half agitation and half tobacco. towering above him into the gloom were shelves and shelves of books, darkling toward the roof. he saw a table with a cylinder of brown paper and twine, evidently where purchases might be wrapped; but there was no sign of an attendant. "this place may indeed be haunted," he thought, "perhaps by the delighted soul of sir walter raleigh, patron of the weed, but seemingly not by the proprietors." his eyes, searching the blue and vaporous vistas of the shop, were caught by a circle of brightness that shone with a curious egg-like lustre. it was round and white, gleaming in the sheen of a hanging light, a bright island in a surf of tobacco smoke. he came more close, and found it was a bald head. this head (he then saw) surmounted a small, sharp-eyed man who sat tilted back in a swivel chair, in a corner which seemed the nerve centre of the establishment. the large pigeon-holed desk in front of him was piled high with volumes of all sorts, with tins of tobacco and newspaper clippings and letters. an antiquated typewriter, looking something like a harpsichord, was half-buried in sheets of manuscript. the little bald-headed man was smoking a corn-cob pipe and reading a cook-book. "i beg your pardon," said the caller, pleasantly; "is this the proprietor?" mr. roger mifflin, the proprietor of "parnassus at home," looked up, and the visitor saw that he had keen blue eyes, a short red beard, and a convincing air of competent originality. "it is," said mr. mifflin. "anything i can do for you?" "my name is aubrey gilbert," said the young man. "i am representing the grey-matter advertising agency. i want to discuss with you the advisability of your letting us handle your advertising account, prepare snappy copy for you, and place it in large circulation mediums. now the war's over, you ought to prepare some constructive campaign for bigger business." the bookseller's face beamed. he put down his cook-book, blew an expanding gust of smoke, and looked up brightly. "my dear chap," he said, "i don't do any advertising." "impossible!" cried the other, aghast as at some gratuitous indecency. "not in the sense you mean. such advertising as benefits me most is done for me by the snappiest copywriters in the business." "i suppose you refer to whitewash and gilt?" said mr. gilbert wistfully. "not at all. the people who are doing my advertising are stevenson, browning, conrad and company." "dear me," said the grey-matter solicitor. "i don't know that agency at all. still, i doubt if their copy has more pep than ours." "i don't think you get me. i mean that my advertising is done by the books i sell. if i sell a man a book by stevenson or conrad, a book that delights or terrifies him, that man and that book become my living advertisements." "but that word-of-mouth advertising is exploded," said gilbert. "you can't get distribution that way. you've got to keep your trademark before the public." "by the bones of tauchnitz!" cried mifflin. "look here, you wouldn't go to a doctor, a medical specialist, and tell him he ought to advertise in papers and magazines? a doctor is advertised by the bodies he cures. my business is advertised by the minds i stimulate. and let me tell you that the book business is different from other trades. people don't know they want books. i can see just by looking at you that your mind is ill for lack of books but you are blissfully unaware of it! people don't go to a bookseller until some serious mental accident or disease makes them aware of their danger. then they come here. for me to advertise would be about as useful as telling people who feel perfectly well that they ought to go to the doctor. do you know why people are reading more books now than ever before? because the terrific catastrophe of the war has made them realize that their minds are ill. the world was suffering from all sorts of mental fevers and aches and disorders, and never knew it. now our mental pangs are only too manifest. we are all reading, hungrily, hastily, trying to find out--after the trouble is over--what was the matter with our minds." the little bookseller was standing up now, and his visitor watched him with mingled amusement and alarm. "you know," said mifflin, "i am interested that you should have thought it worth while to come in here. it reinforces my conviction of the amazing future ahead of the book business. but i tell you that future lies not merely in systematizing it as a trade. it lies in dignifying it as a profession. it is small use to jeer at the public for craving shoddy books, quack books, untrue books. physician, cure thyself! let the bookseller learn to know and revere good books, he will teach the customer. the hunger for good books is more general and more insistent than you would dream. but it is still in a way subconscious. people need books, but they don't know they need them. generally they are not aware that the books they need are in existence." "why wouldn't advertising be the way to let them know?" asked the young man, rather acutely. "my dear chap, i understand the value of advertising. but in my own case it would be futile. i am not a dealer in merchandise but a specialist in adjusting the book to the human need. between ourselves, there is no such thing, abstractly, as a 'good' book. a book is 'good' only when it meets some human hunger or refutes some human error. a book that is good for me would very likely be punk for you. my pleasure is to prescribe books for such patients as drop in here and are willing to tell me their symptoms. some people have let their reading faculties decay so that all i can do is hold a post mortem on them. but most are still open to treatment. there is no one so grateful as the man to whom you have given just the book his soul needed and he never knew it. no advertisement on earth is as potent as a grateful customer. "i will tell you another reason why i don't advertise," he continued. "in these days when everyone keeps his trademark before the public, as you call it, not to advertise is the most original and startling thing one can do to attract attention. it was the fact that i do not advertise that drew you here. and everyone who comes here thinks he has discovered the place himself. he goes and tells his friends about the book asylum run by a crank and a lunatic, and they come here in turn to see what it is like." "i should like to come here again myself and browse about," said the advertising agent. "i should like to have you prescribe for me." "the first thing needed is to acquire a sense of pity. the world has been printing books for years, and yet gunpowder still has a wider circulation. never mind! printer's ink is the greater explosive: it will win. yes, i have a few of the good books here. there are only about , really important books in the world. i suppose about , of them were written in the english language, and , more have been translated." "you are open in the evenings?" "until ten o'clock. a great many of my best customers are those who are at work all day and can only visit bookshops at night. the real book-lovers, you know, are generally among the humbler classes. a man who is impassioned with books has little time or patience to grow rich by concocting schemes for cozening his fellows." the little bookseller's bald pate shone in the light of the bulb hanging over the wrapping table. his eyes were bright and earnest, his short red beard bristled like wire. he wore a ragged brown norfolk jacket from which two buttons were missing. a bit of a fanatic himself, thought the customer, but a very entertaining one. "well, sir," he said, "i am ever so grateful to you. i'll come again. good-night." and he started down the aisle for the door. as he neared the front of the shop, mr. mifflin switched on a cluster of lights that hung high up, and the young man found himself beside a large bulletin board covered with clippings, announcements, circulars, and little notices written on cards in a small neat script. the following caught his eye: rx if your mind needs phosphorus, try "trivia," by logan pearsall smith. if your mind needs a whiff of strong air, blue and cleansing, from hilltops and primrose valleys, try "the story of my heart," by richard jefferies. if your mind needs a tonic of iron and wine, and a thorough rough-and-tumbling, try samuel butler's "notebooks" or "the man who was thursday," by chesterton. if you need "all manner of irish," and a relapse into irresponsible freakishness, try "the demi-gods," by james stephens. it is a better book than one deserves or expects. it's a good thing to turn your mind upside down now and then, like an hour-glass, to let the particles run the other way. one who loves the english tongue can have a lot of fun with a latin dictionary. roger mifflin. human beings pay very little attention to what is told them unless they know something about it already. the young man had heard of none of these books prescribed by the practitioner of bibliotherapy. he was about to open the door when mifflin appeared at his side. "look here," he said, with a quaint touch of embarrassment. "i was very much interested by our talk. i'm all alone this evening--my wife is away on a holiday. won't you stay and have supper with me? i was just looking up some new recipes when you came in." the other was equally surprised and pleased by this unusual invitation. "why--that's very good of you," he said. "are you sure i won't be intruding?" "not at all!" cried the bookseller. "i detest eating alone: i was hoping someone would drop in. i always try to have a guest for supper when my wife is away. i have to stay at home, you see, to keep an eye on the shop. we have no servant, and i do the cooking myself. it's great fun. now you light your pipe and make yourself comfortable for a few minutes while i get things ready. suppose you come back to my den." on a table of books at the front of the shop mifflin laid a large card lettered: proprietor at supper if you want anything ring this bell beside the card he placed a large old-fashioned dinner bell, and then led the way to the rear of the shop. behind the little office in which this unusual merchant had been studying his cook-book a narrow stairway rose on each side, running up to the gallery. behind these stairs a short flight of steps led to the domestic recesses. the visitor found himself ushered into a small room on the left, where a grate of coals glowed under a dingy mantelpiece of yellowish marble. on the mantel stood a row of blackened corn-cob pipes and a canister of tobacco. above was a startling canvas in emphatic oils, representing a large blue wagon drawn by a stout white animal--evidently a horse. a background of lush scenery enhanced the forceful technique of the limner. the walls were stuffed with books. two shabby, comfortable chairs were drawn up to the iron fender, and a mustard-coloured terrier was lying so close to the glow that a smell of singed hair was sensible. "there," said the host; "this is my cabinet, my chapel of ease. take off your coat and sit down." "really," began gilbert, "i'm afraid this is----" "nonsense! now you sit down and commend your soul to providence and the kitchen stove. i'll bustle round and get supper." gilbert pulled out his pipe, and with a sense of elation prepared to enjoy an unusual evening. he was a young man of agreeable parts, amiable and sensitive. he knew his disadvantages in literary conversation, for he had gone to an excellent college where glee clubs and theatricals had left him little time for reading. but still he was a lover of good books, though he knew them chiefly by hearsay. he was twenty-five years old, employed as a copywriter by the grey-matter advertising agency. the little room in which he found himself was plainly the bookseller's sanctum, and contained his own private library. gilbert browsed along the shelves curiously. the volumes were mostly shabby and bruised; they had evidently been picked up one by one in the humble mangers of the second-hand vendor. they all showed marks of use and meditation. mr. gilbert had the earnest mania for self-improvement which has blighted the lives of so many young men--a passion which, however, is commendable in those who feel themselves handicapped by a college career and a jewelled fraternity emblem. it suddenly struck him that it would be valuable to make a list of some of the titles in mifflin's collection, as a suggestion for his own reading. he took out a memorandum book and began jotting down the books that intrigued him: the works of francis thompson ( vols.) social history of smoking: apperson the path to rome: hilaire belloc the book of tea: kakuzo happy thoughts: f. c. burnand dr. johnson's prayers and meditations margaret ogilvy: j. m. barrie confessions of a thug: taylor general catalogue of the oxford university press the morning's war: c. e. montague the spirit of man: edited by robert bridges the romany rye: borrow poems: emily dickinson poems: george herbert the house of cobwebs: george gissing so far had he got, and was beginning to say to himself that in the interests of advertising (who is a jealous mistress) he had best call a halt, when his host entered the room, his small face eager, his eyes blue points of light. "come, mr. aubrey gilbert!" he cried. "the meal is set. you want to wash your hands? make haste then, this way: the eggs are hot and waiting." the dining-room into which the guest was conducted betrayed a feminine touch not visible in the smoke-dimmed quarters of shop and cabinet. at the windows were curtains of laughing chintz and pots of pink geranium. the table, under a drop-light in a flame-coloured silk screen, was brightly set with silver and blue china. in a cut-glass decanter sparkled a ruddy brown wine. the edged tool of advertising felt his spirits undergo an unmistakable upward pressure. "sit down, sir," said mifflin, lifting the roof of a platter. "these are eggs samuel butler, an invention of my own, the apotheosis of hen fruit." gilbert greeted the invention with applause. an egg samuel butler, for the notebook of housewives, may be summarized as a pyramid, based upon toast, whereof the chief masonries are a flake of bacon, an egg poached to firmness, a wreath of mushrooms, a cap-sheaf of red peppers; the whole dribbled with a warm pink sauce of which the inventor retains the secret. to this the bookseller chef added fried potatoes from another dish, and poured for his guest a glass of wine. "this is california catawba," said mifflin, "in which the grape and the sunshine very pleasantly (and cheaply) fulfil their allotted destiny. i pledge you prosperity to the black art of advertising!" the psychology of the art and mystery of advertising rests upon tact, an instinctive perception of the tone and accent which will be en rapport with the mood of the hearer. mr. gilbert was aware of this, and felt that quite possibly his host was prouder of his whimsical avocation as gourmet than of his sacred profession as a bookman. "is it possible, sir," he began, in lucid johnsonian, "that you can concoct so delicious an entree in so few minutes? you are not hoaxing me? there is no secret passage between gissing street and the laboratories of the ritz?" "ah, you should taste mrs. mifflin's cooking!" said the bookseller. "i am only an amateur, who dabbles in the craft during her absence. she is on a visit to her cousin in boston. she becomes, quite justifiably, weary of the tobacco of this establishment, and once or twice a year it does her good to breathe the pure serene of beacon hill. during her absence it is my privilege to inquire into the ritual of housekeeping. i find it very sedative after the incessant excitement and speculation of the shop." "i should have thought," said gilbert, "that life in a bookshop would be delightfully tranquil." "far from it. living in a bookshop is like living in a warehouse of explosives. those shelves are ranked with the most furious combustibles in the world--the brains of men. i can spend a rainy afternoon reading, and my mind works itself up to such a passion and anxiety over mortal problems as almost unmans me. it is terribly nerve-racking. surround a man with carlyle, emerson, thoreau, chesterton, shaw, nietzsche, and george ade--would you wonder at his getting excited? what would happen to a cat if she had to live in a room tapestried with catnip? she would go crazy!" "truly, i had never thought of that phase of bookselling," said the young man. "how is it, though, that libraries are shrines of such austere calm? if books are as provocative as you suggest, one would expect every librarian to utter the shrill screams of a hierophant, to clash ecstatic castanets in his silent alcoves!" "ah, my boy, you forget the card index! librarians invented that soothing device for the febrifuge of their souls, just as i fall back upon the rites of the kitchen. librarians would all go mad, those capable of concentrated thought, if they did not have the cool and healing card index as medicament! some more of the eggs?" "thank you," said gilbert. "who was the butler whose name was associated with the dish?" "what?" cried mifflin, in agitation, "you have not heard of samuel butler, the author of the way of all flesh? my dear young man, whoever permits himself to die before he has read that book, and also erewhon, has deliberately forfeited his chances of paradise. for paradise in the world to come is uncertain, but there is indeed a heaven on this earth, a heaven which we inhabit when we read a good book. pour yourself another glass of wine, and permit me----" (here followed an enthusiastic development of the perverse philosophy of samuel butler, which, in deference to my readers, i omit. mr. gilbert took notes of the conversation in his pocketbook, and i am pleased to say that his heart was moved to a realization of his iniquity, for he was observed at the public library a few days later asking for a copy of the way of all flesh. after inquiring at four libraries, and finding all copies of the book in circulation, he was compelled to buy one. he never regretted doing so.) "but i am forgetting my duties as host," said mifflin. "our dessert consists of apple sauce, gingerbread, and coffee." he rapidly cleared the empty dishes from the table and brought on the second course. "i have been noticing the warning over the sideboard," said gilbert. "i hope you will let me help you this evening?" he pointed to a card hanging near the kitchen door. it read: always wash dishes immediately after meals it saves trouble "i'm afraid i don't always obey that precept," said the bookseller as he poured the coffee. "mrs. mifflin hangs it there whenever she goes away, to remind me. but, as our friend samuel butler says, he that is stupid in little will also be stupid in much. i have a different theory about dish-washing, and i please myself by indulging it. "i used to regard dish-washing merely as an ignoble chore, a kind of hateful discipline which had to be undergone with knitted brow and brazen fortitude. when my wife went away the first time, i erected a reading stand and an electric light over the sink, and used to read while my hands went automatically through base gestures of purification. i made the great spirits of literature partners of my sorrow, and learned by heart a good deal of paradise lost and of walt mason, while i soused and wallowed among pots and pans. i used to comfort myself with two lines of keats: 'the moving waters at their priest-like task of pure ablution round earth's human shores----' then a new conception of the matter struck me. it is intolerable for a human being to go on doing any task as a penance, under duress. no matter what the work is, one must spiritualize it in some way, shatter the old idea of it into bits and rebuild it nearer to the heart's desire. how was i to do this with dish-washing? "i broke a good many plates while i was pondering over the matter. then it occurred to me that here was just the relaxation i needed. i had been worrying over the mental strain of being surrounded all day long by vociferous books, crying out at me their conflicting views as to the glories and agonies of life. why not make dish-washing my balm and poultice? "when one views a stubborn fact from a new angle, it is amazing how all its contours and edges change shape! immediately my dishpan began to glow with a kind of philosophic halo! the warm, soapy water became a sovereign medicine to retract hot blood from the head; the homely act of washing and drying cups and saucers became a symbol of the order and cleanliness that man imposes on the unruly world about him. i tore down my book rack and reading lamp from over the sink. "mr. gilbert," he went on, "do not laugh at me when i tell you that i have evolved a whole kitchen philosophy of my own. i find the kitchen the shrine of our civilization, the focus of all that is comely in life. the ruddy shine of the stove is as beautiful as any sunset. a well-polished jug or spoon is as fair, as complete and beautiful, as any sonnet. the dish mop, properly rinsed and wrung and hung outside the back door to dry, is a whole sermon in itself. the stars never look so bright as they do from the kitchen door after the ice-box pan is emptied and the whole place is 'redd up,' as the scotch say." "a very delightful philosophy indeed," said gilbert. "and now that we have finished our meal, i insist upon your letting me give you a hand with the washing up. i am eager to test this dish-pantheism of yours!" "my dear fellow," said mifflin, laying a restraining hand on his impetuous guest, "it is a poor philosophy that will not abide denial now and then. no, no--i did not ask you to spend the evening with me to wash dishes." and he led the way back to his sitting room. "when i saw you come in," said mifflin, "i was afraid you might be a newspaper man, looking for an interview. a young journalist came to see us once, with very unhappy results. he wheedled himself into mrs. mifflin's good graces, and ended by putting us both into a book, called parnassus on wheels, which has been rather a trial to me. in that book he attributes to me a number of shallow and sugary observations upon bookselling that have been an annoyance to the trade. i am happy to say, though, that his book had only a trifling sale." "i have never heard of it," said gilbert. "if you are really interested in bookselling you should come here some evening to a meeting of the corn cob club. once a month a number of booksellers gather here and we discuss matters of bookish concern over corn-cobs and cider. we have all sorts and conditions of booksellers: one is a fanatic on the subject of libraries. he thinks that every public library should be dynamited. another thinks that moving pictures will destroy the book trade. what rot! surely everything that arouses people's minds, that makes them alert and questioning, increases their appetite for books." "the life of a bookseller is very demoralizing to the intellect," he went on after a pause. "he is surrounded by innumerable books; he cannot possibly read them all; he dips into one and picks up a scrap from another. his mind gradually fills itself with miscellaneous flotsam, with superficial opinions, with a thousand half-knowledges. almost unconsciously he begins to rate literature according to what people ask for. he begins to wonder whether ralph waldo trine isn't really greater than ralph waldo emerson, whether j. m. chapple isn't as big a man as j. m. barrie. that way lies intellectual suicide. "one thing, however, you must grant the good bookseller. he is tolerant. he is patient of all ideas and theories. surrounded, engulfed by the torrent of men's words, he is willing to listen to them all. even to the publisher's salesman he turns an indulgent ear. he is willing to be humbugged for the weal of humanity. he hopes unceasingly for good books to be born. "my business, you see, is different from most. i only deal in second-hand books; i only buy books that i consider have some honest reason for existence. in so far as human judgment can discern, i try to keep trash out of my shelves. a doctor doesn't traffic in quack remedies. i don't traffic in bogus books. "a comical thing happened the other day. there is a certain wealthy man, a mr. chapman, who has long frequented this shop----" "i wonder if that could be mr. chapman of the chapman daintybits company?" said gilbert, feeling his feet touch familiar soil. "the same, i believe," said mifflin. "do you know him?" "ah," cried the young man with reverence. "there is a man who can tell you the virtues of advertising. if he is interested in books, it is advertising that made it possible. we handle all his copy--i've written a lot of it myself. we have made the chapman prunes a staple of civilization and culture. i myself devised that slogan 'we preen ourselves on our prunes' which you see in every big magazine. chapman prunes are known the world over. the mikado eats them once a week. the pope eats them. why, we have just heard that thirteen cases of them are to be put on board the george washington for the president's voyage to the peace conference. the czecho-slovak armies were fed largely on prunes. it is our conviction in the office that our campaign for the chapman prunes did much to win the war." "i read in an ad the other day--perhaps you wrote that, too?" said the bookseller, "that the elgin watch had won the war. however, mr. chapman has long been one of my best customers. he heard about the corn cob club, and though of course he is not a bookseller he begged to come to our meetings. we were glad to have him do so, and he has entered into our discussions with great zeal. often he has offered many a shrewd comment. he has grown so enthusiastic about the bookseller's way of life that the other day he wrote to me about his daughter (he is a widower). she has been attending a fashionable girls' school where, he says, they have filled her head with absurd, wasteful, snobbish notions. he says she has no more idea of the usefulness and beauty of life than a pomeranian dog. instead of sending her to college, he has asked me if mrs. mifflin and i will take her in here to learn to sell books. he wants her to think she is earning her keep, and is going to pay me privately for the privilege of having her live here. he thinks that being surrounded by books will put some sense in her head. i am rather nervous about the experiment, but it is a compliment to the shop, isn't it?" "ye gods," cried gilbert, "what advertising copy that would make!" at this point the bell in the shop rang, and mifflin jumped up. "this part of the evening is often rather busy," he said. "i'm afraid i'll have to go down on the floor. some of my habitues rather expect me to be on hand to gossip about books." "i can't tell you how much i've enjoyed myself," said gilbert. "i'm going to come again and study your shelves." "well, keep it dark about the young lady," said the bookseller. "i don't want all you young blades dropping in here to unsettle her mind. if she falls in love with anybody in this shop, it'll have to be joseph conrad or john keats!" as he passed out, gilbert saw roger mifflin engaged in argument with a bearded man who looked like a college professor. "carlyle's oliver cromwell?" he was saying. "yes, indeed! right over here! hullo, that's odd! it was here." chapter ii the corn cob club[ ] [ ] the latter half of this chapter may be omitted by all readers who are not booksellers. the haunted bookshop was a delightful place, especially of an evening, when its drowsy alcoves were kindled with the brightness of lamps shining on the rows of volumes. many a passer-by would stumble down the steps from the street in sheer curiosity; others, familiar visitors, dropped in with the same comfortable emotion that a man feels on entering his club. roger's custom was to sit at his desk in the rear, puffing his pipe and reading; though if any customer started a conversation, the little man was quick and eager to carry it on. the lion of talk lay only sleeping in him; it was not hard to goad it up. it may be remarked that all bookshops that are open in the evening are busy in the after-supper hours. is it that the true book-lovers are nocturnal gentry, only venturing forth when darkness and silence and the gleam of hooded lights irresistibly suggest reading? certainly night-time has a mystic affinity for literature, and it is strange that the esquimaux have created no great books. surely, for most of us, an arctic night would be insupportable without o. henry and stevenson. or, as roger mifflin remarked during a passing enthusiasm for ambrose bierce, the true noctes ambrosianae are the noctes ambrose bierceianae. but roger was prompt in closing parnassus at ten o'clock. at that hour he and bock (the mustard-coloured terrier, named for boccaccio) would make the round of the shop, see that everything was shipshape, empty the ash trays provided for customers, lock the front door, and turn off the lights. then they would retire to the den, where mrs. mifflin was generally knitting or reading. she would brew a pot of cocoa and they would read or talk for half an hour or so before bed. sometimes roger would take a stroll along gissing street before turning in. all day spent with books has a rather exhausting effect on the mind, and he used to enjoy the fresh air sweeping up the dark brooklyn streets, meditating some thought that had sprung from his reading, while bock sniffed and padded along in the manner of an elderly dog at night. while mrs. mifflin was away, however, roger's routine was somewhat different. after closing the shop he would return to his desk and with a furtive, shamefaced air take out from a bottom drawer an untidy folder of notes and manuscript. this was the skeleton in his closet, his secret sin. it was the scaffolding of his book, which he had been compiling for at least ten years, and to which he had tentatively assigned such different titles as "notes on literature," "the muse on crutches," "books and i," and "what a young bookseller ought to know." it had begun long ago, in the days of his odyssey as a rural book huckster, under the title of "literature among the farmers," but it had branched out until it began to appear that (in bulk at least) ridpath would have to look to his linoleum laurels. the manuscript in its present state had neither beginning nor end, but it was growing strenuously in the middle, and hundreds of pages were covered with roger's minute script. the chapter on "ars bibliopolae," or the art of bookselling, would be, he hoped, a classic among generations of book vendors still unborn. seated at his disorderly desk, caressed by a counterpane of drifting tobacco haze, he would pore over the manuscript, crossing out, interpolating, re-arguing, and then referring to volumes on his shelves. bock would snore under the chair, and soon roger's brain would begin to waver. in the end he would fall asleep over his papers, wake with a cramp about two o'clock, and creak irritably to a lonely bed. all this we mention only to explain how it was that roger was dozing at his desk about midnight, the evening after the call paid by aubrey gilbert. he was awakened by a draught of chill air passing like a mountain brook over his bald pate. stiffly he sat up and looked about. the shop was in darkness save for the bright electric over his head. bock, of more regular habit than his master, had gone back to his couch in the kitchen, made of a packing case that had once coffined a set of the encyclopaedia britannica. "that's funny," said roger to himself. "surely i locked the door?" he walked to the front of the shop, switching on the cluster of lights that hung from the ceiling. the door was ajar, but everything else seemed as usual. bock, hearing his footsteps, came trotting out from the kitchen, his claws rattling on the bare wooden floor. he looked up with the patient inquiry of a dog accustomed to the eccentricities of his patron. "i guess i'm getting absent-minded," said roger. "i must have left the door open." he closed and locked it. then he noticed that the terrier was sniffing in the history alcove, which was at the front of the shop on the left-hand side. "what is it, old man?" said roger. "want something to read in bed?" he turned on the light in that alcove. everything appeared normal. then he noticed a book that projected an inch or so beyond the even line of bindings. it was a fad of roger's to keep all his books in a flat row on the shelves, and almost every evening at closing time he used to run his palm along the backs of the volumes to level any irregularities left by careless browsers. he put out a hand to push the book into place. then he stopped. "queer again," he thought. "carlyle's oliver cromwell! i looked for that book last night and couldn't find it. when that professor fellow was here. maybe i'm tired and can't see straight. i'll go to bed." the next day was a date of some moment. not only was it thanksgiving day, with the november meeting of the corn cob club scheduled for that evening, but mrs. mifflin had promised to get home from boston in time to bake a chocolate cake for the booksellers. it was said that some of the members of the club were faithful in attendance more by reason of mrs. mifflin's chocolate cake, and the cask of cider that her brother andrew mcgill sent down from the sabine farm every autumn, than on account of the bookish conversation. roger spent the morning in doing a little housecleaning, in preparation for his wife's return. he was a trifle abashed to find how many mingled crumbs and tobacco cinders had accumulated on the dining-room rug. he cooked himself a modest lunch of lamb chops and baked potatoes, and was pleased by an epigram concerning food that came into his mind. "it's not the food you dream about that matters," he said to himself; "it's the vittles that walk right in and become a member of the family." he felt that this needed a little polishing and rephrasing, but that there was a germ of wit in it. he had a habit of encountering ideas at his solitary meals. after this, he was busy at the sink scrubbing the dishes, when he was surprised by feeling two very competent arms surround him, and a pink gingham apron was thrown over his head. "mifflin," said his wife, "how many times have i told you to put on an apron when you wash up!" they greeted each other with the hearty, affectionate simplicity of those congenially wedded in middle age. helen mifflin was a buxom, healthy creature, rich in good sense and good humour, well nourished both in mind and body. she kissed roger's bald head, tied the apron around his shrimpish person, and sat down on a kitchen chair to watch him finish wiping the china. her cheeks were cool and ruddy from the keen air, her face lit with the tranquil satisfaction of those who have sojourned in the comfortable city of boston. "well, my dear," said roger, "this makes it a real thanksgiving. you look as plump and full of matter as the home book of verse." "i've had a stunning time," she said, patting bock who stood at her knee, imbibing the familiar and mysterious fragrance by which dogs identify their human friends. "i haven't even heard of a book for three weeks. i did stop in at the old angle book shop yesterday, just to say hullo to joe jillings. he says all booksellers are crazy, but that you are the craziest of the lot. he wants to know if you're bankrupt yet." roger's slate-blue eyes twinkled. he hung up a cup in the china closet and lit his pipe before replying. "what did you say?" "i said that our shop was haunted, and mustn't be supposed to come under the usual conditions of the trade." "bully for you! and what did joe say to that?" "'haunted by the nuts!'" "well," said roger, "when literature goes bankrupt i'm willing to go with it. not till then. but by the way, we're going to be haunted by a beauteous damsel pretty soon. you remember my telling you that mr. chapman wants to send his daughter to work in the shop? well, here's a letter i had from him this morning." he rummaged in his pocket, and produced the following, which mrs. mifflin read: dear mr. mifflin, i am so delighted that you and mrs. mifflin are willing to try the experiment of taking my daughter as an apprentice. titania is really a very charming girl, and if only we can get some of the "finishing school" nonsense out of her head she will make a fine woman. she has had (it was my fault, not hers) the disadvantage of being brought up, or rather brought down, by having every possible want and whim gratified. out of kindness for herself and her future husband, if she should have one, i want her to learn a little about earning a living. she is nearly nineteen, and i told her if she would try the bookshop job for a while i would take her to europe for a year afterward. as i explained to you, i want her to think she is really earning her way. of course i don't want the routine to be too hard for her, but i do want her to get some idea of what it means to face life on one's own. if you will pay her ten dollars a week as a beginner, and deduct her board from that, i will pay you twenty dollars a week, privately, for your responsibility in caring for her and keeping your and mrs. mifflin's friendly eyes on her. i'm coming round to the corn cob meeting to-morrow night, and we can make the final arrangements. luckily, she is very fond of books, and i really think she is looking forward to the adventure with much anticipation. i overheard her saying to one of her friends yesterday that she was going to do some "literary work" this winter. that's the kind of nonsense i want her to outgrow. when i hear her say that she's got a job in a bookstore, i'll know she's cured. cordially yours, george chapman. "well?" said roger, as mrs. mifflin made no comment. "don't you think it will be rather interesting to get a naive young girl's reactions toward the problems of our tranquil existence?" "roger, you blessed innocent!" cried his wife. "life will no longer be tranquil with a girl of nineteen round the place. you may fool yourself, but you can't fool me. a girl of nineteen doesn't react toward things. she explodes. things don't 'react' anywhere but in boston and in chemical laboratories. i suppose you know you're taking a human bombshell into the arsenal?" roger looked dubious. "i remember something in weir of hermiston about a girl being 'an explosive engine,'" he said. "but i don't see that she can do any very great harm round here. we're both pretty well proof against shell shock. the worst that could happen would be if she got hold of my private copy of fireside conversation in the age of queen elizabeth. remind me to lock it up somewhere, will you?" this secret masterpiece by mark twain was one of the bookseller's treasures. not even helen had ever been permitted to read it; and she had shrewdly judged that it was not in her line, for though she knew perfectly well where he kept it (together with his life insurance policy, some liberty bonds, an autograph letter from charles spencer chaplin, and a snapshot of herself taken on their honeymoon) she had never made any attempt to examine it. "well," said helen; "titania or no titania, if the corn cobs want their chocolate cake to-night, i must get busy. take my suitcase upstairs like a good fellow." a gathering of booksellers is a pleasant sanhedrim to attend. the members of this ancient craft bear mannerisms and earmarks just as definitely recognizable as those of the cloak and suit business or any other trade. they are likely to be a little--shall we say--worn at the bindings, as becomes men who have forsaken worldly profit to pursue a noble calling ill rewarded in cash. they are possibly a trifle embittered, which is an excellent demeanour for mankind in the face of inscrutable heaven. long experience with publishers' salesmen makes them suspicious of books praised between the courses of a heavy meal. when a publisher's salesman takes you out to dinner, it is not surprising if the conversation turns toward literature about the time the last of the peas are being harried about the plate. but, as jerry gladfist says (he runs a shop up on thirty-eighth street) the publishers' salesmen supply a long-felt want, for they do now and then buy one a dinner the like of which no bookseller would otherwise be likely to commit. "well, gentlemen," said roger as his guests assembled in his little cabinet, "it's a cold evening. pull up toward the fire. make free with the cider. the cake's on the table. my wife came back from boston specially to make it." "here's mrs. mifflin's health!" said mr. chapman, a quiet little man who had a habit of listening to what he heard. "i hope she doesn't mind keeping the shop while we celebrate?" "not a bit," said roger. "she enjoys it." "i see tarzan of the apes is running at the gissing street movie palace," said gladfist. "great stuff. have you seen it?" "not while i can still read the jungle book," said roger. "you make me tired with that talk about literature," cried jerry. "a book's a book, even if harold bell wright wrote it." "a book's a book if you enjoy reading it," amended meredith, from a big fifth avenue bookstore. "lots of people enjoy harold bell wright just as lots of people enjoy tripe. either of them would kill me. but let's be tolerant." "your argument is a whole succession of non sequiturs," said jerry, stimulated by the cider to unusual brilliance. "that's a long putt," chuckled benson, the dealer in rare books and first editions. "what i mean is this," said jerry. "we aren't literary critics. it's none of our business to say what's good and what isn't. our job is simply to supply the public with the books it wants when it wants them. how it comes to want the books it does is no concern of ours." "you're the guy that calls bookselling the worst business in the world," said roger warmly, "and you're the kind of guy that makes it so. i suppose you would say that it is no concern of the bookseller to try to increase the public appetite for books?" "appetite is too strong a word," said jerry. "as far as books are concerned the public is barely able to sit up and take a little liquid nourishment. solid foods don't interest it. if you try to cram roast beef down the gullet of an invalid you'll kill him. let the public alone, and thank god when it comes round to amputate any of its hard-earned cash." "well, take it on the lowest basis," said roger. "i haven't any facts to go upon----" "you never have," interjected jerry. "but i'd like to bet that the trade has made more money out of bryce's american commonwealth than it ever did out of all parson wright's books put together." "what of it? why shouldn't they make both?" this preliminary tilt was interrupted by the arrival of two more visitors, and roger handed round mugs of cider, pointed to the cake and the basket of pretzels, and lit his corn-cob pipe. the new arrivals were quincy and fruehling; the former a clerk in the book department of a vast drygoods store, the latter the owner of a bookshop in the hebrew quarter of grand street--one of the best-stocked shops in the city, though little known to uptown book-lovers. "well," said fruehling, his bright dark eyes sparkling above richly tinted cheek-bones and bushy beard, "what's the argument?" "the usual one," said gladfist, grinning, "mifflin confusing merchandise with metaphysics." mifflin--not at all. i am simply saying that it is good business to sell only the best. gladfist--wrong again. you must select your stock according to your customers. ask quincy here. would there be any sense in his loading up his shelves with maeterlinck and shaw when the department-store trade wants eleanor porter and the tarzan stuff? does a country grocer carry the same cigars that are listed on the wine card of a fifth avenue hotel? of course not. he gets in the cigars that his trade enjoys and is accustomed to. bookselling must obey the ordinary rules of commerce. mifflin--a fig for the ordinary rules of commerce! i came over here to gissing street to get away from them. my mind would blow out its fuses if i had to abide by the dirty little considerations of supply and demand. as far as i am concerned, supply creates demand. gladfist--still, old chap, you have to abide by the dirty little consideration of earning a living, unless someone has endowed you? benson--of course my line of business isn't strictly the same as you fellows'. but a thought that has often occurred to me in selling rare editions may interest you. the customer's willingness to part with his money is usually in inverse ratio to the permanent benefit he expects to derive from what he purchases. meredith--sounds a bit like john stuart mill. benson--even so, it may be true. folks will pay a darned sight more to be amused than they will to be exalted. look at the way a man shells out five bones for a couple of theatre seats, or spends a couple of dollars a week on cigars without thinking of it. yet two dollars or five dollars for a book costs him positive anguish. the mistake you fellows in the retail trade have made is in trying to persuade your customers that books are necessities. tell them they're luxuries. that'll get them! people have to work so hard in this life they're shy of necessities. a man will go on wearing a suit until it's threadbare, much sooner than smoke a threadbare cigar. gladfist--not a bad thought. you know, mifflin here calls me a material-minded cynic, but by thunder, i think i'm more idealistic than he is. i'm no propagandist incessantly trying to cajole poor innocent customers into buying the kind of book _i_ think they ought to buy. when i see the helpless pathos of most of them, who drift into a bookstore without the slightest idea of what they want or what is worth reading, i would disdain to take advantage of their frailty. they are absolutely at the mercy of the salesman. they will buy whatever he tells them to. now the honourable man, the high-minded man (by which i mean myself) is too proud to ram some shimmering stuff at them just because he thinks they ought to read it. let the boobs blunder around and grab what they can. let natural selection operate. i think it is fascinating to watch them, to see their helpless groping, and to study the weird ways in which they make their choice. usually they will buy a book either because they think the jacket is attractive, or because it costs a dollar and a quarter instead of a dollar and a half, or because they say they saw a review of it. the "review" usually turns out to be an ad. i don't think one book-buyer in a thousand knows the difference. mifflin--your doctrine is pitiless, base, and false! what would you think of a physician who saw men suffering from a curable disease and did nothing to alleviate their sufferings? gladfist--their sufferings (as you call them) are nothing to what mine would be if i stocked up with a lot of books that no one but highbrows would buy. what would you think of a base public that would go past my shop day after day and let the high-minded occupant die of starvation? mifflin--your ailment, jerry, is that you conceive yourself as merely a tradesman. what i'm telling you is that the bookseller is a public servant. he ought to be pensioned by the state. the honour of his profession should compel him to do all he can to spread the distribution of good stuff. quincy--i think you forget how much we who deal chiefly in new books are at the mercy of the publishers. we have to stock the new stuff, a large proportion of which is always punk. why it is punk, goodness knows, because most of the bum books don't sell. mifflin--ah, that is a mystery indeed! but i can give you a fair reason. first, because there isn't enough good stuff to go round. second, because of the ignorance of the publishers, many of whom honestly don't know a good book when they see it. it is a matter of sheer heedlessness in the selection of what they intend to publish. a big drug factory or a manufacturer of a well-known jam spends vast sums of money on chemically assaying and analyzing the ingredients that are to go into his medicines or in gathering and selecting the fruit that is to be stewed into jam. and yet they tell me that the most important department of a publishing business, which is the gathering and sampling of manuscripts, is the least considered and the least remunerated. i knew a reader for one publishing house: he was a babe recently out of college who didn't know a book from a frat pin. if a jam factory employs a trained chemist, why isn't it worth a publisher's while to employ an expert book analyzer? there are some of them. look at the fellow who runs the pacific monthly's book business for example! he knows a thing or two. chapman--i think perhaps you exaggerate the value of those trained experts. they are likely to be fourflushers. we had one once at our factory, and as far as i could make out he never thought we were doing good business except when we were losing money. mifflin--as far as i have been able to observe, making money is the easiest thing in the world. all you have to do is to turn out an honest product, something that the public needs. then you have to let them know that you have it, and teach them that they need it. they will batter down your front door in their eagerness to get it. but if you begin to hand them gold bricks, if you begin to sell them books built like an apartment house, all marble front and all brick behind, you're cutting your own throat, or rather cutting your own pocket, which is the same thing. meredith--i think mifflin's right. you know the kind of place our shop is: a regular fifth avenue store, all plate glass front and marble columns glowing in the indirect lighting like a birchwood at full moon. we sell hundreds of dollars' worth of bunkum every day because people ask for it; but i tell you we do it with reluctance. it's rather the custom in our shop to scoff at the book-buying public and call them boobs, but they really want good books--the poor souls don't know how to get them. still, jerry has a certain grain of truth to his credit. i get ten times more satisfaction in selling a copy of newton's the amenities of book-collecting than i do in selling a copy of--well, tarzan; but it's poor business to impose your own private tastes on your customers. all you can do is to hint them along tactfully, when you get a chance, toward the stuff that counts. quincy--you remind me of something that happened in our book department the other day. a flapper came in and said she had forgotten the name of the book she wanted, but it was something about a young man who had been brought up by the monks. i was stumped. i tried her with the cloister and the hearth and monastery bells and legends of the monastic orders and so on, but her face was blank. then one of the salesgirls overheard us talking, and she guessed it right off the bat. of course it was tarzan. mifflin--you poor simp, there was your chance to introduce her to mowgli and the bandar-log. quincy--true--i didn't think of it. mifflin--i'd like to get you fellows' ideas about advertising. there was a young chap in here the other day from an advertising agency, trying to get me to put some copy in the papers. have you found that it pays? fruehling--it always pays--somebody. the only question is, does it pay the man who pays for the ad? meredith--what do you mean? fruehling--did you ever consider the problem of what i call tangential advertising? by that i mean advertising that benefits your rival rather than yourself? take an example. on sixth avenue there is a lovely delicatessen shop, but rather expensive. every conceivable kind of sweetmeat and relish is displayed in the brightly lit window. when you look at that window it simply makes your mouth water. you decide to have something to eat. but do you get it there? not much! you go a little farther down the street and get it at the automat or the crystal lunch. the delicatessen fellow pays the overhead expense of that beautiful food exhibit, and the other man gets the benefit of it. it's the same way in my business. i'm in a factory district, where people can't afford to have any but the best books. (meredith will bear me out in saying that only the wealthy can afford the poor ones.) they read the book ads in the papers and magazines, the ads of meredith's shop and others, and then they come to me to buy them. i believe in advertising, but i believe in letting someone else pay for it. mifflin--i guess perhaps i can afford to go on riding on meredith's ads. i hadn't thought of that. but i think i shall put a little notice in one of the papers some day, just a little card saying parnassus at home good books bought and sold this shop is haunted it will be fun to see what come-back i get. quincy--the book section of a department store doesn't get much chance to enjoy that tangential advertising, as fruehling calls it. why, when our interior decorating shark puts a few volumes of a pirated kipling bound in crushed oilcloth or a copy of "knock-kneed stories," into the window to show off a louis xviii boudoir suite, display space is charged up against my department! last summer he asked me for "something by that ring fellow, i forget the name," to put a punchy finish on a layout of porch furniture. i thought perhaps he meant wagner's nibelungen operas, and began to dig them out. then i found he meant ring lardner. gladfist--there you are. i keep telling you bookselling is an impossible job for a man who loves literature. when did a bookseller ever make any real contribution to the world's happiness? mifflin--dr. johnson's father was a bookseller. gladfist--yes, and couldn't afford to pay for sam's education. fruehling--there's another kind of tangential advertising that interests me. take, for instance, a coles phillips painting for some brand of silk stockings. of course the high lights of the picture are cunningly focussed on the stockings of the eminently beautiful lady; but there is always something else in the picture--an automobile or a country house or a morris chair or a parasol--which makes it just as effective an ad for those goods as it is for the stockings. every now and then phillips sticks a book into his paintings, and i expect the fifth avenue book trade benefits by it. a book that fits the mind as well as a silk stocking does the ankle will be sure to sell. mifflin--you are all crass materialists. i tell you, books are the depositories of the human spirit, which is the only thing in this world that endures. what was it shakespeare said-- not marble nor the gilded monuments of princes shall outlive this powerful rhyme-- by the bones of the hohenzollerns, he was right! and wait a minute! there's something in carlyle's cromwell that comes back to me. he ran excitedly out of the room, and the members of the corn cob fraternity grinned at each other. gladfist cleaned his pipe and poured out some more cider. "he's off on his hobby," he chuckled. "i love baiting him." "speaking of carlyle's cromwell," said fruehling, "that's a book i don't often hear asked for. but a fellow came in the other day hunting for a copy, and to my chagrin i didn't have one. i rather pride myself on keeping that sort of thing in stock. so i called up brentano's to see if i could pick one up, and they told me they had just sold the only copy they had. somebody must have been boosting thomas! maybe he's quoted in tarzan, or somebody has bought up the film rights." mifflin came in, looking rather annoyed. "here's an odd thing," he said. "i know damn well that copy of cromwell was on the shelf because i saw it there last night. it's not there now." "that's nothing," said quincy. "you know how people come into a second-hand store, see a book they take a fancy to but don't feel like buying just then, and tuck it away out of sight or on some other shelf where they think no one else will spot it, but they'll be able to find it when they can afford it. probably someone's done that with your cromwell." "maybe, but i doubt it," said mifflin. "mrs. mifflin says she didn't sell it this evening. i woke her up to ask her. she was dozing over her knitting at the desk. i guess she's tired after her trip." "i'm sorry to miss the carlyle quotation," said benson. "what was the gist?" "i think i've got it jotted down in a notebook," said roger, hunting along a shelf. "yes, here it is." he read aloud: "the works of a man, bury them under what guano-mountains and obscene owl-droppings you will, do not perish, cannot perish. what of heroism, what of eternal light was in a man and his life, is with very great exactness added to the eternities, remains forever a new divine portion of the sum of things. "now, my friends, the bookseller is one of the keys in that universal adding machine, because he aids in the cross-fertilization of men and books. his delight in his calling doesn't need to be stimulated even by the bright shanks of a coles phillips picture. "roger, my boy," said gladfist, "your innocent enthusiasm makes me think of tom daly's favourite story about the irish priest who was rebuking his flock for their love of whisky. 'whisky,' he said, 'is the bane of this congregation. whisky, that steals away a man's brains. whisky, that makes you shoot at landlords--and not hit them!' even so, my dear roger, your enthusiasm makes you shoot at truth and never come anywhere near it." "jerry," said roger, "you are a upas tree. your shadow is poisonous!" "well, gentlemen," said mr. chapman, "i know mrs. mifflin wants to be relieved of her post. i vote we adjourn early. your conversation is always delightful, though i am sometimes a bit uncertain as to the conclusions. my daughter is going to be a bookseller, and i shall look forward to hearing her views on the business." as the guests made their way out through the shop, mr. chapman drew roger aside. "it's perfectly all right about sending titania?" he asked. "absolutely," said roger. "when does she want to come?" "is to-morrow too soon?" "the sooner the better. we've got a little spare room upstairs that she can have. i've got some ideas of my own about furnishing it for her. send her round to-morrow afternoon." chapter iii titania arrives the first pipe after breakfast is a rite of some importance to seasoned smokers, and roger applied the flame to the bowl as he stood at the bottom of the stairs. he blew a great gush of strong blue reek that eddied behind him as he ran up the flight, his mind eagerly meditating the congenial task of arranging the little spare room for the coming employee. then, at the top of the steps, he found that his pipe had already gone out. "what with filling my pipe and emptying it, lighting it and relighting it," he thought, "i don't seem to get much time for the serious concerns of life. come to think of it, smoking, soiling dishes and washing them, talking and listening to other people talk, take up most of life anyway." this theory rather pleased him, so he ran downstairs again to tell it to mrs. mifflin. "go along and get that room fixed up," she said, "and don't try to palm off any bogus doctrines on me so early in the morning. housewives have no time for philosophy after breakfast." roger thoroughly enjoyed himself in the task of preparing the guest-room for the new assistant. it was a small chamber at the back of the second storey, opening on to a narrow passage that connected through a door with the gallery of the bookshop. two small windows commanded a view of the modest roofs of that quarter of brooklyn, roofs that conceal so many brave hearts, so many baby carriages, so many cups of bad coffee, and so many cartons of the chapman prunes. "by the way," he called downstairs, "better have some of the prunes for supper to-night, just as a compliment to miss chapman." mrs. mifflin preserved a humorous silence. over these noncommittal summits the bright eye of the bookseller, as he tacked up the freshly ironed muslin curtains mrs. mifflin had allotted, could discern a glimpse of the bay and the leviathan ferries that link staten island with civilization. "just a touch of romance in the outlook," he thought to himself. "it will suffice to keep a blasee young girl aware of the excitements of existence." the room, as might be expected in a house presided over by helen mifflin, was in perfect order to receive any occupant, but roger had volunteered to psychologize it in such a fashion as (he thought) would convey favourable influences to the misguided young spirit that was to be its tenant. incurable idealist, he had taken quite gravely his responsibility as landlord and employer of mr. chapman's daughter. no chambered nautilus was to have better opportunity to expand the tender mansions of its soul. beside the bed was a bookshelf with a reading lamp. the problem roger was discussing was what books and pictures might be the best preachers to this congregation of one. to mrs. mifflin's secret amusement he had taken down the picture of sir galahad which he had once hung there, because (as he had said) if sir galahad were living to-day he would be a bookseller. "we don't want her feasting her imagination on young galahads," he had remarked at breakfast. "that way lies premature matrimony. what i want to do is put up in her room one or two good prints representing actual men who were so delightful in their day that all the young men she is likely to see now will seem tepid and prehensile. thus she will become disgusted with the present generation of youths and there will be some chance of her really putting her mind on the book business." accordingly he had spent some time in going through a bin where he kept photos and drawings of authors that the publishers' "publicity men" were always showering upon him. after some thought he discarded promising engravings of harold bell wright and stephen leacock, and chose pictures of shelley, anthony trollope, robert louis stevenson, and robert burns. then, after further meditation, he decided that neither shelley nor burns would quite do for a young girl's room, and set them aside in favour of a portrait of samuel butler. to these he added a framed text that he was very fond of and had hung over his own desk. he had once clipped it from a copy of life and found much pleasure in it. it runs thus: on the return of a book lent to a friend i give humble and hearty thanks for the safe return of this book which having endured the perils of my friend's bookcase, and the bookcases of my friend's friends, now returns to me in reasonably good condition. i give humble and hearty thanks that my friend did not see fit to give this book to his infant as a plaything, nor use it as an ash-tray for his burning cigar, nor as a teething-ring for his mastiff. when i lent this book i deemed it as lost: i was resigned to the bitterness of the long parting: i never thought to look upon its pages again. but now that my book is come back to me, i rejoice and am exceeding glad! bring hither the fatted morocco and let us rebind the volume and set it on the shelf of honour: for this my book was lent, and is returned again. presently, therefore, i may return some of the books that i myself have borrowed. "there!" he thought. "that will convey to her the first element of book morality." these decorations having been displayed on the walls, he bethought himself of the books that should stand on the bedside shelf. this is a question that admits of the utmost nicety of discussion. some authorities hold that the proper books for a guest-room are of a soporific quality that will induce swift and painless repose. this school advises the wealth of nations, rome under the caesars, the statesman's year book, certain novels of henry james, and the letters of queen victoria (in three volumes). it is plausibly contended that books of this kind cannot be read (late at night) for more than a few minutes at a time, and that they afford useful scraps of information. another branch of opinion recommends for bedtime reading short stories, volumes of pithy anecdote, swift and sparkling stuff that may keep one awake for a space, yet will advantage all the sweeter slumber in the end. even ghost stories and harrowing matter are maintained seasonable by these pundits. this class of reading comprises o. henry, bret harte, leonard merrick, ambrose bierce, w. w. jacobs, daudet, de maupassant, and possibly even on a slow train through arkansaw, that grievous classic of the railway bookstalls whereof its author, mr. thomas w. jackson, has said "it will sell forever, and a thousand years afterward." to this might be added another of mr. jackson's onslaughts on the human intelligence, i'm from texas, you can't steer me, whereof is said (by the author) "it is like a hard-boiled egg, you can't beat it." there are other of mr. jackson's books, whose titles escape memory, whereof he has said "they are a dynamite for sorrow." nothing used to annoy mifflin more than to have someone come in and ask for copies of these works. his brother-in-law, andrew mcgill, the writer, once gave him for christmas (just to annoy him) a copy of on a slow train through arkansaw sumptuously bound and gilded in what is known to the trade as "dove-coloured ooze." roger retorted by sending andrew (for his next birthday) two volumes of brann the iconoclast bound in what robert cortes holliday calls "embossed toadskin." but that is apart from the story. to the consideration of what to put on miss titania's bookshelf roger devoted the delighted hours of the morning. several times helen called him to come down and attend to the shop, but he was sitting on the floor, unaware of numbed shins, poring over the volumes he had carted upstairs for a final culling. "it will be a great privilege," he said to himself, "to have a young mind to experiment with. now my wife, delightful creature though she is, was--well, distinctly mature when i had the good fortune to meet her; i have never been able properly to supervise her mental processes. but this chapman girl will come to us wholly unlettered. her father said she had been to a fashionable school: that surely is a guarantee that the delicate tendrils of her mind have never begun to sprout. i will test her (without her knowing it) by the books i put here for her. by noting which of them she responds to, i will know how to proceed. it might be worth while to shut up the shop one day a week in order to give her some brief talks on literature. delightful! let me see, a little series of talks on the development of the english novel, beginning with tom jones--hum, that would hardly do! well, i have always longed to be a teacher, this looks like a chance to begin. we might invite some of the neighbours to send in their children once a week, and start a little school. causeries du lundi, in fact! who knows i may yet be the sainte beuve of brooklyn." across his mind flashed a vision of newspaper clippings--"this remarkable student of letters, who hides his brilliant parts under the unassuming existence of a second-hand bookseller, is now recognized as the----" "roger!" called mrs. mifflin from downstairs: "front! someone wants to know if you keep back numbers of foamy stories." after he had thrown out the intruder, roger returned to his meditation. "this selection," he mused, "is of course only tentative. it is to act as a preliminary test, to see what sort of thing interests her. first of all, her name naturally suggests shakespeare and the elizabethans. it's a remarkable name, titania chapman: there must be great virtue in prunes! let's begin with a volume of christopher marlowe. then keats, i guess: every young person ought to shiver over st. agnes' eve on a bright cold winter evening. over bemerton's, certainly, because it's a bookshop story. eugene field's tribune primer to try out her sense of humour. and archy, by all means, for the same reason. i'll go down and get the archy scrapbook." it should be explained that roger was a keen admirer of don marquis, the humourist of the new york evening sun. mr. marquis once lived in brooklyn, and the bookseller was never tired of saying that he was the most eminent author who had graced the borough since the days of walt whitman. archy, the imaginary cockroach whom mr. marquis uses as a vehicle for so much excellent fun, was a constant delight to roger, and he had kept a scrapbook of all archy's clippings. this bulky tome he now brought out from the grotto by his desk where his particular treasures were kept. he ran his eye over it, and mrs. mifflin heard him utter shrill screams of laughter. "what on earth is it?" she asked. "only archy," he said, and began to read aloud-- down in a wine vault underneath the city two old men were sitting they were drinking booze torn were their garments hair and beards were gritty one had an overcoat but hardly any shoes overhead the street cars through the streets were running filled with happy people going home to christmas in the adirondacks the hunters all were gunning big ships were sailing down by the isthmus in came a little tot for to kiss her granny such a little totty she could scarcely tottle saying kiss me grandpa kiss your little nanny but the old man beaned her with a whisky bottle. outside the snowflakes began for to flutter far at sea the ships were sailing with the seamen not another word did angel nanny utter her grandsire chuckled and pledged the whisky demon up spake the second man he was worn and weary tears washed his face which otherwise was pasty she loved her parents who commuted on the erie brother im afraid you struck a trifle hasty she came to see you all her pretty duds on bringing christmas posies from her mothers garden riding in the tunnel underneath the hudson brother was it rum caused your heart to harden---- "what on earth is there funny in that?" said mrs. mifflin. "poor little lamb, i think it was terrible." "there's more of it," cried roger, and opened his mouth to continue. "no more, thank you," said helen. "there ought to be a fine for using the meter of love in the valley that way. i'm going out to market so if the bell rings you'll have to answer it." roger added the archy scrapbook to miss titania's shelf, and went on browsing over the volumes he had collected. "the nigger of the narcissus," he said to himself, "for even if she doesn't read the story perhaps she'll read the preface, which not marble nor the monuments of princes will outlive. dickens' christmas stories to introduce her to mrs. lirriper, the queen of landladies. publishers tell me that norfolk street, strand, is best known for the famous literary agent that has his office there, but i wonder how many of them know that that was where mrs. lirriper had her immortal lodgings? the notebooks of samuel butler, just to give her a little intellectual jazz. the wrong box, because it's the best farce in the language. travels with a donkey, to show her what good writing is like. the four horsemen of the apocalypse to give her a sense of pity for human woes--wait a minute, though: that's a pretty broad book for young ladies. i guess we'll put it aside and see what else there is. some of mr. mosher's catalogues: fine! they'll show her the true spirit of what one book-lover calls biblio-bliss. walking-stick papers--yes, there are still good essayists running around. a bound file of the publishers' weekly to give her a smack of trade matters. jo's boys in case she needs a little relaxation. the lays of ancient rome and austin dobson to show her some good poetry. i wonder if they give them the lays to read in school nowadays? i have a horrible fear they are brought up on the battle of salamis and the brutal redcoats of ' . and now we'll be exceptionally subtle: we'll stick in a robert chambers to see if she falls for it." he viewed the shelf with pride. "not bad," he said to himself. "i'll just add this leonard merrick, whispers about women, to amuse her. i bet that title will start her guessing. helen will say i ought to have included the bible, but i'll omit it on purpose, just to see whether the girl misses it." with typical male curiosity he pulled out the bureau drawers to see what disposition his wife had made of them, and was pleased to find a little muslin bag of lavender dispersing a quiet fragrance in each. "very nice," he remarked. "very nice indeed! about the only thing missing is an ashtray. if miss titania is as modern as some of them, that'll be the first thing she'll call for. and maybe a copy of ezra pound's poems. i do hope she's not what helen calls a bolshevixen." there was nothing bolshevik about a glittering limousine that drew up at the corner of gissing and swinburne streets early that afternoon. a chauffeur in green livery opened the door, lifted out a suitcase of beautiful brown leather, and gave a respectful hand to the vision that emerged from depths of lilac-coloured upholstery. "where do you want me to carry the bag, miss?" "this is the bitter parting," replied miss titania. "i don't want you to know my address, edwards. some of my mad friends might worm it out of you, and i don't want them coming down and bothering me. i am going to be very busy with literature. i'll walk the rest of the way." edwards saluted with a grin--he worshipped the original young heiress--and returned to his wheel. "there's one thing i want you to do for me," said titania. "call up my father and tell him i'm on the job." "yes, miss," said edwards, who would have run the limousine into a government motor truck if she had ordered it. miss chapman's small gloved hand descended into an interesting purse that was cuffed to her wrist with a bright little chain. she drew out a nickel--it was characteristic of her that it was a very bright and engaging looking nickel--and handed it gravely to her charioteer. equally gravely he saluted, and the car, after moving through certain dignified arcs, swam swiftly away down thackeray boulevard. titania, after making sure that edwards was out of sight, turned up gissing street with a fluent pace and an observant eye. a small boy cried, "carry your bag, lady?" and she was about to agree, but then remembered that she was now engaged at ten dollars a week and waved him away. our readers would feel a justifiable grudge if we did not attempt a description of the young lady, and we will employ the few blocks of her course along gissing street for this purpose. walking behind her, the observer, by the time she had reached clemens place, would have seen that she was faultlessly tailored in genial tweeds; that her small brown boots were sheltered by spats of that pale tan complexion exhibited by pullman porters on the pennsylvania railroad; that her person was both slender and vigorous; that her shoulders were carrying a sumptuous fur of the colour described by the trade as nutria, or possibly opal smoke. the word chinchilla would have occurred irresistibly to this observer from behind; he might also, if he were the father of a family, have had a fleeting vision of many autographed stubs in a check book. the general impression that he would have retained, had he turned aside at clemens place, would be "expensive, but worth the expense." it is more likely, however, that the student of phenomena would have continued along gissing street to the next corner, being that of hazlitt street. taking advantage of opportunity, he would overtake the lady on the pavement, with a secret, sidelong glance. if he were wise, he would pass her on the right side where her tilted bonnet permitted a wider angle of vision. he would catch a glimpse of cheek and chin belonging to the category known (and rightly) as adorable; hair that held sunlight through the dullest day; even a small platinum wrist watch that might pardonably be excused, in its exhilarating career, for beating a trifle fast. among the greyish furs he would note a bunch of such violets as never bloom in the crude springtime, but reserve themselves for november and the plate glass windows of fifth avenue. it is probable that whatever the errand of this spectator he would have continued along gissing street a few paces farther. then, with calculated innocence, he would have halted halfway up the block that leads to the wordsworth avenue "l," and looked backward with carefully simulated irresolution, as though considering some forgotten matter. with apparently unseeing eyes he would have scanned the bright pedestrian, and caught the full impact of her rich blue gaze. he would have seen a small resolute face rather vivacious in effect, yet with a quaint pathos of youth and eagerness. he would have noted the cheeks lit with excitement and rapid movement in the bracing air. he would certainly have noted the delicate contrast of the fur of the wild nutria with the soft v of her bare throat. then, to his surprise, he would have seen this attractive person stop, examine her surroundings, and run down some steps into a rather dingy-looking second-hand bookshop. he would have gone about his affairs with a new and surprised conviction that the almighty had the borough of brooklyn under his especial care. roger, who had conceived a notion of some rather peevish foundling of the ritz-carlton lobbies and central park riding academies, was agreeably amazed by the sweet simplicity of the young lady. "is this mr. mifflin?" she said, as he advanced all agog from his smoky corner. "miss chapman?" he replied, taking her bag. "helen!" he called. "miss titania is here." she looked about the sombre alcoves of the shop. "i do think it's adorable of you to take me in," she said. "dad has told me so much about you. he says i'm impossible. i suppose this is the literature he talks about. i want to know all about it." "and here's bock!" she cried. "dad says he's the greatest dog in the world, named after botticelli or somebody. i've brought him a present. it's in my bag. nice old bocky!" bock, who was unaccustomed to spats, was examining them after his own fashion. "well, my dear," said mrs. mifflin. "we are delighted to see you. i hope you'll be happy with us, but i rather doubt it. mr. mifflin is a hard man to get along with." "oh, i'm sure of it!" cried titania. "i mean, i'm sure i shall be happy! you mustn't believe a word of what dad says about me. i'm crazy about books. i don't see how you can bear to sell them. i brought these violets for you, mrs. mifflin." "how perfectly sweet of you," said helen, captivated already. "come along, we'll put them right in water. i'll show you your room." roger heard them moving about overhead. it suddenly occurred to him that the shop was rather a dingy place for a young girl. "i wish i had thought to get in a cash register," he mused. "she'll think i'm terribly unbusiness-like." "now," said mrs. mifflin, as she and titania came downstairs again, "i'm making some pastry, so i'm going to turn you over to your employer. he can show you round the shop and tell you where all the books are." "before we begin," said titania, "just let me give bock his present." she showed a large package of tissue paper and, unwinding innumerable layers, finally disclosed a stalwart bone. "i was lunching at sherry's, and i made the head waiter give me this. he was awfully amused." "come along into the kitchen and give it to him," said helen. "he'll be your friend for life." "what an adorable kennel!" cried titania, when she saw the remodelled packing-case that served bock as a retreat. the bookseller's ingenious carpentry had built it into the similitude of a carnegie library, with the sign reading-room over the door; and he had painted imitation book-shelves along the interior. "you'll get used to mr. mifflin after a while," said helen amusedly. "he spent all one winter getting that kennel fixed to his liking. you might have thought he was going to live in it instead of bock. all the titles that he painted in there are books that have dogs in them, and a lot of them he made up." titania insisted on getting down to peer inside. bock was much flattered at this attention from the new planet that had swum into his kennel. "gracious!" she said, "here's 'the rubaiyat of omar canine.' i do think that's clever!" "oh, there are a lot more," said helen. "the works of bonar law, and bohn's 'classics,' and 'catechisms on dogma' and goodness knows what. if roger paid half as much attention to business as he does to jokes of that sort, we'd be rich. now, you run along and have a look at the shop." titania found the bookseller at his desk. "here i am, mr. mifflin," she said. "see, i brought a nice sharp pencil along with me to make out sales slips. i've been practicing sticking it in my hair. i can do it quite nicely now. i hope you have some of those big red books with all the carbon paper in them and everything. i've been watching the girls up at lord and taylor's make them out, and i think they're fascinating. and you must teach me to run the elevator. i'm awfully keen about elevators." "bless me," said roger, "you'll find this very different from lord and taylor's! we haven't any elevators, or any sales slips, or even a cash register. we don't wait on customers unless they ask us to. they come in and browse round, and if they find anything they want they come back here to my desk and ask about it. the price is marked in every book in red pencil. the cash-box is here on this shelf. this is the key hanging on this little hook. i enter each sale in this ledger. when you sell a book you must write it down here, and the price paid for it." "but suppose it's charged?" said titania. "no charge accounts. everything is cash. if someone comes in to sell books, you must refer him to me. you mustn't be surprised to see people drop in here and spend several hours reading. lots of them look on this as a kind of club. i hope you don't mind the smell of tobacco, for almost all the men that come here smoke in the shop. you see, i put ash trays around for them." "i love tobacco smell," said titania. "daddy's library at home smells something like this, but not quite so strong. and i want to see the worms, bookworms you know. daddy said you had lots of them." "you'll see them, all right," said roger, chuckling. "they come in and out. to-morrow i'll show you how my stock is arranged. it'll take you quite a while to get familiar with it. until then i just want you to poke around and see what there is, until you know the shelves so well you could put your hand on any given book in the dark. that's a game my wife and i used to play. we would turn off all the lights at night, and i would call out the title of a book and see how near she could come to finding it. then i would take a turn. when we came more than six inches away from it we would have to pay a forfeit. it's great fun." "what larks we'll have," cried titania. "i do think this is a cunning place!" "this is the bulletin board, where i put up notices about books that interest me. here's a card i've just been writing." roger drew from his pocket a square of cardboard and affixed it to the board with a thumbtack. titania read: the book that should have prevented the war now that the fighting is over is a good time to read thomas hardy's the dynasts. i don't want to sell it, because it is one of the greatest treasures i own. but if any one will guarantee to read all three volumes, and let them sink into his mind, i'm willing to lend them. if enough thoughtful germans had read the dynasts before july, , there would have been no war. if every delegate to the peace conference could be made to read it before the sessions begin, there will be no more wars. r. mifflin. "dear me," said titania, "is it so good as all that? perhaps i'd better read it." "it is so good that if i knew any way of doing so i'd insist on mr. wilson reading it on his voyage to france. i wish i could get it onto his ship. my, what a book! it makes one positively ill with pity and terror. sometimes i wake up at night and look out of the window and imagine i hear hardy laughing. i get him a little mixed up with the deity, i fear. but he's a bit too hard for you to tackle." titania was puzzled, and said nothing. but her busy mind made a note of its own: hardy, hard to read, makes one ill, try it. "what did you think of the books i put in your room?" said roger. he had vowed to wait until she made some comment unsolicited, but he could not restrain himself. "in my room?" she said. "why, i'm sorry, i never noticed them!" chapter iv the disappearing volume "well, my dear," said roger after supper that evening, "i think perhaps we had better introduce miss titania to our custom of reading aloud." "perhaps it would bore her?" said helen. "you know it isn't everybody that likes being read to." "oh, i should love it!" exclaimed titania. "i don't think anybody ever read to me, that is not since i was a child." "suppose we leave you to look after the shop," said helen to roger, in a teasing mood, "and i'll take titania out to the movies. i think tarzan is still running." whatever private impulses miss chapman may have felt, she saw by the bookseller's downcast face that a visit to tarzan would break his heart, and she was prompt to disclaim any taste for the screen classic. "dear me," she said; "tarzan--that's all that nature stuff by john burroughs; isn't it? oh, mrs. mifflin, i think it would be very tedious. let's have mr. mifflin read to us. i'll get down my knitting bag." "you mustn't mind being interrupted," said helen. "when anybody rings the bell roger has to run out and tend the shop." "you must let me do it," said titania. "i want to earn my wages, you know." "all right," said mrs. mifflin; "roger, you settle miss chapman in the den and give her something to look at while we do the dishes." but roger was all on fire to begin the reading. "why don't we postpone the dishes," he said, "just to celebrate?" "let me help," insisted titania. "i should think washing up would be great fun." "no, no, not on your first evening," said helen. "mr. mifflin and i will finish them in a jiffy." so roger poked up the coal fire in the den, disposed the chairs, and gave titania a copy of sartor resartus to look at. he then vanished into the kitchen with his wife, whence titania heard the cheerful clank of crockery in a dishpan and the splashing of hot water. "the best thing about washing up," she heard roger say, "is that it makes one's hands so clean, a novel sensation for a second-hand bookseller." she gave sartor resartus what is graphically described as a "once over," and then seeing the morning times lying on the table, picked it up, as she had not read it. her eye fell upon the column headed lost and found fifty cents an agate line and as she had recently lost a little pearl brooch, she ran hastily through it. she chuckled a little over lost--hotel imperial lavatory, set of teeth. call or communicate steel, east st. reward, no questions asked. then she saw this: lost--copy of thomas carlyle's "oliver cromwell," between gissing street, brooklyn, and the octagon hotel. if found before midnight, tuesday, dec. , return to assistant chef, octagon hotel. "why" she exclaimed, "gissing street--that's here! and what a funny kind of book for an assistant chef to read. no wonder their lunches have been so bad lately!" when roger and helen rejoined her in the den a few minutes later she showed the bookseller the advertisement. he was very much excited. "that's a funny thing," he said. "there's something queer about that book. did i tell you about it? last tuesday--i know it was then because it was the evening young gilbert was here--a man with a beard came in asking for it, and it wasn't on the shelf. then the next night, wednesday, i was up very late writing, and fell asleep at my desk. i must have left the front door ajar, because i was waked up by the draught, and when i went to close the door i saw the book sticking out a little beyond the others, in its usual place. and last night, when the corn cobs were here, i went out to look up a quotation in it, and it was gone again." "perhaps the assistant chef stole it?" said titania. "but if so, why the deuce would he advertise having done so?" asked roger. "well, if he did steal it," said helen, "i wish him joy of it. i tried to read it once, you talked so much about it, and i found it dreadfully dull." "if he did steal it," cried the bookseller, "i'm perfectly delighted. it shows that my contention is right: people do really care for good books. if an assistant chef is so fond of good books that he has to steal them, the world is safe for democracy. usually the only books any one wants to steal are sheer piffle, like making life worth while by douglas fairbanks or mother shipton's book of oracles. i don't mind a man stealing books if he steals good ones!" "you see the remarkable principles that govern this business," said helen to titania. they sat down by the fire and took up their knitting while the bookseller ran out to see if the volume had by any chance returned to his shelves. "is it there?" said helen, when he came back. "no," said roger, and picked up the advertisement again. "i wonder why he wants it returned before midnight on tuesday?" "so he can read it in bed, i guess," said helen. "perhaps he suffers from insomnia." "it's a darn shame he lost it before he had a chance to read it. i'd like to have known what he thought of it. i've got a great mind to go up and call on him." "charge it off to profit and loss and forget about it," said helen. "how about that reading aloud?" roger ran his eye along his private shelves, and pulled down a well-worn volume. "now that thanksgiving is past," he said, "my mind always turns to christmas, and christmas means charles dickens. my dear, would it bore you if we had a go at the old christmas stories?" mrs. mifflin held up her hands in mock dismay. "he reads them to me every year at this time," she said to titania. "still, they're worth it. i know good old mrs. lirriper better than i do most of my friends." "what is it, the christmas carol?" said titania. "we had to read that in school." "no," said roger; "the other stories, infinitely better. everybody gets the carol dinned into them until they're weary of it, but no one nowadays seems to read the others. i tell you, christmas wouldn't be christmas to me if i didn't read these tales over again every year. how homesick they make one for the good old days of real inns and real beefsteak and real ale drawn in pewter. my dears, sometimes when i am reading dickens i get a vision of rare sirloin with floury boiled potatoes and plenty of horse-radish, set on a shining cloth not far from a blaze of english coal----" "he's an incorrigible visionary," said mrs. mifflin. "to hear him talk you might think no one had had a square meal since dickens died. you might think that all landladies died with mrs. lirriper." "very ungrateful of him," said titania. "i'm sure i couldn't ask for better potatoes, or a nicer hostess, than i've found in brooklyn." "well, well," said roger. "you are right, of course. and yet something went out of the world when victorian england vanished, something that will never come again. take the stagecoach drivers, for instance. what a racy, human type they were! and what have we now to compare with them? subway guards? taxicab drivers? i have hung around many an all-night lunchroom to hear the chauffeurs talk. but they are too much on the move, you can't get the picture of them the way dickens could of his types. you can't catch that sort of thing in a snapshot, you know: you have to have a time exposure. i'll grant you, though, that lunchroom food is mighty good. the best place to eat is always a counter where the chauffeurs congregate. they get awfully hungry, you see, driving round in the cold, and when they want food they want it hot and tasty. there's a little hash-alley called frank's, up on broadway near th, where i guess the ham and eggs and french fried is as good as any mr. pickwick ever ate." "i must get edwards to take me there," said titania. "edwards is our chauffeur. i've been to the ansonia for tea, that's near there." "better keep away," said helen. "when roger comes home from those places he smells so strong of onions it brings tears to my eyes." "we've just been talking about an assistant chef," said roger; "that suggests that i read you somebody's luggage, which is all about a head waiter. i have often wished i could get a job as a waiter or a bus boy, just to learn if there really are any such head waiters nowadays. you know there are all sorts of jobs i'd like to have, just to fructify my knowledge of human nature and find out whether life is really as good as literature. i'd love to be a waiter, a barber, a floorwalker----" "roger, my dear," said helen, "why don't you get on with the reading?" roger knocked out his pipe, turned bock out of his chair, and sat down with infinite relish to read the memorable character sketch of christopher, the head waiter, which is dear to every lover of taverns. "the writer of these humble lines being a waiter," he began. the knitting needles flashed with diligence, and the dog by the fender stretched himself out in the luxuriant vacancy of mind only known to dogs surrounded by a happy group of their friends. and roger, enjoying himself enormously, and particularly pleased by the chuckles of his audience, was approaching the ever-delightful items of the coffee-room bill which is to be found about ten pages on in the first chapter--how sad it is that hotel bills are not so rendered in these times--when the bell in the shop clanged. picking up his pipe and matchbox, and grumbling "it's always the way," he hurried out of the room. he was agreeably surprised to find that his caller was the young advertising man, aubrey gilbert. "hullo!" he said. "i've been saving something for you. it's a quotation from joseph conrad about advertising." "good enough," said aubrey. "and i've got something for you. you were so nice to me the other evening i took the liberty of bringing you round some tobacco. here's a tin of blue-eyed mixture, it's my favourite. i hope you'll like it." "bully for you. perhaps i ought to let you off the conrad quotation since you're so kind." "not a bit. i suppose it's a knock. shoot!" the bookseller led the way back to his desk, where he rummaged among the litter and finally found a scrap of paper on which he had written: being myself animated by feelings of affection toward my fellowmen, i am saddened by the modern system of advertising. whatever evidence it offers of enterprise, ingenuity, impudence, and resource in certain individuals, it proves to my mind the wide prevalence of that form of mental degradation which is called gullibility. joseph conrad. "what do you think of that?" said roger. "you'll find that in the story called the anarchist." "i think less than nothing of it," said aubrey. "as your friend don marquis observed the other evening, an idea isn't always to be blamed for the people who believe in it. mr. conrad has been reading some quack ads, that's all. because there are fake ads, that doesn't condemn the principle of publicity. but look here, what i really came round to see you for is to show you this. it was in the times this morning." he pulled out of his pocket a clipping of the lost insertion to which roger's attention had already been drawn. "yes, i've just seen it," said roger. "i missed the book from my shelves, and i believe someone must have stolen it." "well, now, i want to tell you something," said aubrey. "to-night i had dinner at the octagon with mr. chapman." "is that so?" said roger. "you know his daughter's here now." "so he told me. it's rather interesting how it all works out. you see, after you told me the other day that miss chapman was coming to work for you, that gave me an idea. i knew her father would be specially interested in brooklyn, on that account, and it suggested to me an idea for a window-display campaign here in brooklyn for the daintybits products. you know we handle all his sales promotion campaigns. of course i didn't let on that i knew about his daughter coming over here, but he told me about it himself in the course of our talk. well, here's what i'm getting at. we had dinner in the czecho-slovak grill, up on the fourteenth floor, and going up in the elevator i saw a man in a chef's uniform carrying a book. i looked over his shoulder to see what it was. i thought of course it would be a cook-book. it was a copy of oliver cromwell." "so he found it again, eh? i must go and have a talk with that chap. if he's a carlyle fan i'd like to know him." "wait a minute. i had seen the lost ad in the paper this morning, because i always look over that column. often it gives me ideas for advertising stunts. if you keep an eye on the things people are anxious to get back, you know what they really prize, and if you know what they prize you can get a line on what goods ought to be advertised more extensively. this was the first time i had ever noticed a lost ad for a book, so i thought to myself "the book business is coming up." well, when i saw the chef with the book in his hand, i said to him jokingly, "i see you found it again." he was a foreign-looking fellow, with a big beard, which is unusual for a chef, because i suppose it's likely to get in the soup. he looked at me as though i'd run a carving knife into him, almost scared me the way he looked. "yes, yes," he said, and shoved the book out of sight under his arm. he seemed half angry and half frightened, so i thought maybe he had no right to be riding in the passenger elevator and was scared someone would report him to the manager. just as we were getting to the fourteenth floor i said to him in a whisper, "it's all right, old chap, i'm not going to report you." i give you my word he looked more scared than before. he went quite white. i got off at the fourteenth, and he followed me out. i thought he was going to speak to me, but mr. chapman was there in the lobby, and he didn't have a chance. but i noticed that he watched me into the grill room as though i was his last chance of salvation." "i guess the poor devil was scared you'd report him to the police for stealing the book," said roger. "never mind, let him have it." "did he steal it?" "i haven't a notion. but somebody did, because it disappeared from here." "well, now, wait a minute. here's the queer part of it. i didn't think anything more about it, except that it was a funny coincidence my seeing him after having noticed that ad in the paper. i had a long talk with mr. chapman, and we discussed some plans for a prune and saratoga chip campaign, and i showed him some suggested copy i had prepared. then he told me about his daughter, and i let on that i knew you. i left the octagon about eight o'clock, and i thought i'd run over here on the subway just to show you the lost notice and give you this tobacco. and when i got off the subway at atlantic avenue, who should i see but friend chef again. he got off the same train i did. he had on civilian clothes then, of course, and when he was out of his white uniform and pancake hat i recognized him right off. who do you suppose it was?" "can't imagine," said roger, highly interested by this time. "why, the professor-looking guy who came in to ask for the book the first night i was here." "humph! well, he must be keen about carlyle, because he was horribly disappointed that evening when he asked for the book and i couldn't find it. i remember how he insisted that i must have it, and i hunted all through the history shelves to make sure it hadn't got misplaced. he said that some friend of his had seen it here, and he had come right round to buy it. i told him he could certainly get a copy at the public library, and he said that wouldn't do at all." "well, i think he's nuts," said aubrey, "because i'm damn sure he followed me down the street after i left the subway. i stopped in at the drug store on the corner to get some matches, and when i came out, there he was underneath the lamp-post." "if it was a modern author, instead of carlyle," said roger, "i'd say it was some publicity stunt pulled off by the publishers. you know they go to all manner of queer dodges to get an author's name in print. but carlyle's copyrights expired long ago, so i don't see the game." "i guess he's picketing your place to try and steal the formula for eggs samuel butler," said aubrey, and they both laughed. "you'd better come in and meet my wife and miss chapman," said roger. the young man made some feeble demur, but it was obvious to the bookseller that he was vastly elated at the idea of making miss chapman's acquaintance. "here's a friend of mine," said roger, ushering aubrey into the little room where helen and titania were still sitting by the fire. "mrs. mifflin, mr. aubrey gilbert, miss chapman, mr. gilbert." aubrey was vaguely aware of the rows of books, of the shining coals, of the buxom hostess and the friendly terrier; but with the intense focus of an intelligent young male mind these were all merely appurtenances to the congenial spectacle of the employee. how quickly a young man's senses assemble and assimilate the data that are really relevant! without seeming even to look in that direction he had performed the most amazing feat of lightning calculation known to the human faculties. he had added up all the young ladies of his acquaintance, and found the sum total less than the girl before him. he had subtracted the new phenomenon from the universe as he knew it, including the solar system and the advertising business, and found the remainder a minus quantity. he had multiplied the contents of his intellect by a factor he had no reason to assume "constant," and was startled at what teachers call (i believe) the "product." and he had divided what was in the left-hand armchair into his own career, and found no room for a quotient. all of which transpired in the length of time necessary for roger to push forward another chair. with the politeness desirable in a well-bred youth, aubrey's first instinct was to make himself square with the hostess. resolutely he occluded blue eyes, silk shirtwaist, and admirable chin from his mental vision. "it's awfully good of you to let me come in," he said to mrs. mifflin. "i was here the other evening and mr. mifflin insisted on my staying to supper with him." "i'm very glad to see you," said helen. "roger told me about you. i hope he didn't poison you with any of his outlandish dishes. wait till he tries you with brandied peaches a la harold bell wright." aubrey uttered some genial reassurance, still making the supreme sacrifice of keeping his eyes away from where (he felt) they belonged. "mr. gilbert has just had a queer experience," said roger. "tell them about it." in the most reckless way, aubrey permitted himself to be impaled upon a direct and interested flash of blue lightning. "i was having dinner with your father at the octagon." the high tension voltage of that bright blue current felt like ohm sweet ohm, but aubrey dared not risk too much of it at once. fearing to blow out a fuse, he turned in panic to mrs. mifflin. "you see," he explained, "i write a good deal of mr. chapman's advertising for him. we had an appointment to discuss some business matters. we're planning a big barrage on prunes." "dad works much too hard, don't you think?" said titania. aubrey welcomed this as a pleasant avenue of discussion leading into the parkland of miss chapman's family affairs; but roger insisted on his telling the story of the chef and the copy of cromwell. "and he followed you here?" exclaimed titania. "what fun! i had no idea the book business was so exciting." "better lock the door to-night, roger," said mrs. mifflin, "or he may walk off with a set of the encyclopaedia britannica." "why, my dear," said roger, "i think this is grand news. here's a man, in a humble walk of life, so keen about good books that he even pickets a bookstore on the chance of swiping some. it's the most encouraging thing i've ever heard of. i must write to the publishers' weekly about it." "well," said aubrey, "you mustn't let me interrupt your little party." "you're not interrupting," said roger. "we were only reading aloud. do you know dickens' christmas stories?" "i'm afraid i don't." "suppose we go on reading, shall we?" "please do." "yes, do go on," said titania. "mr. mifflin was just reading about a most adorable head waiter in a london chop house." aubrey begged permission to light his pipe, and roger picked up the book. "but before we read the items of the coffee-room bill," he said, "i think it only right that we should have a little refreshment. this passage should never be read without something to accompany it. my dear, what do you say to a glass of sherry all round?" "it is sad to have to confess it," said mrs. mifflin to titania, "mr. mifflin can never read dickens without having something to drink. i think the sale of dickens will fall off terribly when prohibition comes in." "i once took the trouble to compile a list of the amount of liquor drunk in dickens' works," said roger, "and i assure you the total was astounding: , hogsheads, i believe it was. calculations of that sort are great fun. i have always intended to write a little essay on the rainstorms in the stories of robert louis stevenson. you see r. l. s. was a scot, and well acquainted with wet weather. excuse me a moment, i'll just run down cellar and get up a bottle." roger left the room, and they heard his steps passing down into the cellar. bock, after the manner of dogs, followed him. the smells of cellars are a rare treat to dogs, especially ancient brooklyn cellars which have a cachet all their own. the cellar of the haunted bookshop was, to bock, a fascinating place, illuminated by a warm glow from the furnace, and piled high with split packing-cases which roger used as kindling. from below came the rasp of a shovel among coal, and the clear, musical slither as the lumps were thrown from the iron scoop onto the fire. just then the bell rang in the shop. "let me go," said titania, jumping up. "can't i?" said aubrey. "nonsense!" said mrs. mifflin, laying down her knitting. "neither of you knows anything about the stock. sit down and be comfortable. i'll be right back." aubrey and titania looked at each other with a touch of embarrassment. "your father sent you his--his kind regards," said aubrey. that was not what he had intended to say, but somehow he could not utter the word. "he said not to read all the books at once." titania laughed. "how funny that you should run into him just when you were coming here. he's a duck, isn't he?" "well, you see i only know him in a business way, but he certainly is a corker. he believes in advertising, too." "are you crazy about books?" "why, i never really had very much to do with them. i'm afraid you'll think i'm terribly ignorant----" "not at all. i'm awfully glad to meet someone who doesn't think it's a crime not to have read all the books there are." "this is a queer kind of place, isn't it?" "yes, it's a funny idea to call it the haunted bookshop. i wonder what it means." "mr. mifflin told me it meant haunted by the ghosts of great literature. i hope they won't annoy you. the ghost of thomas carlyle seems to be pretty active." "i'm not afraid of ghosts," said titania. aubrey gazed at the fire. he wanted to say that he intended from now on to do a little haunting on his own account but he did not know just how to break it gently. and then roger returned from the cellar with the bottle of sherry. as he was uncorking it, they heard the shop door close, and mrs. mifflin came in. "well, roger," she said; "if you think so much of your old cromwell, you'd better keep it in here. here it is." she laid the book on the table. "for the love of mike!" exclaimed roger. "who brought it back?" "i guess it was your friend the assistant chef," said mrs. mifflin. "anyway, he had a beard like a christmas tree. he was mighty polite. he said he was terribly absent minded, and that the other day he was in here looking at some books and just walked off with it without knowing what he was doing. he offered to pay for the trouble he had caused, but of course i wouldn't let him. i asked if he wanted to see you, but he said he was in a hurry." "i'm almost disappointed," said roger. "i thought that i had turned up a real booklover. here we are, all hands drink the health of mr. thomas carlyle." the toast was drunk, and they settled themselves in their chairs. "and here's to the new employee," said helen. this also was dispatched, aubrey draining his glass with a zeal which did not escape miss chapman's discerning eye. roger then put out his hand for the dickens. but first he picked up his beloved cromwell. he looked at it carefully, and then held the volume close to the light. "the mystery's not over yet," he said. "it's been rebound. this isn't the original binding." "are you sure?" said helen in surprise. "it looks the same." "the binding has been cleverly imitated, but it can't fool me. in the first place, there was a rubbed corner at the top; and there was an ink stain on one of the end papers." "there's still a stain there," said aubrey, looking over his shoulder. "yes, but not the same stain. i've had that book long enough to know it by heart. now what the deuce would that lunatic want to have it rebound for?" "goodness gracious," said helen, "put it away and forget about it. we'll all be dreaming about carlyle if you're not careful." chapter v aubrey walks part way home--and rides the rest of the way it was a cold, clear night as mr. aubrey gilbert left the haunted bookshop that evening, and set out to walk homeward. without making a very conscious choice, he felt instinctively that it would be agreeable to walk back to manhattan rather than permit the roaring disillusion of the subway to break in upon his meditations. it is to be feared that aubrey would have badly flunked any quizzing on the chapters of somebody's luggage which the bookseller had read aloud. his mind was swimming rapidly in the agreeable, unfettered fashion of a stream rippling downhill. as o. henry puts it in one of his most delightful stories: "he was outwardly decent and managed to preserve his aquarium, but inside he was impromptu and full of unexpectedness." to say that he was thinking of miss chapman would imply too much power of ratiocination and abstract scrutiny on his part. he was not thinking: he was being thought. down the accustomed channels of his intellect he felt his mind ebbing with the irresistible movement of tides drawn by the blandishing moon. and across these shimmering estuaries of impulse his will, a lost and naked athlete, was painfully attempting to swim, but making much leeway and already almost resigned to being carried out to sea. he stopped a moment at weintraub's drug store, on the corner of gissing street and wordsworth avenue, to buy some cigarettes, unfailing solace of an agitated bosom. it was the usual old-fashioned pharmacy of those parts of brooklyn: tall red, green, and blue vases of liquid in the windows threw blotches of coloured light onto the pavement; on the panes was affixed white china lettering: h. we traub, deut che apotheker. inside, the customary shelves of labelled jars, glass cases holding cigars, nostrums and toilet knick-knacks, and in one corner an ancient revolving bookcase deposited long ago by the tabard inn library. the shop was empty, but as he opened the door a bell buzzed sharply. in a back chamber he could hear voices. as he waited idly for the druggist to appear, aubrey cast a tolerant eye over the dusty volumes in the twirling case. there were the usual copies of harold macgrath's the man on the box, a girl of the limberlost, and the houseboat on the styx. the divine fire, much grimed, leaned against joe chapple's heart throbs. those familiar with the tabard inn bookcases still to be found in outlying drug-shops know that the stock has not been "turned" for many a year. aubrey was the more surprised, on spinning the the case round, to find wedged in between two other volumes the empty cover of a book that had been torn loose from the pages to which it belonged. he glanced at the lettering on the back. it ran thus: carlyle ---- oliver cromwell's letters and speeches obeying a sudden impulse, he slipped the book cover in his overcoat pocket. mr. weintraub entered the shop, a solid teutonic person with discoloured pouches under his eyes and a face that was a potent argument for prohibition. his manner, however, was that of one anxious to please. aubrey indicated the brand of cigarettes he wanted. having himself coined the advertising catchword for them--they're mild--but they satisfy--he felt a certain loyal compulsion always to smoke this kind. the druggist held out the packet, and aubrey noticed that his fingers were stained a deep saffron colour. "i see you're a cigarette smoker, too," said aubrey pleasantly, as he opened the packet and lit one of the paper tubes at a little alcohol flame burning in a globe of blue glass on the counter. "me? i never smoke," said mr. weintraub, with a smile which somehow did not seem to fit his surly face. "i must have steady nerves in my profession. apothecaries who smoke make up bad prescriptions." "well, how do you get your hands stained that way?" mr. weintraub removed his hands from the counter. "chemicals," he grunted. "prescriptions--all that sort of thing." "well," said aubrey, "smoking's a bad habit. i guess i do too much of it." he could not resist the impression that someone was listening to their talk. the doorway at the back of the shop was veiled by a portiere of beads and thin bamboo sections threaded on strings. he heard them clicking as though they had been momentarily pulled aside. turning, just as he opened the door to leave, he noticed the bamboo curtain swaying. "well, good-night," he said, and stepped out onto the street. as he walked down wordsworth avenue, under the thunder of the l, past lighted lunchrooms, oyster saloons, and pawnshops, miss chapman resumed her sway. with the delightful velocity of thought his mind whirled in a narrowing spiral round the experience of the evening. the small book-crammed sitting room of the mifflins, the sparkling fire, the lively chirrup of the bookseller reading aloud--and there, in the old easy chair whose horsehair stuffing was bulging out, that blue-eyed vision of careless girlhood! happily he had been so seated that he could study her without seeming to do so. the line of her ankle where the firelight danced upon it put coles phillips to shame, he averred. extraordinary, how these creatures are made to torment us with their intolerable comeliness! against the background of dusky bindings her head shone with a soft haze of gold. her face, that had an air of naive and provoking independence, made him angry with its unnecessary surplus of enchantment. an unaccountable gust of rage drove him rapidly along the frozen street. "damn it," he cried, "what right has any girl to be as pretty as that? why--why, i'd like to beat her!" he muttered, amazed at himself. "what the devil right has a girl got to look so innocently adorable?" it would be unseemly to follow poor aubrey in his vacillations of rage and worship as he thrashed along wordsworth avenue, hearing and seeing no more than was necessary for the preservation of his life at street crossings. half-smoked cigarette stubs glowed in his wake;[ ] his burly bosom echoed with incoherent oratory. in the darker stretches of fulton street that lead up to the brooklyn bridge he fiercely exclaimed: "by god, it's not such a bad world." as he ascended the slope of that vast airy span, a black midget against a froth of stars, he was gravely planning such vehemence of exploit in the advertising profession as would make it seem less absurd to approach the president of the daintybits corporation with a question for which no progenitor of loveliness is ever quite prepared. [ ] note while proofreading: surely this phrase was unconsciously lifted from r. l. s. but where does the original occur? c. d. m. in the exact centre of the bridge something diluted his mood; he halted, leaning against the railing, to consider the splendour of the scene. the hour was late--moving on toward midnight--but in the tall black precipices of manhattan scattered lights gleamed, in an odd, irregular pattern like the sparse punctures on the raffle-board--"take a chance on a milk-fed turkey"--the east indian elevator-boy presents to apartment-house tenants about hallowe'en. a fume of golden light eddied over uptown merriment: he could see the ruby beacon on the metropolitan tower signal three quarters. underneath the airy decking of the bridge a tug went puffing by, her port and starboard lamps trailing red and green threads over the tideway. some great argosy of the staten island fleet swept serenely down to st. george, past liberty in her soft robe of light, carrying theatred commuters, dazed with weariness and blinking at the raw fury of the electric bulbs. overhead the night was a superb arch of clear frost, sifted with stars. blue sparks crackled stickily along the trolley wires as the cars groaned over the bridge. aubrey surveyed all this splendid scene without exact observation. he was of a philosophic turn, and was attempting to console his discomfiture in the overwhelming lustre of miss titania by the thought that she was, after all, the creature and offspring of the science he worshipped--that of advertising. was not the fragrance of her presence, the soft compulsion of her gaze, even the delirious frill of muslin at her wrist, to be set down to the credit of his chosen art? had he not, pondering obscurely upon "attention-compelling" copy and lay-out and type-face, in a corner of the grey-matter office, contributed to the triumphant prosperity and grace of this unconscious beneficiary? indeed she seemed to him, fiercely tormenting himself with her loveliness, a symbol of the mysterious and subtle power of publicity. it was advertising that had done this--that had enabled mr. chapman, a shy and droll little person, to surround this girl with all the fructifying glories of civilization--to foster and cherish her until she shone upon the earth like a morning star! advertising had clothed her, advertising had fed her, schooled, roofed, and sheltered her. in a sense she was the crowning advertisement of her father's career, and her innocent perfection taunted him just as much as the bright sky-sign he knew was flashing the words chapman prunes above the teeming pavements of times square. he groaned to think that he himself, by his conscientious labours, had helped to put this girl in such a position that he could hardly dare approach her. he would never have approached her again, on any pretext, if the intensity of his thoughts had not caused him, unconsciously, to grip the railing of the bridge with strong and angry hands. for at that moment a sack was thrown over his head from behind and he was violently seized by the legs, with the obvious intent of hoisting him over the parapet. his unexpected grip on the railing delayed this attempt just long enough to save him. swept off his feet by the fury of the assault, he fell sideways against the barrier and had the good fortune to seize his enemy by the leg. muffled in the sacking, it was vain to cry out; but he held furiously to the limb he had grasped and he and his attacker rolled together on the footway. aubrey was a powerful man, and even despite the surprise could probably have got the better of the situation; but as he wrestled desperately and tried to rid himself of his hood, a crashing blow fell upon his head, half stunning him. he lay sprawled out, momentarily incapable of struggle, yet conscious enough to expect, rather curiously, the dizzying sensation of a drop through insupportable air into the icy water of the east river. hands seized him--and then, passively, he heard a shout, the sound of footsteps running on the planks, and other footsteps hurrying away at top speed. in a moment the sacking was torn from his head and a friendly pedestrian was kneeling beside him. "say, are you all right?" said the latter anxiously. "gee, those guys nearly got you." aubrey was too faint and dizzy to speak for a moment. his head was numb and he felt certain that several inches of it had been caved in. putting up his hand, feebly, he was surprised to find the contours of his skull much the same as usual. the stranger propped him against his knee and wiped away a trickle of blood with his handkerchief. "say, old man, i thought you was a goner," he said sympathetically. "i seen those fellows jump you. too bad they got away. dirty work, i'll say so." aubrey gulped the night air, and sat up. the bridge rocked under him; against the star-speckled sky he could see the woolworth building bending and jazzing like a poplar tree in a gale. he felt very sick. "ever so much obliged to you," he stammered. "i'll be all right in a minute." "d'you want me to go and ring up a nambulance?" said his assistant. "no, no," said aubrey; "i'll be all right." he staggered to his feet and clung to the rail of the bridge, trying to collect his wits. one phrase ran over and over in his mind with damnable iteration--"mild, but they satisfy!" "where were you going?" said the other, supporting him. "madison avenue and thirty-second----" "maybe i can flag a jitney for you. here," he cried, as another citizen approached afoot, "give this fellow a hand. someone beat him over the bean with a club. i'm going to get him a lift." the newcomer readily undertook the friendly task, and tied aubrey's handkerchief round his head, which was bleeding freely. after a few moments the first samaritan succeeded in stopping a touring car which was speeding over from brooklyn. the driver willingly agreed to take aubrey home, and the other two helped him in. barring a nasty gash on his scalp he was none the worse. "a fellow needs a tin hat if he's going to wander round long island at night," said the motorist genially. "two fellows tried to hold me up coming in from rockville centre the other evening. maybe they were the same two that picked on you. did you get a look at them?" "no," said aubrey. "that piece of sacking might have helped me trace them, but i forgot it." "want to run back for it?" "never mind," said aubrey. "i've got a hunch about this." "think you know who it is? maybe you're in politics, hey?" the car ran swiftly up the dark channel of the bowery, into fourth avenue, and turned off at thirty-second street to deposit aubrey in front of his boarding house. he thanked his convoy heartily, and refused further assistance. after several false shots he got his latch key in the lock, climbed four creaking flights, and stumbled into his room. groping his way to the wash-basin, he bathed his throbbing head, tied a towel round it, and fell into bed. chapter vi titania learns the business although he kept late hours, roger mifflin was a prompt riser. it is only the very young who find satisfaction in lying abed in the morning. those who approach the term of the fifth decade are sensitively aware of the fluency of life, and have no taste to squander it among the blankets. the bookseller's morning routine was brisk and habitual. he was generally awakened about half-past seven by the jangling bell that balanced on a coiled spring at the foot of the stairs. this ringing announced the arrival of becky, the old scrubwoman who came each morning to sweep out the shop and clean the floors for the day's traffic. roger, in his old dressing gown of vermilion flannel, would scuffle down to let her in, picking up the milk bottles and the paper bag of baker's rolls at the same time. as becky propped the front door wide, opened window transoms, and set about buffeting dust and tobacco smoke, roger would take the milk and rolls back to the kitchen and give bock a morning greeting. bock would emerge from his literary kennel, and thrust out his forelegs in a genial obeisance. this was partly politeness, and partly to straighten out his spine after its all-night curvature. then roger would let him out into the back yard for a run, himself standing on the kitchen steps to inhale the bright freshness of the morning air. this saturday morning was clear and crisp. the plain backs of the homes along whittier street, irregular in profile as the margins of a free verse poem, offered roger an agreeable human panorama. thin strands of smoke were rising from chimneys; a belated baker's wagon was joggling down the alley; in bedroom bay-windows sheets and pillows were already set to sun and air. brooklyn, admirable borough of homes and hearty breakfasts, attacks the morning hours in cheery, smiling spirit. bock sniffed and rooted about the small back yard as though the earth (every cubic inch of which he already knew by rote) held some new entrancing flavour. roger watched him with the amused and tender condescension one always feels toward a happy dog--perhaps the same mood of tolerant paternalism that gott is said to have felt in watching his boisterous hohenzollerns. the nipping air began to infiltrate his dressing gown, and roger returned to the kitchen, his small, lively face alight with zest. he opened the draughts in the range, set a kettle on to boil, and went down to resuscitate the furnace. as he came upstairs for his bath, mrs. mifflin was descending, fresh and hearty in a starchy morning apron. roger hummed a tune as he picked up the hairpins on the bedroom floor, and wondered to himself why women are always supposed to be more tidy than men. titania was awake early. she smiled at the enigmatic portrait of samuel butler, glanced at the row of books over her bed, and dressed rapidly. she ran downstairs, eager to begin her experience as a bookseller. the first impression the haunted bookshop had made on her was one of superfluous dinginess, and as mrs. mifflin refused to let her help get breakfast--except set out the salt cellars--she ran down gissing street to a little florist's shop she had noticed the previous afternoon. here she spent at least a week's salary in buying chrysanthemums and a large pot of white heather. she was distributing these about the shop when roger found her. "bless my soul!" he said. "how are you going to live on your wages if you do that sort of thing? pay-day doesn't come until next friday!" "just one blow-out," she said cheerfully. "i thought it would be fun to brighten the place up a bit. think how pleased your floorwalker will be when he comes in!" "dear me," said roger. "i hope you don't really think we have floorwalkers in the second-hand book business." after breakfast he set about initiating his new employee into the routine of the shop. as he moved about, explaining the arrangement of his shelves, he kept up a running commentary. "of course all the miscellaneous information that a bookseller has to have will only come to you gradually," he said. "such tags of bookshop lore as the difference between philo gubb and philip gibbs, mrs. wilson woodrow and mrs. woodrow wilson, and all that sort of thing. don't be frightened by all the ads you see for a book called "bell and wing," because no one was ever heard to ask for a copy. that's one of the reasons why i tell mr. gilbert i don't believe in advertising. someone may ask you who wrote the winning of the best, and you'll have to know it wasn't colonel roosevelt but mr. ralph waldo trine. the beauty of being a bookseller is that you don't have to be a literary critic: all you have to do to books is enjoy them. a literary critic is the kind of fellow who will tell you that wordsworth's happy warrior is a poem of lines composed entirely of two sentences, one of lines and one of . what does it matter if wordsworth wrote sentences almost as long as those of walt whitman or mr. will h. hays, if only he wrote a great poem? literary critics are queer birds. there's professor phelps of yale, for instance. he publishes a book in and calls it the advance of english poetry in the twentieth century. to my way of thinking a book of that title oughtn't to be published until . then somebody will come along and ask you for a book of poems about a typewriter, and by and by you'll learn that what they want is stevenson's underwoods. yes, it's a complicated life. never argue with customers. just give them the book they ought to have even if they don't know they want it." they went outside the front door, and roger lit his pipe. in the little area in front of the shop windows stood large empty boxes supported on trestles. "the first thing i always do----," he said. "the first thing you'll both do is catch your death of cold," said helen over his shoulder. "titania, you run and get your fur. roger, go and find your cap. with your bald head, you ought to know better!" when they returned to the front door, titania's blue eyes were sparkling above her soft tippet. "i applaud your taste in furs," said roger. "that is just the colour of tobacco smoke." he blew a whiff against it to prove the likeness. he felt very talkative, as most older men do when a young girl looks as delightfully listenable as titania. "what an adorable little place," said titania, looking round at the bookshop's space of private pavement, which was sunk below the street level. "you could put tables out here and serve tea in summer time." "the first thing every morning," continued roger, "i set out the ten-cent stuff in these boxes. i take it in at night and stow it in these bins. when it rains, i shove out an awning, which is mighty good business. someone is sure to take shelter, and spend the time in looking over the books. a really heavy shower is often worth fifty or sixty cents. once a week i change my pavement stock. this week i've got mostly fiction out here. that's the sort of thing that comes in in unlimited numbers. a good deal of it's tripe, but it serves its purpose." "aren't they rather dirty?" said titania doubtfully, looking at some little blue rollo books, on which the siftings of generations had accumulated. "would you mind if i dusted them off a bit?" "it's almost unheard of in the second-hand trade," said roger; "but it might make them look better." titania ran inside, borrowed a duster from helen, and began housecleaning the grimy boxes, while roger chatted away in high spirits. bock already noticing the new order of things, squatted on the doorstep with an air of being a party to the conversation. morning pedestrians on gissing street passed by, wondering who the bookseller's engaging assistant might be. "i wish _i_ could find a maid like that," thought a prosperous brooklyn housewife on her way to market. "i must ring her up some day and find out how much she gets." roger brought out armfuls of books while titania dusted. "one of the reasons i'm awfully glad you've come here to help me," he said, "is that i'll be able to get out more. i've been so tied down by the shop, i haven't had a chance to scout round, buy up libraries, make bids on collections that are being sold, and all that sort of thing. my stock is running a bit low. if you just wait for what comes in, you don't get much of the really good stuff." titania was polishing a copy of the late mrs. null. "it must be wonderful to have read so many books," she said. "i'm afraid i'm not a very deep reader, but at any rate dad has taught me a respect for good books. he gets so mad because when my friends come to the house, and he asks them what they've been reading, the only thing they seem to know about is dere mable." roger chuckled. "i hope you don't think i'm a mere highbrow," he said. "as a customer said to me once, without meaning to be funny, 'i like both the iliad and the argosy.' the only thing i can't stand is literature that is unfairly and intentionally flavoured with vanilla. confectionery soon disgusts the palate, whether you find it in marcus aurelius or doctor crane. there's an odd aspect of the matter that sometimes strikes me: doc crane's remarks are just as true as lord bacon's, so how is it that the doctor puts me to sleep in a paragraph, while my lord's essays keep me awake all night?" titania, being unacquainted with these philosophers, pursued the characteristic feminine course of clinging to the subject on which she was informed. the undiscerning have called this habit of mind irrelevant, but wrongly. the feminine intellect leaps like a grasshopper; the masculine plods as the ant. "i see there's a new mable book coming," she said. "it's called that's me all over mable, and the newsstand clerk at the octagon says he expects to sell a thousand copies." "well, there's a meaning in that," said roger. "people have a craving to be amused, and i'm sure i don't blame 'em. i'm afraid i haven't read dere mable. if it's really amusing, i'm glad they read it. i suspect it isn't a very great book, because a philadelphia schoolgirl has written a reply to it called dere bill, which is said to be as good as the original. now you can hardly imagine a philadelphia flapper writing an effective companion to bacon's essays. but never mind, if the stuff's amusing, it has its place. the human yearning for innocent pastime is a pathetic thing, come to think about it. it shows what a desperately grim thing life has become. one of the most significant things i know is that breathless, expectant, adoring hush that falls over a theatre at a saturday matinee, when the house goes dark and the footlights set the bottom of the curtain in a glow, and the latecomers tank over your feet climbing into their seats----" "isn't it an adorable moment!" cried titania. "yes, it is," said roger; "but it makes me sad to see what tosh is handed out to that eager, expectant audience, most of the time. there they all are, ready to be thrilled, eager to be worked upon, deliberately putting themselves into that glorious, rare, receptive mood when they are clay in the artist's hand--and lord! what miserable substitutes for joy and sorrow are put over on them! day after day i see people streaming into theatres and movies, and i know that more than half the time they are on a blind quest, thinking they are satisfied when in truth they are fed on paltry husks. and the sad part about it is that if you let yourself think you are satisfied with husks, you'll have no appetite left for the real grain." titania wondered, a little panic-stricken, whether she had been permitting herself to be satisfied with husks. she remembered how greatly she had enjoyed a dorothy gish film a few evenings before. "but," she ventured, "you said people want to be amused. and if they laugh and look happy, surely they're amused?" "they only think they are!" cried mifflin. "they think they're amused because they don't know what real amusement is! laughter and prayer are the two noblest habits of man; they mark us off from the brutes. to laugh at cheap jests is as base as to pray to cheap gods. to laugh at fatty arbuckle is to degrade the human spirit." titania thought she was getting in rather deep, but she had the tenacious logic of every healthy girl. she said: "but a joke that seems cheap to you doesn't seem cheap to the person who laughs at it, or he wouldn't laugh." her face brightened as a fresh idea flooded her mind: "the wooden image a savage prays to may seem cheap to you, but it's the best god he knows, and it's all right for him to pray to it." "bully for you," said roger. "perfectly true. but i've got away from the point i had in mind. humanity is yearning now as it never did before for truth, for beauty, for the things that comfort and console and make life seem worth while. i feel this all round me, every day. we've been through a frightful ordeal, and every decent spirit is asking itself what we can do to pick up the fragments and remould the world nearer to our heart's desire. look here, here's something i found the other day in john masefield's preface to one of his plays: 'the truth and rapture of man are holy things, not lightly to be scorned. a carelessness of life and beauty marks the glutton, the idler, and the fool in their deadly path across history.' i tell you, i've done some pretty sober thinking as i've sat here in my bookshop during the past horrible years. walt whitman wrote a little poem during the civil war--year that trembled and reeled beneath me, said walt, must i learn to chant the cold dirges of the baffled, and sullen hymns of defeat?--i've sat here in my shop at night, and looked round at my shelves, looked at all the brave books that house the hopes and gentlenesses and dreams of men and women, and wondered if they were all wrong, discredited, defeated. wondered if the world were still merely a jungle of fury. i think i'd have gone balmy if it weren't for walt whitman. talk about mr. britling--walt was the man who 'saw it through.' "the glutton, the idler, and the fool in their deadly path across history. . . . aye, a deadly path indeed. the german military men weren't idlers, but they were gluttons and fools to the nth power. look at their deadly path! and look at other deadly paths, too. look at our slums, jails, insane asylums. . . . "i used to wonder what i could do to justify my comfortable existence here during such a time of horror. what right had i to shirk in a quiet bookshop when so many men were suffering and dying through no fault of their own? i tried to get into an ambulance unit, but i've had no medical training and they said they didn't want men of my age unless they were experienced doctors." "i know how you felt," said titania, with a surprising look of comprehension. "don't you suppose that a great many girls, who couldn't do anything real to help, got tired of wearing neat little uniforms with sam browne belts?" "well," said roger, "it was a bad time. the war contradicted and denied everything i had ever lived for. oh, i can't tell you how i felt about it. i can't even express it to myself. sometimes i used to feel as i think that truly noble simpleton henry ford may have felt when he organized his peace voyage--that i would do anything, however stupid, to stop it all. in a world where everyone was so wise and cynical and cruel, it was admirable to find a man so utterly simple and hopeful as henry. a boob, they called him. well, i say bravo for boobs! i daresay most of the apostles were boobs--or maybe they called them bolsheviks." titania had only the vaguest notion about bolsheviks, but she had seen a good many newspaper cartoons. "i guess judas was a bolshevik," she said innocently. "yes, and probably george the third called ben franklin a bolshevik," retorted roger. "the trouble is, truth and falsehood don't come laid out in black and white--truth and huntruth, as the wartime joke had it. sometimes i thought truth had vanished from the earth," he cried bitterly. "like everything else, it was rationed by the governments. i taught myself to disbelieve half of what i read in the papers. i saw the world clawing itself to shreds in blind rage. i saw hardly any one brave enough to face the brutalizing absurdity as it really was, and describe it. i saw the glutton, the idler, and the fool applauding, while brave and simple men walked in the horrors of hell. the stay-at-home poets turned it to pretty lyrics of glory and sacrifice. perhaps half a dozen of them have told the truth. have you read sassoon? or latzko's men in war, which was so damned true that the government suppressed it? humph! putting truth on rations!" he knocked out his pipe against his heel, and his blue eyes shone with a kind of desperate earnestness. "but i tell you, the world is going to have the truth about war. we're going to put an end to this madness. it's not going to be easy. just now, in the intoxication of the german collapse, we're all rejoicing in our new happiness. i tell you, the real peace will be a long time coming. when you tear up all the fibres of civilization it's a slow job to knit things together again. you see those children going down the street to school? peace lies in their hands. when they are taught in school that war is the most loathsome scourge humanity is subject to, that it smirches and fouls every lovely occupation of the mortal spirit, then there may be some hope for the future. but i'd like to bet they are having it drilled into them that war is a glorious and noble sacrifice. "the people who write poems about the divine frenzy of going over the top are usually those who dipped their pens a long, long way from the slimy duckboards of the trenches. it's funny how we hate to face realities. i knew a commuter once who rode in town every day on the . . but he used to call it the . . he said it made him feel more virtuous." there was a pause, while roger watched some belated urchins hurrying toward school. "i think any man would be a traitor to humanity who didn't pledge every effort of his waking life to an attempt to make war impossible in future." "surely no one would deny that," said titania. "but i do think the war was very glorious as well as very terrible. i've known lots of men who went over, knowing well what they were to face, and yet went gladly and humbly in the thought they were going for a true cause." "a cause which is so true shouldn't need the sacrifice of millions of fine lives," said roger gravely. "don't imagine i don't see the dreadful nobility of it. but poor humanity shouldn't be asked to be noble at such a cost. that's the most pitiful tragedy of it all. don't you suppose the germans thought they too were marching off for a noble cause when they began it and forced this misery on the world? they had been educated to believe so, for a generation. that's the terrible hypnotism of war, the brute mass-impulse, the pride and national spirit, the instinctive simplicity of men that makes them worship what is their own above everything else. i've thrilled and shouted with patriotic pride, like everyone. music and flags and men marching in step have bewitched me, as they do all of us. and then i've gone home and sworn to root this evil instinct out of my soul. god help us--let's love the world, love humanity--not just our own country! that's why i'm so keen about the part we're going to play at the peace conference. our motto over there will be america last! hurrah for us, i say, for we shall be the only nation over there with absolutely no axe to grind. nothing but a pax to grind!" it argued well for titania's breadth of mind that she was not dismayed nor alarmed at the poor bookseller's anguished harangue. she surmised sagely that he was cleansing his bosom of much perilous stuff. in some mysterious way she had learned the greatest and rarest of the spirit's gifts--toleration. "you can't help loving your country," she said. "let's go indoors," he answered. "you'll catch cold out here. i want to show you my alcove of books on the war." "of course one can't help loving one's country," he added. "i love mine so much that i want to see her take the lead in making a new era possible. she has sacrificed least for war, she should be ready to sacrifice most for peace. as for me," he said, smiling, "i'd be willing to sacrifice the whole republican party!" "i don't see why you call the war an absurdity," said titania. "we had to beat germany, or where would civilization have been?" "we had to beat germany, yes, but the absurdity lies in the fact that we had to beat ourselves in doing it. the first thing you'll find, when the peace conference gets to work, will be that we shall have to help germany onto her feet again so that she can be punished in an orderly way. we shall have to feed her and admit her to commerce so that she can pay her indemnities--we shall have to police her cities to prevent revolution from burning her up--and the upshot of it all will be that men will have fought the most terrible war in history, and endured nameless horrors, for the privilege of nursing their enemy back to health. if that isn't an absurdity, what is? that's what happens when a great nation like germany goes insane. "well, we're up against some terribly complicated problems. my only consolation is that i think the bookseller can play as useful a part as any man in rebuilding the world's sanity. when i was fretting over what i could do to help things along, i came across two lines in my favourite poet that encouraged me. good old george herbert says: a grain of glory mixed with humblenesse cures both a fever and lethargicknesse. "certainly running a second-hand bookstore is a pretty humble calling, but i've mixed a grain of glory with it, in my own imagination at any rate. you see, books contain the thoughts and dreams of men, their hopes and strivings and all their immortal parts. it's in books that most of us learn how splendidly worth-while life is. i never realized the greatness of the human spirit, the indomitable grandeur of man's mind, until i read milton's areopagitica. to read that great outburst of splendid anger ennobles the meanest of us simply because we belong to the same species of animal as milton. books are the immortality of the race, the father and mother of most that is worth while cherishing in our hearts. to spread good books about, to sow them on fertile minds, to propagate understanding and a carefulness of life and beauty, isn't that high enough mission for a man? the bookseller is the real mr. valiant-for-truth. "here's my war-alcove," he went on. "i've stacked up here most of the really good books the war has brought out. if humanity has sense enough to take these books to heart, it will never get itself into this mess again. printer's ink has been running a race against gunpowder these many, many years. ink is handicapped, in a way, because you can blow up a man with gunpowder in half a second, while it may take twenty years to blow him up with a book. but the gunpowder destroys itself along with its victim, while a book can keep on exploding for centuries. there's hardy's dynasts for example. when you read that book you can feel it blowing up your mind. it leaves you gasping, ill, nauseated--oh, it's not pleasant to feel some really pure intellect filtered into one's brain! it hurts! there's enough t. n. t. in that book to blast war from the face of the globe. but there's a slow fuse attached to it. it hasn't really exploded yet. maybe it won't for another fifty years. "in regard to the war, think what books have accomplished. what was the first thing all the governments started to do--publish books! blue books, yellow books, white books, red books--everything but black books, which would have been appropriate in berlin. they knew that guns and troops were helpless unless they could get the books on their side, too. books did as much as anything else to bring america into the war. some german books helped to wipe the kaiser off his throne--i accuse, and dr. muehlon's magnificent outburst the vandal of europe, and lichnowsky's private memorandum, that shook germany to her foundations, simply because he told the truth. here's that book men in war, written i believe by a hungarian officer, with its noble dedication "to friend and foe." here are some of the french books--books in which the clear, passionate intellect of that race, with its savage irony, burns like a flame. romain rolland's au-dessus de la melee, written in exile in switzerland; barbusse's terrible le feu; duhamel's bitter civilization; bourget's strangely fascinating novel the meaning of death. and the noble books that have come out of england: a student in arms; the tree of heaven; why men fight, by bertrand russell--i'm hoping he'll write one on why men are imprisoned: you know he was locked up for his sentiments! and here's one of the most moving of all--the letters of arthur heath, a gentle, sensitive young oxford tutor who was killed on the western front. you ought to read that book. it shows the entire lack of hatred on the part of the english. heath and his friends, the night before they enlisted, sat up singing the german music they had loved, as a kind of farewell to the old, friendly joyous life. yes, that's the kind of thing war does--wipes out spirits like arthur heath. please read it. then you'll have to read philip gibbs, and lowes dickinson and all the young poets. of course you've read wells already. everybody has." "how about the americans?" said titania. "haven't they written anything about the war that's worth while?" "here's one that i found a lot of meat in, streaked with philosophical gristle," said roger, relighting his pipe. he pulled out a copy of professor latimer's progress. "there was one passage that i remember marking--let's see now, what was it?--yes, here! "it is true that, if you made a poll of newspaper editors, you might find a great many who think that war is evil. but if you were to take a census among pastors of fashionable metropolitan churches--" "that's a bullseye hit! the church has done for itself with most thinking men. . . . there's another good passage in professor latimer, where he points out the philosophical value of dishwashing. some of latimer's talk is so much in common with my ideas that i've been rather hoping he'd drop in here some day. i'd like to meet him. as for american poets, get wise to edwin robinson----" there is no knowing how long the bookseller's monologue might have continued, but at this moment helen appeared from the kitchen. "good gracious, roger!" she exclaimed, "i've heard your voice piping away for i don't know how long. what are you doing, giving the poor child a chautauqua lecture? you must want to frighten her out of the book business." roger looked a little sheepish. "my dear," he said, "i was only laying down a few of the principles underlying the art of bookselling----" "it was very interesting, honestly it was," said titania brightly. mrs. mifflin, in a blue check apron and with plump arms floury to the elbow, gave her a wink--or as near a wink as a woman ever achieves (ask the man who owns one). "whenever mr. mifflin feels very low in his mind about the business," she said, "he falls back on those highly idealized sentiments. he knows that next to being a parson, he's got into the worst line there is, and he tries bravely to conceal it from himself." "i think it's too bad to give me away before miss titania," said roger, smiling, so titania saw this was merely a family joke. "really truly," she protested, "i'm having a lovely time. i've been learning all about professor latimer who wrote the handle of europe, and all sorts of things. i've been afraid every minute that some customer would come in and interrupt us." "no fear of that," said helen. "they're scarce in the early morning." she went back to her kitchen. "well, miss titania," resumed roger. "you see what i'm driving at. i want to give people an entirely new idea about bookshops. the grain of glory that i hope will cure both my fever and my lethargicness is my conception of the bookstore as a power-house, a radiating place for truth and beauty. i insist books are not absolutely dead things: they are as lively as those fabulous dragons' teeth, and being sown up and down, may chance to spring up armed men. how about bernhardi? some of my corn cob friends tell me books are just merchandise. pshaw!" "i haven't read much of bernard shaw" said titania. "did you ever notice how books track you down and hunt you out? they follow you like the hound in francis thompson's poem. they know their quarry! look at that book the education of henry adams! just watch the way it's hounding out thinking people this winter. and the four horsemen--you can see it racing in the veins of the reading people. it's one of the uncanniest things i know to watch a real book on its career--it follows you and follows you and drives you into a corner and makes you read it. there's a queer old book that's been chasing me for years: the life and opinions of john buncle, esq., it's called. i've tried to escape it, but every now and then it sticks up its head somewhere. it'll get me some day, and i'll be compelled to read it. ten thousand a year trailed me the same way until i surrendered. words can't describe the cunning of some books. you'll think you've shaken them off your trail, and then one day some innocent-looking customer will pop in and begin to talk, and you'll know he's an unconscious agent of book-destiny. there's an old sea-captain who drops in here now and then. he's simply the novels of captain marryat put into flesh. he has me under a kind of spell; i know i shall have to read peter simple before i die, just because the old fellow loves it so. that's why i call this place the haunted bookshop. haunted by the ghosts of the books i haven't read. poor uneasy spirits, they walk and walk around me. there's only one way to lay the ghost of a book, and that is to read it." "i know what you mean," said titania. "i haven't read much bernard shaw, but i feel i shall have to. he meets me at every turn, bullying me. and i know lots of people who are simply terrorized by h. g. wells. every time one of his books comes out, and that's pretty often, they're in a perfect panic until they've read it." roger chuckled. "some have even been stampeded into subscribing to the new republic for that very purpose." "but speaking of the haunted bookshop, what's your special interest in that oliver cromwell book?" "oh, i'm glad you mentioned it," said roger. "i must put it back in its place on the shelf." he ran back to the den to get it, and just then the bell clanged at the door. a customer came in, and the one-sided gossip was over for the time being. chapter vii aubrey takes lodgings i am sensible that mr. aubrey gilbert is by no means ideal as the leading juvenile of our piece. the time still demands some explanation why the leading juvenile wears no gold chevrons on his left sleeve. as a matter of fact, our young servant of the grey-matter agency had been declined by a recruiting station and a draft board on account of flat feet; although i must protest that their flatness detracts not at all from his outward bearing nor from his physical capacity in the ordinary concerns of amiable youth. when the army "turned him down flat," as he put it, he had entered the service of the committee on public information, and had carried on mysterious activities in their behalf for over a year, up to the time when the armistice was signed by the united press. owing to a small error of judgment on his part, now completely forgotten, but due to the regrettable delay of the german envoys to synchronize with over-exuberant press correspondents, the last three days of the war had been carried on without his active assistance. after the natural recuperation necessary on the th of november, he had been re-absorbed by the grey-matter advertising agency, with whom he had been connected for several years, and where his sound and vivacious qualities were highly esteemed. it was in the course of drumming up post-war business that he had swung so far out of his ordinary orbit as to call on roger mifflin. perhaps these explanations should have been made earlier. at any rate, aubrey woke that saturday morning, about the time titania began to dust the pavement-boxes, in no very world-conquering humour. as it was a half-holiday, he felt no compunction in staying away from the office. the landlady, a motherly soul, sent him up some coffee and scrambled eggs, and insisted on having a doctor in to look at his damage. several stitches were taken, after which he had a nap. he woke up at noon, feeling better, though his head still ached abominably. putting on a dressing gown, he sat down in his modest chamber, which was furnished chiefly with a pipe-rack, ash trays, and a set of o. henry, and picked up one of his favourite volumes for a bit of solace. we have hinted that mr. gilbert was not what is called "literary." his reading was mostly of the newsstand sort, and printer's ink, that naive journal of the publicity professions. his favourite diversion was luncheon at the advertising club where he would pore, fascinated, over displays of advertising booklets, posters, and pamphlets with such titles as tell your story in bold-face. he was accustomed to remark that "the fellow who writes the packard ads has ralph waldo emerson skinned three ways from the jack." yet much must be forgiven this young man for his love of o. henry. he knew, what many other happy souls have found, that o. henry is one of those rare and gifted tellers of tales who can be read at all times. no matter how weary, how depressed, how shaken in morale, one can always find enjoyment in that master romancer of the cabarabian nights. "don't talk to me of dickens' christmas stories," aubrey said to himself, recalling his adventure in brooklyn. "i'll bet o. henry's gift of the magi beats anything dick ever laid pen to. what a shame he died without finishing that christmas story in rolling stones! i wish some boss writer like irvin cobb or edna ferber would take a hand at finishing it. if i were an editor i'd hire someone to wind up that yarn. it's a crime to have a good story like that lying around half written." he was sitting in a soft wreath of cigarette smoke when his landlady came in with the morning paper. "thought you might like to see the times, mr. gilbert," she said. "i knew you'd been too sick to go out and buy one. i see the president's going to sail on wednesday." aubrey threaded his way through the news with the practiced eye of one who knows what interests him. then, by force of habit, he carefully scanned the advertising pages. a notice in the help wanted columns leaped out at him. wanted--for temporary employment at hotel octagon, chefs, experienced cooks, waiters. apply chef's office, p.m. tuesday. "hum," he thought. "i suppose, to take the place of those fellows who are going to sail on the george washington to cook for mr. wilson. that's a grand ad for the octagon, having their kitchen staff chosen for the president's trip. gee, i wonder why they don't play that up in some real space? maybe i can place some copy for them along that line." an idea suddenly occurred to him, and he went over to the chair where he had thrown his overcoat the night before. from the pocket he took out the cover of carlyle's cromwell, and looked at it carefully. "i wonder what the jinx is on this book?" he thought. "it's a queer thing the way that fellow trailed me last night--then my finding this in the drug store, and getting that crack on the bean. i wonder if that neighbourhood is a safe place for a girl to work in?" he paced up and down the room, forgetting the pain in his head. "maybe i ought to tip the police off about this business," he thought. "it looks wrong to me. but i have a hankering to work the thing out on my own. i'd have a wonderful stand-in with old man chapman if i saved that girl from anything. . . . i've heard of gangs of kidnappers. . . . no, i don't like the looks of things a little bit. i think that bookseller is half cracked, anyway. he doesn't believe in advertising! the idea of chapman trusting his daughter in a place like that----" the thought of playing knight errant to something more personal and romantic than an advertising account was irresistible. "i'll slip over to brooklyn as soon as it gets dark this evening," he said to himself. "i ought to be able to get a room somewhere along that street, where i can watch that bookshop without being seen, and find out what's haunting it. i've got that old . popgun of mine that i used to use up at camp. i'll take it along. i'd like to know more about weintraub's drug store, too. i didn't fancy the map of herr weintraub, not at all. to tell the truth, i had no idea old man carlyle would get mixed up in anything as interesting as this." he found a romantic exhilaration in packing a handbag. pyjamas, hairbrushes, toothbrush, toothpaste--("what an ad it would be for the chinese paste people," he thought, "if they knew i was taking a tube of their stuff on this adventure!")--his . revolver, a small green box of cartridges of the size commonly used for squirrel-shooting, a volume of o. henry, a safety razor and adjuncts, a pad of writing paper. . . . at least six nationally advertised articles, he said to himself, enumerating his kit. he locked his bag, dressed, and went downstairs for lunch. after lunch he lay down for a rest, as his head was still very painful. but he was not able to sleep. the thought of titania chapman's blue eyes and gallant little figure came between him and slumber. he could not shake off the conviction that some peril was hanging over her. again and again he looked at his watch, rebuking the lagging dusk. at half-past four he set off for the subway. half-way down thirty-third street a thought struck him. he returned to his room, got out a pair of opera glasses from his trunk, and put them in his bag. it was blue twilight when he reached gissing street. the block between wordsworth avenue and hazlitt street is peculiar in that on one side--the side where the haunted bookshop stands--the old brownstone dwellings have mostly been replaced by small shops of a bright, lively character. at the wordsworth avenue corner, where the l swings round in a lofty roaring curve, stands weintraub's drug store; below it, on the western side, a succession of shining windows beacon through the evening. delicatessen shops with their appetizing medley of cooked and pickled meats, dried fruits, cheeses, and bright coloured jars of preserves; small modistes with generously contoured wax busts of coiffured ladies; lunch rooms with the day's menu typed and pasted on the outer pane; a french rotisserie where chickens turn hissing on the spits before a tall oven of rosy coals; florists, tobacconists, fruit-dealers, and a greek candy-shop with a long soda fountain shining with onyx marble and coloured glass lamps and nickel tanks of hot chocolate; a stationery shop, now stuffed for the holiday trade with christmas cards, toys, calendars, and those queer little suede-bound volumes of kipling, service, oscar wilde, and omar khayyam that appear every year toward christmas time--such modest and cheerful merchandising makes the western pavement of gissing street a jolly place when the lights are lit. all the shops were decorated for the christmas trade; the christmas issues of the magazines were just out and brightened the newsstands with their glowing covers. this section of brooklyn has a tone and atmosphere peculiarly french in some parts: one can quite imagine oneself in some smaller parisian boulevard frequented by the petit bourgeois. midway in this engaging and animated block stands the haunted bookshop. aubrey could see its windows lit, and the shelved masses of books within. he felt a severe temptation to enter, but a certain bashfulness added itself to his desire to act in secret. there was a privy exhilaration in his plan of putting the bookshop under an unsuspected surveillance, and he had the emotion of one walking on the frontiers of adventure. so he kept on the opposite side of the street, which still maintains an unbroken row of quiet brown fronts, save for the movie theatre at the upper corner, opposite weintraub's. some of the basements on this side are occupied now by small tailors, laundries, and lace-curtain cleaners (lace curtains are still a fetish in brooklyn), but most of the houses are still merely dwellings. carrying his bag, aubrey passed the bright halo of the movie theatre. posters announcing the return of tarzan showed a kind of third chapter of genesis scene with an eve in a sports suit. added attraction, mr. and mrs. sidney drew, he read. a little way down the block he saw a sign vacancies in a parlour window. the house was nearly opposite the bookshop, and he at once mounted the tall steps to the front door and rang. a fawn-tinted coloured girl, of the kind generally called "addie," arrived presently. "can i get a room here?" he asked. "i don't know, you'd better see miz' schiller," she said, without rancour. adopting the customary compromise of untrained domestics, she did not invite him inside, but departed, leaving the door open to show that there was no ill will. aubrey stepped into the hall and closed the door behind him. in an immense mirror the pale cheese-coloured flutter of a gas jet was remotely reflected. he noticed the landseer engraving hung against wallpaper designed in facsimile of large rectangles of gray stone, and the usual telephone memorandum for the usual mrs. j. f. smith (who abides in all lodging houses) tucked into the frame of the mirror. will mrs. smith please call stockton , it said. a carpeted stair with a fine old mahogany balustrade rose into the dimness. aubrey, who was thoroughly familiar with lodgings, knew instinctively that the fourth, ninth, tenth, and fourteenth steps would be creakers. a soft musk sweetened the warm, torpid air: he divined that someone was toasting marshmallows over a gas jet. he knew perfectly well that somewhere in the house would be a placard over a bathtub with the legend: please leave this tub as you would wish to find it. roger mifflin would have said, after studying the hall, that someone in the house was sure to be reading the poems of rabbi tagore; but aubrey was not so caustic. mrs. schiller came up the basement stairs, followed by a small pug dog. she was warm and stout, with a tendency to burst just under the armpits. she was friendly. the pug made merry over aubrey's ankles. "stop it, treasure!" said mrs. schiller. "can i get a room here?" asked aubrey, with great politeness. "third floor front's the only thing i've got," she said. "you don't smoke in bed, do you? the last young man i had burned holes in three of my sheets----" aubrey reassured her. "i don't give meals." "that's all right," said aubrey. "suits me." "five dollars a week," she said. "may i see it?" mrs. schiller brightened the gas and led the way upstairs. treasure skipped up the treads beside her. the sight of the six feet ascending together amused aubrey. the fourth, ninth, tenth, and fourteenth steps creaked, as he had guessed they would. on the landing of the second storey a transom gushed orange light. mrs. schiller was secretly pleased at not having to augment the gas on that landing. under the transom and behind a door aubrey could hear someone having a bath, with a great sloshing of water. he wondered irreverently whether it was mrs. j. f. smith. at any rate (he felt sure), it was some experienced habitue of lodgings, who knew that about five-thirty in the afternoon is the best time for a bath--before cooking supper and the homecoming ablutions of other tenants have exhausted the hot water boiler. they climbed one more flight. the room was small, occupying half the third-floor frontage. a large window opened onto the street, giving a plain view of the bookshop and the other houses across the way. a wash-stand stood modestly inside a large cupboard. over the mantel was the familiar picture--usually, however, reserved for the fourth floor back--of a young lady having her shoes shined by a ribald small boy. aubrey was delighted. "this is fine," he said. "here's a week in advance." mrs. schiller was almost disconcerted by the rapidity of the transaction. she preferred to solemnize the reception of a new lodger by a little more talk--remarks about the weather, the difficulty of getting "help," the young women guests who empty tea-leaves down wash-basin pipes, and so on. all this sort of gossip, apparently aimless, has a very real purpose: it enables the defenceless landlady to size up the stranger who comes to prey upon her. she had hardly had a good look at this gentleman, nor even knew his name, and here he had paid a week's rent and was already installed. aubrey divined the cause of her hesitation, and gave her his business card. "all right, mr. gilbert," she said. "i'll send up the girl with some clean towels and a latchkey." aubrey sat down in a rocking chair by the window, tucked the muslin curtain to one side, and looked out upon the bright channel of gissing street. he was full of the exhilaration that springs from any change of abode, but his romantic satisfaction in being so close to the adorable titania was somewhat marred by a sense of absurdity, which is feared by young men more than wounds and death. he could see the lighted windows of the haunted bookshop quite plainly, but he could not think of any adequate excuse for going over there. and already he realized that to be near miss chapman was not at all the consolation he had expected it would be. he had a powerful desire to see her. he turned off the gas, lit his pipe, opened the window, and focussed the opera glasses on the door of the bookshop. it brought the place tantalizingly near. he could see the table at the front of the shop, roger's bulletin board under the electric light, and one or two nondescript customers gleaning along the shelves. then something bounded violently under the third button of his shirt. there she was! in the bright, prismatic little circle of the lenses he could see titania. heavenly creature, in her white v-necked blouse and brown skirt, there she was looking at a book. he saw her put out one arm and caught the twinkle of her wrist-watch. in the startling familiarity of the magnifying glass he could see her bright, unconscious face, the merry profile of her cheek and chin. . . . "the idea of that girl working in a second-hand bookstore!" he exclaimed. "it's positive sacrilege! old man chapman must be crazy." he took out his pyjamas and threw them on the bed; put his toothbrush and razor on the wash-basin, laid hairbrushes and o. henry on the bureau. feeling rather serio-comic he loaded his small revolver and hipped it. it was six o'clock, and he wound his watch. he was a little uncertain what to do: whether to keep a vigil at the window with the opera glasses, or go down in the street where he could watch the bookshop more nearly. in the excitement of the adventure he had forgotten all about the cut on his scalp, and felt quite chipper. in leaving madison avenue he had attempted to excuse the preposterousness of his excursion by thinking that a quiet week-end in brooklyn would give him an opportunity to jot down some tentative ideas for daintybits advertising copy which he planned to submit to his chief on monday. but now that he was here he felt the impossibility of attacking any such humdrum task. how could he sit down in cold blood to devise any "attention-compelling" lay-outs for daintybits tapioca and chapman's cherished saratoga chips, when the daintiest bit of all was only a few yards away? for the first time was made plain to him the amazing power of young women to interfere with the legitimate commerce of the world. he did get so far as to take out his pad of writing paper and jot down chapman's cherished chips these delicate wafers, crisped by a secret process, cherish in their unique tang and flavour all the life-giving nutriment that has made the potato the king of vegetables---- but the face of miss titania kept coming between his hand and brain. of what avail to flood the world with chapman chips if the girl herself should come to any harm? "was this the face that launched a thousand chips?" he murmured, and for an instant wished he had brought the oxford book of english verse instead of o. henry. a tap sounded at his door, and mrs. schiller appeared. "telephone for you, mr. gilbert," she said. "for me?" said aubrey in amazement. how could it be for him, he thought, for no one knew he was there. "the party on the wire asked to speak to the gentleman who arrived about half an hour ago, and i guess you must be the one he means." "did he say who he is?" asked aubrey. "no, sir." for a moment aubrey thought of refusing to answer the call. then it occurred to him that this would arouse mrs. schiller's suspicions. he ran down to the telephone, which stood under the stairs in the front hall. "hello," he said. "is this the new guest?" said a voice--a deep, gargling kind of voice. "yes," said aubrey. "is this the gentleman that arrived half an hour ago with a handbag?" "yes; who are you?" "i'm a friend," said the voice; "i wish you well." "how do you do, friend and well-wisher," said aubrey genially. "i schust want to warn you that gissing street is not healthy for you," said the voice. "is that so?" said aubrey sharply. "who are you?" "i am a friend," buzzed the receiver. there was a harsh, bass note in the voice that made the diaphragm at aubrey's ear vibrate tinnily. aubrey grew angry. "well, herr freund," he said, "if you're the well-wisher i met on the bridge last night, watch your step. i've got your number." there was a pause. then the other repeated, ponderously, "i am a friend. gissing street is not healthy for you." there was a click, and he had rung off. aubrey was a good deal perplexed. he returned to his room, and sat in the dark by the window, smoking a pipe and thinking, with his eyes on the bookshop. there was no longer any doubt in his mind that something sinister was afoot. he reviewed in memory the events of the past few days. it was on monday that a bookloving friend had first told him of the existence of the shop on gissing street. on tuesday evening he had gone round to visit the place, and had stayed to supper with mr. mifflin. on wednesday and thursday he had been busy at the office, and the idea of an intensive daintybit campaign in brooklyn had occurred to him. on friday he had dined with mr. chapman, and had run into a curious string of coincidences. he tabulated them:-- ( ) the lost ad in the times on friday morning. ( ) the chef in the elevator carrying the book that was supposed to be lost--he being the same man aubrey had seen in the bookshop on tuesday evening. ( ) seeing the chef again on gissing street. ( ) the return of the book to the bookshop. ( ) mifflin had said that the book had been stolen from him. then why should it be either advertised or returned? ( ) the rebinding of the book. ( ) finding the original cover of the book in weintraub's drug store. ( ) the affair on the bridge. ( ) the telephone message from "a friend"--a friend with an obviously teutonic voice. he remembered the face of anger and fear displayed by the octagon chef when he had spoken to him in the elevator. until this oddly menacing telephone message, he could have explained the attack on the bridge as merely a haphazard foot-pad enterprise; but now he was forced to conclude that it was in some way connected with his visits to the bookshop. he felt, too, that in some unknown way weintraub's drug store had something to do with it. would he have been attacked if he had not taken the book cover from the drug store? he got the cover out of his bag and looked at it again. it was of plain blue cloth, with the title stamped in gold on the back, and at the bottom the lettering london: chapman and hall. from the width of the backstrap it was evident that the book had been a fat one. inside the front cover the figure was written in red pencil--this he took to be roger mifflin's price mark. inside the back cover he found the following notations-- vol. -- , , , , ff. cf. w. w. these references were written in black ink, in a small, neat hand. below them, in quite a different script and in pale violet ink, was written ( ) , "i suppose these are page numbers," aubrey thought. "i think i'd better have a look at that book." he put the cover in his pocket and went out for a bite of supper. "it's a puzzle with three sides to it," he thought, as he descended the crepitant stairs, "the bookshop, the octagon, and weintraub's; but that book seems to be the clue to the whole business." chapter viii aubrey goes to the movies, and wishes he knew more german a few doors from the bookshop was a small lunchroom named after the great city of milwaukee, one of those pleasant refectories where the diner buys his food at the counter and eats it sitting in a flat-armed chair. aubrey got a bowl of soup, a cup of coffee, beef stew, and bran muffins, and took them to an empty seat by the window. he ate with one eye on the street. from his place in the corner he could command the strip of pavement in front of mifflin's shop. halfway through the stew he saw roger come out onto the pavement and begin to remove the books from the boxes. after finishing his supper he lit one of his "mild but they satisfy" cigarettes and sat in the comfortable warmth of a near-by radiator. a large black cat lay sprawled on the next chair. up at the service counter there was a pleasant clank of stout crockery as occasional customers came in and ordered their victuals. aubrey began to feel a relaxation swim through his veins. gissing street was very bright and orderly in its saturday evening bustle. certainly it was grotesque to imagine melodrama hanging about a second-hand bookshop in brooklyn. the revolver felt absurdly lumpy and uncomfortable in his hip pocket. what a different aspect a little hot supper gives to affairs! the most resolute idealist or assassin had better write his poems or plan his atrocities before the evening meal. after the narcosis of that repast the spirit falls into a softer mood, eager only to be amused. even milton would hardly have had the inhuman fortitude to sit down to the manuscript of paradise lost right after supper. aubrey began to wonder if his unpleasant suspicions had not been overdrawn. he thought how delightful it would be to stop in at the bookshop and ask titania to go to the movies with him. curious magic of thought! the idea was still sparkling in his mind when he saw titania and mrs. mifflin emerge from the bookshop and pass briskly in front of the lunchroom. they were talking and laughing merrily. titania's face, shining with young vitality, seemed to him more "attention-compelling" than any ten-point caslon type-arrangement he had ever seen. he admired the layout of her face from the standpoint of his cherished technique. "just enough 'white space,'" he thought, "to set off her eyes as the 'centre of interest.' her features aren't this modern bold-face stuff, set solid," he said to himself, thinking typographically. "they're rather french old-style italic, slightly leaded. set on -point body, i guess. old man chapman's a pretty good typefounder, you have to hand it to him." he smiled at this conceit, seized hat and coat, and dashed out of the lunchroom. mrs. mifflin and titania had halted a few yards up the street, and were looking at some pert little bonnets in a window. aubrey hurried across the street, ran up to the next corner, recrossed, and walked down the eastern pavement. in this way he would meet them as though he were coming from the subway. he felt rather more excited than king albert re-entering brussels. he saw them coming, chattering together in the delightful fashion of women out on a spree. helen seemed much younger in the company of her companion. "a lining of pussy-willow taffeta and an embroidered slip-on," she was saying. aubrey steered onto them with an admirable gesture of surprise. "well, i never!" said mrs. mifflin. "here's mr. gilbert. were you coming to see roger?" she added, rather enjoying the young man's predicament. titania shook hands cordially. aubrey, searching the old-style italics with the desperate intensity of a proof-reader, saw no evidence of chagrin at seeing him again so soon. "why," he said rather lamely, "i was coming to see you all. i--i wondered how you were getting along." mrs. mifflin had pity on him. "we've left mr. mifflin to look after the shop," she said. "he's busy with some of his old crony customers. why don't you come with us to the movies?" "yes, do," said titania. "it's mr. and mrs. sidney drew, you know how adorable they are!" no one needs to be told how quickly aubrey assented. pleasure coincided with duty in that the outer wing of the party placed him next to titania. "well, how do you like bookselling?" he asked. "oh, it's the greatest fun!" she cried. "but it'll take me ever and ever so long to learn about all the books. people ask such questions! a woman came in this afternoon looking for a copy of blase tales. how was i to know she wanted the blazed trail?" "you'll get used to that," said mrs. mifflin. "just a minute, people, i want to stop in at the drug store." they went into weintraub's pharmacy. entranced as he was by the proximity of miss chapman, aubrey noticed that the druggist eyed him rather queerly. and being of a noticing habit, he also observed that when weintraub had occasion to write out a label for a box of powdered alum mrs. mifflin was buying, he did so with a pale violet ink. at the glass sentry-box in front of the theatre aubrey insisted on buying the tickets. "we came out right after supper," said titania as they entered, "so as to get in before the crowd." it is not so easy, however, to get ahead of brooklyn movie fans. they had to stand for several minutes in a packed lobby while a stern young man held the waiting crowd in check with a velvet rope. aubrey sustained delightful spasms of the protective instinct in trying to shelter titania from buffets and pushings. unknown to her, his arm extended behind her like an iron rod to absorb the onward impulses of the eager throng. a rustling groan ran through these enthusiasts as they saw the preliminary footage of the great tarzan flash onto the screen, and realized they were missing something. at last, however, the trio got through the barrier and found three seats well in front, at one side. from this angle the flying pictures were strangely distorted, but aubrey did not mind. "isn't it lucky i got here when i did," whispered titania. "mr. mifflin has just had a telephone call from philadelphia asking him to go over on monday to make an estimate on a library that's going to be sold so i'll be able to look after the shop for him while he's gone." "is that so?" said aubrey. "well, now, i've got to be in brooklyn on monday, on business. maybe mrs. mifflin would let me come in and buy some books from you." "customers always welcome," said mrs. mifflin. "i've taken a fancy to that cromwell book," said aubrey. "what do you suppose mr. mifflin would sell it for?" "i think that book must be valuable," said titania. "somebody came in this afternoon and wanted to buy it, but mr. mifflin wouldn't part with it. he says it's one of his favourites. gracious, what a weird film this is!" the fantastic absurdities of tarzan proceeded on the screen, tearing celluloid passions to tatters, but aubrey found the strong man of the jungle coming almost too close to his own imperious instincts. was not he, too--he thought naively--a poor tarzan of the advertising jungle, lost among the elephants and alligators of commerce, and sighing for this dainty and unattainable vision of girlhood that had burst upon his burning gaze! he stole a perilous side-glance at her profile, and saw the racing flicker of the screen reflected in tiny spangles of light that danced in her eyes. he was even so unknowing as to imagine that she was not aware of his contemplation. and then the lights went up. "what nonsense, wasn't it?" said titania. "i'm so glad it's over! i was quite afraid one of those elephants would walk off the screen and tread on us." "i never can understand," said helen, "why they don't film some of the really good books--think of frank stockton's stuff, how delightful that would be. can't you imagine mr. and mrs. drew playing in rudder grange!" "thank goodness!" said titania. "since i entered the book business, that's the first time anybody's mentioned a book that i've read. yes--do you remember when pomona and jonas visit an insane asylum on their honeymoon? do you know, you and mr. mifflin remind me a little of mr. and mrs. drew." helen and aubrey chuckled at this innocent correlation of ideas. then the organ began to play "o how i hate to get up in the morning" and the ever-delightful mr. and mrs. drew appeared on the screen in one of their domestic comedies. lovers of the movies may well date a new screen era from the day those whimsical pantomimers set their wholesome and humane talent at the service of the arc light and the lens. aubrey felt a serene and intimate pleasure in watching them from a seat beside titania. he knew that the breakfast table scene shadowed before them was only a makeshift section of lath propped up in some barnlike motion picture studio; yet his rocketing fancy imagined it as some arcadian suburb where he and titania, by a jugglery of benign fate, were bungalowed together. young men have a pioneering imagination: it is doubtful whether any young orlando ever found himself side by side with rosalind without dreaming himself wedded to her. if men die a thousand deaths before this mortal coil is shuffled, even so surely do youths contract a thousand marriages before they go to the city hall for a license. aubrey remembered the opera glasses, which were still in his pocket, and brought them out. the trio amused themselves by watching sidney drew's face through the magnifying lenses. they were disappointed in the result, however, as the pictures, when so enlarged, revealed all the cobweb of fine cracks on the film. mr. drew's nose, the most amusing feature known to the movies, lost its quaintness when so augmented. "why," cried titania, "it makes his lovely nose look like the map of florida." "how on earth did you happen to have these in your pocket?" asked mrs. mifflin, returning the glasses. aubrey was hard pressed for a prompt and reasonable fib, but advertising men are resourceful. "oh," he said, "i sometimes carry them with me at night to study the advertising sky-signs. i'm a little short sighted. you see, it's part of my business to study the technique of the electric signs." after some current event pictures the programme prepared to repeat itself, and they went out. "will you come in and have some cocoa with us?" said helen as they reached the door of the bookshop. aubrey was eager enough to accept, but feared to overplay his hand. "i'm sorry," he said, "but i think i'd better not. i've got some work to do to-night. perhaps i can drop in on monday when mr. mifflin's away, and put coal on the furnace for you, or something of that sort?" mrs. mifflin laughed. "surely!" she said. "you're welcome any time." the door closed behind them, and aubrey fell into a profound melancholy. deprived of the heavenly rhetoric of her eye, gissing street seemed flat and dull. it was still early--not quite ten o'clock--and it occurred to aubrey that if he was going to patrol the neighbourhood he had better fix its details in his head. hazlitt, the next street below the bookshop, proved to be a quiet little byway, cheerfully lit with modest dwellings. a few paces down hazlitt street a narrow cobbled alley ran through to wordsworth avenue, passing between the back yards of gissing street and whittier street. the alley was totally dark, but by counting off the correct number of houses aubrey identified the rear entrance of the bookshop. he tried the yard gate cautiously, and found it unlocked. glancing in he could see a light in the kitchen window and assumed that the cocoa was being brewed. then a window glowed upstairs, and he was thrilled to see titania shining in the lamplight. she moved to the window and pulled down the blind. for a moment he saw her head and shoulders silhouetted against the curtain; then the light went out. aubrey stood briefly in sentimental thought. if he only had a couple of blankets, he mused, he could camp out here in roger's back yard all night. surely no harm could come to the girl while he kept watch beneath her casement! the idea was just fantastic enough to appeal to him. then, as he stood in the open gateway, he heard distant footfalls coming down the alley, and a grumble of voices. perhaps two policemen on their rounds, he thought: it would be awkward to be surprised skulking about back doors at this time of night. he slipped inside the gate and closed it gently behind him, taking the precaution to slip the bolt. the footsteps came nearer, stumbling down the uneven cobbles in the darkness. he stood still against the back fence. to his amazement the men halted outside mifflin's gate, and he heard the latch quietly lifted. "it's no use," said a voice--"the gate is locked. we must find some other way, my friend." aubrey tingled to hear the rolling, throaty "r" in the last word. there was no mistaking--this was the voice of his "friend and well-wisher" over the telephone. the other said something in german in a hoarse whisper. having studied that language in college, aubrey caught only two words--thur and schlussel, which he knew meant door and key. "very well," said the first voice. "that will be all right, but we must act to-night. the damned thing must be finished to-morrow. your idiotic stupidity--" again followed some gargling in german, in a rapid undertone too fluent for aubrey's grasp. the latch of the alley gate clicked once more, and his hand was on his revolver; but in a moment the two had passed on down the alley. the young advertising agent stood against the fence in silent horror, his heart bumping heavily. his hands were clammy, his feet seemed to have grown larger and taken root. what damnable complot was this? a sultry wave of anger passed over him. this bland, slick, talkative bookseller, was he arranging some blackmailing scheme to kidnap the girl and wring blood-money out of her father? and in league with germans, too, the scoundrel! what an asinine thing for old chapman to send an unprotected girl over here into the wilds of brooklyn . . . and in the meantime, what was he to do? patrol the back yard all night? no, the friend and well-wisher had said "we must find some other way." besides, aubrey remembered something having been said about the old terrier sleeping in the kitchen. he felt sure bock would not let any german in at night without raising the roof. probably the best way would be to watch the front of the shop. in miserable perplexity he waited several minutes until the two germans would be well out of earshot. then he unbolted the gate and stole up the alley on tiptoe, in the opposite direction. it led into wordsworth avenue just behind weintraub's drug store, over the rear of which hung the great girders and trestles of the "l" station, a kind of swiss chalet straddling the street on stilts. he thought it prudent to make a detour, so he turned east on wordsworth avenue until he reached whittier street, then sauntered easily down whittier for a block, spying sharply for evidences of pursuit. brooklyn was putting out its lights for the night, and all was quiet. he turned into hazlitt street and so back onto gissing, noticing now that the haunted bookshop lights were off. it was nearly eleven o'clock: the last audience was filing out of the movie theatre, where two workmen were already perched on ladders taking down the tarzan electric light sign, to substitute the illuminated lettering for the next feature. after some debate he decided that the best thing to do was to return to his room at mrs. schiller's, from which he could keep a sharp watch on the front door of the bookshop. by good fortune there was a lamp post almost directly in front of mifflin's house, which cast plenty of light on the little sunken area before the door. with his opera glasses he could see from his bedroom whatever went on. as he crossed the street he cast his eyes upward at the facade of mrs. schiller's house. two windows in the fourth storey were lit, and the gas burned minutely in the downstairs hall, elsewhere all was dark. and then, as he glanced at the window of his own chamber, where the curtain was still tucked back behind the pane, he noticed a curious thing. a small point of rosy light glowed, faded, and glowed again by the window. someone was smoking a cigar in his room. aubrey continued walking in even stride, as though he had seen nothing. returning down the street, on the opposite side, he verified his first glance. the light was still there, and he judged himself not far out in assuming the smoker to be the friend and well-wisher or one of his gang. he had suspected the other man in the alley of being weintraub, but he could not be sure. a cautious glance through the window of the drug store revealed weintraub at his prescription counter. aubrey determined to get even with the guttural gentleman who was waiting for him, certainly with no affectionate intent. he thanked the good fortune that had led him to stick the book cover in his overcoat pocket when leaving mrs. schiller's. evidently, for reasons unknown, someone was very anxious to get hold of it. an idea occurred to him as he passed the little florist's shop, which was just closing. he entered and bought a dozen white carnations, and then, as if by an afterthought, asked "have you any wire?" the florist produced a spool of the slender, tough wire that is sometimes used to nip the buds of expensive roses, to prevent them from blossoming too quickly. "let me have about eight feet," said aubrey. "i need some to-night and i guess the hardware stores are all closed." with this he returned to mrs. schiller's, picking his way carefully and close to the houses so as to be out of sight from the upstairs windows. he climbed the steps and unlatched the door with bated breath. it was half-past eleven, and he wondered how long he would have to wait for the well-wisher to descend. he could not help chuckling as he made his preparations, remembering an occasion at college somewhat similar in setting though far less serious in purpose. first he took off his shoes, laying them carefully to one side where he could find them again in a hurry. then, choosing a banister about six feet from the bottom of the stairs he attached one end of the wire tightly to its base and spread the slack in a large loop over two of the stair treads. the remaining end of the wire he passed out through the banisters, twisting it into a small loop so that he could pull it easily. then he turned out the hall gas and sat down in the dark to wait events. he sat for a long time, in some nervousness lest the pug dog might come prowling and find him. he was startled by a lady in a dressing gown--perhaps mrs. j. f. smith--who emerged from a ground-floor room passed very close to him in the dark, and muttered upstairs. he twitched his noose out of the way just in time. presently, however, his patience was rewarded. he heard a door squeak above, and then the groaning of the staircase as someone descended slowly. he relaid his trap and waited, smiling to himself. a clock somewhere in the house was chiming twelve as the man came groping down the last flight, feeling his way in the dark. aubrey heard him swearing under his breath. at the precise moment, when both his victim's feet were within the loop, aubrey gave the wire a gigantic tug. the man fell like a safe, crashing against the banisters and landing in a sprawl on the floor. it was a terrific fall, and shook the house. he lay there groaning and cursing. barely retaining his laughter, aubrey struck a match and held it over the sprawling figure. the man lay with his face twisted against one out-spread arm, but the beard was unmistakable. it was the assistant chef again, and he seemed partly unconscious. "burnt hair is a grand restorative," said aubrey to himself, and applied the match to the bush of beard. he singed off a couple of inches of it with intense delight, and laid his carnations on the head of the stricken one. then, hearing stirrings in the basement, he gathered up his wire and shoes and fled upstairs. he gained his room roaring with inward mirth, but entered cautiously, fearing some trap. save for a strong tincture of cigar smoke, everything seemed correct. listening at his door he heard mrs. schiller exclaiming shrilly in the hall, assisted by yappings from the pug. doors upstairs were opened, and questions were called out. he heard guttural groans from the bearded one, mingled with oaths and some angry remark about having fallen downstairs. the pug, frenzied with excitement, yelled insanely. a female voice--possibly mrs. j. f. smith--cried out "what's that smell of burning?" someone else said, "they're burning feathers under his nose to bring him to." "yes, hun's feathers," chuckled aubrey to himself. he locked his door, and sat down by the window with his opera glasses. chapter ix again the narrative is retarded roger had spent a quiet evening in the bookshop. sitting at his desk under a fog of tobacco, he had honestly intended to do some writing on the twelfth chapter of his great work on bookselling. this chapter was to be an (alas, entirely conjectural) "address delivered by a bookseller on being conferred the honorary degree of doctor of letters by a leading university," and it presented so many alluring possibilities that roger's mind always wandered from the paper into entranced visions of his imagined scene. he loved to build up in fancy the flattering details of that fine ceremony when bookselling would at last be properly recognized as one of the learned professions. he could see the great auditorium, filled with cultivated people: men with emersonian profiles, ladies whispering behind their fluttering programmes. he could see the academic beadle, proctor, dean (or whatever he is, roger was a little doubtful) pronouncing the august words of presentation-- a man who, in season and out of season, forgetting private gain for public weal, has laboured with promethean and sacrificial ardour to instil the love of reasonable letters into countless thousands; to whom, and to whose colleagues, amid the perishable caducity of human affairs, is largely due the pullulation of literary taste; in honouring whom we seek to honour the noble and self-effacing profession of which he is so representative a member---- then he could see the modest bookseller, somewhat clammy in his extremities and lost within his academic robe and hood, nervously fidgeting his mortar-board, haled forward by ushers, and tottering rubescent before the chancellor, provost, president (or whoever it might be) who hands out the diploma. then (in roger's vision) he could see the garlanded bibliopole turning to the expectant audience, giving his trailing gown a deft rearward kick as the ladies do on the stage, and uttering, without hesitation or embarrassment, with due interpolation of graceful pleasantry, that learned and unlaboured discourse on the delights of bookishness that he had often dreamed of. then he could see the ensuing reception: the distinguished savants crowding round; the plates of macaroons, the cups of untasted tea; the ladies twittering, "now there's something i want to ask you--why are there so many statues to generals, admirals, parsons, doctors, statesmen, scientists, artists, and authors, but no statues to booksellers?" contemplation of this glittering scene always lured roger into fantastic dreams. ever since he had travelled country roads, some years before, selling books from a van drawn by a fat white horse, he had nourished a secret hope of some day founding a parnassus on wheels corporation which would own a fleet of these vans and send them out into the rural byways where bookstores are unknown. he loved to imagine a great map of new york state, with the daily location of each travelling parnassus marked by a coloured pin. he dreamed of himself, sitting in some vast central warehouse of second-hand books, poring over his map like a military chief of staff and forwarding cases of literary ammunition to various bases where his vans would re-stock. his idea was that his travelling salesmen could be recruited largely from college professors, parsons, and newspaper men, who were weary of their thankless tasks, and would welcome an opportunity to get out on the road. one of his hopes was that he might interest mr. chapman in this superb scheme, and he had a vision of the day when the shares of the parnassus on wheels corporation would pay a handsome dividend and be much sought after by serious investors. these thoughts turned his mind toward his brother-in-law andrew mcgill, the author of several engaging books on the joys of country living, who dwells at the sabine farm in the green elbow of a connecticut valley. the original parnassus, a quaint old blue wagon in which roger had lived and journeyed and sold books over several thousand miles of country roads in the days before his marriage, was now housed in andrew's barn. peg, his fat white horse, had lodging there also. it occurred to roger that he owed andrew a letter, and putting aside his notes for the bookseller's collegiate oration, he began to write: the haunted bookshop gissing street, brooklyn, november , . my dear andrew: it is scandalous not to have thanked you sooner for the annual cask of cider, which has given us even more than the customary pleasure. this has been an autumn when i have been hard put to it to keep up with my own thoughts, and i've written no letters at all. like everyone else i am thinking constantly of this new peace that has marvellously come upon us. i trust we may have statesmen who will be able to turn it to the benefit of humanity. i wish there could be an international peace conference of booksellers, for (you will smile at this) my own conviction is that the future happiness of the world depends in no small measure on them and on the librarians. i wonder what a german bookseller is like? i've been reading the education of henry adams and wish he might have lived long enough to give us his thoughts on the war. i fear it would have bowled him over. he thought that this is not a world "that sensitive and timid natures can regard without a shudder." what would he have said of the four-year shambles we have watched with sickened hearts? you remember my favourite poem--old george herbert's church porch--where he says-- by all means use sometimes to be alone; salute thyself; see what thy soul doth wear; dare to look in thy chest, for 'tis thine own, and tumble up and down what thou find'st there-- well, i've been tumbling my thoughts up and down a good deal. melancholy, i suppose, is the curse of the thinking classes; but i confess my soul wears a great uneasiness these days! the sudden and amazing turnover in human affairs, dramatic beyond anything in history, already seems to be taken as a matter of course. my great fear is that humanity will forget the atrocious sufferings of the war, which have never been told. i am hoping and praying that men like philip gibbs may tell us what they really saw. you will not agree with me on what i am about to say, for i know you as a stubborn republican; but i thank fortune that wilson is going to the peace conference. i've been mulling over one of my favourite books--it lies beside me as i write--cromwell's letters and speeches, edited by carlyle, with what carlyle amusingly calls "elucidations." (carlyle is not very good at "elucidating" anything!) i have heard somewhere or other that this is one of wilson's favourite books, and indeed, there is much of the cromwell in him. with what a grim, covenanting zeal he took up the sword when at last it was forced into his hand! and i have been thinking that what he will say to the peace conference will smack strongly of what old oliver used to say to parliament in and --"if we will have peace without a worm in it, lay we foundations of justice and righteousness." what makes wilson so irritating to the unthoughtful is that he operates exclusively upon reason, not upon passion. he contradicts kipling's famous lines, which apply to most men-- very rarely will he squarely push the logic of a fact to its ultimate conclusion in unmitigated act. in this instance, i think, reason is going to win. i feel the whole current of the world setting in that direction. it's quaint to think of old woodrow, a kind of cromwell-wordsworth, going over to do his bit among the diplomatic shell-craters. what i'm waiting for is the day when he'll get back into private life and write a book about it. there's a job, if you like, for a man who might reasonably be supposed to be pretty tired in body and soul! when that book comes out i'll spend the rest of my life in selling it. i ask nothing better! speaking of wordsworth, i've often wondered whether woodrow hasn't got some poems concealed somewhere among his papers! i've always imagined that he may have written poems on the sly. and by the way, you needn't make fun of me for being so devoted to george herbert. do you realize that two of the most familiar quotations in our language come from his pen, viz.: wouldst thou both eat thy cake, and have it? and dare to be true: nothing can need a ly; a fault, which needs it most, grows two thereby. forgive this tedious sermon! my mind has been so tumbled up and down this autumn that i am in a queer state of mingled melancholy and exaltation. you know how much i live in and for books. well, i have a curious feeling, a kind of premonition that there are great books coming out of this welter of human hopes and anguishes, perhaps a book in which the tempest-shaken soul of the race will speak out as it never has before. the bible, you know, is rather a disappointment: it has never done for humanity what it should have done. i wonder why? walt whitman is going to do a great deal, but he is not quite what i mean. there is something coming--i don't know just what! i thank god i am a bookseller, trafficking in the dreams and beauties and curiosities of humanity rather than some mere huckster of merchandise. but how helpless we all are when we try to tell what goes on within us! i found this in one of lafcadio hearn's letters the other day--i marked the passage for you baudelaire has a touching poem about an albatross, which you would like--describing the poet's soul superb in its own free azure--but helpless, insulted, ugly, clumsy when striving to walk on common earth--or rather, on a deck, where sailors torment it with tobacco pipes, etc. you can imagine what evenings i have here among my shelves, now the long dark nights are come! of course until ten o'clock, when i shut up shop, i am constantly interrupted--as i have been during this letter, once to sell a copy of helen's babies and once to sell the ballad of reading gaol, so you can see how varied are my clients' tastes! but later on, after we have had our evening cocoa and helen has gone to bed, i prowl about the place, dipping into this and that, fuddling myself with speculation. how clear and bright the stream of the mind flows in those late hours, after all the sediment and floating trash of the day has drained off! sometimes i seem to coast the very shore of beauty or truth, and hear the surf breaking on those shining sands. then some offshore wind of weariness or prejudice bears me away again. have you ever come across andreyev's confessions of a little man during great days? one of the honest books of the war. the little man ends his confession thus-- my anger has left me, my sadness returned, and once more the tears flow. whom can i curse, whom can i judge, when we are all alike unfortunate? suffering is universal; hands are outstretched to each other, and when they touch . . . the great solution will come. my heart is aglow, and i stretch out my hand and cry, "come, let us join hands! i love you, i love you!" and of course, as soon as one puts one's self in that frame of mind someone comes along and picks your pocket. . . . i suppose we must teach ourselves to be too proud to mind having our pockets picked! did it ever occur to you that the world is really governed by books? the course of this country in the war, for instance, has been largely determined by the books wilson has read since he first began to think! if we could have a list of the principal books he has read since the war began, how interesting it would be. here's something i'm just copying out to put up on my bulletin board for my customers to ponder. it was written by charles sorley, a young englishman who was killed in france in . he was only twenty years old-- to germany you are blind like us. your hurt no man designed, and no man claimed the conquest of your land. but gropers both through fields of thought confined we stumble and we do not understand. you only saw your future bigly planned, and we, the tapering paths of our own mind, and in each other's dearest ways we stand, and hiss and hate. and the blind fight the blind. when it is peace, then we may view again with new-won eyes each other's truer form and wonder. grown more loving-kind and warm we'll grasp firm hands and laugh at the old pain, when it is peace. but until peace, the storm the darkness and the thunder and the rain. isn't that noble? you see what i am dumbly groping for--some way of thinking about the war that will make it seem (to future ages) a purification for humanity rather than a mere blackness of stinking cinders and tortured flesh and men shot to ribbons in marshes of blood and sewage. out of such unspeakable desolation men must rise to some new conception of national neighbourhood. i hear so much apprehension that germany won't be punished sufficiently for her crime. but how can any punishment be devised or imposed for such a huge panorama of sorrow? i think she has already punished herself horribly, and will continue to do so. my prayer is that what we have gone through will startle the world into some new realization of the sanctity of life--all life, animal as well as human. don't you find that a visit to a zoo can humble and astound you with all that amazing and grotesque variety of living energy? what is it that we find in every form of life? desire of some sort--some unexplained motive power that impels even the smallest insect on its queer travels. you must have watched some infinitesimal red spider on a fence rail, bustling along--why and whither? who knows? and when you come to man, what a chaos of hungers and impulses keep thrusting him through his cycle of quaint tasks! and in every human heart you find some sorrow, some frustration, some lurking pang. i often think of lafcadio hearn's story of his japanese cook. hearn was talking of the japanese habit of not showing their emotions on their faces. his cook was a smiling, healthy, agreeable-looking young fellow whose face was always cheerful. then one day, by chance, hearn happened to look through a hole in the wall and saw his cook alone. his face was not the same face. it was thin and drawn and showed strange lines worn by old hardships or sufferings. hearn thought to himself, "he will look just like that when he is dead." he went into the kitchen to see him, and instantly the cook was all changed, young and happy again. never again did hearn see that face of trouble; but he knew the man wore it when he was alone. don't you think there is a kind of parable there for the race as a whole? have you ever met a man without wondering what shining sorrows he hides from the world, what contrast between vision and accomplishment torments him? behind every smiling mask is there not some cryptic grimace of pain? henry adams puts it tersely. he says the human mind appears suddenly and inexplicably out of some unknown and unimaginable void. it passes half its known life in the mental chaos of sleep. even when awake it is a victim of its own ill-adjustment, of disease, of age, of external suggestion, of nature's compulsions; it doubts its own sensations and trusts only in instruments and averages. after sixty years or so of growing astonishment the mind wakes to find itself looking blankly into the void of death. and, as adams says, that it should profess itself pleased by this performance is all that the highest rules of good breeding can ask. that the mind should actually be satisfied would prove that it exists only as idiocy! i hope that you will write to tell me along what curves your mind is moving. for my own part i feel that we are on the verge of amazing things. long ago i fell back on books as the only permanent consolers. they are the one stainless and unimpeachable achievement of the human race. it saddens me to think that i shall have to die with thousands of books unread that would have given me noble and unblemished happiness. i will tell you a secret. i have never read king lear, and have purposely refrained from doing so. if i were ever very ill i would only need to say to myself "you can't die yet, you haven't read lear." that would bring me round, i know it would. you see, books are the answer to all our perplexities! henry adams grinds his teeth at his inability to understand the universe. the best he can do is to suggest a "law of acceleration," which seems to mean that nature is hustling man along at an ever-increasing rate so that he will either solve all her problems or else die of fever in the effort. but adams' candid portrait of a mind grappling helplessly with its riddles is so triumphantly delightful that one forgets the futility of the struggle in the accuracy of the picture. man is unconquerable because he can make even his helplessness so entertaining. his motto seems to be "even though he slay me, yet will i make fun of him!" yes, books are man's supreme triumph, for they gather up and transmit all other triumphs. as walter de la mare writes, "how uncomprehendingly must an angel from heaven smile on a poor human sitting engrossed in a romance: angled upon his hams, motionless in his chair, spectacles on nose, his two feet as close together as the flukes of a merman's tail, only his strange eyes stirring in his time-worn face." well, i've been scribbling away all this time and haven't given you any news whatever. helen came back the other day from a visit to boston where she enjoyed herself greatly. to-night she has gone out to the movies with a young protegee of ours, miss titania chapman, an engaging damsel whom we have taken in as an apprentice bookseller. it's a quaint idea, done at the request of her father, mr. chapman, the proprietor of chapman's daintybits which you see advertised everywhere. he is a great booklover, and is very eager to have the zeal transmitted to his daughter. so you can imagine my glee to have a neophyte of my own to preach books at! also it will enable me to get away from the shop a little more. i had a telephone call from philadelphia this afternoon asking me to go over there on monday evening to make an estimate of the value of a private collection that is to be sold. i was rather flattered because i can't imagine how they got hold of my name. forgive this long, incoherent scrawl. how did you like erewhon? it's pretty near closing time and i must say grace over the day's accounts. yours ever, roger mifflin. chapter x roger raids the ice-box roger had just put carlyle's cromwell back in its proper place in the history alcove when helen and titania returned from the movies. bock, who had been dozing under his master's chair, rose politely and wagged a deferential tail. "i do think bock has the darlingest manners," said titania. "yes," said helen, "it's really a marvel that his wagging muscles aren't all worn out, he has abused them so." "well," said roger, "did you have a good time?" "an adorable time!" cried titania, with a face and voice so sparkling that two musty habitues of the shop popped their heads out of the alcoves marked essays and theology and peered in amazement. one of these even went so far as to purchase the copy of leigh hunt's wishing cap papers he had been munching through, in order to have an excuse to approach the group and satisfy his bewildered eyes. when miss chapman took the book and wrapped it up for him, his astonishment was made complete. unconscious that she was actually creating business, titania resumed. "we met your friend mr. gilbert on the street," she said, "and he went to the movies with us. he says he's coming in on monday to fix the furnace while you're away." "well," said roger, "these advertising agencies are certainly enterprising, aren't they? think of sending a man over to attend to my furnace, just on the slim chance of getting my advertising account." "did you have a quiet evening?" said helen. "i spent most of the time writing to andrew," said roger. "one amusing thing happened, though. i actually sold that copy of philip dru." "no!" cried helen. "a fact," said roger. "a man was looking at it, and i told him it was supposed to be written by colonel house. he insisted on buying it. but what a sell when he tries to read it!" "did colonel house really write it?" asked titania. "i don't know," said roger. "i hope not, because i find in myself a secret tendency to believe that mr. house is an able man. if he did write it, i devoutly hope none of the foreign statesmen in paris will learn of that fact." while helen and titania took off their wraps, roger was busy closing up the shop. he went down to the corner with bock to mail his letter, and when he returned to the den helen had prepared a large jug of cocoa. they sat down by the fire to enjoy it. "chesterton has written a very savage poem against cocoa," said roger, "which you will find in the flying inn; but for my part i find it the ideal evening drink. it lets the mind down gently, and paves the way for slumber. i have often noticed that the most terrific philosophical agonies can be allayed by three cups of mrs. mifflin's cocoa. a man can safely read schopenhauer all evening if he has a tablespoonful of cocoa and a tin of condensed milk available. of course it should be made with condensed milk, which is the only way." "i had no idea anything could be so good," said titania. "of course, daddy makes condensed milk in one of his factories, but i never dreamed of trying it. i thought it was only used by explorers, people at the north pole, you know." "how stupid of me!" exclaimed roger. "i quite forgot to tell you! your father called up just after you had gone out this evening, and wanted to know how you were getting on." "oh, dear," said titania. "he must have been delighted to hear i was at the movies, on the second day of my first job! he probably said it was just like me." "i explained that i had insisted on your going with mrs. mifflin, because i felt she needed the change." "i do hope," said titania, "you won't let daddy poison your mind about me. he thinks i'm dreadfully frivolous, just because i look frivolous. but i'm so keen to make good in this job. i've been practicing doing up parcels all afternoon, so as to learn how to tie the string nicely and not cut it until after the knot's tied. i found that when you cut it beforehand either you get it too short and it won't go round, or else too long and you waste some. also i've learned how to make wrapping paper cuffs to keep my sleeves clean." "well, i haven't finished yet," continued roger. "your father wants us all to spend to-morrow out at your home. he wants to show us some books he has just bought, and besides he thinks maybe you're feeling homesick." "what, with all these lovely books to read? nonsense! i don't want to go home for six months!" "he wouldn't take no for an answer. he's going to send edwards round with the car the first thing to-morrow morning." "what fun!" said helen. "it'll be delightful." "goodness," said titania. "imagine leaving this adorable bookshop to spend sunday in larchmont. well, i'll be able to get that georgette blouse i forgot." "what time will the car be here?" asked helen. "mr. chapman said about nine o'clock. he begs us to get out there as early as possible, as he wants to spend the day showing us his books." as they sat round the fading bed of coals, roger began hunting along his private shelves. "have you ever read any gissing?" he said. titania made a pathetic gesture to mrs. mifflin. "it's awfully embarrassing to be asked these things! no, i never heard of him." "well, as the street we live on is named after him, i think you ought to," he said. he pulled down his copy of the house of cobwebs. "i'm going to read you one of the most delightful short stories i know. it's called 'a charming family.'" "no, roger," said mrs. mifflin firmly. "not to-night. it's eleven o'clock, and i can see titania's tired. even bock has left us and gone in to his kennel. he's got more sense than you have." "all right," said the bookseller amiably. "miss chapman, you take the book up with you and read it in bed if you want to. are you a librocubicularist?" titania looked a little scandalized. "it's all right, my dear," said helen. "he only means are you fond of reading in bed. i've been waiting to hear him work that word into the conversation. he made it up, and he's immensely proud of it." "reading in bed?" said titania. "what a quaint idea! does any one do it? it never occurred to me. i'm sure when i go to bed i'm far too sleepy to think of such a thing." "run along then, both of you," said roger. "get your beauty sleep. i shan't be very late." he meant it when he said it, but returning to his desk at the back of the shop his eye fell upon his private shelf of books which he kept there "to rectify perturbations" as burton puts it. on this shelf there stood pilgrim's progress, shakespeare, the anatomy of melancholy, the home book of verse, george herbert's poems, the notebooks of samuel butler, and leaves of grass. he took down the anatomy of melancholy, that most delightful of all books for midnight browsing. turning to one of his favourite passages--"a consolatory digression, containing the remedies of all manner of discontents"--he was happily lost to all ticking of the clock, retaining only such bodily consciousness as was needful to dump, fill, and relight his pipe from time to time. solitude is a dear jewel for men whose days are spent in the tedious this-and-that of trade. roger was a glutton for his midnight musings. to such tried companions as robert burton and george herbert he was wont to exonerate his spirit. it used to amuse him to think of burton, the lonely oxford scholar, writing that vast book to "rectify" his own melancholy. by and by, turning over the musty old pages, he came to the following, on sleep-- the fittest time is two or three hours after supper, whenas the meat is now settled at the bottom of the stomach, and 'tis good to lie on the right side first, because at that site the liver doth rest under the stomach, not molesting any way, but heating him as a fire doth a kettle, that is put to it. after the first sleep 'tis not amiss to lie on the left side, that the meat may the better descend, and sometimes again on the belly, but never on the back. seven or eight hours is a competent time for a melancholy man to rest---- in that case, thought roger, it's time for me to be turning in. he looked at his watch, and found it was half-past twelve. he switched off his light and went back to the kitchen quarters to tend the furnace. i hesitate to touch upon a topic of domestic bitterness, but candor compels me to say that roger's evening vigils invariably ended at the ice-box. there are two theories as to this subject of ice-box plundering, one of the husband and the other of the wife. husbands are prone to think (in their simplicity) that if they take a little of everything palatable they find in the refrigerator, but thus distributing their forage over the viands the general effect of the depradation will be almost unnoticeable. whereas wives say (and mrs. mifflin had often explained to roger) that it is far better to take all of any one dish than a little of each; for the latter course is likely to diminish each item below the bulk at which it is still useful as a left-over. roger, however, had the obstinate viciousness of all good husbands, and he knew the delights of cold provender by heart. many a stewed prune, many a mess of string beans or naked cold boiled potato, many a chicken leg, half apple pie, or sector of rice pudding, had perished in these midnight festivals. he made it a point of honour never to eat quite all of the dish in question, but would pass with unabated zest from one to another. this habit he had sternly repressed during the war, but mrs. mifflin had noticed that since the armistice he had resumed it with hearty violence. this is a custom which causes the housewife to be confronted the next morning with a tragical vista of pathetic scraps. two slices of beet in a little earthenware cup, a sliver of apple pie one inch wide, three prunes lowly nestling in a mere trickle of their own syrup, and a tablespoonful of stewed rhubarb where had been one of those yellow basins nearly full--what can the most resourceful kitcheneer do with these oddments? this atrocious practice cannot be too bitterly condemned. but we are what we are, and roger was even more so. the anatomy of melancholy always made him hungry, and he dipped discreetly into various vessels of refreshment, sharing a few scraps with bock whose pleading brown eye at these secret suppers always showed a comical realization of their shameful and furtive nature. bock knew very well that roger had no business at the ice-box, for the larger outlines of social law upon which every home depends are clearly understood by dogs. but bock's face always showed his tremulous eagerness to participate in the sin, and rather than have him stand by as a silent and damning critic, roger used to give him most of the cold potato. the censure of a dog is something no man can stand. but i rove, as burton would say. after the ice-box, the cellar. like all true householders, roger was fond of his cellar. it was something mouldy of smell, but it harboured a well-stocked little bin of liquors, and the florid glow of the furnace mouth upon the concrete floor was a great pleasure to the bookseller. he loved to peer in at the dancing flicker of small blue flames that played above the ruddy mound of coals in the firebox--tenuous, airy little flames that were as blue as violets and hovered up and down in the ascending gases. before blackening the fire with a stoking of coal he pulled up a wooden bushmills box, turned off the electric bulb overhead, and sat there for a final pipe, watching the rosy shine of the grate. the tobacco smoke, drawn inward by the hot inhaling fire, seemed dry and gray in the golden brightness. bock, who had pattered down the steps after him, nosed and snooped about the cellar. roger was thinking of burton's words on the immortal weed-- tobacco, divine, rare, superexcellent tobacco, which goes far beyond all the panaceas, potable gold, and philosopher's stones, a sovereign remedy to all diseases. . . . a virtuous herb, if it be well qualified, opportunely taken, and medicinally used; but as it is commonly abused by most men, which take it as tinkers do ale, 'tis a plague, a mischief, a violent purger of goods, lands, health, hellish, devilish, and damned tobacco, the ruin and overthrow of body and soul---- bock was standing on his hind legs, looking up at the front wall of the cellar, in which two small iron-grated windows opened onto the sunken area by the front door of the shop. he gave a low growl, and seemed uneasy. "what is it, bock?" said roger placidly, finishing his pipe. bock gave a short, sharp bark, with a curious note of protest in it. but roger's mind was still with burton. "rats?" he said. "aye, very likely! this is ratisbon, old man, but don't bark about it. incident of the french camp: 'smiling, the rat fell dead.'" bock paid no heed to this persiflage, but prowled the front end of the cellar, looking upward in curious agitation. he growled again, softly. "shhh," said roger gently. "never mind the rats, bock. come on, we'll stoke up the fire and go to bed. lord, it's one o'clock." chapter xi titania tries reading in bed aubrey, sitting at his window with the opera glasses, soon realized that he was blind weary. even the exalted heroics of romance are not proof against fatigue, most potent enemy of all who do and dream. he had had a long day, coming after the skull-smiting of the night before; it was only the frosty air at the lifted sash that kept him at all awake. he had fallen into a half drowse when he heard footsteps coming down the opposite side of the street. he had forced himself awake several times before, to watch the passage of some harmless strollers through the innocent blackness of the brooklyn night, but this time it was what he sought. the man stepped stealthily, with a certain blend of wariness and assurance. he halted under the lamp by the bookshop door, and the glasses gave him enlarged to aubrey's eye. it was weintraub, the druggist. the front of the bookshop was now entirely dark save for a curious little glimmer down below the pavement level. this puzzled aubrey, but he focussed his glasses on the door of the shop. he saw weintraub pull a key out of his pocket, insert it very carefully in the lock, and open the door stealthily. leaving the door ajar behind him, the druggist slipped into the shop. "what devil's business is this?" thought aubrey angrily. "the swine has even got a key of his own. there's no doubt about it. he and mifflin are working together on this job." for a moment he was uncertain what to do. should he run downstairs and across the street? then, as he hesitated, he saw a pale beam of light over in the front left-hand corner of the shop. through the glasses he could see the yellow circle of a flashlight splotched upon dim shelves of books. he saw weintraub pull a volume out of the case, and the light vanished. another instant and the man reappeared in the doorway, closed the door behind him with a gesture of careful silence, and was off up the street quietly and swiftly. it was all over in a minute. two yellow oblongs shone for a minute or two down in the area underneath the door. through the glasses he now made out these patches as the cellar windows. then they disappeared also, and all was placid gloom. in the quivering light of the street lamps he could see the bookseller's sign gleaming whitely, with its lettering this shop is haunted. aubrey sat back in his chair. "well," he said to himself, "that guy certainly gave his shop the right name. this is by me. i do believe it's only some book-stealing game after all. i wonder if he and weintraub go in for some first-edition faking, or some such stunt as that? i'd give a lot to know what it's all about." he stayed by the window on the qui vive, but no sound broke the stillness of gissing street. in the distance he could hear the occasional rumble of the elevated trains rasping round the curve on wordsworth avenue. he wondered whether he ought to go over and break into the shop to see if all was well. but, like every healthy young man, he had a horror of appearing absurd. little by little weariness numbed his apprehensions. two o'clock clanged and echoed from distant steeples. he threw off his clothes and crawled into bed. it was ten o'clock on sunday morning when he awoke. a broad swath of sunlight cut the room in half: the white muslin curtain at the window rippled outward like a flag. aubrey exclaimed when he saw his watch. he had a sudden feeling of having been false to his trust. what had been happening across the way? he gazed out at the bookshop. gissing street was bright and demure in the crisp quietness of the forenoon. mifflin's house showed no sign of life. it was as he had last seen it, save that broad green shades had been drawn down inside the big front windows, making it impossible to look through into the book-filled alcoves. aubrey put on his overcoat in lieu of a dressing gown, and went in search of a bathtub. he found the bathroom on his floor locked, with sounds of leisurely splashing within. "damn mrs. j. f. smith," he said. he was about to descend to the storey below, bashfully conscious of bare feet and pyjamaed shins, but looking over the banisters he saw mrs. schiller and the treasure-dog engaged in some household manoeuvres. the pug caught sight of his pyjama legs and began to yap. aubrey retreated in the irritation of a man baulked of a cold tub. he shaved and dressed rapidly. on his way downstairs he met mrs. schiller. he thought that her gaze was disapproving. "a gentleman called to see you last night, sir," she said. "he said he was very sorry to miss you." "i was rather late in getting in," said aubrey. "did he leave his name?" "no, he said he'd see you some other time. he woke the whole house up by falling downstairs," she added sourly. he left the lodging house swiftly, fearing to be seen from the bookshop. he was very eager to learn if everything was all right, but he did not want the mifflins to know he was lodging just opposite. hastening diagonally across the street, he found that the milwaukee lunch, where he had eaten the night before, was open. he went in and had breakfast, rejoicing in grapefruit, ham and eggs, coffee, and doughnuts. he lit a pipe and sat by the window wondering what to do next. "it's damned perplexing," he said to himself. "i stand to lose either way. if i don't do anything, something may happen to the girl; if i butt in too soon i'll get in dutch with her. i wish i knew what weintraub and that chef are up to." the lunchroom was practically empty, and in two chairs near him the proprietor and his assistant were sitting talking. aubrey was suddenly struck by what they said. "say, this here, now, bookseller guy must have struck it rich." "who, mifflin?" "yeh; did ya see that car in front of his place this morning?" "no." "believe me, some boat." "musta hired it, hey? where'd he go at?" "i didn't see. i just saw the bus standing front the door." "say, did you see that swell dame he's got clerking for him?" "i sure did. what's he doing, taking her joy-riding?" "shouldn't wonder. i wouldn't blame him----" aubrey gave no sign of having heard, but got up and left the lunchroom. had the girl been kidnapped while he overslept? he burned with shame to think what a pitiful failure his knight-errantry had been. his first idea was to beard weintraub and compel him to explain his connection with the bookshop. his next thought was to call up mr. chapman and warn him of what had been going on. then he decided it would be futile to do either of these before he really knew what had happened. he determined to get into the bookshop itself, and burst open its sinister secret. he walked hurriedly round to the rear alley, and surveyed the domestic apartments of the shop. two windows in the second storey stood slightly open, but he could discern no signs of life. the back gate was still unlocked, and he walked boldly into the yard. the little enclosure was serene in the pale winter sunlight. along one fence ran a line of bushes and perennials, their roots wrapped in straw. the grass plot was lumpy, the sod withered to a tawny yellow and granulated with a sprinkle of frost. below the kitchen door--which stood at the head of a flight of steps--was a little grape arbour with a rustic bench where roger used to smoke his pipe on summer evenings. at the back of this arbour was the cellar door. aubrey tried it, and found it locked. he was in no mood to stick at trifles. he was determined to unriddle the mystery of the bookshop. at the right of the door was a low window, level with the brick pavement. through the dusty pane he could see it was fastened only by a hook on the inside. he thrust his heel through the pane. as the glass tinkled onto the cellar floor he heard a low growl. he unhooked the catch, lifted the frame of the broken window, and looked in. there was bock, with head quizzically tilted, uttering a rumbling guttural vibration that seemed to proceed automatically from his interior. aubrey was a little dashed, but he said cheerily "hullo, bock! good old man! well, well, nice old fellow!" to his surprise, bock recognized him as a friend and wagged his tail slightly, but still continued to growl. "i wish dogs weren't such sticklers for form," thought aubrey. "now if i went in by the front door, bock wouldn't say anything. it's just because he sees me coming in this way that he's annoyed. well, i'll have to take a chance." he thrust his legs in through the window, carefully holding up the sash with its jagged triangles of glass. it will never be known how severely bock was tempted by the extremities thus exposed to him, but he was an old dog and his martial instincts had been undermined by years of kindness. moreover, he remembered aubrey perfectly well, and the smell of his trousers did not seem at all hostile. so he contented himself with a small grumbling of protest. he was an irish terrier, but there was nothing sinn fein about him. aubrey dropped to the floor, and patted the dog, thanking his good fortune. he glanced about the cellar as though expecting to find some lurking horror. nothing more appalling than several cases of beer bottles met his eyes. he started quietly to go up the cellar stairs, and bock, evidently consumed with legitimate curiosity, kept at his heels. "look here," thought aubrey. "i don't want the dog following me all through the house. if i touch anything he'll probably take a hunk out of my shin." he unlocked the door into the yard, and bock obeying the irish terrier's natural impulse to get into the open air, ran outside. aubrey quickly closed the door again. bock's face appeared at the broken window, looking in with so quaint an expression of indignant surprise that aubrey almost laughed. "there, old man," he said, "it's all right. i'm just going to look around a bit." he ascended the stairs on tiptoe and found himself in the kitchen. all was quiet. an alarm clock ticked with a stumbling, headlong hurry. pots of geraniums stood on the window sill. the range, with its lids off and the fire carefully nourished, radiated a mild warmth. through a dark little pantry he entered the dining room. still no sign of anything amiss. a pot of white heather stood on the table, and a corncob pipe lay on the sideboard. "this is the most innocent-looking kidnapper's den i ever heard of," he thought. "any moving-picture director would be ashamed not to provide a better stage-set." at that instant he heard footsteps overhead. curiously soft, muffled footsteps. instantly he was on the alert. now he would know the worst. a window upstairs was thrown open. "bock, what are you doing in the yard?" floated a voice--a very clear, imperious voice that somehow made him think of the thin ringing of a fine glass tumbler. it was titania. he stood aghast. then he heard a door open, and steps on the stair. merciful heaven, the girl must not find him here. what would she think? he skipped back into the pantry, and shrank into a corner. he heard the footfalls reach the bottom of the stairs. there was a door into the kitchen from the central hall: it was not necessary for her to pass through the pantry, he thought. he heard her enter the kitchen. in his anxiety he crouched down beneath the sink, and his foot, bent beneath him, touched a large tin tray leaning against the wall. it fell over with a terrible clang. "bock!" said titania sharply, "what are you doing?" aubrey was wondering miserably whether he ought to counterfeit a bark, but it was too late to do anything. the pantry door opened, and titania looked in. they gazed at each other for several seconds in mutual horror. even in his abasement, crouching under a shelf in the corner, aubrey's stricken senses told him that he had never seen so fair a spectacle. titania wore a blue kimono and a curious fragile lacy bonnet which he did not understand. her dark, gold-spangled hair came down in two thick braids across her shoulders. her blue eyes were very much alive with amazement and alarm which rapidly changed into anger. "mr. gilbert!" she cried. for an instant he thought she was going to laugh. then a new expression came into her face. without another word she turned and fled. he heard her run upstairs. a door banged, and was locked. a window was hastily closed. again all was silent. stupefied with chagrin, he rose from his cramped position. what on earth was he to do? how could he explain? he stood by the pantry sink in painful indecision. should he slink out of the house? no, he couldn't do that without attempting to explain. and he was still convinced that some strange peril hung about this place. he must put titania on her guard, no matter how embarrassing it proved. if only she hadn't been wearing a kimono--how much easier it would have been. he stepped out into the hall, and stood at the bottom of the stairs in the throes of doubt. after waiting some time in silence he cleared the huskiness from his throat and called out: "miss chapman!" there was no answer, but he heard light, rapid movements above. "miss chapman!" he called again. he heard the door opened, and clear words edged with frost came downward. this time he thought of a thin tumbler with ice in it. "mr. gilbert!" "yes?" he said miserably. "will you please call me a taxi?" something in the calm, mandatory tone nettled him. after all, he had acted in pure good faith. "with pleasure," he said, "but not until i have told you something. it's very important. i beg your pardon most awfully for frightening you, but it's really very urgent." there was a brief silence. then she said: "brooklyn's a queer place. wait a few minutes, please." aubrey stood absently fingering the pattern on the wallpaper. he suddenly experienced a great craving for a pipe, but felt that the etiquette of the situation hardly permitted him to smoke. in a few moments titania appeared at the head of the stairs in her customary garb. she sat down on the landing. aubrey felt that everything was as bad as it could possibly be. if he could have seen her face his embarrassment would at least have had some compensation. but the light from a stair window shone behind her, and her features were in shadow. she sat clasping her hands round her knees. the light fell crosswise down the stairway, and he could see only a gleam of brightness upon her ankle. his mind unconsciously followed its beaten paths. "what a corking pose for a silk stocking ad!" he thought. "wouldn't it make a stunning full-page layout. i must suggest it to the ankleshimmer people." "well?" she said. then she could not refrain from laughter, he looked so hapless. she burst into an engaging trill. "why don't you light your pipe?" she said. "you look as doleful as the kaiser." "miss chapman," he said, "i'm afraid you think--i don't know what you must think. but i broke in here this morning because i--well, i don't think this is a safe place for you to be." "so it seems. that's why i asked you to get me a taxi." "there's something queer going on round this shop. it's not right for you to be here alone this way. i was afraid something had happened to you. of course, i didn't know you were--were----" faint almond blossoms grew in her cheeks. "i was reading," she said. "mr. mifflin talks so much about reading in bed, i thought i'd try it. they wanted me to go with them to-day but i wouldn't. you see, if i'm going to be a bookseller i've got to catch up with some of this literature that's been accumulating. after they left i--i--well, i wanted to see if this reading in bed is what it's cracked up to be." "where has mifflin gone?" asked aubrey. "what business has he got to leave you here all alone?" "i had bock," said titania. "gracious, brooklyn on sunday morning doesn't seem very perilous to me. if you must know, he and mrs. mifflin have gone over to spend the day with father. i was to have gone, too, but i wouldn't. what business is it of yours? you're as bad as morris finsbury in the wrong box. that's what i was reading when i heard the dog barking." aubrey began to grow nettled. "you seem to think this was a mere impertinence on my part," he said. "let me tell you a thing or two." and he briefly described to her the course of his experiences since leaving the shop on friday evening, but omitting the fact that he was lodging just across the street. "there's something mighty unpalatable going on," he said. "at first i thought mifflin was the goat. i thought it might be some frame-up for swiping valuable books from his shop. but when i saw weintraub come in here with his own latch-key, i got wise. he and mifflin are in cahoots, that's what. i don't know what they're pulling off, but i don't like the looks of it. you say mifflin has gone out to see your father? i bet that's just camouflage, to stall you. i've got a great mind to ring mr. chapman up and tell him he ought to get you out of here." "i won't hear a word said against mr. mifflin," said titania angrily. "he's one of my father's oldest friends. what would mr. mifflin say if he knew you had been breaking into his house and frightening me half to death? i'm sorry you got that knock on the head, because it seems that's your weak spot. i'm quite able to take care of myself, thank you. this isn't a movie." "well, how do you explain the actions of this man weintraub?" said aubrey. "do you like to have a man popping in and out of the shop at all hours of the night, stealing books?" "i don't have to explain it at all," said titania. "i think it's up to you to do the explaining. weintraub is a harmless old thing and he keeps delicious chocolates that cost only half as much as what you get on fifth avenue. mr. mifflin told me that he's a very good customer. perhaps his business won't let him read in the daytime, and he comes in here late at night to borrow books. he probably reads in bed." "i don't think anybody who talks german round back alleys at night is a harmless old thing," said aubrey. "i tell you, your haunted bookshop is haunted by something worse than the ghost of thomas carlyle. let me show you something." he pulled the book cover out of his pocket, and pointed to the annotations in it. "that's mifflin's handwriting," said titania, pointing to the upper row of figures. "he puts notes like that in all his favourite books. they refer to pages where he has found interesting things." "yes, and that's weintraub's," said aubrey, indicating the numbers in violet ink. "if that isn't a proof of their complicity, i'd like to know what is. if that cromwell book is here, i'd like to have a look at it." they went into the shop. titania preceded him down the musty aisle, and it made aubrey angry to see the obstinate assurance of her small shoulders. he was horribly tempted to seize her and shake her. it annoyed him to see her bright, unconscious girlhood in that dingy vault of books. "she's as out of place here as--as a packard ad in the liberator" he said to himself. they stood in the history alcove. "here it is," she said. "no, it isn't--that's the history of frederick the great." there was a two-inch gap in the shelf. cromwell was gone. "probably mr. mifflin has it somewhere around," said titania. "it was there last night." "probably nothing," said aubrey. "i tell you, weintraub came in and took it. i saw him. look here, if you really want to know what i think, i'll tell you. the war's not over by a long sight. weintraub's a german. carlyle was pro-german--i remember that much from college. i believe your friend mifflin is pro-german, too. i've heard some of his talk!" titania faced him with cheeks aflame. "that'll do for you!" she cried. "next thing i suppose you'll say daddy's pro-german, and me, too! i'd like to see you say that to mr. mifflin himself." "i will, don't worry," said aubrey grimly. he knew now that he had put himself hopelessly in the wrong in titania's mind, but he refused to abate his own convictions. with sinking heart he saw her face relieved against the shelves of faded bindings. her eyes shone with a deep and sultry blue, her chin quivered with anger. "look here," she said furiously. "either you or i must leave this place. if you intend to stay, please call me a taxi." aubrey was as angry as she was. "i'm going," he said. "but you've got to play fair with me. i tell you on my oath, these two men, mifflin and weintraub, are framing something up. i'm going to get the goods on them and show you. but you mustn't put them wise that i'm on their track. if you do, of course, they'll call it off. i don't care what you think of me. you've got to promise me that." "i won't promise you anything," she said, "except never to speak to you again. i never saw a man like you before--and i've seen a good many." "i won't leave here until you promise me not to warn them," he retorted. "what i told you, i said in confidence. they've already found out where i'm lodging. do you think this is a joke? they've tried to put me out of the way twice. if you breathe a word of this to mifflin he'll warn the other two." "you're afraid to have mr. mifflin know you broke into his shop," she taunted. "you can think what you like." "i won't promise you anything!" she burst out. then her face altered. the defiant little line of her mouth bent and her strength seemed to run out at each end of that pathetic curve. "yes, i will," she said. "i suppose that's fair. i couldn't tell mr. mifflin, anyway. i'd be ashamed to tell him how you frightened me. i think you're hateful. i came over here thinking i was going to have such a good time, and you've spoilt it all!" for one terrible moment he thought she was going to cry. but he remembered having seen heroines cry in the movies, and knew it was only done when there was a table and chair handy. "miss chapman," he said, "i'm as sorry as a man can be. but i swear i did what i did in all honesty. if i'm wrong in this, you need never speak to me again. if i'm wrong, you--you can tell your father to take his advertising away from the grey-matter company. i can't say more than that." and, to do him justice, he couldn't. it was the supreme sacrifice. she let him out of the front door without another word. chapter xii aubrey determines to give service that's different seldom has a young man spent a more desolate afternoon than aubrey on that sunday. his only consolation was that twenty minutes after he had left the bookshop he saw a taxi drive up (he was then sitting gloomily at his bedroom window) and titania enter it and drive away. he supposed that she had gone to join the party in larchmont, and was glad to know that she was out of what he now called the war zone. for the first time on record, o. henry failed to solace him. his pipe tasted bitter and brackish. he was eager to know what weintraub was doing, but did not dare make any investigations in broad daylight. his idea was to wait until dark. observing the sabbath calm of the streets, and the pageant of baby carriages wheeling toward thackeray boulevard, he wondered again whether he had thrown away this girl's friendship for a merely imaginary suspicion. at last he could endure his cramped bedroom no longer. downstairs someone was dolefully playing a flute, most horrible of all tortures to tightened nerves. while her lodgers were at church the tireless mrs. schiller was doing a little housecleaning: he could hear the monotonous rasp of a carpet-sweeper passing back and forth in an adjoining room. he creaked irritably downstairs, and heard the usual splashing behind the bathroom door. in the frame of the hall mirror he saw a pencilled note: will mrs. smith please call tarkington , it said. unreasonably annoyed, he tore a piece of paper out of his notebook and wrote on it will mrs. smith please call bath . mounting to the second floor he tapped on the bathroom door. "don't come in!" cried an agitated female voice. he thrust the memorandum under the door, and left the house. walking the windy paths of prospect park he condemned himself to relentless self-scrutiny. "i've damned myself forever with her," he groaned, "unless i can prove something." the vision of titania's face silhouetted against the shelves of books came maddeningly to his mind. "i was going to have such a good time, and you've spoilt it all!" with what angry conviction she had said: "i never saw a man like you before--and i've seen a good many!" even in his disturbance of soul the familiar jargon of his profession came naturally to utterance. "at least she admits i'm different," he said dolefully. he remembered the first item in the grey-matter code, a neat little booklet issued by his employers for the information of their representatives: business is built upon confidence. before you can sell grey-matter service to a client, you must sell yourself. "how am i going to sell myself to her?" he wondered. "i've simply got to deliver, that's all. i've got to give her service that's different. if i fall down on this, she'll never speak to me again. not only that, the firm will lose the old man's account. it's simply unthinkable." nevertheless, he thought about it a good deal, stimulated from time to time as in the course of his walk (which led him out toward the faubourgs of flatbush) he passed long vistas of signboards, which he imagined placarded with vivid lithographs in behalf of the chapman prunes. "adam and eve ate prunes on their honeymoon" was a slogan that flashed into his head, and he imagined a magnificent painting illustrating this text. thus, in hours of stress, do all men turn for comfort to their chosen art. the poet, battered by fate, heals himself in the niceties of rhyme. the prohibitionist can weather the blackest melancholia by meditating the contortions of other people's abstinence. the most embittered citizen of detroit will never perish by his own hand while he has an automobile to tinker. aubrey walked many miles, gradually throwing his despair to the winds. the bright spirits of orison swett marden and ralph waldo trine, dioscuri of good cheer, seemed to be with him reminding him that nothing is impossible. in a small restaurant he found sausages, griddle cakes and syrup. when he got back to gissing street it was dark, and he girded his soul for further endeavour. about nine o'clock he walked up the alley. he had left his overcoat in his room at mrs. schiller's and also the cromwell bookcover--having taken the precaution, however, to copy the inscriptions into his pocket memorandum-book. he noticed lights in the rear of the bookshop, and concluded that the mifflins and their employee had got home safely. arrived at the back of weintraub's pharmacy, he studied the contours of the building carefully. the drug store lay, as we have explained before, at the corner of gissing street and wordsworth avenue, just where the elevated railway swings in a long curve. the course of this curve brought the scaffolding of the viaduct out over the back roof of the building, and this fact had impressed itself on aubrey's observant eye the day before. the front of the drug store stood three storeys, but in the rear it dropped to two, with a flat roof over the hinder portion. two windows looked out upon this roof. weintraub's back yard opened onto the alley, but the gate, he found, was locked. the fence would not be hard to scale, but he hesitated to make so direct an approach. he ascended the stairs of the "l" station, on the near side, and paying a nickel passed through a turnstile onto the platform. waiting until just after a train had left, and the long, windy sweep of planking was solitary, he dropped onto the narrow footway that runs beside the track. this required watchful walking, for the charged third rail was very near, but hugging the outer side of the path he proceeded without trouble. every fifteen feet or so a girder ran sideways from the track, resting upon an upright from the street below. the fourth of these overhung the back corner of weintraub's house, and he crawled cautiously along it. people were passing on the pavement underneath, and he greatly feared being discovered. but he reached the end of the beam without mishap. from here a drop of about twelve feet would bring him onto weintraub's back roof. for a moment he reflected that, once down there, it would be impossible to return the same way. however, he decided to risk it. where he was, with his legs swinging astride the girder, he was in serious danger of attracting attention. he would have given a great deal, just then, to have his overcoat with him, for by lowering it first he could have jumped onto it and muffled the noise of his fall. he took off his coat and carefully dropped it on the corner of the roof. then cannily waiting until a train passed overhead, drowning all other sounds with its roar, he lowered himself as far as he could hang by his hands, and let go. for some minutes he lay prone on the tin roof, and during that time a number of distressing ideas occurred to him. if he really expected to get into weintraub's house, why had he not laid his plans more carefully? why (for instance) had he not made some attempt to find out how many there were in the household? why had he not arranged with one of his friends to call weintraub to the telephone at a given moment, so that he could be more sure of making an entry unnoticed? and what did he expect to see or do if he got inside the house? he found no answer to any of these questions. it was unpleasantly cold, and he was glad to slip his coat on again. the small revolver was still in his hip pocket. another thought occurred to him--that he should have provided himself with tennis shoes. however, it was some comfort to know that rubber heels of a nationally advertised brand were under him. he crawled quietly up to the sill of one of the windows. it was closed, and the room inside was dark. a blind was pulled most of the way down, leaving a gap of about four inches. peeping cautiously over the sill, he could see farther inside the house a brightly lit door and a passageway. "one thing i've got to look out for," he thought, "is children. there are bound to be some--who ever heard of a german without offspring? if i wake them, they'll bawl. this room is very likely a nursery, as it's on the southeastern side. also, the window is shut tight, which is probably the german idea of bedroom ventilation." his guess may not have been a bad one, for after his eyes became accustomed to the dimness of the room he thought he could perceive two cot beds. he then crawled over to the other window. here the blind was pulled down flush with the bottom of the sash. trying the window very cautiously, he found it locked. not knowing just what to do, he returned to the first window, and lay there peering in. the sill was just high enough above the roof level to make it necessary to raise himself a little on his hands to see inside, and the position was very trying. moreover, the tin roof had a tendency to crumple noisily when he moved. he lay for some time, shivering in the chill, and wondering whether it would be safe to light a pipe. "there's another thing i'd better look out for," he thought, "and that's a dog. who ever heard of a german without a dachshund?" he had watched the lighted doorway for a long while without seeing anything, and was beginning to think he was losing time to no profit when a stout and not ill-natured looking woman appeared in the hallway. she came into the room he was studying, and closed the door. she switched on the light, and to his horror began to disrobe. this was not what he had counted on at all, and he retreated rapidly. it was plain that nothing was to be gained where he was. he sat timidly at one edge of the roof and wondered what to do next. as he sat there, the back door opened almost directly below him, and he heard the clang of a garbage can set out by the stoop. the door stood open for perhaps half a minute, and he heard a male voice--weintraub's, he thought--speaking in german. for the first time in his life he yearned for the society of his german instructor at college, and also wondered--in the rapid irrelevance of thought--what that worthy man was now doing to earn a living. in a rather long and poorly lubricated sentence, heavily verbed at the end, he distinguished one phrase that seemed important. "nach philadelphia gehen"--"go to philadelphia." did that refer to mifflin? he wondered. the door closed again. leaning over the rain-gutter, he saw the light go out in the kitchen. he tried to look through the upper portion of the window just below him, but leaning out too far, the tin spout gave beneath his hands. without knowing just how he did it, he slithered down the side of the wall, and found his feet on a window-sill. his hands still clung to the tin gutter above. he made haste to climb down from his position, and found himself outside the back door. he had managed the descent rather more quietly than if it had been carefully planned. but he was badly startled, and retreated to the bottom of the yard to see if he had aroused notice. a wait of several minutes brought no alarm, and he plucked up courage. on the inner side of the house--away from wordsworth avenue--a narrow paved passage led to an outside cellar-way with old-fashioned slanting doors. he reconnoitred this warily. a bright light was shining from a window in this alley. he crept below it on hands and knees fearing to look in until he had investigated a little. he found that one flap of the cellar door was open, and poked his nose into the aperture. all was dark below, but a strong, damp stench of paints and chemicals arose. he sniffed gingerly. "i suppose he stores drugs down there," he thought. very carefully he crawled back, on hands and knees, toward the lighted window. lifting his head a few inches at a time, finally he got his eyes above the level of the sill. to his disappointment he found the lower half of the window frosted. as he knelt there, a pipe set in the wall suddenly vomited liquid which gushed out upon his knees. he sniffed it, and again smelled a strong aroma of acids. with great care, leaning against the brick wall of the house, he rose to his feet and peeped through the upper half of the pane. it seemed to be the room where prescriptions were compounded. as it was empty, he allowed himself a hasty survey. all manner of bottles were ranged along the walls; there was a high counter with scales, a desk, and a sink. at the back he could see the bamboo curtain which he remembered having noticed from the shop. the whole place was in the utmost disorder: mortars, glass beakers, a typewriter, cabinets of labels, dusty piles of old prescriptions strung on filing hooks, papers of pills and capsules, all strewn in an indescribable litter. some infusion was heating in a glass bowl propped on a tripod over a blue gas flame. aubrey noticed particularly a heap of old books several feet high piled carelessly at one end of the counter. looking more carefully, he saw that what he had taken for a mirror over the prescription counter was an aperture looking into the shop. through this he could see weintraub, behind the cigar case, waiting upon some belated customer with his shop-worn air of affability. the visitor departed, and weintraub locked the door after him and pulled down the blinds. then he returned toward the prescription room, and aubrey ducked out of view. presently he risked looking again, and was just in time to see a curious sight. the druggist was bending over the counter, pouring some liquid into a glass vessel. his face was directly under a hanging bulb, and aubrey was amazed at the transformation. the apparently genial apothecary of cigar stand and soda fountain was gone. he saw instead a heavy, cruel, jowlish face, with eyelids hooded down over the eyes, and a square thrusting chin buttressed on a mass of jaw and suetty cheek that glistened with an oily shimmer. the jaw quivered a little as though with some intense suppressed emotion. the man was completely absorbed in his task. the thick lower lip lapped upward over the mouth. on the cheekbone was a deep red scar. aubrey felt a pang of fascinated amazement at the gross energy and power of that abominable relentless mask. "so this is the harmless old thing!" he thought. just then the bamboo curtain parted, and the woman whom he had seen upstairs appeared. forgetting his own situation, aubrey still stared. she wore a faded dressing gown and her hair was braided as though for the night. she looked frightened, and must have spoken, for aubrey saw her lips move. the man remained bent over his counter until the last drops of liquid had run out. his jaw tightened, he straightened suddenly and took one step toward her, with outstretched hand imperiously pointed. aubrey could see his face plainly: it had a savagery more than bestial. the woman's face, which had borne a timid, pleading expression, appealed in vain against that fierce gesture. she turned and vanished. aubrey saw the druggist's pointing finger tremble. again he ducked out of sight. "that man's face would be lonely in a crowd," he said to himself. "and i used to think the movies exaggerated things. say, he ought to play opposite theda bara." he lay at full length in the paved alley and thought that a little acquaintance with weintraub would go a long way. then the light in the window above him went out, and he gathered himself together for quick motion if necessary. perhaps the man would come out to close the cellar door---- the thought was in his mind when a light flashed on farther down the passage, between him and the kitchen. it came from a small barred window on the ground level. evidently the druggist had gone down into the cellar. aubrey crawled silently along toward the yard. reaching the lit pane he lay against the wall and looked in. the window was too grimed for him to see clearly, but what he could make out had the appearance of a chemical laboratory and machine shop combined. a long work bench was lit by several electrics. on it he saw glass vials of odd shapes, and a medley of tools. sheets of tin, lengths of lead pipe, gas burners, a vise, boilers and cylinders, tall jars of coloured fluids. he could hear a dull humming sound, which he surmised came from some sort of revolving tool which he could see was run by a belt from a motor. on trying to spy more clearly he found that what he had taken for dirt was a coat of whitewash which had been applied to the window on the inside, but the coating had worn away in one spot which gave him a loophole. what surprised him most was to spy the covers of a number of books strewn about the work table. one, he was ready to swear, was the cromwell. he knew that bright blue cloth by this time. for the second time that evening aubrey wished for the presence of one of his former instructors. "i wish i had my old chemistry professor here," he thought. "i'd like to know what this bird is up to. i'd hate to swallow one of his prescriptions." his teeth were chattering after the long exposure and he was wet through from lying in the little gutter that apparently drained off from the sink in weintraub's prescription laboratory. he could not see what the druggist was doing in the cellar, for the man's broad back was turned toward him. he felt as though he had had quite enough thrills for one evening. creeping along he found his way back to the yard, and stepped cautiously among the empty boxes with which it was strewn. an elevated train rumbled overhead, and he watched the brightly lighted cars swing by. while the train roared above him, he scrambled up the fence and dropped down into the alley. "well," he thought, "i'd give full-page space, preferred position, in the magazine ben franklin founded to the guy that'd tell me what's going on at this grand bolshevik headquarters. it looks to me as though they're getting ready to blow the octagon hotel off the map." he found a little confectionery shop on wordsworth avenue that was still open, and went in for a cup of hot chocolate to warm himself. "the expense account on this business is going to be rather heavy," he said to himself. "i think i'll have to charge it up to the daintybits account. say, old grey matter gives service that's different, don't she! we not only keep chapman's goods in the public eye, but we face all the horrors of brooklyn to preserve his family from unlawful occasions. no, i don't like the company that bookseller runs with. if 'nach philadelphia' is the word, i think i'll tag along. i guess it's off for philadelphia in the morning!" chapter xiii the battle of ludlow street rarely was a more genuine tribute paid to entrancing girlhood than when aubrey compelled himself, by sheer force of will and the ticking of his subconscious time-sense, to wake at six o'clock the next morning. for this young man took sleep seriously and with a primitive zest. it was to him almost a religious function. as a minor poet has said, he "made sleep a career." but he did not know what train roger might be taking, and he was determined not to miss him. by a quarter after six he was seated in the milwaukee lunch (which is never closed--open from now till the judgment day. tables for ladies, as its sign says) with a cup of coffee and corned beef hash. in the mood of tender melancholy common to unaccustomed early rising he dwelt fondly on the thought of titania, so near and yet so far away. he had leisure to give free rein to these musings, for it was ten past seven before roger appeared, hurrying toward the subway. aubrey followed at a discreet distance, taking care not to be observed. the bookseller and his pursuer both boarded the eight o'clock train at the pennsylvania station, but in very different moods. to roger, this expedition was a frolic, pure and simple. he had been tied down to the bookshop so long that a day's excursion seemed too good to be true. he bought two cigars--an unusual luxury--and let the morning paper lie unheeded in his lap as the train drummed over the hackensack marshes. he felt a good deal of pride in having been summoned to appraise the oldham library. mr. oldham was a very distinguished collector, a wealthy philadelphia merchant whose choice johnson, lamb, keats, and blake items were the envy of connoisseurs all over the world. roger knew very well that there were many better-known dealers who would have jumped at the chance to examine the collection and pocket the appraiser's fee. the word that roger had had by long distance telephone was that mr. oldham had decided to sell his collection, and before putting it to auction desired the advices of an expert as to the prices his items should command in the present state of the market. and as roger was not particularly conversant with current events in the world of rare books and manuscripts, he spent most of the trip in turning over some annotated catalogues of recent sales which mr. chapman had lent him. "this invitation," he said to himself, "confirms what i have always said, that the artist, in any line of work, will eventually be recognized above the mere tradesman. somehow or other mr. oldham has heard that i am not only a seller of old books but a lover of them. he prefers to have me go over his treasures with him, rather than one of those who peddle these things like so much tallow." aubrey's humour was far removed from that of the happy bookseller. in the first place, roger was sitting in the smoker, and as aubrey feared to enter the same car for fear of being observed, he had to do without his pipe. he took the foremost seat in the second coach, and peering occasionally through the glass doors he could see the bald poll of his quarry wreathed with exhalements of cheap havana. secondly, he had hoped to see weintraub on the same train, but though he had tarried at the train-gate until the last moment, the german had not appeared. he had concluded from weintraub's words the night before that druggist and bookseller were bound on a joint errand. apparently he was mistaken. he bit his nails, glowered at the flying landscape, and revolved many grievous fancies in his prickling bosom. among other discontents was the knowledge that he did not have enough money with him to pay his fare back to new york, and he would either have to borrow from someone in philadelphia or wire to his office for funds. he had not anticipated, when setting out upon this series of adventures, that it would prove so costly. the train drew into broad street station at ten o'clock, and aubrey followed the bookseller through the bustling terminus and round the city hall plaza. mifflin seemed to know his way, but philadelphia was comparatively strange to the grey-matter solicitor. he was quite surprised at the impressive vista of south broad street, and chagrined to find people jostling him on the crowded pavement as though they did not know he had just come from new york. roger turned in at a huge office building on broad street and took an express elevator. aubrey did not dare follow him into the car, so he waited in the lobby. he learned from the starter that there was a second tier of elevators on the other side of the building, so he tipped a boy a quarter to watch them for him, describing mifflin so accurately that he could not be missed. by this time aubrey was in a thoroughly ill temper, and enjoyed quarrelling with the starter on the subject of indicators for showing the position of the elevators. observing that in this building the indicators were glass tubes in which the movement of the car was traced by a rising or falling column of coloured fluid, aubrey remarked testily that that old-fashioned stunt had long been abandoned in new york. the starter retorted that new york was only two hours away if he liked it better. this argument helped to fleet the time rapidly. meanwhile roger, with the pleasurable sensation of one who expects to be received as a distinguished visitor from out of town, had entered the luxurious suite of mr. oldham. a young lady, rather too transparently shirtwaisted but fair to look upon, asked what she could do for him. "i want to see mr. oldham." "what name shall i say?" "mr. mifflin--mr. mifflin of brooklyn." "have you an appointment?" "yes." roger sat down with agreeable anticipation. he noticed the shining mahogany of the office furniture, the sparkling green jar of drinking water, the hushed and efficient activity of the young ladies. "philadelphia girls are amazingly comely," he said to himself, "but none of these can hold a candle to miss titania." the young lady returned from the private office looking a little perplexed. "did you have an appointment with mr. oldham?" she said. "he doesn't seem to recall it." "why, certainly," said roger. "it was arranged by telephone on saturday afternoon. mr. oldham's secretary called me up." "have i got your name right?" she asked, showing a slip on which she had written mr. miflin. "two f's," said roger. "mr. roger mifflin, the bookseller." the girl retired, and came back a moment later. "mr. oldham's very busy," she said, "but he can see you for a moment." roger was ushered into the private office, a large, airy room lined with bookshelves. mr. oldham, a tall, thin man with short gray hair and lively black eyes, rose courteously from his desk. "how do you do, sir," he said. "i'm sorry, i had forgotten our appointment." "he must be very absent minded," thought roger. "arranges to sell a collection worth half a million, and forgets all about it." "i came over in response to your message," he said. "about selling your collection." mr. oldham looked at him, rather intently, roger thought. "do you want to buy it?" he said. "to buy it?" said roger, a little peevishly. "why, no. i came over to appraise it for you. your secretary telephoned me on saturday." "my dear sir," replied the other, "there must be some mistake. i have no intention of selling my collection. i never sent you a message." roger was aghast. "why," he exclaimed, "your secretary called me up on saturday and said you particularly wanted me to come over this morning, to examine your books with you. i've made the trip from brooklyn for that purpose." mr. oldham touched a buzzer, and a middle-aged woman came into the office. "miss patterson," he said, "did you telephone to mr. mifflin of brooklyn on saturday, asking him----" "it was a man that telephoned," said roger. "i'm exceedingly sorry, mr. mifflin," said mr. oldham. "more sorry than i can tell you--i'm afraid someone has played a trick on you. as i told you, and miss patterson will bear me out, i have no idea of selling my books, and have never authorized any one even to suggest such a thing." roger was filled with confusion and anger. a hoax on the part of some of the corn cob club, he thought to himself. he flushed painfully to recall the simplicity of his glee. "please don't be embarrassed," said mr. oldham, seeing the little man's vexation. "don't let's consider the trip wasted. won't you come out and dine with me in the country this evening, and see my things?" but roger was too proud to accept this balm, courteous as it was. "i'm sorry," he said, "but i'm afraid i can't do it. i'm rather busy at home, and only came over because i believed this to be urgent." "some other time, perhaps," said mr. oldham. "look here, you're a bookseller? i don't believe i know your shop. give me your card. the next time i'm in new york i'd like to stop in." roger got away as quickly as the other's politeness would let him. he chafed savagely at the awkwardness of his position. not until he reached the street again did he breathe freely. "some of jerry gladfist's tomfoolery, i'll bet a hat," he muttered. "by the bones of fanny kelly, i'll make him smart for it." even aubrey, picking up the trail again, could see that roger was angry. "something's got his goat," he reflected. "i wonder what he's peeved about?" they crossed broad street and roger started off down chestnut. aubrey saw the bookseller halt in a doorway to light his pipe, and stopped some yards behind him to look up at the statue of william penn on the city hall. it was a blustery day, and at that moment a gust of wind whipped off his hat and sent it spinning down broad street. he ran half a block before he recaptured it. when he got back to chestnut, roger had disappeared. he hurried down chestnut street, bumping pedestrians in his eagerness, but at thirteenth he halted in dismay. nowhere could he see a sign of the little bookseller. he appealed to the policeman at that corner, but learned nothing. vainly he scoured the block and up and down juniper street. it was eleven o'clock, and the streets were thronged. he cursed the book business in both hemispheres, cursed himself, and cursed philadelphia. then he went into a tobacconist's and bought a packet of cigarettes. for an hour he patrolled up and down chestnut street, on both sides of the way, thinking he might possibly encounter roger. at the end of this time he found himself in front of a newspaper office, and remembered that an old friend of his was an editorial writer on the staff. he entered, and went up in the elevator. he found his friend in a small grimy den, surrounded by a sea of papers, smoking a pipe with his feet on the table. they greeted each other joyfully. "well, look who's here!" cried the facetious journalist. "tamburlaine the great, and none other! what brings you to this distant outpost?" aubrey grinned at the use of his old college nickname. "i've come to lunch with you, and borrow enough money to get home with." "on monday?" cried the other. "tuesday being the day of stipend in these quarters? nay, say not so!" they lunched together at a quiet italian restaurant, and aubrey narrated tersely the adventures of the past few days. the newspaper man smoked pensively when the story was concluded. "i'd like to see the girl," he said. "tambo, your tale hath the ring of sincerity. it is full of sound and fury, but it signifieth something. you say your man is a second-hand bookseller?" "yes." "then i know where you'll find him." "nonsense!" "it's worth trying. go up to leary's, south ninth. it's right on this street. i'll show you." "let's go," said aubrey promptly. "not only that," said the other, "but i'll lend you my last v. not for your sake, but on behalf of the girl. just mention my name to her, will you? "right up the block," he pointed as they reached chestnut street. "no, i won't come with you, wilson's speaking to congress to-day, and there's big stuff coming over the wire. so long, old man. invite me to the wedding!" aubrey had no idea what leary's was, and rather expected it to be a tavern of some sort. when he reached the place, however, he saw why his friend had suggested it as a likely lurking ground for roger. it would be as impossible for any bibliophile to pass this famous second-hand bookstore as for a woman to go by a wedding party without trying to see the bride. although it was a bleak day, and a snell wind blew down the street, the pavement counters were lined with people turning over disordered piles of volumes. within, he could see a vista of white shelves, and the many-coloured tapestry of bindings stretching far away to the rear of the building. he entered eagerly, and looked about. the shop was comfortably busy, with a number of people browsing. they seemed normal enough from behind, but in their eyes he detected the wild, peering glitter of the bibliomaniac. here and there stood members of the staff. upon their features aubrey discerned the placid and philosophic tranquillity which he associated with second-hand booksellers--all save mifflin. he paced through the narrow aisles, scanning the blissful throng of seekers. he went down to the educational department in the basement, up to the medical books in the gallery, even back to the sections of drama and pennsylvania history in the raised quarterdeck at the rear. there was no trace of roger. at a desk under the stairway he saw a lean, studious, and kindly-looking bibliosoph, who was poring over an immense catalogue. an idea struck him. "have you a copy of carlyle's letters and speeches of oliver cromwell?" he asked. the other looked up. "i'm afraid we haven't," he said. "another gentleman was in here asking for it just a few minutes ago." "good god!" cried aubrey. "did he get it?" this emphasis brought no surprise to the bookseller, who was accustomed to the oddities of edition hunters. "no," he said. "we didn't have a copy. we haven't seen one for a long time." "was he a little bald man with a red beard and bright blue eyes?" asked aubrey hoarsely. "yes--mr. mifflin of brooklyn. do you know him?" "i should say i do!" cried aubrey. "where has he gone? i've been hunting him all over town, the scoundrel!" the bookseller, douce man, had seen too many eccentric customers to be shocked by the vehemence of his questioner. "he was here a moment ago," he said gently, and gazed with a mild interest upon the excited young advertising man. "i daresay you'll find him just outside, in ludlow street." "where's that?" the tall man--and i don't see why i should scruple to name him, for it was philip warner--explained that ludlow street was the narrow alley that runs along one side of leary's and elbows at right angles behind the shop. down the flank of the store, along this narrow little street, run shelves of books under a penthouse. it is here that leary's displays its stock of ragamuffin ten-centers--queer dingy volumes that call to the hearts of gentle questers. along these historic shelves many troubled spirits have come as near happiness as they are like to get . . . for after all, happiness (as the mathematicians might say) lies on a curve, and we approach it only by asymptote. . . . the frequenters of this alley call themselves whimsically the ludlow street business men's association, and charles lamb or eugene field would have been proud to preside at their annual dinners, at which the members recount their happiest book-finds of the year. aubrey rushed out of the shop and looked down the alley. half a dozen ludlow street business men were groping among the shelves. then, down at the far end, his small face poked into an open volume, he saw roger. he approached with a rapid stride. "well," he said angrily, "here you are!" roger looked up from his book good-humouredly. apparently, in the zeal of his favourite pastime, he had forgotten where he was. "hullo!" he said. "what are you doing in brooklyn? look here, here's a copy of tooke's pantheon----" "what's the idea?" cried aubrey harshly. "are you trying to kid me? what are you and weintraub framing up here in philadelphia?" roger's mind came back to ludlow street. he looked with some surprise at the flushed face of the young man, and put the book back in its place on the shelf, making a mental note of its location. his disappointment of the morning came back to him with some irritation. "what are you talking about?" he said. "what the deuce business is it of yours?" "i'll make it my business," said aubrey, and shook his fist in the bookseller's face. "i've been trailing you, you scoundrel, and i want to know what kind of a game you're playing." a spot of red spread on roger's cheekbones. in spite of his apparent demureness he had a pugnacious spirit and a quick fist. "by the bones of charles lamb!" he said. "young man, your manners need mending. if you're looking for display advertising, i'll give you one on each eye." aubrey had expected to find a cringing culprit, and this back talk infuriated him beyond control. "you damned little bolshevik," he said, "if you were my size i'd give you a hiding. you tell me what you and your pro-german pals are up to or i'll put the police on you!" roger stiffened. his beard bristled, and his blue eyes glittered. "you impudent dog," he said quietly, "you come round the corner where these people can't see us and i'll give you some private tutoring." he led the way round the corner of the alley. in this narrow channel, between blank walls, they confronted each other. "in the name of gutenberg," said roger, calling upon his patron saint, "explain yourself or i'll hit you." "who's he?" sneered aubrey. "another one of your huns?" that instant he received a smart blow on the chin, which would have been much harder but that roger misgauged his footing on the uneven cobbles, and hardly reached the face of his opponent, who topped him by many inches. aubrey forgot his resolution not to hit a smaller man, and also calling upon his patron saints--the associated advertising clubs of the world--he delivered a smashing slog which hit the bookseller in the chest and jolted him half across the alley. both men were furiously angry--aubrey with the accumulated bitterness of several days' anxiety and suspicion, and roger with the quick-flaming indignation of a hot-tempered man unwarrantably outraged. aubrey had the better of the encounter in height, weight, and more than twenty years juniority, but fortune played for the bookseller. aubrey's terrific punch sent the latter staggering across the alley onto the opposite curb. aubrey followed him up with a rush, intending to crush the other with one fearful smite. but roger, keeping cool, now had the advantage of position. standing on the curb, he had a little the better in height. as aubrey leaped at him, his face grim with hatred, roger met him with a savage buffet on the jaw. aubrey's foot struck against the curb, and he fell backward onto the stones. his head crashed violently on the cobbles, and the old cut on his scalp broke out afresh. dazed and shaken, there was, for the moment, no more fight in him. "you insolent pup," panted roger, "do you want any more?" then he saw that aubrey was really hurt. with horror he observed a trickle of blood run down the side of the young man's face. "good lord," he said. "maybe i've killed him!" in a panic he ran round the corner to get leary's outside man, who stands in a little sentry box at the front angle of the store and sells the outdoor books. "quick," he said. "there's a fellow back here badly hurt." they ran back around the corner, and found aubrey walking rather shakily toward them. immense relief swam through roger's brain. "look here," he said, "i'm awfully sorry--are you hurt?" aubrey glared whitely at him, but was too stunned to speak. he grunted, and the others took him one on each side and supported him. leary's man ran inside the store and opened the little door of the freight elevator at the back of the shop. in this way, avoiding notice save by a few book-prowlers, aubrey was carted into the shop as though he had been a parcel of second-hand books. mr. warner greeted them at the back of the shop, a little surprised, but gentle as ever. "what's wrong?" he said. "oh, we've been fighting over a copy of tooke's pantheon," said roger. they led aubrey into the little private office at the rear. here they made him sit down in a chair and bathed his bleeding head with cold water. philip warner, always resourceful, produced some surgical plaster. roger wanted to telephone for a doctor. "not on your life," said aubrey, pulling himself together. "see here, mr. mifflin, don't flatter yourself you gave me this cut on the skull. i got that the other evening on brooklyn bridge, going home from your damned bookshop. now if you and i can be alone for a few minutes, we've got to have a talk." chapter xiv the "cromwell" makes its last appearance "you utter idiot," said roger, half an hour later. "why didn't you tell me all this sooner? good lord, man, there's some devil's work going on!" "how the deuce was i to know you knew nothing about it?" said aubrey impatiently. "you'll grant everything pointed against you? when i saw that guy go into the shop with his own key, what could i think but that you were in league with him? gracious, man, are you so befuddled in your old books that you don't see what's going on round you?" "what time did you say that was?" said roger shortly. "one o'clock sunday morning." roger thought a minute. "yes, i was in the cellar with bock," he said. "bock barked, and i thought it was rats. that fellow must have taken an impression of the lock and made himself a key. he's been in the shop hundreds of times, and could easily do it. that explains the disappearing cromwell. but why? what's the idea?" "for the love of heaven," said aubrey. "let's get back to brooklyn as soon as we can. god only knows what may have happened. fool that i was, to go away and leave those women all alone. triple-distilled lunacy!" "my dear fellow," said roger, "i was the fool to be lured off by a fake telephone call. judging by what you say, weintraub must have worked that also." aubrey looked at his watch. "just after three," he said. "we can't get a train till four," said roger. "that means we can't get back to gissing street until nearly seven." "call them up," said aubrey. they were still in the private office at the rear of leary's. roger was well-known in the shop, and had no hesitation in using the telephone. he lifted the receiver. "long distance, please," he said. "hullo? i want to get brooklyn, wordsworth -w." they spent a sour twenty-five minutes waiting for the connection. roger went out to talk with warner, while aubrey fumed in the back office. he could not sit still, and paced the little room in a fidget of impatience, tearing his watch out of his pocket every few minutes. he felt dull and sick with vague fear. to his mind recurred the spiteful buzz of that voice over the wire--"gissing street is not healthy for you." he remembered the scuffle on the bridge, the whispering in the alley, and the sinister face of the druggist at his prescription counter. the whole series of events seemed a grossly fantastic nightmare, yet it frightened him. "if only i were in brooklyn," he groaned, "it wouldn't be so bad. but to be over here, a hundred miles away, in another cursed bookshop, while that girl may be in trouble--gosh!" he muttered. "if i get through this business all right i'll lay off bookshops for the rest of my life!" the telephone rang, and aubrey frantically beckoned to roger, who was outside, talking. "answer it, you chump!" said roger. "we'll lose the connection!" "nix," said aubrey. "if titania hears my voice she'll ring off. she's sore at me." roger ran to the instrument. "hullo, hullo?" he said, irritably. "hullo, is that wordsworth----? yes, i'm calling brooklyn--hullo!" aubrey, leaning over roger's shoulder, could hear a clucking in the receiver, and then, incredibly clear, a thin, silver, distant voice. how well he knew it! it seemed to vibrate in the air all about him. he could hear every syllable distinctly. a hot perspiration burst out on his forehead and in the palms of his hands. "hullo," said roger. "is that mifflin's bookshop?" "yes," said titania. "is that you, mr. mifflin? where are you?" "in philadelphia," said roger. "tell me, is everything all right?" "everything's dandy," said titania. "i'm selling loads of books. mrs. mifflin's gone out to do some shopping." aubrey shook to hear the tiny, airy voice, like a trill of birdsong, like a tinkling from some distant star. he could imagine her standing at the phone in the back of the shadowy bookshop, and seemed to see her as though through an inverted telescope, very minute and very perfect. how brave and exquisite she was! "when are you coming home?" she was saying. "about seven o'clock," said roger. "listen, is everything absolutely o. k.?" "why, yes," said titania. "i've been having lots of fun. i went down just now and put some coal on the furnace. oh, yes. mr. weintraub came in a little while ago and left a suitcase of books. he said you wouldn't mind. a friend of his is going to call for them this afternoon." "hold the wire a moment," said roger, and clapped his hand over the mouthpiece. "she says weintraub left a suitcase of books there to be called for. what do you make of that?" "for the love of god, tell her not to touch those books." "hullo?" said roger. aubrey, leaning over him, noticed that the little bookseller's naked pate was ringed with crystal beads. "hullo?" replied titania's elfin voice promptly. "did you open the suitcase?" "no. it's locked. mr. weintraub said there were a lot of old books in it for a friend of his. it's very heavy." "look here," said roger, and his voice rang sharply. "this is important. i don't want you to touch that suitcase. leave it wherever it is, and don't touch it. promise me." "yes, mr. mifflin. had i better put it in a safe place?" "don't touch it!" "bock's sniffing at it now." "don't touch it, and don't let bock touch it. it--it's got valuable papers in it." "i'll be careful of it," said titania. "promise me not to touch it. and another thing--if any one calls for it, don't let them take it until i get home." aubrey held out his watch in front of roger. the latter nodded. "do you understand?" he said. "do you hear me all right?" "yes, splendidly. i think it's wonderful! you know i never talked on long distance before----" "don't touch the bag," repeated roger doggedly, "and don't let any one take it until we--until i get back." "i promise," said titania blithely. "good-bye," said roger, and set down the receiver. his face looked curiously pinched, and there was perspiration in the hollows under his eyes. aubrey held out his watch impatiently. "we've just time to make it," cried roger, and they rushed from the shop. it was not a sprightly journey. the train made its accustomed detour through west philadelphia and north philadelphia before getting down to business, and the two voyagers felt a personal hatred of the brakemen who permitted passengers from these suburbs to straggle leisurely aboard instead of flogging them in with knotted whips. when the express stopped at trenton, aubrey could easily have turned a howitzer upon that innocent city and blasted it into rubble. an unexpected stop at princeton junction was the last straw. aubrey addressed the conductor in terms that were highly treasonable, considering that this official was a government servant. the winter twilight drew in, gray and dreary, with a threat of snow. for some time they sat in silence, roger buried in a philadelphia afternoon paper containing the text of the president's speech announcing his trip to europe, and aubrey gloomily recapitulating the schedule of his past week. his head throbbed, his hands were wet with nervousness so that crumbs of tobacco adhered to them annoyingly. "it's a funny thing," he said at last. "you know i never heard of your shop until a week ago to-day, and now it seems like the most important place on earth. it was only last tuesday that we had supper together, and since then i've had my scalp laid open twice, had a desperado lie in wait for me in my own bedroom, spent two night vigils on gissing street, and endangered the biggest advertising account our agency handles. i don't wonder you call the place haunted!" "i suppose it would all make good advertising copy?" said roger peevishly. "well, i don't know" said aubrey. "it's a bit too rough, i'm afraid. how do you dope it out?" "i don't know what to think. weintraub has run that drug store for twenty years or more. years ago, before i ever got into the book business, i used to know his shop. he was always rather interested in books, especially scientific books, and we got quite friendly when i opened up on gissing street. i never fell for his face very hard, but he always seemed quiet and well-disposed. it sounds to me like some kind of trade in illicit drugs, or german incendiary bombs. you know what a lot of fires there were during the war--those big grain elevators in brooklyn, and so on." "i thought at first it was a kidnapping stunt," said aubrey. "i thought you had got miss chapman planted in your shop so that these other guys could smuggle her away." "you seem to have done me the honour of thinking me a very complete rascal," said roger. aubrey's lips trembled with irritable retort, but he checked himself heroically. "what was your particular interest in the cromwell book?" he asked after a pause. "oh, i read somewhere--two or three years ago--that it was one of woodrow wilson's favourite books. that interested me, and i looked it up." "by the way," cried aubrey excitedly, "i forgot to show you those numbers that were written in the cover." he pulled out his memorandum book, and showed the transcript he had made. "well, one of these is perfectly understandable," said roger. "here, where it says ff. cf. w. w. that simply means 'pages and following, compare woodrow wilson.' i remember jotting that down not long ago, because that passage in the book reminded me of some of wilson's ideas. i generally note down in the back of a book the numbers of any pages that interest me specially. these other page numbers convey nothing unless i had the book before me." "the first bunch of numbers was in your handwriting, then; but underneath were these others, in weintraub's--or at any rate in his ink. when i saw that he was jotting down what i took to be code stuff in the backs of your books i naturally assumed you and he were working together----" "and you found the cover in his drug store?" "yes." roger scowled. "i don't make it out," he said. "well, there's nothing we can do till we get there. do you want to look at the paper? there's the text of wilson's speech to congress this morning." aubrey shook his head dismally, and leaned his hot forehead against the pane. neither of them spoke again until they reached manhattan transfer, where they changed for the hudson terminal. it was seven o'clock when they hurried out of the subway terminus at atlantic avenue. it was a raw, damp evening, but the streets had already begun to bustle with their nightly exuberance of light and colour. the yellow glitter of a pawnshop window reminded aubrey of the small revolver in his pocket. as they passed a dark alley, he stepped aside to load the weapon. "have you anything of this sort with you?" he said, showing it to roger. "good lord, no," said the bookseller. "what do you think i am, a moving-picture hero?" down gissing street the younger man set so rapid a pace that his companion had to trot to keep abreast. the placid vista of the little street was reassuring. under the glowing effusion of the shop windows the pavement was a path of checkered brightness. in weintraub's pharmacy they could see the pasty-faced assistant in his stained white coat serving a beaker of hot chocolate. in the stationer's shop people were looking over trays of christmas cards. in the milwaukee lunch aubrey saw (and envied) a sturdy citizen peacefully dipping a doughnut into a cup of coffee. "this all seems very unreal," said roger. as they neared the bookshop, aubrey's heart gave a jerk of apprehension. the blinds in the front windows had been drawn down. a dull shining came through them, showing that the lights were turned on inside. but why should the shades be lowered with closing time three hours away? they reached the front door, and aubrey was about to seize the handle when roger halted him. "wait a moment," he said. "let's go in quietly. there may be something queer going on." aubrey turned the knob gently. the door was locked. roger pulled out his latchkey and cautiously released the bolt. then he opened the door slightly--about an inch. "you're taller than i am," he whispered. "reach up and muffle the bell above the door while i open it." aubrey thrust three fingers through the aperture and blocked the trigger of the gong. then roger pushed the door wide, and they tiptoed in. the shop was empty, and apparently normal. they stood for an instant with pounding pulses. from the back of the house came a clear voice, a little tremulous: "you can do what you like, i shan't tell you where it is. mr. mifflin said----" there followed the bang of a falling chair, and a sound of rapid movement. aubrey was down the aisle in a flash, followed by roger, who had delayed just long enough to close the door. he tiptoed up the steps at the back of the shop and looked into the dining room. at the instant his eyes took in the scene it seemed as though the whole room was in motion. the cloth was spread for supper and shone white under the drop lamp. in the far corner of the room titania was struggling in the grasp of a bearded man whom aubrey instantly recognized as the chef. on the near side of the table, holding a revolver levelled at the girl, stood weintraub. his back was toward the door. aubrey could see the druggist's sullen jaw crease and shake with anger. two strides took him into the room. he jammed the muzzle of his pistol against the oily cheek. "drop it!" he said hoarsely. "you hun!" with his left hand he seized the man's shirt collar and drew it tight against the throat. in his tremor of rage and excitement his arms felt curiously weak, and his first thought was how impossible it would be to strangle that swinish neck. for an instant there was a breathless tableau. the bearded man still had his hands on titania's shoulders. she, very pale but with brilliant eyes, gazed at aubrey in unbelieving amazement. weintraub stood quite motionless with both hands on the dining table, as though thinking. he felt the cold bruise of metal against the hollow of his cheek. slowly he opened his right hand and his revolver fell on the linen cloth. then roger burst into the room. titania wrenched herself away from the chef. "i wouldn't give them the suitcase!" she cried. aubrey kept his pistol pinned against weintraub's face. with his left hand he picked up the druggist's revolver. roger was about to seize the chef, who was standing uncertainly on the other side of the table. "here," said aubrey, "take this gun. cover this fellow and leave that one to me. i've got a score to settle with him." the chef made a movement as though to jump through the window behind him, but aubrey flung himself upon him. he hit the man square on the nose and felt a delicious throb of satisfaction as the rubbery flesh flattened beneath his knuckles. he seized the man's hairy throat and sank his fingers into it. the other tried to snatch the bread knife on the table, but was too late. he fell to the floor, and aubrey throttled him savagely. "you blasted hun," he grunted. "go wrestling with girls, will you?" titania ran from the room, through the pantry. roger was holding weintraub's revolver in front of the german's face. "look here," he said, "what does this mean?" "it's all a mistake," said the druggist suavely, though his eyes slid uneasily to and fro. "i just came in to get some books i left here earlier in the afternoon." "with a revolver, eh?" said roger. "speak up, hindenburg, what's the big idea?" "it's not my revolver," said weintraub. "it's metzger's." "where's this suitcase of yours?" said roger. "we're going to have a look at it." "it's all a stupid mistake," said weintraub. "i left a suitcase of old books here for metzger, because i expected to go out of town this afternoon. he called for it, and your young woman wouldn't give it to him. he came to me, and i came down here to tell her it was all right." "is that metzger?" said roger, pointing to the bearded man who was trying to break aubrey's grip. "gilbert, don't choke that man, we want him to do some explaining." aubrey got up, picked his revolver from the floor where he had dropped it, and prodded the chef to his feet. "well, you swine," he said, "how did you enjoy falling downstairs the other evening? as for you, herr weintraub, i'd like to know what kind of prescriptions you make up in that cellar of yours." weintraub's face shone damply in the lamplight. perspiration was thick on his forehead. "my dear mifflin," he said, "this is awfully stupid. in my eagerness, i'm afraid----" titania ran back into the room, followed by helen, whose face was crimson. "thank god you're back, roger," she said. "these brutes tied me up in the kitchen and gagged me with a roller-towel. they threatened to shoot titania if she wouldn't give them the suitcase." weintraub began to say something, but roger thrust the revolver between his eyes. "hold your tongue!" he said. "we're going to have a look at those books of yours." "i'll get the suitcase," said titania. "i hid it. when mr. weintraub came in and asked for it, at first i was going to give it to him, but he looked so queer i thought something must be wrong." "don't you get it," said aubrey, and their eyes met for the first time. "show me where it is, and we'll let friend hun bring it." titania flushed a little. "it's in my bedroom cupboard," she said. she led the way upstairs, metzger following, and aubrey behind metzger with his pistol ready. outside the bedroom door aubrey halted. "show him the suitcase and let him pick it up," he said. "if he makes a wrong movement, call me, and i'll shoot him." titania pointed out the suitcase, which she had stowed at the back of her cupboard behind some clothes. the chef showed no insubordination, and the three returned downstairs. "very well," said roger. "we'll go down in the shop where we can see better. perhaps he's got a first folio shakespeare in here. helen, you go to the phone and ring up the mcfee street police station. ask them to send a couple of men round here at once." "my dear mifflin," said weintraub, "this is very absurd. only a few old books that i had collected from time to time." "i don't call it absurd when a man comes into my house and ties my wife up with clothesline and threatens to shoot a young girl," said roger. "we'll see what the police have to say about this, weintraub. don't make any mistake: if you try to bolt i'll blow your brains out." aubrey led the way down into the shop while metzger carried the suitcase. roger and weintraub followed, and titania brought up the rear. under a bright light in the essay alcove aubrey made the chef lay the bag on the table. "open her up," he said curtly. "it's nothing but some old books," said metzger. "if they're old enough they may be valuable," said roger. "i'm interested in old books. look sharp!" metzger drew a key from his pocket and unlocked the bag. aubrey held the pistol at his head as he threw back the lid. the suitcase was full of second-hand books closely packed together. roger, with great presence of mind, was keeping his eyes on weintraub. "tell me what's in it," he said. "why, it's only a lot of books, after all," cried titania. "you see," said weintraub surlily, "there's no mystery about it. i'm sorry i was so----" "oh, look!" said titania; "there's the cromwell book!" for an instant roger forgot himself. he looked instinctively at the suitcase, and in that moment the druggist broke away, ran down the aisle, and flew out of the door. roger dashed after him, but was too late. aubrey was holding metzger by the collar with the pistol at his head. "good god," he said, "why didn't you shoot?" "i don't know" said roger in confusion. "i was afraid of hitting him. never mind, we can fix him later." "the police will be here in a minute," said helen, calling from the telephone. "i'm going to let bock in. he's in the back yard." "i think they're both crazy," said titania. "let's put the cromwell back on the shelf and let this creature go." she put out her hand for the book. "stop!" cried aubrey, and seized her arm. "don't touch that book!" titania shrank back, frightened by his voice. had everyone gone insane? "here, mr. metzger," said aubrey, "you put that book back on the shelf where it belongs. don't try to get away. i've got this revolver pointed at you." he and roger were both startled by the chef's face. above the unkempt beard his eyes shone with a half-crazed lustre, and his hands shook. "very well," he said. "show me where it goes." "i'll show you," said titania. aubrey put out his arm in front of the girl. "stay where you are," he said angrily. "down in the history alcove," said roger. "the front alcove on the other side of the shop. we've both got you covered." instead of taking the volume from the suitcase, metzger picked up the whole bag, holding it flat. he carried it to the alcove they indicated. he placed the case carefully on the floor, and picked the cromwell volume out of it. "where would you want it to go?" he said in an odd voice. "this is a valuable book." "on the fifth shelf," said roger. "over there----" "for god's sake stand back," said aubrey. "don't go near him. there's something damnable about this." "you poor fools!" cried metzger harshly. "to hell with you and your old books." he drew his hand back as though to throw the volume at them. there was a quick patter of feet, and bock, growling, ran down the aisle. in the same instant, aubrey, obeying some unexplained impulse, gave roger a violent push back into the fiction alcove, seized titania roughly in his arms, and ran with her toward the back of the shop. metzger's arm was raised, about to throw the book, when bock darted at him and buried his teeth in the man's leg. the cromwell fell from his hand. there was a shattering explosion, a dull roar, and for an instant aubrey thought the whole bookshop had turned into a vast spinning top. the floor rocked and sagged, shelves of books were hurled in every direction. carrying titania, he had just reached the steps leading to the domestic quarters when they were flung sideways into the corner behind roger's desk. the air was full of flying books. a row of encyclopedias crashed down upon his shoulders, narrowly missing titania's head. the front windows were shivered into flying streamers of broken glass. the table near the door was hurled into the opposite gallery. with a splintering crash the corner of the gallery above the history alcove collapsed, and hundreds of volumes cascaded heavily on to the floor. the lights went out, and for an instant all was silence. "are you all right?" said aubrey hastily. he and titania had fallen sprawling against the bookseller's desk. "i think so," she said faintly. "where's mr. mifflin?" aubrey put out his hand to help her, and touched something wet on the floor. "good heavens," he thought. "she's dying!" he struggled to his feet in the darkness. "hullo, mr. mifflin," he called, "where are you?" there was no answer. a beam of light gushed out from the passageway behind the shop, and picking his way over fallen litter he found mrs. mifflin standing dazed by the dining-room door. in the back of the house the lights were still burning. "for heaven's sake, have you a candle?" he said. "where's roger?" she cried piteously, and stumbled into the kitchen. with a candle aubrey found titania sitting on the floor, very faint, but unhurt. what he had thought was blood proved to be a pool of ink from a quart bottle that had stood over roger's desk. he picked her up like a child and carried her into the kitchen. "stay here and don't stir," he said. by this time a crowd was already gathering on the pavement. someone came in with a lantern. three policemen appeared at the door. "for god's sake," cried aubrey, "get a light in here so we can see what's happened. mifflin's buried in this mess somewhere. someone ring for an ambulance." the whole front of the haunted bookshop was a wreck. in the pale glimmer of the lantern it was a disastrous sight. helen groped her way down the shattered aisle. "where was he?" she cried wildly. "thanks to that set of trollope," said a voice in the remains of the fiction alcove, "i think i'm all right. books make good shock-absorbers. is any one hurt?" it was roger, half stunned, but undamaged. he crawled out from under a case of shelves that had crumpled down upon him. "bring that lantern over here," said aubrey, pointing to a dark heap lying on the floor under the broken fragments of roger's bulletin board. it was the chef. he was dead. and clinging to his leg was all that was left of bock. chapter xv mr. chapman waves his wand gissing street will not soon forget the explosion at the haunted bookshop. when it was learned that the cellar of weintraub's pharmacy contained just the information for which the department of justice had been looking for four years, and that the inoffensive german-american druggist had been the artisan of hundreds of incendiary bombs that had been placed on american and allied shipping and in ammunition plants--and that this same weintraub had committed suicide when arrested on bromfield street in boston the next day--gissing street hummed with excitement. the milwaukee lunch did a roaring business among the sensation seekers who came to view the ruins of the bookshop. when it became known that fragments of a cabin plan of the george washington had been found in metzger's pocket, and the confession of an accomplice on the kitchen staff of the octagon hotel showed that the bomb, disguised as a copy of one of woodrow wilson's favourite books, was to have been placed in the presidential suite of the steamship, indignation knew no bounds. mrs. j. f. smith left mrs. schiller's lodgings, declaring that she would stay no longer in a pro-german colony; and aubrey was able at last to get a much-needed bath. for the next three days he was too busy with agents of the department of justice to be able to carry on an investigation of his own that greatly occupied his mind. but late on friday afternoon he called at the bookshop to talk things over. the debris had all been neatly cleared away, and the shattered front of the building boarded up. inside, aubrey found roger seated on the floor, looking over piles of volumes that were heaped pell-mell around him. through mr. chapman's influence with a well-known firm of builders, the bookseller had been able to get men to work at once in making repairs, but even so it would be at least ten days, he said, before he could reopen for business. "i hate to lose the value of all this advertising," he lamented. "it isn't often that a second-hand bookstore gets onto the front pages of the newspapers." "i thought you didn't believe in advertising," said aubrey. "the kind of advertising i believe in," said roger, "is the kind that doesn't cost you anything." aubrey smiled as he looked round at the dismantled shop. "it seems to me that this'll cost you a tidy bit when the bill comes in." "my dear fellow," said roger, "this is just what i needed. i was getting into a rut. the explosion has blown out a whole lot of books i had forgotten about and didn't even know i had. look, here's an old copy of how to be happy though married, which i see the publisher lists as 'fiction.' here's urn burial, and the love affairs of a bibliomaniac, and mistletoe's book of deplorable facts. i'm going to have a thorough house-cleaning. i'm thinking seriously of putting in a vacuum cleaner and a cash register. titania was quite right, the place was too dirty. that girl has given me a lot of ideas." aubrey wanted to ask where she was, but didn't like to say so point-blank. "there's no question about it," said roger, "an explosion now and then does one good. since the reporters got here and dragged the whole yarn out of us, i've had half a dozen offers from publishers for my book, a lyceum bureau wants me to lecture on bookselling as a form of public service, i've had five hundred letters from people asking when the shop will reopen for business, and the american booksellers' association has invited me to give an address at its convention next spring. it's the first recognition i've ever had. if it weren't for poor dear old bock---- come, we've buried him in the back yard. i want to show you his grave." over a pathetically small mound near the fence a bunch of big yellow chrysanthemums were standing in a vase. "titania put those there," said roger. "she says she's going to plant a dogwood tree there in the spring. we intend to put up a little stone for him, and i'm trying to think of an inscription, i thought of de mortuis nil nisi bonum, but that's a bit too flippant." the living quarters of the house had not been damaged by the explosion, and roger took aubrey back to the den. "you've come just at the right time," he said. "mr. chapman's coming to dinner this evening, and we'll all have a good talk. there's a lot about this business i don't understand yet." aubrey was still keeping his eye open for a sign of titania's presence, and roger noticed his wandering gaze. "this is miss chapman's afternoon off," he said. "she got her first salary to-day, and was so much exhilarated that she went to new york to blow it in. she's out with her father. excuse me, please, i'm going to help helen get dinner ready." aubrey sat down by the fire, and lit his pipe. the burden of his meditation was that it was just a week since he had first met titania, and in all that week there had been no waking moment when he had not thought of her. he was wondering how long it might take for a girl to fall in love? a man--he knew now--could fall in love in five minutes, but how did it work with girls? he was also thinking what unique daintybits advertising copy he could build (like all ad men he always spoke of building an ad, never of writing one) out of this affair if he could only use the inside stuff. he heard a rustle behind him, and there she was. she had on a gray fur coat and a lively little hat. her cheeks were delicately tinted by the winter air. aubrey rose. "why, mr. gilbert!" she said. "where have you been keeping yourself when i wanted to see you so badly? i haven't seen you, not to talk to, since last sunday." he found it impossible to say anything intelligible. she threw off her coat, and went on, with a wistful gravity that became her even more than smiles: "mr. mifflin has told me some more about what you did last week--i mean, how you took a room across the street and spied upon that hateful man and saw through the whole thing when we were too blind to know what was going on. and i want to apologize for the silly things i said that sunday morning. will you forgive me?" aubrey had never felt his self-salesmanship ability at such a low ebb. to his unspeakable horror, he felt his eyes betray him. they grew moist. "please don't talk like that," he said. "i had no right to do what i did, anyway. and i was wrong in what i said about mr. mifflin. i don't wonder you were angry." "now surely you're not going to deprive me of the pleasure of thanking you," she said. "you know as well as i do that you saved my life--all our lives, that night. i guess you'd have saved poor bock's, too, if you could." her eyes filled with tears. "if anybody deserves credit, it's you," he said. "why, if it hadn't been for you they'd have been away with that suitcase and probably metzger would have got his bomb on board the ship and blown up the president----" "i'm not arguing with you," she said. "i'm just thanking you." it was a happy little party that sat down in roger's dining room that evening. helen had prepared eggs samuel butler in aubrey's honour, and mr. chapman had brought two bottles of champagne to pledge the future success of the bookshop. aubrey was called upon to announce the result of his conferences with the secret service men who had been looking up weintraub's record. "it all seems so simple now," he said, "that i wonder we didn't see through it at once. you see, we all made the mistake of assuming that german plotting would stop automatically when the armistice was signed. it seems that this man weintraub was one of the most dangerous spies germany had in this country. thirty or forty fires and explosions on our ships at sea are said to have been due to his work. as he had lived here so long and taken out citizen's papers, no one suspected him. but after his death, his wife, whom he had treated very brutally, gave way and told a great deal about his activities. according to her, as soon as it was announced that the president would go to the peace conference, weintraub made up his mind to get a bomb into the president's cabin on board the george washington. mrs. weintraub tried to dissuade him from it, as she was in secret opposed to these murderous plots of his, but he threatened to kill her if she thwarted him. she lived in terror of her life. i can believe it, for i remember her face when her husband looked at her. "of course to make the bomb was simple enough for weintraub. he had an infernally complete laboratory in the cellar of his house, where he had made hundreds. the problem was, how to make a bomb that would not look suspicious, and how to get it into the president's private cabin. he hit on the idea of binding it into the cover of a book. how he came to choose that particular volume, i don't know." "i think probably i gave him the idea quite innocently," said roger. "he used to come in here a good deal and one day he asked me whether mr. wilson was a great reader. i said that i believed he was, and then mentioned the cromwell, which i had heard was one of wilson's favourite books. weintraub was much interested and said he must read the book some day. i remember now that he stood in that alcove for some time, looking over it." "well," said aubrey, "it must have seemed to him that luck was playing into his hands. this man metzger, who had been an assistant chef at the octagon for years, was slated to go on board the george washington with the party of cooks from that hotel who were to prepare the president's meals. weintraub was informed of all this from someone higher up in the german spy organization. metzger, who was known as messier at the hotel, was a very clever chef, and had fake passports as a swiss citizen. he was another tool of the organization. by the original scheme there would have been no direct communication between weintraub and metzger, but the go-between was spotted by the department of justice on another count, and is now behind bars at atlanta. "it seems that weintraub had conceived the idea that the least suspicious way of passing his messages to metzger would be to slip them into a copy of some book--a book little likely to be purchased--in a second-hand bookshop. metzger had been informed what the book was, but--perhaps owing to the unexpected removal of the go-between--did not know in which shop he was to find it. that explains why so many booksellers had inquiries from him recently for a copy of the cromwell volume. "weintraub, of course, was not at all anxious to have any direct dealings with metzger, as the druggist had a high regard for his own skin. when the chef was finally informed where the bookshop was in which he was to see the book, he hurried over here. weintraub had picked out this shop not only because it was as unlikely as any place on earth to be suspected as a channel of spy codes, but also because he had your confidence and could drop in frequently without arousing surprise. the first time metzger came here happened to be the night i dined with you, as you remember." roger nodded. "he asked for the book, and to my surprise, it wasn't there." "no: for the excellent reason that weintraub had taken it some days before, to measure it so he could build his infernal machine to fit, and also to have it rebound. he needed the original binding as a case for his bomb. the following night, as you told me, it came back. he brought it himself, having provided himself with a key to your front door." "it was gone again on thursday night, when the corn cob club met here," said mr. chapman. "yes, that time metzger had taken it," said aubrey. "he misunderstood his instructions, and thought he was to steal the book. you see, owing to the absence of their third man, they were working at cross purposes. metzger, i think, was only intended to get his information out of the book, and leave it where it was. at any rate, he was puzzled, and inserted that ad in the times the next morning--that lost ad, you remember. by that, i imagine, he intended to convey the idea that he had located the bookshop, but didn't know what to do next. and the date he mentioned in the ad, midnight on tuesday, december third, was to inform weintraub (of whose identity he was still ignorant) when metzger was to go on board the ship. weintraub had been instructed by their spy organization to watch the lost and found ads." "think of it!" cried titania. "well," continued aubrey, "all this may not be per cent. accurate, but after putting things together this is how it dopes out. weintraub, who was as canny as they make them, saw he'd have to get into direct touch with metzger. he sent him word, on the friday, to come over to see him and bring the book. metzger, meanwhile, had had a bad fright when i spoke to him in the hotel elevator. he returned the book to the shop that night, as mrs. mifflin remembers. then, when i stopped in at the drug store on my way home, he must have been with weintraub. i found the cromwell cover in the drug-store bookcase--why weintraub was careless enough to leave it there i can't guess--and they spotted me right away as having some kind of hunch. so they followed me over the bridge and tried to get rid of me. it was because i got that cover on friday night that weintraub broke into the shop again early sunday morning. he had to have the cover of the book to bind his bomb in." aubrey was agreeably conscious of the close attention of his audience. he caught titania's gaze, and flushed a little. "that's pretty nearly all there is to it," he said. "i knew that if those guys were so keen to put me out of the way there must be something rather rotten on foot. i came over to brooklyn the next afternoon, saturday, and took a room across the street." "and we went to the movies," chirped titania. "the rest of it i think you all know--except metzger's visit to my lodgings that night." he described the incident. "you see they were trailing me pretty close. if i hadn't happened to notice the cigar at my window i guess he'd have had me on toast. of course you know how wrongly i doped it out. i thought mr. mifflin was running with them, and i owe him my apology for that. he's laid me out once on that score, over in philadelphia." humourously, aubrey narrated how he had sleuthed the bookseller to ludlow street, and had been worsted in battle. "i think they counted on disposing of me sooner or later," said aubrey. "they framed up that telephone call to get mr. mifflin out of town. the point in having metzger come to the bookshop to get the suitcase was to clear weintraub's skirts if possible. apparently it was just a bag of old books. the bombed book, i guess, was perfectly harmless until any one tried to open it." "you both got back just in the nick of time," said titania admiringly. "you see i was all alone most of the afternoon. weintraub left the suitcase about two o'clock. metzger came for it about six. i refused to let him have it. he was very persistent, and i had to threaten to set bock at him. it was all i could do to hold the dear old dog in, he was so keen to go for metzger. the chef went away, and i suppose he went up to see weintraub about it. i hid the suitcase in my room. mr. mifflin had forbidden me to touch it, but i thought that the safest thing to do. then mrs. mifflin came in. we let bock into the yard for a run, and were getting supper. i heard the bell ring, and went into the shop. there were the two germans, pulling down the shades. i asked what they meant by it, and they grabbed me and told me to shut up. then metzger pointed a pistol at me while the other one tied up mrs. mifflin." "the damned scoundrels!" cried aubrey. "they got what was coming to them." "well, my friends," said mr. chapman, "let's thank heaven that it ended no worse. mr. gilbert, i haven't told you yet how i feel about the whole affair. that'll come later. i'd like to propose the health of mr. aubrey gilbert, who is certainly the hero of this film!" they drank the toast with cheers, and aubrey blushed becomingly. "oh, i forgot something!" cried titania. "when i went shopping this afternoon i stopped in at brentano's, and was lucky enough to find just what i wanted. it's for mr. gilbert, as a souvenir of the haunted bookshop." she ran to the sideboard and brought back a parcel. aubrey opened it with delighted agitation. it was a copy of carlyle's cromwell. he tried to stammer his thanks, but what he saw--or thought he saw--in titania's sparkling face--unmanned him. "the same edition!" said roger. "now let's see what those mystic page numbers are! gilbert, have you got your memorandum?" aubrey took out his notebook. "here we are," he said. "this is what weintraub wrote in the back of the cover." ( ) , . roger glanced at the notation. "that ought to be easy," he said. "you see in this edition three volumes are bound in one. let's look at page in the third volume, the first and second lines." aubrey turned to the place. he read, and smiled. "right you are," he said. "read it!" they all cried. "to seduce the protector's guard, to blow up the protector in his bedroom, and do other little fiddling things." "i shouldn't wonder if that's where he got his idea," said roger. "what have i been saying right along--that books aren't merely dead things!" "good gracious," said titania. "you told me that books are explosives. you were right, weren't you! but it's lucky mr. gilbert didn't hear you say it or he'd certainly have suspected you!" "the joke is on me," said roger. "well, i've got a toast to propose," said titania. "here's to the memory of bock, the dearest, bravest dog i ever met!" they drank it with due gravity. "well, good people," said mr. chapman, "there's nothing we can do for bock now. but we can do something for the rest of us. i've been talking with titania, mr. mifflin. i'm bound to say that after this disaster my first thought was to get her out of the book business as fast as i could. i thought it was a little too exciting for her. you know i sent her over here to have a quiet time and calm down a bit. but she wouldn't hear of leaving. and if i'm going to have a family interest in the book business i want to do something to justify it. i know your idea about travelling book-wagons, and taking literature into the countryside. now if you and mrs. mifflin can find the proper people to run them, i'll finance a fleet of ten of those parnassuses you're always talking about, and have them built in time to go on the road next spring. how about it?" roger and helen looked at each other, and at mr. chapman. in a flash roger saw one of his dearest dreams coming true. titania, to whom this was a surprise, leaped from her chair and ran to kiss her father, crying, "oh, daddy, you are a darling!" roger rose solemnly and gave mr. chapman his hand. "my dear sir," he said, "miss titania has found the right word. you are an honour to human nature, sir, and i hope you'll never live to regret it. this is the happiest moment of my life." "then that's settled," said mr. chapman. "we'll go over the details later. now there's another thing on my mind. perhaps i shouldn't bring up business matters here, but this is a kind of family party--mr. gilbert, it's my duty to inform you that i intend to take my advertising out of the hands of the grey-matter agency." aubrey's heart sank. he had feared a catastrophe of this kind from the first. naturally a hard-headed business man would not care to entrust such vast interests to a firm whose young men went careering about like secret service agents, hunting for spies, eavesdropping in alleys, and accusing people of pro-germanism. business, aubrey said to himself, is built upon confidence, and what confidence could mr. chapman have in such vagabond and romantic doings? still, he felt that he had done nothing to be ashamed of. "i'm sorry, sir," he said. "we have tried to give you service. i assure you that i've spent by far the larger part of my time at the office in working up plans for your campaigns." he could not bear to look at titania, ashamed that she should be the witness of his humiliation. "that's exactly it," said mr. chapman. "i don't want just the larger part of your time. i want all of it. i want you to accept the position of assistant advertising manager of the daintybits corporation." they all cheered, and for the third time that evening aubrey felt more overwhelmed than any good advertising man is accustomed to feel. he tried to express his delight, and then added: "i think it's my turn to propose a toast. i give you the health of mr. and mrs. mifflin, and their haunted bookshop, the place where i first--i first----" his courage failed him, and he concluded, "first learned the meaning of literature." "suppose we adjourn to the den," said helen. "we have so many delightful things to talk over, and i know roger wants to tell you all about the improvements he is planning for the shop." aubrey lingered to be the last, and it is to be conjectured that titania did not drop her handkerchief merely by accident. the others had already crossed the hall into the sitting room. their eyes met, and aubrey could feel himself drowned in her steady, honest gaze. he was tortured by the bliss of being so near her, and alone. the rest of the world seemed to shred away and leave them standing in that little island of light where the tablecloth gleamed under the lamp. in his hand he clutched the precious book. out of all the thousand things he thought, there was only one he dared to say. "will you write my name in it?" "i'd love to," she said, a little shakily, for she, too, was strangely alarmed at certain throbbings. he gave her his pen, and she sat down at the table. she wrote quickly for aubrey gilbert from titania chapman with much gr she paused. "oh," she said quickly. "do i have to finish it now?" she looked up at him, with the lamplight shining on her vivid face. aubrey felt oddly stupefied, and was thinking only of the little golden sparkle of her eyelashes. this time her eyes were the first to turn away. "you see," she said with a funny little quaver, "i might want to change the wording." and she ran from the room. as she entered the den, her father was speaking. "you know," he said, "i'm rather glad she wants to stay in the book business." roger looked up at her. "well," he said, "i believe it agrees with her! you know, the beauty of living in a place like this is that you get so absorbed in the books you don't have any temptation to worry about anything else. the people in books become more real to you than any one in actual life." titania, sitting on the arm of mrs. mifflin's chair, took helen's hand, unobserved by the others. they smiled at each other slyly. little miss by-the-day by lucille van slyke _author of "eve's other children"_ _with a frontispiece in color by mabel hatt_ to geordie contents chapter prologue i in the barred garden ii the house in the woods iii lost dreams iv the unfinished song v "certain legal matters" vi the last pretending prologue the older i get the more convinced i become that the most fascinating persons in this world are those elusive souls whom we know perfectly well but whom we never, as children say, "get to meet." they slip out of countries, or towns--_or rooms even,_--just before we arrive, leaving us with an inexplicable feeling of having been cheated of something that was rightfully and divinely ours. that's the way i still feel about little miss by-the-day. perhaps you, too, have been baffled by the will-o'-the-wispishness of that whimsical young person. perhaps you, too, tried to find her but never did. she sounded so casual and commonplace when i first began hearing about her that i let her slip through my fingers. she was just a little seamstress who had a "vairee" odd way of speaking; it was quite a long time before i realized that everybody who spoke about her was unconsciously trying to imitate her drawling voice. and then i noticed that everybody who mentioned her smiled dreamily and wondered where on earth she'd come from. i kept hearing, just as you probably did, odd scraps of things she had said, droll adventures in which she had figured, extraordinary and fantastic tales about the house in which she lived. and presently, when it was too late, i found myself listening to regretful murmurings of scores of baffled persons who couldn't find out what had become of her. she suddenly vanished, leaving nothing behind her save her delectable house. if you'll lend me your pencil a minute i'll show you on the back of this envelope just how that house was situated. you can understand the whole amazing story better if you keep in mind how the church on the corner and the rectory were tucked in beside that great house. for it _is_ a big house, so huge that the six prim brownstones across the street from it look like toy houses. but i've been told that in brooklyn's early days there was no street, just a long terraced garden that sloped down to the river. for all that the streets have crowded so disrespectfully about it the whole place still has a sort of "world-with-out-end-amen" air--perhaps because of the impressive squareness of its structure, great blocks of brownstone joined solidly; perhaps because of the enormous gnarled wistaria vines that stretch above its massive cornices--but one does feel as felicia day herself did when some one asked her how long she thought it had been there. she said she thought it must have been there "much, much more than always--it must have been _jamais au grand_ --forevaire and more than evaire!" maybe, like me, you've passed that house a dozen times and shuddered at the filth of the little street. [illustration: town map.] i used to hold my breath as i hurried by that dismal old rookery. i thought it the most hideous purgatory that ever sheltered a horde of miserable humans. but you needn't be afraid to pass it now! the immaculate sweetness and serenity of that wee street is like a miracle and the old house is a fairy dream come true. its marble steps are softly yellowed with age, an exquisitely wrought iron balcony stretches across the front above the high ceilinged basement and great carved walnut doors open into a wide vestibule with a marble floor exactly like a bit of a gigantic chessboard. the transformation had so astounded me that i was almost afraid to touch the neatly polished beaten silver bell for fear the whole house would vanish. "coom in!" cried a scotchy voice from the basement. so i stepped across the tessellated floor of the hall into the broad drawing-room and stared out through the long french doors of the glass room at the green smudge of battery park beyond the river. there wasn't a soul in sight in any of the rooms and yet i felt as if some one was there. perhaps it was just that i was awed by the disconcerting loveliness of the portrait of the brunette lady that hung in a tarnished oval frame above the drawing-room mantel. i looked at her and waited. presently i coughed apologetically. "could i please find out if a--er--miss day lives here? or--if anybody here knows her?" the scotchy voice lifted itself grudgingly above the vigorous swish of a scrubbing brush. "i dinna think ony one's home but th' sculptor girl--she's on th' top floor an' it's not i that knows whether she's in a speaking humor, but you're weelcoom to try her--" it was raining, a miserable spring drizzle, yet the spacious hall seemed flooded with sunlight. there's an oval skylight fitted with amber glass; silhouetted against its leaded rims are outlined flying birds. "hark, hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings!" i read beneath the margins when i looked up to find the sunlight. i knew that i ought to feel like an impertinent intruder but i just couldn't! and i defy any one to go up those wonderful circling stairs and not smile! for at the head of each flight of steps is a recessed niche such as used to be built to hold statuary and in the one near the second floor is a flat vase filled with flowers--little saffron rosebuds the day i passed by --with an ever so discreet card engraved in sizable old english script that hinted: "one's for you." i was still sniffing at my buttonhole when i reached the second niche. there was a black varnished wicker tray heaped with fruit and a brittany platter filled with raison cookies. "aren't you hungry?" the card above them suggested. i nibbled an apricot all the way up the third flight and almost laughed aloud when i reached the top, though of course i was expecting something. there's a yellow glazed vase there, "for pits and stones or skins and bones" and above it in the back of the niche through a marble dolphin's mouth cold water trickles into a bronze holder with a basket of cups beside it. "thirsty?" asks the dolphin. "dulcie dierck" i read on the sculptor girl's doorplate. it took me a full minute to get the courage to tap her gargoyle knocker because i was so awestricken at remembering that she was the girl who won the ambrose medal and the pendleton prize and goodness only knows how much other loot and glory. the door jerked open to let me peer into the cleanest, barest skylit spot,--with flat creamy walls and a little old fireplace with a peggoty grate just like the pictures in "david copperfield." and a trig young person who didn't look a bit like an artist, because she was so neatly belted and so smoothly coiffed, waved a clayey thumb tip toward a bench by the fire. "sit down and get your breath," she suggested chirkily, "then you won't feel quite so dumfoundered--" an overwhelming sense of my colossal cheekiness made me stammer. "do--do you h-happen to know--" i burst forth desperately, "if there's really any such person as a--a miss day?" "does that fire look real?" i nodded. "well, then put another stick on that fire and hang the kettle on the hob--" she was washing the clay from her hands in an old brass basin. "don't get peeved with me because i'm grouchy and bossy--" she flung over her shoulder at me. "i always start off badly when i'm tired and that fool question always makes me just darned tireder!" she reached for a fat brown teapot and dumped in tea-leaves recklessly. "i'll be decenter directly i'm fed. i'm a beast just before tea--you won't find me half bad half an hour from now--" we were both silent while the water boiled. she shoved her table nearer the fire, so near that i found myself looking down at the writing things that were arranged so primly at one end. there was an ink bottle on a gray blotter, a pewter tray for pens and a queer shaped lump of bronze, a paper weight i supposed. i wouldn't have been human if i could have kept my fingers off that bit of metal. i pretended to pick it up accidentally but i did it as guiltily as a child touches something forbidden. she didn't say a word, just watched me mischievously while she arranged the tea cups on the other end of the table. presently she lighted a tiny temple lamp, melted a dab of sealing wax in its wavering blue flames--rose-colored wax it was--and it splashed out on the gray blotter like molten fire. she took the bit of bronze from my fingers and pressed it firmly on the wax. "it's a mouth--" i murmured. "it's lips--" "it's her kiss," she answered me. "that's the most beautiful and the most difficult thing i ever made. it's felicia day's letter seal." "then she really is a real person--" i stammered fatuously. "real?" the girl's low voice lifted itself belligerently. "what do you think she is? imitation? why, she's the one real thing in this whole sham world! i guess you've never met anybody who knew her or you wouldn't keep gulping out idiotic things like that! i guess if you ever talked with her even a minute you'd understand how real she is. she has the crispest--the sincerest way of speaking. though of course it's not a bit like other people's ways. she probably doesn't talk like anybody you've ever listened to. not like anybody i've ever heard of anyway." the girl's eyes were glowing. "are you musical?" she demanded. "because i need a musical word to tell you how she talks. she talks _rubato_. her short words drawl ever so long and her long ones hurry so's to let her make up for the stolen time. and she has a sort of trace of accent like--well, it's not like anything except herself really. you see, her mother wasn't french but she was brought up with french people and felice says 'evaire' and 'nevaire' and uses funny little frenchy phrases she heard her mother use though she doesn't really talk french at all. and she has a bossy way of speaking, kind of --well, humbly bossing, if you can get me. talks like a lady pied piper and sweeps you along with her just about six minutes after she's begun coaxing you to do whatever she's decided is the best thing for you to do. believe me, i know she does it! because i was one of the first ones she swept along!" the girl's words were tumbling so fast now that i could hardly follow. "did you ever find yourself in heaps of trouble? too much trouble to stand? did you? i was that way the day she opened my door. it made me perfectly furious to have her open my door. and she looked so little and so old and so frumpy--she'd been sewing all day for my beastly step-aunt and i'd been trying all day to get the courage to--to--" the girl's tears were streaming now and she didn't bother to wipe them away, she seemed utterly unashamed of them, "to get rid of myself. and just the minute i got the cork out of the bottle that little old angel opened the door. she was so darned different from anybody i'd ever seen in all my life and she talked so differently from anybody i'd ever listened to, i--well, i sort of forgot wanting to die because i was curious to find out where on earth she'd come from--or where on earth she was going to! she had a funny little dog under her arm; she gave it to me to hold. and the next thing i knew she was inviting me to go home with her. she thought i might like this room, she said. she told me it was filled 'with-an-abundance-of-weeds-we-have-not-any- names-for--' wasn't that an absolute corker? that was her way of describing the italian family with too many brats that were living here. she'd got that apology for 'em out of her great-great-grandma's garden book! can you beat it? she talks about everybody as if they belonged in a garden. she called me--" the girl's lips quivered,--"a rosebush that had been pruned too much--roots cramped--she said-- anyway she picked me up to transplant me! marched me into the 'orrible, messy, noisy, smelly hutch that this house used to be, up all those eighty 'leven stairs, and she kept her chin in the air as though it was a royal palace she was taking me into! she just kept saying, "'come! you'll love, love, love it! and you're going to be proud, proud, proud to live here--' "i was proud, all right," the girl's voice choked. "i wouldn't have missed living here those next two months, not for all the marble that was ever quarried nor for all the glory that was greece! that first night we both slept in this room--" she paused dramatically and threw open the door in the east wall to let me peer into the narrow hall room, "there--see--" ah! that bare little room! so tidy! with faded discolored wall paper and a scrubbed pine floor! with its battered iron bed! there's an old table by the one window with a child's silver mug and plate and spoon on it, each of them with a great bee carved upon it. that's all there is in that room save a low chair and a superb but shabby walnut bureau. "she loved it so much that she wouldn't change it when she was building octavia house over--" "octavia house!" i cried. "why, that's that queer house where all the young geniuses live! the one that the peter alden money built--" "it's not a queer house!" the girl defied me. "it's--it's this house! and you can't say money built this house! money couldn't have done it! not all the money in the world, couldn't! it wasn't money! it was-- pride! not the sort of pride that goeth before _de_struction but that mightier pride that goeth before _con_struction! no, no!" she murmured vehemently, "it wasn't money! it was really almost done before the money came! and she didn't just build the house over, she built all of us over. and built the whole world over for us all. just with her pride in us! just with the pride she made us feel in ourselves! and do you know, we were all such self-centered idiots, that it wasn't until after she was gone that we grasped what she'd done with us? we didn't know the glory and the wonder of her until after she was gone--" "she's not--?" the sculptor girl answered my half-asked question almost ferociously. "of course she's not dead! she is the alivest person in this whole world--aliver than you or i can ever be! and yet,--we've lost her. she isn't just _ours_ any more. and when she was blessedly, absolutely just ours--we didn't appreciate her. you see, she was so frumpy and absurd and quiet we didn't think about her--we scarcely saw her. but oh--the minute when we did see her! it came in a flash for me! i just knew, all of a sudden, that she was perfectly beautiful--as beautiful as her own whistle--her lovely, lovely mademoiselle folly whistle--" "oh! oh!" i gasped, "_you can't mean that she was--is--mademoiselle folly?_" "mean it? didn't you know it? didn't you ever hear her whistle? oh, even now that she's gone it seems to me that i can still hear her whistling! and no matter what any one has said about it--they couldn't all of them, put together, say half enough--not even if they all said things as gushy as the poetry girl--she said it was like water trickling in a moonlit fountain! i only know it's like what i tried to put into my little pandora--that it was like what barrie was thinking when he let peter pan cry, 'i'm joy! joy! joy!'--even the painter boy, who has a silly pose that he hates music, used to hang around to hear her whistle--he pretended he was just looking at her so's he could paint her, but that didn't fool me--listen, there's nor' stumping up stairs now--he's awfully lame on these rainy days and _that_ moody--" "do you mean noralla? the one who did 'the spirit of romance'? does he live here?" she nodded impishly. "and thad, the cartoonist and blythe modder and--" she began reeling off a victorious list of young celebrities. "and that one little dressmaker discovered you all?" i asked, quite awestricken, "how could she? what sort of a wonder was she? how can you explain it?" the girl swung her lithe self up on the table, clasped her narrow hands about her knees and smiled benignly down upon me. she seemed naively content with herself, relaxed and quiet after her tempestuous storm of words. "you can't explain it, you just accept it--just as you accept sunshine and rain--you can't explain any more than you can describe. and she's the sort of woman that all of us who dwell within this house will go on all the rest of our lives trying to describe and i'll bet that not all of us put together can tell more'n half that there is to tell about her. why, her very faults are different than other people's faults! she has a pippin of a temper and such stub-stub-stubborn ways! don't you think thad's cartoons of 'temperamental therese' are peaches? well, they are nothing but felice in her illogical crotchety unfair minutes--thad says the only way to explain such heavenly rudeness as felicia's is to remember that she began being rude in --" "how old is she?" i fairly shouted, "oh, please get down to earth and tell me something definite about her! you're perfectly maddening!" the girl jumped lightly to the floor and slipped across the room to swing the casement in the north wall and let me peer down into felicia's garden. if you'll look on the back of your envelope you can see just how it was, just how the walls shut off the rectory yard. "she's exactly twenty-seven," she sighed, "the most perfect age to be! and if you were really going to tell her story you wouldn't have to go back all the way to , you'd begin it about--well, let me see-- you'd begin it about , i think, and right down there in that wee little garden. and of course you'd begin it with her whistling. and you'd ask anybody you were trying to tell about her whether they'd ever heard mademoiselle folly whistle--" did you? for if you have, i'm sure you've never forgotten the droll way that mademoiselle folly stepped out upon a stage in her quaint green frock and made her frightened curtsy. can you recall her low contralto drawl and her inevitable, "oh, my dears, i do _so_ hope that you're going to be good at pretending! you all of you look as though you could pretend if you just started! so let's you and i pretend that--" oh, i do so hope that you, too, are going "to be good at pretending"! that you can make yourself pretend that it's twenty years ago and that you're a nice invisible somebody standing down in a wee back yard of felicia's. from the garden you can't see the river because the walls are too high. but now you're so close to them you see that they're crumbly brick walls almost covered with vines and that at prim intervals along their tops there are elaborate wrought-iron urns, each filled with a huge dusty century plant. and in the side wall toward the rectory yard of the church you can see an unused iron gate, its rusty lock and hinges matted through and through with ancient ivy. pretend that it's moon-light and it's spring and that it's early evening in the year of our lord and that over there by the gate is felicia day, about seven years old, peering through the gate into the rectory yard, laughing softly as she always laughs on choir practise nights. there was a certain bald dyspeptic choirmaster who was most irritable as he drilled his unruly boy choir and on warm evenings, when the oaken door under the heavy gothic arches of the church was ajar, she could watch their garbed figures and wide opened mouths as they giggled over gregorian chants under the swaying altar lights. once the tallest, naughtiest boy of all, the one with the cherubic "soprano" voice that was just threatening to break into piping uselessness, had climbed to the top of the wall and dropped his little black velvet cap at her feet. "get down from that wall!" the choirmaster had shouted. though the boy had ducked from view as suddenly as he had appeared he had managed to demand of the small person under the wall, "who are you, girl?" she was holding the cap tightly while she answered, "i don't know, 'zactly who i are--" when she heard the choirmaster shrieking, "dudley hamilt! come here at once!" and though she watched every choir-practise night for ever so long she never caught another glimpse of the mischievous-eyed boy, a nasal- voiced woman sang in his stead and she never, never climbed walls. but felicia always waited patiently with the small black cap in her hands until a night when she summoned courage to call softly through the barred gate, "dudley! dudley hamilt!" a fat boy ran to her and jeered, "he's expelled! he can't come back till he's a tenor!" so that's what you must pretend! that you can smile in the shadows of that moonlit garden, that you can smile at a dear little stupid who is waiting joyously for the time when dudley hamilt will come back a tenor! chapter i in the barred garden she was a distinctly droll looking child at the age of seven, our little felicia day! with straight black hair brushed smoothly back and bound with a "circle comb," with short-waisted dresses that left her neck and arms bare. her slender feet were encased in short white socks and low black slippers. and at her dear little feet was usually-- babiche. babiche was so old that she whined at the evening chill; she perpetually teased to be taken back to her comfortable cushion at the foot of her mistress's bed. she was really very amusing when she sat up on her haunches and begged to be carried. for she was so fat that she hated to walk and she was a very spoiled doggy, that wee spaniel! a sort of a dowager queen of a doggy, a nice little old grandma lady of a dog. the gentle yap-yap-yapping that could always be heard beyond the rear wall was from the throats of some score or more of her expensive great-great-great offspring who lived in the stable in tiny stalls with their pedigree cards tacked neatly under their elaborate kennel names. it was a cross to felice that she was not allowed to go through the small arched doorway at the back of the garden that led to the stable that opened on the narrow cobblestone "tradespersons' street." the major didn't approve of the manners of zeb smathers the kennel man, or zeb's wife marthy, though he knew there wasn't a pair with their patience and skill to be found for miles around. all the same felice adored the stable yard and would have dearly loved to climb the narrow stairs up to the low-ceilinged rooms above the stables where marthy liked to sit. lean, grizzled old marthy! there was usually a dog or two in her lap, either a sickly pup or a grieving-eyed mother dog whose babies had been taken away from her. such tiny creatures, even the mother dogs-- those little blenheim spaniels! snub-nosed, round-headed with long silky flopping ears, soft curly coats and feathery tails. felice liked the yellow and white ones, and always reached for them, but her grandfather coolly "weeded them out," as zeb expressed it, because the trenton ideal was a white dog marked with red. felicia knew when the dogs were going away. they always went the day after the basket man came with a pole tied full of oval gilded wicker hampers. sometimes she, was allowed to stand in the gateway and watch them have their farewell bath, only of course she sniffed uncomfortably when zeb let brown drops drip into the rinsing water from a fat bottle with a gay red skull and cross-bones on the label. "scarbolic" was what she understood it to be, she mustn't touch it or she'd "go dead," whatever that was. but she forgot all about the smell as she watched the fluffy doggies drying in the sunny stable yard while marthy sang vociferously to cheer her own drooping spirits; the silly old woman never could bear the days the dogs went away. and so felice on her side of the gate could listen rapturously to the throaty drone in which marthy asked the world "what's this dull town to me? rob-in's not here--" or warbled heavily "churry ripe, churry ripe, who'll buy my churries--" or wailed "where have you been, billy boy, billy boy? where have you been, charming billy?" it almost made up for not being allowed to go out of the garden. if felice only could have been allowed to go around into the tradespersons' street just once! i wish she could have gone--just once! on one of the days when the swinging sign, that was gilded and painted so beautifully, was hung outside to announce "king charles and blenheim spaniels for sale within." i'm sure she would have loved the line of carriages waiting in the cobble-stoned alley when the fine ladies came to buy. i think she would have clapped her hands at the gay boxes of geraniums and the crisp white curtains in marthy's shining windows over the stable door. but she could only stay in the garden with the thin visaged old french woman who taught her to read and to write and to embroider and to play upon an old lute and to curtsy and to dance. one thing she learned that the french woman did not teach her--to whistle! she remembers answering the sea-gulls who mewed outside in the harbor and the sparrows who twittered in the ivy and the tiny pair of love-birds who dwelt in a cage at her mother's bedroom window. she learned to whistle without distorting her lips because her grandfather had forbidden her to whistle and if she held her mouth almost normal he couldn't tell when he looked out into the garden whether it was felice or the birds who were twittering. her first memories of her mother were extremely vague. she remembers she was pretty and smiling and that most of the time she lay in a "sleighback" bed and that in the morning she would say, "go out into the garden and be happy," and that at twilight she would say, "you look as though you had been very happy in the garden--" sometimes maman wasn't awake when felicia came in from her long day in the garden. and the little girl always knew if her mother's door were closed that she must tiptoe softly so as not to disturb her. there was a reward for being quiet. in the niche of the stairway felice would find a good-night gift--sometimes a cooky in a small basket or an apple or a flower,--something to make a little girl smile even if her mother was too tired or too ill to say good-night. she never clambered past the other niches that she didn't whimsically wish there was a maman on every floor to leave something outside for her. so after a time the canny child began leaving things for herself, tucked slyly back where the housemaids wouldn't find them. she used to hide her silver mug with water at the very top stair because she was so thirsty from the climb. she was always happy in maman's room and in the garden but she had many unhappy times in that nursery. it was at the very top of the back of the house. from the barred windows under the carved brownstone copings she could peer out at the ships in the harbor and the shining green of battery park. the nursery had a fireplace just opposite the door that connected with the tiny room in which the old french woman slept. both these rooms had been decorated with a landscape paper peopled with watteau shepherds and shepherdesses and oft-repeated methodical groups of lambs. on the cold mornings she was bathed beside the fire--which she very much hated--and once when she was especially angry at the sharp dash of the bath sponge against her thin shoulders she clutched at the flabby dripping thing with all her might and sent it hurtling through the doorway where it splashed against the side wall of the tiny room and smudged out the flock of a simpering shepherdess. and instead of being sorry that she had obliterated the paper lambs she remembers shaking her fist at the discolored spot and shrieking "nevaire come back, nevaire!" mademoiselle d'ormy made her tell maman. mademoiselle's disapproval made it seem an admirable crime until maman said ever se gently, "i'm sorry you were unhappy!" "_i was happy_," persisted felicia, "i was proud, proud, proud when i threw it!" "but you made mademoiselle unhappy and you've made me unhappy--and you can't be truly happy, felicia, when you're making some one else unhappy--" felicia discovered that she couldn't. not with maman's gentle eyes looking into hers, so she threw herself on her knees and kissed her mother's hand. just as she had seen her grandfather kiss it. "let's pretend!" she whispered, "let's pretend i didn't do it! now let's pretend i'm grandy!" pretending she was her grandfather trenton was one of their most delicious games. she would tap on the door, delicately, and ask in mincing imitation of the french woman, "madame, will you see ze major?" then, with great dignity she would advance to the bedside. "ah! octavia!" she would say, eloquently, "how charming you look to- day!" for that was what grandy always said when he came into the room to see maman. you'd have liked major trenton. you'd have liked him a lot. but you could have liked him more if he'd been a little kinder to felice. for by one of those strange, unexplained twists of human nature this fine gentleman, who was so tolerant with his uncouth servants and so admirably gentle with his wee dogs, was unconsciously cruel to the small grand-daughter who so adored him. she adored his immaculate neatness, the ruddy pinkness of his skin; she loved his wavy white hair and the deep sparkle of his dark eyes. she saw nothing droll about the peaked felt hat and long black coat that he persisted in wearing, or about the ruffled shirt, with its absurd flaring collar and black satin stock. she even loved the empty coat sleeve pinned inside his breast pocket. she thought him the most beautiful human in the whole world. she lived in constant dread of what grandy would or would not be pleased to have her do. and though she was unaware of it, her everyday behavior was exactly what that silent man had so ordered. she did not know there was a god because the major was an atheist--who out-ingersolled robert g. in the violence of his denial of deity. she did not know there was a world of reality outside the garden because he did not choose to have her mingle with that world. she was not taught french because he vowed he hated france and the french and all their ways. she was taught to curtsy and to dance because it pleased him to have a woman walk well and he believed dancing kept the figure supple. she was taught needlework because he thought it seemly for a woman to sew and he liked the line of the head and neck bent over an embroidery frame. she was taught to knit because he remembered that his mother had told him that delicate finger tips were daintily polished by an hour's knitting a day. he was--though he wouldn't have admitted it--proud of her slender hands--they looked exactly as his wife's had looked. it was the only trait she had inherited from that particular ancestor and he had been inordinately vain of his wife's hands. mademoiselle had been ordered never to let the child "spread her hand by opening door knobs or touching the fire-stones--or--er-- any clumsy thing--" and it was droll to see the little girl, digging in her bit of garden with those lovely hands incased in long flopping cotton gloves--not to forget the broad sunbonnet that shaded her earnest little face. in short, he was jealous of her complexion and her manners--but beyond that and the desire that she absolutely efface herself, he did not concern himself with his granddaughter. it was really her mother's gentle tact that fostered love for the stern old man. while felice was still young, octavia began to teach her child pride of race. the pretty invalid was pathetically eager to have felice impressed with the dignity of major trenton's family. "if you look over the dining-room fireplace you can see how fine his father was--" so the child stared up the stately panelled wall at the gloomy old portrait of judge trenton with his much curled wig and black satin gown and the stiff scroll of vellum with fat be-ribboned seals attached and asked naively, "if your father was a judge-man why aren't we judge-mens?" grandy laughed his short, hard laugh. "oh, because we've gone straight to the dogs--and very small bow-wows at that--" it was about this time that octavia began to teach felice to play chess. the child hated it. it must have taken a sort of magnificent patience to teach her. for a long time no one save mademoiselle d'ormy had known what a struggle it meant for that gay little invalid to make herself lovely for that afternoon hour over the chess board. yet, when the major entered he would always find his daughter smiling from her heap of gay rose-colored cushions, her thin hair curled prettily under her lace cap and her hand extended for his courteous kiss. they were almost shyly formal with each other, those two, while mademoiselle d'ormy screwed the tilt table into place and brought the ebony box of carved chess men. it was leaning forward to move the men that took so much strength. octavia was too proud to admit how weak she was growing. so she coaxed her small daughter, "it will be a little stupid at first, cherie, but we will try to make it go--and think what fun it will be that day when we tell the major, 'it is felice and not stupid old octavia who is going to play with you.' first you shall learn where to move the pieces and how to tell me what grandy has moved--then, we shall tie a handkerchief over my eyes--as we do when you and i play hide the thimble--my hands shall not touch the men at all. i shall say 'pawn to queen's rook's square' and you shall put this little man here--this is the queen's rook's square--" it must have been the oddest game in the world, really, between that stern old man and the blindfolded invalid and the grave little girl who was learning to play. of course it was easier for octavia--she didn't have to move her hands or keep her eyes open. she could lie lower on the pillows--she smiled--a wavering smile when her father's triumphant "check!" would ring out. "alas, felice!" she would murmur gaily, "are we not stupid! together we can't checkmate him--" they talked a great deal about chess. and how you can't expect to do so much with pawns and how you mustn't mind if you lose them. but how carefully you must guard the queen--or else you'll lose your king--and how if "you just learn a little day by day soon you'll have a gambit," and how "even if you don't care much about doing the silly game, you like it because you know that it gives grandy much happiness." it was in those days that felice learned that not only must she keep very happy herself but she must keep other people happy. "it's not easy," octavia assured her, "but it's rather amusing. it's a game too. you see some one who is tired or cross or worried and you think 'this isn't pleasant for him or for me!' then you think of something that may distract the tiredness or the worry--maybe you play softly on the lute--maybe you suggest chess--maybe you tell something very droll that happened in the garden or the kennel--he doesn't suspect why you're telling him, at first he scarcely seems to hear you and then--when he does stop thinking about the unpleasantness--he smiles!--watch grandfather when he says 'check!' and you will see what i mean--" one comfort was, felice didn't have to play chess all of the days. never on the days when certain legal matters came. then grandfather disappeared into the gloomy depths of the library and from the garden felice could hear the disagreeable grumble of the burly lawyer as he consulted with his extraordinary old client. "absolutely no! absolutely no!" her grandfather's voice would ring out, "i tell you i will not! a man who takes a pension for doing his duty to his country is despicable! and as for the other matter--i do not have to touch anything that was my wife's! i do not approve of the manner whereby she obtained that income--if octavia wishes it, that is a different matter--it can be kept for the child if octavia chooses to look at the matter that way--but for myself i will not touch it! i do not require it--i will not touch it--it was a bad business--there is nothing quixotic about my refusal, nothing whatever, sir! we differ absolutely on that point, as we do on most others!" felicia heard that speech so often that she could almost have recited it, she heard it nearly every time that certain legal matters appeared, he always put the major in a temper. grandy couldn't get himself sufficiently calm for chess on such days. nor did she play chess on the days when the wheezy came to sew. the advent of the wheezy was an enormous affair in felice's life. it was one of the first times that the child was taken outside of the house or the garden--that blustery march day when she and mademoiselle walked around the corner to a small house in whose basement window rested a sign, woman's exchange and employment agency. a tiny bell jingled as they entered and from behind the curtains at the rear emerged a little woman whose face looked like the walnuts that were served with grandpapa's wine, very disagreeable indeed. felice always spoke of her as the disagreeable walnut. it was in this shop that she saw her first doll, a ridiculous fat affair constructed of a hank of cotton with shoe buttons for eyes and a red silk embroidered mouth and an enormous braid of string for hair. and it was while she was rapturously contemplating it that she heard the wizened proprietor say, "do you wish to have the work done by the job or by the day?" then the disagreeable walnut pompously consulted a huge dusty ledger from which she decided that a certain miss pease would suit their requirements. "two dollars a day and lunch," she informed them curtly and that was the way that wheezy came into felicia's life. short, fat, asthmatic and crotchety, she grumbled incessantly because there wasn't anything so modern as a sewing machine in the house and said that for her part she didn't see how people thought they could get along on nothing except what had done for their ancestors, that she certainly couldn't. "haven't you any ancestors?" felice asked her eagerly. the wheezy snorted. "of course. and they have been poor but they were honest," she added deeply. which felice repeated gravely to grandy in the garden and added eagerly, "were our ancestors poor but honest?" he smiled grimly. "i shouldn't say," he answered her curtly, "that they were either conspicuously poor or conspicuously honest." the wheezy not only remodeled ancient dresses into stiff pinafores for felice but she had to make the cushions that fitted in the dog hampers, down-stuffed oval affairs covered with heavy dull blue silk. the wheezy sputtered that she couldn't see why "under the shining heavens, dogs should sleep on things traipsed out like comp'ny bedroom pin-cushions with letters tied onto their collars--" which so puzzled felice that on one of those furtive occasions when she managed a few words with zeb she demanded an answer. zeb slapped his sides and chuckled. "because, missy, putting on the frills and writing out the pedigree in french like he does makes folks pay jes' about twict as much for those dogs--" which was very bewildering, for felice had not the remotest idea in this world what to pay for anything meant. how could she? there was one very vivid recollection of octavia. the recollection of the only time that the child remembered seeing her mother in a chair. how this miracle was accomplished only octavia and mademoiselle d'ormy could have told, but on a certain day in a chair she was and the heavy rose silk curtains were drawn before the bed alcove and the room was gay with flowers and a ruddy fire glowed in the iron grate under the carved white mantlepiece. felice sat adoringly on a footstool at her feet and they talked a great deal about a time when maman should not only sit in a chair but should walk. it seemed that octavia hoped to take her daughter to a place she referred to rather vaguely as the house in the woods. octavia had lived in this house in the woods when she was a girl and she was very much worried about what might have happened to the garden of that house. she thought that she and felice ought to make it lovely again--if piqueur were only still strong enough to help them. but before felice had had time to find out just who piqueur was, mademoiselle had ushered in a curly-haired young man who carried a portfolio exactly like the one that certain legal matters carried. and it was while mademoiselle was taking felice back to the garden that she heard her mother say, "you must be patient with the silly fears of a woman who mistrusts all lawyers--these deeds are duplicates of those that another--" in the garden felice told mademoiselle d'ormy who the curly-haired person was--it was not for nothing that felice had been staring at the pictures in the big shakespeare illustrated on the drawing-room table. "it's the portia person who is talking with maman--" she assured mademoiselle gravely, "she looks like a man but she's really a lady--" the portia person was surely as gentle as a lady when he hurried into the garden a little later and sent mademoiselle back to his client by the fireside. he looked down at felice--she was embroidering that day, seated primly before the ebony tambour frame. "felicia," he said chokily, "will you try to remember something? will you try to remember--if--if your mother goes away and you're ever in trouble that you're to come to see me? that my name is ralph--john ralph? and that you'll find me at temple bar, here in brooklyn?" "yes, portia person," she answered sweetly, after she had risen as mademoiselle had told her to when a visitor should arrive. although she must have been eleven she was trembling with excitement, because he was her first visitor. "yes, portia person, i will--only, how will i know--that i am in--trouble--where is trouble?" which seemed to make it hard for the portia person. "i mean, if there's anything you need that you haven't--if there's anything you want some one to tell you about--now do you know?" she nodded thoughtfully. "why, there are things right now that i want some one to tell me about--" before he could tell her any of them mademoiselle came swiftly and let him out through the stable gate talking excitably and softly in french, which felicia thought most unfair of her. it is not at all strange that she does not remember when her mother died. you see sometimes there were several days when her mother was too tired or too ill to see such a vigorous person as felice must have been. she merely remembers that there came a time when she was no longer asked to tiptoe past the door on the second floor landing. but she does remember that the thin visaged old french woman wept one day when she asked her, "shall we not go tell maman i was happy today in the garden?" she remembers it because they were the first tears she had ever seen and she clapped her hands and said "how queer, mademoiselle! there are little rains in your eyes." she did not ask to see her mother any more, for when she did mademoiselle would answer "not to-day." it was somehow a rather difficult time for them all; the major was morose and sullen and mademoiselle often had "little rains" in her eyes. she was not very patient with the lively young person who had grown tall enough to reach even the topmost drawer of the high walnut bureau. felicia was exploring them thoroughly one rainy afternoon while mademoiselle dozed by the nursery fireside. she found a beautiful box with an inlaid cover that was filled with all sorts of fascinating trinkets; earrings and breastpins and droll bracelets of tarnished silver set with jade and coral--queer little letters folded in triangles with gay red wax seals, addressed in french, most of them--a soft black lace shawl--felicia was trailing about grandly when mademoiselle awoke to rage and scold. the child was beginning to long for freedom, she was constantly questioning. octavia's gentle raillery, octavia's delicious half answers to the "whys and wheres and whens and whats" had satisfied, but mademoiselle's abrupt, "i can't tell you--" "it does not concern you--" "zat is not of consequence--" were teaching the child to scheme. she was perpetually trying to find out for herself the things that mademoiselle declined to tell her. she was especially curious about maman's closed door. mademoiselle refused to open it. but there came a day, when mademoiselle wasn't looking, when felice tapped gently at her mother's door and opened it and went in. and when she saw the empty bed and the empty chair she ran in great glee to her grandfather. "oh, oh," she cried, "why didn't you tell me that maman had gone to the house in the woods? why didn't you let me go with her? for she said we would make the garden together!" he did not answer her at once. "how did you know?" "because babiche is gone," she answered triumphantly. "and babiche wouldn't be gone from the house unless maman were gone--so they've gone to the house in the woods--to attend to the garden--with--" she frowned until she remembered "with piqueur--unless he is too old to help--and now i will go--" it was curious how his voice faltered, he looked tireder and more unhappy than in the days when octavia had made a game of making him happy. "felicia," he groped for words as he faced the questioning-eyed child, "i--we--you--cannot go to the house in the woods just now--i have certain legal matters that must be attended to--but we--we will go some day--" she accepted this with all the earnestness of her eleven years. but at the door she paused, shyly. he looked very "cross and worried." "this afternoon, if you wish," she said, "i will play chess with you. i can do three gambits. i tried them alone yesterday. we'll not play in maman's room--but in the garden--" but for some strange reason he did not smile at all when he called "check!" he only bent his head over her hand and kissed it as he had kissed her mother's. it was the first caress he had ever given her. she put the hand against her cheek and loved it when he was gone. and clambering up to bed she paused outside her mother's door. "maman, we were a little happy in the garden--" she whispered, "were you happy in your garden?" interminable days followed, dreary days punctuated with quarrel after quarrel. it sometimes seemed to octavia's unhappy daughter that there was nothing she could touch without mademoiselle's disapproval. the garments that had hung in the wardrobes, lovely things that tempted the beauty-loving child, were all packed away in the storeroom back of the linen closet; the bits of ornaments and jewelry that octavia had let the child play with were all tucked away. "it was maman's--do not touch it!" "that was louisa's, you cannot have it!" or most fearful cry of all, "put that shawl back, felicia! it was madame josepha's--louisa herself never wore it, it cost so much!" the storeroom key was kept in the pocket of mademoiselle's black silk apron. gradually the miserly soul locked away all that seemed desirable or lovely to felicia. of course there came a day when she stole the key and when she hid herself a whole blissful afternoon and rummaged joyously through dusty bandboxes and huge curved-top trunks. she had opened an iron-bound box last. and in the top had found a case marked, "mme. j. trenton, rue de la--" the rest was blurred. there were a lot of papers--all of them in french, in a queer old case of crushed leather. and when she thrust them carelessly underneath she found the tiniest muslin garments she had ever seen. they puzzled her greatly; she held one against her cheek instinctively. "what a very little woman must have worn you--" she whispered, "as little as--" she frowned, "the thing made of string in the shop where we got the wheezy--as little as babiche. i wish--i wish i could have seen as little a woman as that--" she sprang up startled, mademoiselle was coming. felicia had the door locked and was standing outside, a slim, dusty, shining-eyed figure when the woman began berating her. the girl slid cunningly along the wall, for mademoiselle's wrinkled, trembling hand was stretched out as she demanded the key. there was a grating, a round bronze grating in the side wall for the furnace pipe. felice moved toward it. she was not answering mademoiselle; just breathing hard, just staring. suddenly the key dropped. the two could hear it tinkling, down, down, through the rusty metal of the furnace pipe. and that was the moment that the infuriated little french woman struck felice. the child was nearly as tall as the woman, she could have struck back, but instead she ran. she fled down the stairway, her angry breath coming in choking gasps. she flung herself against the door of her mother's room. "maman! maman!" she screamed. and that was where the major found her. "i hate--hate--hate--mademoiselle!" and down the stair came the thin visaged french woman crying. "and i monsieur, i hate zis ongrateful child! i theenk i hate your whole ongrateful race--i served your wife like one slave! and for miss octavia i was like two slaves! zis child has ever hated me! i am weary of your whole race--i shall go back to ze country where i belong--" so there they stood, those two antagonists, the woman with her eyes snapping and the outraged child with the tears streaming. "felicia," the major's tone was terrifying, "you must apologize at once!" felicia was silent. she shook her head. the major bowed to the french woman. "i apologize for her," he continued. "but i think mademoiselle d'ormy, you are right. she is growing into a woman and you are growing into a child--" and whatever else he said after felice had fled to the garden doesn't matter. yet two days later when mademoiselle bade her farewell the two enemies flung themselves on each others' necks and wept. much to the disgust of the major, who fairly shoved mademoiselle away and who appeared not to see the sobbing and impetuous young person who dashed headlong to the nursery. but after that life was much more serene, much sweeter. to be sure she could no longer ransack the storeroom. she never had to explain to the major what had occasioned that last tempestuous quarrel but she roamed at will through the whole dusty house and possessed herself gloriously of all its treasures. you should have seen her in those days, tricking herself out in what finery she could muster from the walnut bureau. for after mademoiselle's departure the afternoon chess prolonged itself into twilight and felicia proudly dined with the major instead of in the nursery. she knew how one should look for dinner because there was maman's portrait over the drawing-room fireplace, in the frock she'd worn when she had dined "with her family in france--" mademoiselle had dressed octavia for that wonderful party and she had never tired of telling felicia how beautiful the eighteen-year octavia had been. "it is a woman's duty to think of her charms," mademoiselle had said, "that is what the husband of julie, madame recamier, said, it is what madame louise taught miss octavia--" and so felicia naively parted her hair and brushed it satin-smooth and coiled it neatly on the nape of her white neck with the same big carved coral spanish comb tucked into the shining mass that octavia had worn when she sat for the portrait. sometimes she wore the lovely black lace shawl, sometimes the creamy white embroidered silk one, and always the delicate coral and silver jewelry. yet she couldn't possibly have known from the pale image that stared back at her from the dim shimmer of the drawing-room mirrors, how exquisitely lovely she was, not even when the major bent over her hand and said, as he had said so often to her mother, "you are very charming today, my dear!" he did not know himself, the grim old stoic, how much he adored her. at length there came a certain spring, seductive, too early warm, when the major grew thoughtful, when certain legal matters came frequently in the evening and left felicia to ponder over her embroidery frame or wander restlessly in the bit of garden. she was seventeen now, a glowing, radiant seventeen, so divinely happy that the major smiled whenever he looked at her. for it had come, the beautiful, wonderful time when they were going to the house in the woods! already the rooms were filled with trunks and packing boxes, marthy and zeb and the housemaids were sorting and folding incessantly. and around them, wandered, starry-eyed, a useless young person who hugged to her heart a joyous dream of a woman in a garden--a woman in a little lace cap and a trailing rose-colored dressing-gown, a woman who would say, "oh felicia! i hope you'll be happy today in the garden!" you mustn't blame the major too much that he did not know what a cruel thing he had done--he did not even dream that felicia believed she was going to find octavia in the garden. those long ago evasions that had silenced her little-girl questions he had forgotten. indeed i think he never let himself remember those days in which the child had asked, "where is she gone?" and so they had come to the last night of all, the night before they should start their journey. inside the gloomy library grandfather and certain legal matters discussed stupid details about where the furniture should go to storage and whether they should change the route and instead of going around the coast by steamer and down the st. lawrence, travel part of the way overland--they consulted long yellow time-tables. felicia drifted across the dismantled library. she was pulling octavia's adorable white lace shawl about her firm young shoulders, the flickering gas lights made her rather pale. "it's hot--" she remarked plaintively. "i think i'll go into the garden--" her grandfather nodded. she slipped through the french windows out to the narrow balcony and down the circular iron stairway. a thousand million stars above her, shining through the tops of the old trees of heaven--a tender breeze that blew marthy's curtains ever so gently and let the wistaria banners stream back and forth--if she shoved it carefully, that smallest iron bench, and then stood tiptoe upon it, she could peer through the top of the gate into the rectory yard. fairy land! a score of merry young humans dashing about--a babble of noise and laughter and the dyspeptic choir master nearly wild with the confusion--"order! order!" he screamed, "ladies and gentlemen! boys! kindly remember this is the last rehearsal, the final rehearsal! when the organist begins the choir should file in very slowly--the principals remain outside until the choir is in--i would like the tenor and the baritone soloists' voices to sound as far off as possible as they approach--will those gentlemen be so good as to stand at the extreme end of the yard?" felicia, behind the ivied gate, caught her breath. for as the rather disorderly procession drifted away through the arch the soloists moved easily toward her. one of them was disgracefully fat, he puffed as he mopped his brow, but the other walked lightly, tossing his cap boyishly as he walked. close to the wall, he laughed, a youthful, buoyant laugh, "jove!" he ejaculated, "now i _have_ done it--my cap's on top of the wall--" the music was growing softer, fainter, the fat man had cleared his throat for singing. felicia's heart stood still. the moon shone gloriously, it made little white eyes of the narcissi that stared up at her from the garden border. the wind stirred in the ivy. felicia sighed. his head, beautifully rumpled, topped the wall, he was still laughing softly, talking to the man below. "second cap i lost here, lost one when i was a little shaver--there was a girl--" he was looking straight into her eyes now, he caught at the rusty top of the gate and stared. "why--girl!" he murmured. oh! if you could have seen felice! felice, with her hair coifed smoothly on her dear little head! felice, with the big carved spanish comb holding that hair in place! and her white, white throat and the tangle of old lace about it! he stared into her grave young eyes, he looked at that lovely young mouth of hers, that mouth that was wide enough for laughter but small enough for kisses. they swayed toward each other, those two, as naturally as a butterfly sways toward a flower. he kissed her. as she leaned toward him the treacherous bench toppled too far. she dropped away from his caress as suddenly as a star falls in the heavens. she lay in a little crumpled heap crushing the sweetness of the narcissi. she didn't know what had happened to her, she just lay there and laughed softly and put her hand to her mouth gently. a perfect din of voices blotted out her consciousness. after all you know, a sprained ankle is a sprained ankle even if you don't know you have it. chapter ii the house in the woods however good at pretending felice might wish you to be she would never like you to pretend you were the crumpled little person that major trenton and certain legal matters picked up from the narcissi border. it wasn't only her sprained ankle that frightened her, though that hurt dreadfully of course, but it was all of the persons running with lanterns, the housemaids from the kitchen and zeb and marthy from the stable, and from over the top of the wall had vaulted an enormously tall young man who had insisted on dashing off for a doctor. just having so many persons about all at once terrified her. but when the ankle was bandaged and the doctor had left her lying comfortably on her own bed with marthy beside her, grandfather came and sent marthy away. it was nearly midnight, the world outside was still save for the hoarse sounds of the shipping craft outside in the bay. "you may as well know," said the major sternly, "that i happened to look out of the window, just before you fell--this young man who was kissing you has been chivalrous enough to insist that it was quite all his fault, that you did not know he was going to kiss you--but of course i am not so stupid as to believe that you did not expect something of the sort when you climbed up to the top of the wall. knowing the women of your race as i do i might have suspected something of the sort--" he folded his arms, and looked so stern in the dim light of her bedside lamp that felicia shivered, "et i hardly thought you would have the opportunity, carefully guarded as you have been. i have told the young man that he must make no further attempt to see you. and the doctor assures me you will be able to continue the journey that we have planned." and when he was gone and marthy had come back to put out the light felicia asked just one thing. "did maman have to stay in bed because she fell off a bench?" marthy's gruff voice cleared itself in her throat, she wasn't sure whether she wanted to laugh or cry at the absurd question. "not for that," she answered briefly, "don't let that fret ye, my precious lamb, that foot of yours will be good as new in the matter of a week maybe." "even if it wasn't evaire," felicia persisted, "i'd be proud, proud, proud i climbed the wall--i shall tell maman so--" there was a long silence in the room. the lamp was out now; marthy was at the door ready to go. felice could only feel her approaching the bed. her rough kindly voice blurred out of the darkness. "precious lamb, were you thinking to see your mother?" in spite of her aching ankle the girl sat up in the bed. she laughed softly. "silly old marthy! don't you know? that's what we're going to the house in the woods for--to see how maman has made her garden lovely--i was so proud, proud, proud when i knew grandy was going to take me-- i've waited so long since maman went away--" "god forgive him!" moaned marthy, so softly that the girl did not hear her, but aloud she said compassionately, "don't be settin' your heart too much--on seeing her--" and shut the door softly without saying goodnight. but when the kindly soul came to help her down the stately stairway in the morning the tears were coursing freely over her lean and grizzled cheeks. she talked in a husky whisper all the way down. "we've not been in the manner of friends, him being so careful and all of ye, but oh, miss felice, it's proud i am that i watched you in your bit of a yard and it's sorry i am that you're going--and it's long the days will be till you come back--and if there's anything that zeb or i could do for you--" they were in the hallway now, the major was waiting and some strange men were carrying the last of the baggage outside to the carriage. suddenly felice put her two arms around marthy's neck and whispered, whispered very softly and lifted her face away blushing, "you can tell dudley hamilt i've gone to the house in the woods--when he comes to ask you--" she said. the major was very impressive in his travelling coat, so stern and solemn that felicia hardly dared to look at him until after they were on the steamer. he was really very gentle with her, he tried his best to make her comfortable, he did not refer at all to the events of the night before as he wrapped a steamer rug about her and helped the whining-voiced stewardess to prop a pillow under the bandaged ankle. it was a desolate day, gray and overcast. the shore-line was blurred out before felicia had so much as a fair look at it. the wind blew, raw and cold, but she shook her head when they suggested she let them take her into the cabin. she just lay with closed eyes and cuddled a little black velvet cap, a boy's cap, under her chin and with every chug of the engines her heart echoed, "this is too far for dudley hamilt to come--he will nevaire find me--" she scarcely spoke to the major. poor major! he walked the deck, his thin cane, tap, tap, tapping and his great caped coat bundled tight around him. the morning of the second day they changed to an even smaller and dingier steamer. that was the day that the spring rain fell heavier and heavier. felice lay bundled in blankets in the narrow stateroom and cried softly. there wasn't even a stewardess on this steamer to comfort her. sometimes the major stopped outside and asked her quietly what she would like. there was nothing she liked, but in the mid- afternoon she pulled herself together and let the major wrap her coat about her and leaned on his arm to limp out of her stateroom and down the wobbling gang-plank and across a dirty, water-soaked wharf to the platform where the local train awaited. and after that she sat another dreary hour, while the ancient engine complainingly coughed its way through the bleak, gray woods to the ugly brown station that was their destination. it was late afternoon. the rain had not really ceased to fall, but the sky was clearing a bit in the west as the girl stared curiously about her, while the baggage man helped the trainmen with their luggage. suddenly the girl cried out with joy, "look, there is maman's cart--" for around the corner of the station space crept an ox-cart driven by a half grown boy. but in the hollow of the plains, just before he had reached that dreary town, the boy had stopped his cart and gathered sprawling boughs of wild cherry blossoms, those first harbingers of spring in that bleak northern country, and fastened them to the wooden yoke that held the oxen to the wagon and tied the lovely things sweet with rain, to the poles at the rear and made a sort of fairy chariot for the little lady who was coming to dwell in the woods. he smiled at her under his slouchy cap as he stumbled stiffly toward the major. "the horse," he stammered, "--her foot got sore las' thing--this were all we had to fetch ye in--piqueur--he's too old fur drivin' to the village any more, so margot--she sends me--" there were chairs in the back of the ox cart, odd chairs built of bent hickory with buffalo robes tucked in them. the boy swung felice into one of them easily. he tucked the soft fur about her vigorously. "better wrop up good," he warned her solemnly, "s'cold." he was perfectly good-humored at the major's sharp reprimand at the way he handled the luggage. the major clambered in, the oxen started slowly. as soon as they had passed through the ugly village they turned out of the woods into a narrow road through sandy plains, an interminable road it seemed to felice. last year's sere leaves rattled on the scrub oaks; the wind-blown juniper bushes made dark spots against the wet brown of the sand and the cart swayed lumberingly through the heavy road. the girl was cold and tired and hungry but she held her head high and gazed straight before her into the fast falling twilight. up hill, the narrow winding road across that almost endless plain led. sometimes the boy let the oxen stop to rest and the rising steam from their wet flanks told how hard even those sturdy beasts found the climb. just as she was thinking that she could endure it no longer, felice glimpsed a faint light on a plateau-like place above them. the boy gestured with his whip. "thar, major," he called back cheerfully over his shoulder, "we're a- gittin' thar--" they were through the plains at last, ascending a sharp, rocky road for the last quarter of a mile which grew still narrower but was lined with enormous bare trees that creaked and moaned in the evening wind. felice was really very frightened. "now that's luck," cried the boy cheerily, looking back at her. he was pointing with his crude whip. it was quite dark now save for a faint light below the horizon of the sand dunes, but over her shoulder as she looked where he gestured felice saw the thin crescent of the new moon. when she looked ahead again she could glimpse the dark outlines of the great stone house. it looked cold and formidable. it was set far back from the rising road, a long way back from the massive gate posts beside the tiny gate house where flickering lights burned on the sills of three little mullioned windows. they drove through the gates, across the flagstone-paved drive of the stable yard and came to a slow stop under the inky shadows of the wooden gallery that was built across the front of the house. a woman was hurrying down the sagging steps, such a fat, comfortable woman that felice unconsciously leaned toward her even before she could see the alert black eyes and the wide smiling mouth. she held a lantern high above her gray curly head. it shone upon the figure of a bent old man, who stood, his cap in his hands, at the foot of the steps. he was weeping. his voice was throaty with suppressed sobs and felice couldn't understand at all what he said because he cried out in french when he saw the major. but she could understand the welcome cheer of the fat woman's greeting as she called, "it's all ready--supper and all--just as though it were twenty years ago, monsieur! ah--" sympathy rang in her voice as the major helped felice descend, "i did not know--she is--lame--" her lantern was on the ground now, her sturdy arm had encircled the slender figure in the coat, "margot will help--so--" and that was the way that felice went into the house in the woods. that was the way she entered the broad and draughty hall, with the formidably big rooms on either side dimly lighted by the queer candle lamps and the faint glow from the fires on the chilly marble hearths. a table was set before the fire in the dining salon. it looked dismayingly long, with its deep lace cover and the branched candelabra. the very height of the carved chairs that were placed at either end seemed appalling. but when felice was seated in one of them, with her coat still huddled about her, she looked around with artless curiosity, and watched as in a dream, while the major put his hand on margot's sturdy shoulder. "you've kept it well--" was all he said. but when he had dropped his hand margot was wiping her eyes on her apron. piqueur served supper, his old hands trembling as he placed the dishes before them. a hot thin soup, that warmed felice and made her send a wavering smile across the table, a platter of ham boiled in apple cider whose delicious odors made her sniff hungrily, and after he had served the meat the old man put thin glasses beside their plates and brought a bottle of wine, wrapped carefully in an old napkin, and stood behind his master's place. and the major, standing after he had filled felice's glass, lifted his own high: "felicia," he said slowly, "we will drink to your home coming--" it was all so, strange that she did not notice until piqueur set a dish of custard before her that all the silver with which she was eating was marked with the same odd mark that had adorned her silver drinking mug back in the nursery in brooklyn. she stared at it as she held a thin spoon aloft. "look, grandy," she cried, "it has my honey bee!" he nodded. he scarcely seemed to heed her, already he had risen and was pacing restlessly about the room, peering out the windows, addressing staccato questions in french to piqueur. he pulled the shabby silken rope at the doorway and a bell trilled somewhere faintly. margot came running. "it is good to hear" she said as she entered. and helping felice up the circular stairway she murmured tenderly, "you cannot know, miss felicia, how glad we are, my uncle piqueur and i, that the house is opened once more--you're not so tall as your mother, are you?" she was positively chattering now. felice caught her arm more closely. "oh, where is maman?" she demanded. margot shook her head. she sighed. she was opening the door of the upper room. she did not answer for a full moment. her lips worked nervously before she spoke. "she is not here. but this is the bed where she always slept when she was young--the bed at which she laughed so much--ah, miss felicia, don't you think you will like it? see how droll--" her brown wrinkled hand rested on a beautifully carved corner post, "these are little monkeys climbing for fruit--when she was a baby mademoiselle octavia used to put her hands on them so--" felice smiled. "i know. she used to tell me," she confided. "she told me that poquelin, the father of moliere, made it." she was wan with fatigue, poor child, even after she lay, warm and cozy, in the great bed that had been her mother's. and the last thing she saw as she closed her eyes in the wavering candle light was margot's fat and comfortable figure, trudging toward the fireplace to spread out her coat to dry-- it had been a fearful week for margot, this week since the major's curt message to make the house ready had come. for all that she was forty-five and sturdy and skilful at the myriad tasks that her uncle piqueur's rheumatism and age had gradually let fall upon her shoulders during the slow passing years, this had been a job that put her on her mettle. eighteen years of dust and disorder had margot somehow or other weeded out of that building. but even with the pale spring sunshine and wind to help her and even with the huge fires they had kept kindled all day in the broad fireplaces, the corridors were still damp and cold and musty. and she was weak with fatigue and excitement. she sat down beside the fireplace, her tired body relaxing as she stared through the gloom at the figure in the canopied bed. "she is not so beautiful as octavia--" she thought, "but she is very sweet--and her eyes--they have that same longing to be happy--" she sighed as she tiptoed clumsily out of the room and down the draughty stairway. she stood respectfully beside the major's chair. "monsieur," she said gravely, "does miss felicia know anything at all about all of us?" he looked up at her quickly, his dark eyes sparkling with anger at her audacity, but something in her sober, respectful gaze quieted him. "i do not desire that she shall--" he answered. "it is better not to have her--but--" his voice faltered. "i regret that she does not understand that her mother--that miss octavia--" his thin old hand tightened its grip on the frail arm of the chair, "i do not know," he ended miserably, "just how it came about that she is expecting to find miss octavia here--in the garden. perhaps you can tell her something to comfort her--perhaps--" gray-haired, wrinkled, her skin brown from exposure, margot leaned forward, her eyes shining with excitement. "sometimes i think," she said distinctly, "that miss octavia _is_ in the garden, monsieur--" she laughed softly at his start. "do not think i am out of my wits--" she tapped her head significantly. "i do not mean like a ghost--i do not see her. only there is something, most of all in the springtime--that makes me happy. perhaps octavia's daughter will feel it. perhaps that thing, whatever it is, will make it easier for me--" she wiped her eyes, "to answer all things she will ask me--" upstairs in the four-poster bed that poquelin had carved, felicia slept, she smiled as she stirred in her slumbers. she was very tired. "maman," she muttered drowsily as the major paused outside her door on his way to his room, "in the garden--" and the major listened and sighed. she awoke to the diddling drone of piqueur's quavering voice. in the clear sweetness of the may morning above the twittering of the birds it raised itself, the quaint measures delighting her ears. even in piqueur's thin falsetto the old melody sang itself--tender, graceful, spirited, never lagging--he was dropping pea seeds into the trench that margot had prepared in the kitchen dooryard, he was always content when he was planting. felicia limped to the window across the moth-eaten carpet with its faded doves and roses. she flung the casement out and listened eagerly. "piqueur," she cried entreatingly "tell me just what it says--that song you sing." but it was margot who leaned on her hoe and looked up at the girl and laughed. "he sings of a girl--of more than one girl--who takes care of sheep-- the song tells them to hurry up--that time drips through the fingers like water--" margot's own throaty voice joined lustily into her uncle's refrain, but a second later she was translating once more. "you must find your fun in the spring forests--when you're young--" the girl in the window above them clapped her hands. a slender black- haired, eager-eyed dryad, whose shabby brocaded dressing gown trailed around her bandaged foot-- "oh, wait! wait!" she cried, "wait until i can do it--" her lips pursed themselves delicately and a second later the lilting trill of her lovely whistle took up the refrain of maitre guedron's song. she stretched out her young hands toward the woods. the tardy tree tops were budding at last, their lovely bronze and red and tender green shining in the morning light. "'in the spring forests,'" she cried, "'you must find your fun'--are those the words of the song, margot?--oh, look, look!" she pointed joyously to a blackbird on top the swaying maple outside her window. he whistled--she whistled, saucily back. "oh!" sighed margot. "it is good to be young. it is good--go back to your bed, little one, i'll bring your breakfast." but felicia couldn't go back to bed. she hobbled delightedly from window to window, staring out at the open space in front of the house, with its descending terraces and the gray jungle of underbrush that hid the edge of the clearing. she turned eagerly when margot entered with a tray. she was bubbling with joy. "is maman comfortable this morning?" she was chattering. "will she be in the garden? where is the garden? i've looked and i can't see it--or is she in her bed yet? and is it up-stairs?" margot's hands trembled. she put the tray down on the bedside table and pulled the girl across the room and coaxed her into the bed, rubbing the small bandaged foot, cuddling the quilts about her, as she tucked the pillows. "so many questions!" she evaded. "eat your breakfast and i will help you dress--" felicia snuggled under the covers and nibbled her toast hungrily. "yesterday," she confided, "i was unhappy; it seemed too far to come-- i was afraid, from something marthy said, that i wasn't going to find maman--she said i mustn't set my heart on it--" margot sighed. she came close to the bed and took felicia's hands in hers. "listen carefully," she entreated, "the thing i have to tell you is hard. you see when octavia went away from you she did not come here, she--" "where did she go?" demanded felicia sitting bolt upright. "she went--" margot's throaty voice dragged painfully, "she went where all good women go when their work is done--" "her work wasn't done," objected felice. "she said it would be a great deal of work to build the garden over, she said she was afraid it would be all weeds--piqueur was so old--she said--oh! why are you weeping, margot?" "when she went away from me first," moaned margot, "i thought i could never stand it--it was so still and so lonely here in the woods without her--and now, after all these years that i have learned to live without her--it is as if she had gone away again to have to try-- to tell you--" she knelt at the bedside, her lips moved piteously. "try to understand, little one, she is gone--neither you nor i can find her--" "nor the major?" asked felicia incredulously. "the major least of all," said margot firmly. "she is not--" "not what?" demanded felicia.. she was sitting on the edge of the bed now looking very little in the ancient dressing gown. "she is not living any more," sighed margot. there was a long pause, a pause in which the drone of piqueur's voice, still singing maitre guedron's old song, floated through the open casement. "not living?" questioned felicia, her eyes widening with frightened-- comprehension--"oh! oh!" her voice rose tempestuously, angrily, "you shall not say such dreadful things! they are not true! the major said we should come to this house in the woods, he said--" she paused, her mind groped back over the years. the rising tide of her anger swept her fear that this strange woman was telling the truth farther and farther out of her thoughts. she rose, absurdly majestic as she steadied herself with one slender arm against the quaint carved post of the bed. she pointed toward the doorway. "you'd better go away, margot," she ordered clearly, "you can't stay here and talk so to me--" the childish simplicity of her phrases was absurdly inadequate to express her scorn, "you do not know that i have a vairee bad temper--i make myself proud, proud, proud when i lose it --but it will make you vairee unhappy if i do--i say and i do most dreadful things when i'm angry--if i call for the major he will come and send you away--for always and forevaire--as he did mademoiselle d'ormy--and no matter how sorry i am afterward he will not let you stay--" indeed, this idea of appealing to her grandfather had come the instant before when she heard his voice outside interrupting piqueur's song. she limped swiftly across the space toward the window, she leaned far out and called to her grandfather, who stood in the courtyard below, gravely inspecting the lame mare that the boy had brought from the stable. so intent was felicia with her question that she forgot her recent fear of the major. "grandy!" she called, her clear tones ringing down to him, "grandy, you will have to come and send this margot away--you will--" he came up the stairs to her slowly, pausing formally outside her door to tap for margot to open for him; but even before he was in the room, looking very pale and stern and old with his beautiful head lifted high above the ruffled shirt and his peaked hat held in his hand, the girl's eager appeal had begun. "this margot," felicia's words tumbled impetuously, "she's been telling me lies--she says maman isn't here--that she isn't in the garden--or in the house--she says she--" "you'd better stay, margot," said major trenton, "i think miss felicia will need you. felicia, let margot wrap that gown about you, it's chilly here. felicia, we do not know how to make you understand about your mother--we did not want to make you sad when you were little so i did not tell you. it was her wish that i should not distress you--" his face worked pitifully, "--with the manner of her going--what she said to you about the garden--you did not understand, my dear--she had a notion, my little octavia, that we do not die--that only our bodies die--many other people believe this--are you listening, felicia? she thought that her spirit," he groped for words, "the something she called the 'happy part of her' couldn't--'stop'--as she called it--she said-" his lips were quivering, "that part of her would always try to stay in the house where you lived so long and in this garden and house in which she lived when she was young--like you--that is all--what margot tells you is quite true--she is not living--she has not been living since you were eleven--she died--" his words trailed miserably, "she is not living--" he repeated feebly. the girl's eyes had never left his since he had begun his inadequate explanation, she did not cry out, she merely stood there, pale, unbelieving and stared at him. "and she said the happy part of her would be here?" he nodded. "then," said felicia calmly, "if she said so, she will, and you and margot are both stupid and bad to tell me that she won't--if you will find my shoes--" she turned petulantly to margot, "i will walk until i find her--" "but you cannot find her, she is gone--" the deep agony of his voice rang in the great room, "quite gone--" "where has she gone?" demanded felice stubbornly. he gestured his despair. it was margot who came to the rescue, sane margot, who had collected her senses once more. she pattered across the room to the wardrobe, calling over her shoulder as she tugged at the door. "wait, wait," she entreated, "you will understand some day! just now we won't talk about it any more. she's not here but she has left so many things for you! so many messages for you! so much for you to do! look, miss felicia!" she held aloft a broad sun-hat and a pair of gauntleted gloves, "just where she hung them--as if she knew you might want them! these are the things she wore when she worked in the garden--here's her wicker basket with the trowel and the hand fork-- and here's the garden book--" she was standing before felicia now holding out the treasures. "if you'll sit over there by the window i can tell you about the day she found this book--" the hurt look was fading from the girl's eyes; she reached out her hands for these things that had been her mother's; she was quite docile as the major helped her to the chair by the window. she had the garden book cuddled under her arm; she was holding the gloves against her cheek; she looked like a child instead of a grown-up person. you won't have to pretend you can see felicia's great-great- grandmother's garden book--you can really see it in the library of octavia house if you care to ask the poetry girl to show it to you-- but perhaps you'll like to pretend that you can see the seventeen year old felicia, wrapped in that shabby brocaded dressing gown sitting beside the window staring at the stained title page, trying to read the faint inked inscription. perhaps you'll like to pretend too, that you can hear her grandfather's voice steadying itself as he leans over the back of the chair and translates the inscription for her. the book's in english, you know, but that written inscription is in french. "it says," read her grandfather, "something like this: "'to my little madame folly whom others call prudence langhorne i present this book, for i have heard a woman can be very happy building a garden--'" "and whose name is this?" felicia put her finger on the broad sprawl after the inscription. "it's the initial of the man who gave it to her--j.--" said her grandfather grimly. "and j. gave this book to maman?" margot chuckled. "no--no--" she explained. "your maman found this book over there in the cupboard--it's a very old book, cherie. it is a book that a man gave to--" her fat fingers checked off the generations lightly, "a lady named prudence--she was the mother of josepha--and josepha was the mother of a louisa. it was this louisa who was your mother's mother--now do you see? and think, miss felicia--" she waved her hand toward the opened door of the wardrobe, "what many, many things they've left here for you! when octavia was just as old as you she rummaged and rummaged every day--" margot wiped her eyes with the back of her hand--the major moved toward the window and looked down upon the garden. "she put them all in order, each one's clothes in a different place, i was the one who helped her. and she used to laugh while we sorted the things and say what fun it would be for the next one who came to see them--that's you, miss felicia--" "oh! oh!" breathed felicia, her eyes shining like stars. "how sweet of her! how sweet of you, margot, to keep them all for me! you are sweet, sweet, sweet to bring me her gloves! once she told me about this hat, i knew its ribbons would be blue! i know how they tie in back so's it won't make me warm under my chin--she told me--look, isn't this the way?" her slender hands lifted the hat to her hair, so sweetly rumpled from her pillows, "look, grandy, look at me! i am wearing maman's hat --she told me i could wear it when i came to the house in the woods! do you think it looks well on me?" her naive vanity almost broke their hearts. "do you, grandy? look at me!" he turned slowly. he stepped bravely toward her and lifted her hand and kissed it. "you look very charming, my dear," he murmured, he was breathing hard, "very charming--i'll go back to the stable, if you'll excuse me-- margot will show you the other things--" he was in the doorway now, his head held high, "as she told you they've all been kept for you carefully. i hope they will make you very happy." he closed the door softly. things to make her happy! ah! margot! cunning margot! spreading the treasures of those dear dead women before their imperious little descendant! wise old margot, who must speak so carefully that she will not break that girl's heart! margot, who must undo all the trouble that years of evasions from grandy and lies from mademoiselle d'ormy have stored up for her! with what infinite tact did she bring them out, those vanities and trinkets of those girls of bygone days; with what adroit eloquence did she introduce all their foibles and virtues to felicia! oh, but she was a fine old gossip, was margot! she couldn't quite trust herself to touch octavia's clothes that first day. she plunged wildly into louisa's. while felice's hands were busy over a shagreen jewel case filled with hideous garnet and gilt breast-pins and bracelets of the sixties, margot leaned from the casement and called, "bele, oh, bele! you careless boy! bring some wood for miss felice! make a fire up here! it's damp!" and while the boy, embarrassed and awkward, was kindling the fire margot fled to the kitchen to juggle wildly with her pots and pans and leave a thousand directions for piqueur about what to serve for the major's lunch. "never tell me a man knows how to bring up a child," she scolded as she stirred her soup, "never tell me that! he's done as well as he could but he's made a fine mess of it--the poor child! thinking miss octavia would be here--not knowing so much as a new-born kitten-- that's as much sense as she has--as a little new-born kitten!" and she hurried back with a delectable luncheon on a tray. outside the sun had hid itself and the fickle spring clouds were dripping over the desolate garden. but at the fireside, curled up in the winged chair with her bandaged foot propped comfortably on a foot- stool, felicia sat through the long afternoon and chattered and laughed and clapped her little hands. oh, those foolish clothes that had belonged to louisa! with their silly--whaleboned waists and their grotesque basques and impossible pleatings! felicia couldn't get one of those bodies half around her healthy young waist. but she liked the bonnets and the shawls. they were adorable. the shawls were so soft, so quaintly shaped, the bonnets were fairly ravishing. felicia tried them on, peering into a carved tortoise shell hand mirror, and giggled whimsically at the little flowered ones with lacy ties and the stuffy winter ones with velvet bows. "miss louisa was very handsome," margot informed her, "my aunt says she was the handsomest girl she ever saw--but very high-minded, very uppish!" "i know about her," felice answered easily, "mademoiselle d'ormy belonged to her. louisa went to paris, you know, and mademoiselle lived there. mademoiselle used to tell me she bought clothes and clothes and clothes! are these those clothes?" margot nodded. "josepha's clothes came from paris too--" she spread a great brocaded velvet coat before her, "josepha wasn't pretty at all like the rest of them, she looked like her father, they said, and he was a homely old man--josepha had a temper--i never saw her--i wasn't even born when she went away, but my aunt served her and she said mistress josepha had an air--a way with her--if things didn't suit her--" she lowered her voice impressively--"ah--what she wouldn't do, that josepha! once my aunt took her an omelette--a beautiful omelette cooked with chopped fine carrots and peas and parsley and a big tall glass of milk for her breakfast, but josepha, she had desired broiled chicken that morning, so she walked straight to the window here where i'm standing and threw the omelette out--she would always throw things--that one--her shoes-- or anything--when she was angry--" felicia blushed. "margot," she confided, "this morning when i was angry i was like that--i wanted to throw things, only i hadn't anything just then to throw--but when i was little i did--my bath sponge, you know, and once a key--" she grew thoughtful, "the key to the storeroom where mademoiselle hid things--margot, you won't hide these things, will you?" she hugged a wee muff jealously to her breast, "you won't, will you?" margot chuckled and shrugged her shoulders. the room was filled with the finery she had dragged from the tall wardrobe. on the chairs, over the bed, hanging from the pegs of the cupboard, of every conceivable color and shape, those forgotten clothes glimmered and shone. "these are the oldest of all--" margot was kneeling and tugging at a carved cedar chest that was under the bed, "these are the things that belonged to the first one of you, the things that belonged to prudence langhorne." she dragged the chest triumphantly to the girl's side. "on top,--" the odor of the cedar was wafted out into the room like the odor of the pine plains through which felice had been driving yesterday, "here, these are things she had when she came to live in this house that was built for her--plain enough, eh?" she spread the gray stuffs and brown linsey woolseys out scornfully. their voluminous skirts and long tight sleeves and queer flat yellowed collars were stupid enough in the midst of all the splendor about them. "but look, now look, what she wore after she came--" felicia looked. and not even all the frills and fabrics that she had already exclaimed over could compare with the loveliness of these frocks of mistress prudence. they were so dainty, so fragile i with their delicate yellowed laces! they were so soft and faded with age! each little frock was packed by itself in a yellowed linen case, each had shoes and stockings and sometimes a gay little head dress folded away with it. short-waisted, scant skirted-- "oh! oh!" cried felice, "these are the ones i love best of all! these are the ones i'll wear! oh margot! that darling rosy one!" she bobbed out of the chair excitably, "look at the little silver shoes for it! oh margot, dress me in it at once! oh, margot! how pretty i'll be for dinner every day--" you should have seen her when she limped down the stairs for supper! margot had brought her one of the major's canes and tied some faded cherry ribbons on its gold handle. piqueur was just lighting the candles when the two descended. grandfather sat by the fire, his head drooping. it had been a hard day, this day he had spent with old memories. he had grieved over octavia, he had yearned for louisa, he had pondered mightily concerning josepha who had been so angry with him when he had married her daughter. but he'd thought not at all of little madame folly in whose house he sat and brooded, not until he looked up and saw her great-great-granddaughter standing in the doorway, dressed in a cherry-colored gown, all gay with tarnished silver ribbons and yellowed lace. because she didn't know any other way to dress her hair, she had tucked it in its usual knot at the nape of her lovely neck, but on top the neat parting was perched a narrow gold circlet with a tiny cherry-colored plume and she held her head audaciously high as she swept him a mighty curtsy. "louisa's things aren't pretty at all," she babbled breathlessly, "and josepha's i can't wear--but oh, grandy, aren't prudence's just sweet!" "they look like imprudence's," he bantered as he rose. she brought forth other treasures from under her curved arm. "and look! little chess men and a little chess board. get a table! i'll checkmate you before even dinner is ready! margot has to go brown the chickens--hurry margot, i'm hungry--" she had come into her own. she was like a young queen come to her throne. from that very moment she ruled them all,--grandy, margot, piqueur and bele as though they were her slaves. she adored every inch of her domain, she could scarcely wait for the ankle to heal so that she could rove about the overgrown paths in the woods and tumbled walks and weed-covered lawns. she could not get up early enough in the morning to do all her eager young heart longed to do. rebuilding the garden was a sacred trust; hadn't maman told her to do it? all day long, her serious face shaded by the old garden hat, her slender hands encased in the gauntleted gloves, she prowled about the terraces or rummaged in the tool house, usually with the beloved theory and practise of gardening under her arm. sometimes she spread it open on a dilapidated bench so that she could read its solemn dissertations. the very title page appalled one with the gravity of the task. in flourishing type it boasted of its august contents-- wherein is fully handled all that relates to the fine gardens commonly called pleasure gardens as parterres, groves, bowling greens. containing divers plans and general dispositions. methods of planting, and raising in little time, all the plants requisite in a garden. done from the french original in paris anno domini daytime was not long enough for its perusal. night after night, she sat hunched up in the poquelin bed and pored over her beloved book. sometimes after she read she would run and peer out from her casement window in the moonlight and scowl over the wilderness that lay below her, the wilderness that had once been a garden. the cleared space that stretched for two or three hundred yards before the house was divided into three flat terraces whose crumbling banks had lost their once careful outlines; and at the bottom of the lowest terrace a tottering lattice, sagging with old vines, made a background for the fountain in whose rubbish-filled depths a chubby cupid struggled patiently with an impossible marble duck. "if i could only see how it went--" she would fret, "i can't see which one of them it is." for in the back of the garden book were many folded charts and maps, so big that they stretched out enormously over the counterpane of the bed. sometimes felicia thought that mistress prudence' garden must have been built after "the sixteenth practise"--that was a brave plan "with three terraces and a fountain at the base," but sometimes she thought it must be after the "single star cut into cabinets." at first she contented herself with gardening in the bowling green with piqueur feebly turning over the weedy sod and bele tramping to and fro with barrows of manure. her bowling green was in the very center of the second terrace. she had discovered that directly she began. "in france," she read, "a bowling green differs from what you call a bowling green in england. we mean no other by this word than certain hollow sinking and slopes of turf which are practised in the middle of a parterre. a bowling green is the most agreeable compartment of a garden, when rightly placed most pleasant to the eye beside the pleasure it affords us of lying on its sloping banks in the shade during hottest weather." only it wasn't so easy to read as it looks now we're writing it over. for "the theory and practise of gardening" made you rub your eyes and groan, it was such a puzzling sort of book. to begin with its type was bewildering with its s's all turned like f's and its italics so thin you could scarcely decipher them. besides that, the author, who remained discreetly anonymous, but none the less unwarrantably conceited, had a maddening way of spreading over a whole page the way not to do things--he didn't state at the start that it was the wrong way he was relating, he just meandered on, letting the reader suppose that was the rightest way possible as he wrote at length pertaining to: "how to grow box trees from seed. "the box tree is a green shrub of greatest use and one of the most necessary in the garden. there are two sorts, the dwarf box which we french call buis a' artous much used for planting the embroidery of parterres. it naturally does not grow very much which makes it called dwarf box. the other kind is the box tree of the woods, which advances much higher and has bigger leaves which make it fit to form pallisades and green tufts for garnishing. it comes up in the shade but is a long time gaining any considerable height. it is put to a great many petty uses, as making balls--as the climate of france is very different from that of the indies in the degree heat _it is better to raise from slips and layers than to try to sow seed which is a great time coming up_." the book quite frankly disclosed the terrors as well as the joys of the game. it was most disconcerting to read of "the distempers and insects that attack....the great enemies are rabbets, garden mise, moles, caterpillars, maybugs, ants, snails, turks, canthardies and an abundance of weeds, the names of which are unknown to us--" she shouted with youthful laughter as she read it, the echoes of her merriment sounding through the empty halls. she doubled her little fist and shook it toward the candle, flickering low in its socket. "that's what has hidden the garden," she murmured, "that's why i can't see it--" she wrinkled her nose in disgust. "--abundance-of-weeds-- piqueur and bele will settle you!" all through the verdant spring, all through the quick hot summer the girl puzzled over the unanswered riddle--the scheme of the garden. piqueur and bele and margot toiled valiantly pulling up the myriad abundance-of-weeds, but in vain. it was not until the resplendent autumn had passed that she had any inkling of the real pattern. there came a glorious moonlit night, a chilly night when she snuggled under the blankets and yawned over the chapter that told her "how to mulch plants for winter." the wind blew so chill that at midnight she pattered across the old carpet to make the casement fast. the whole cleared space below her glistened with the fairy glamour of the first frost. under the magic silvery whiteness the lost "parterres and cabinets and lozenges" with their paths and borders stood out as clearly in the moonlight as the day when madame prudence's workmen had charted them there. she laughed aloud as she ran back and turned to the map labelled "the twentieth and laft practife which is the most superb and which is the bifected oval." "oh, oh!" she murmured as she leaned across the stone sill, unmindful of the cold, to blow a tiny kiss to the fountain cupid, "how stupid i was not to see! you just live in half the oval and the kitchen garden and the stables are the other half--" she could scarcely wait for morning to impart her wonderful news to grandy and the others. "some say it can be done within five years, but ye author believes from experiences both at versailles and in ye south of england that a decade or more is necessary to establish any garden--" which warning from the fat brown leather book made it easier for felice, you see, because she never hoped to accomplish the garden in a little time. besides, piqueur was, as octavia had foretold "too old." but it was margot--oh, heaven-sent margot, and the adoring, clumsy bele who toiled like four men, and so cabinet by cabinet, parterre by parterre, terrace by terrace, the superb old garden began to grow lovely once more. think of the victory of the summer when the hedges were at last properly trimmed! think of the joy of the flatly rolled turf, the spring that they found a massive iron roller in an unused shed at the back of the carriage house! think of the wonder of that day when the little fountain laughed again, its pipe unchoked and its overflow trickling neatly away under the hidden terra-cotta drains! the busy days lost themselves in weeks, the weeks dripped endlessly from season to season. by the time the second spring had come it was as though felicia had lived in the house in the woods forever. the only links with the old life were the two or three visits of certain legal matters; and as felice hated him as much as ever she hid herself all she could during his short stays. it was during his second visit that felicia had her first real encounter with the doughty lawyer. it was in march that he came, and felicia and margot were deep in their spring plans. they needed a great many things that they didn't have for the garden. it was practical margot who suggested casually, "why couldn't you ask mr. burrel? he could send them to the junction and i could go with the oxen--i have always asked him for vegetable seeds when i sent the spring list of supplies--write in a paper, cherie, all that we need--put down the roses and the trees and the lily bulbs and all--tell him that he must send them." she was rather cunning about it, was felice. she waited until the lawyer was strolling impatiently in the gallery waiting for the cart to drive around from the stable. she approached him boldly, holding out her list. "these are some things we need for our garden," she said. "you will please have them sent at once." he stared at the imperious young creature. it was the first time she had ever voluntarily spoken with him. he took the list. he was very ill at ease. "i am not certain," he began as he stared amazed at the lengthy order, "that i can arrange for--er--" inwardly quaking felice answered him. her low voice sounded astonishingly calm to her. "but we must have them," she announced. she played her trump card valiantly, "you can give it back to me if you can't get them, i have another person--who can attend to--certain legal matters for me--" her voice trailed faintly, she was really rather frightened. "may i ask whom?" the lawyer demanded in amazement. "i know where he is," she asserted childishly. "he is in temple bar, brooklyn, and he would get them for me quickly, i'm sure. you see, in april we shall need these things for the planting. he told me--" she added this with delicious positiveness, "to remember to let him know if you did not manage things properly." the cart had clattered around now, piqueur was waiting politely. the lawyer frankly gaped at her, his eyes narrowed. he looked very pale in the afternoon light. his thick hand reached out for the list. "i--i will see that you get what you wish, miss felicia--" he capitulated. "you do not need to ask any one else about it--i'm glad to do you the favor--" and all the way across the pine plains to the station he questioned piqueur as to whether the major or felice had had any visitors. but piqueur, who had always hated the lawyer, cunningly evaded the cross- examination. and in less than a week after burrel's departure margot drove the ox-cart across the plains and brought it back fairly laden with florists' crates and boxes. life was not all easy. keeping the major happy grew more and more difficult. if felicia found the house in the woods joyous, he did not. he brooded restlessly save for the hours they spent together over the chess board or at dinner; sometimes he slowly paced the long gallery or the hallways, but more often he sat gloomily, his hand on his cane, his chin resting on his hand and looked sadly across the terrace where felice directed her workers. he, like piqueur, was growing "too old." he was really seventy-four that summer. margot knew when his birthday came and tried to make a little feast but he ignored it. he tried to pretend a polite interest in the reconstruction of the garden but his heart was not in it. he liked better to sit indoors in his carved chair. even on the warmest days when evening came he wanted a fire kindled on the chilly marble hearth. felicia labored patiently at "making him happy." she had long since made him a partner in her own game that she called pretending. "pretending" just as in the old days when she had played with maman. of course, she had to whistle to pretend and he still affected a scorn of the whistling he had once forbidden. the "pretending" usually took place directly after dinner. she would kiss the top of his forehead audaciously and dance before him with a deep curtsy. "let's pretend, grandy! let's pretend i'm not felice! let's pretend i'm a blanchisseuse--that's a washerlady. this is a thing that piqueur's mother learned in france when she was young--whenever margot and i spread our linen on the grass to bleach we whistle this--" or sometimes she would demurely assure him that she was, "--a girl who's pulling roses to sell the man who makes perfume--" she would snatch up her needlework basket and swing it at her hip and pull the roses down from the mantelpiece vases and all the while she would whistle, with her dear little chin perkily lifted and her sparkling eyes watching to see if the major was listening. the song he liked best of all was the song of the hunt. i think he liked the audacity with which she appropriated his peaked hat and perched it jauntily on her own head and caught away his cane to use for a riding crop. "this song," she would explain joyously, "is for autumn, when all the men and women are waiting on their restless horses for the master of the hunt to blow his horn--" her cupped hands at her lips made a beautiful horn and her whistle rang valiantly in the great ceilinged room but the hunting song usually lost itself in a whirr of laughter and frills as the huntress dropped breathless on the footstool at the major's side and put her sleek head against his knee. "grandy," she whispered once, "you stub-stub-stubborn man! why don't you learn to pretend! why don't you make believe they're all here?" she waved her hand toward the portraits around them! "i pretend they're proud, proud, proud i'm here! it must have been vairee stupid for them before i came!" the major was not her only audience. she frequently "pretended" for margot and piqueur and bele, prancing gaily-about them in their snug kitchen on the long winter evenings when they huddled by their fire. for them she whistled all the droll bits of marthy's songs that she remembered. piqueur only listened solemnly, with his smothered briar pipe held politely in his hand; but margot, buxom, and red cheeked with her iron gray hair tucked under her flaring cap would sit and gape and laugh and quite forget her knitting whenever she could hear, "he who would woo a widow must not dally he must make hay while the sun doth shine he must not say 'widow, be mine--be mine!--'" felicia's absurd whine for the timorous lover always made bele snort from his corner, "but boldly cry 'widow, thou must--'" ah, the deep contralto of that boyish voice of hers roundly mouthing the pompous swain's wooing! she could always make margot cry when she "pretended" _the wreck of the polly ann_--with her gray eyes wide with excitement as she described the rolling waves from the top of the rigging! i don't suppose she ever knew all of the words of any of these songs or ballads, she never did any of them quite the same any time, but she caught at the plot and she babbled a scrap or two of the chorus and she always knew every lilting turn of the tunes. there was one "pretend" she could only do when she was alone. she did not try it often. sometimes on the spring nights when the tender breezes let the half-awakened wistaria flutter outside her window, she would blow out all her candles and lean far across the sill and stare at her unfinished garden. and when the house was still, oh, heart-breakingly still, she would kneel beside the bed and whisper, "let's pretend! let's pretend we're back in your room, maman! let's pretend it's that night! let's pretend they've just brought me in from the garden! and that you're laughing a little because you've heard him say, "'second cap i've lost here! lost one when i was a little shaver! there was a girl--why, girl--!' "oh maman! maman! if you'd only been there! you wouldn't have brought me away!" she kept the choir boy's black velvet cap in the lowest drawer of the wardrobe. once margot saw it when she was tidying things. "i don't remember this--" she murmured curiously. and felicia had snatched it away jealously and cuddled it under her chin. "because that's mine!" she had retorted passionately, "it's mine! mine! and it didn't belong evaire to any other woman only me!" and the years slipped away like time in maitre guedron's song and every year the garden grew a little lovelier and every year felicia grew a little more sedate and every year piqueur and the major grew "too old." until piqueur no longer left his fireside and as for the major--well, there came a day when the major fell prostrate by the staircase and lay for a long time breathing very hard. that was a terrifying time until bele brought a doctor from the village. he was a good little doctor, round faced and pink cheeked, quite the youngest thing, save bele, that felicia had seen in many years. and he pulled the major back to something like life--a something that played chess very slowly and sometimes called felicia octavia and sometimes querulously murmured, "louisa, i forbid you to go to paris--it's a bad business--" she "pretended" nothing in these days, simply went gravely about the myriad tasks that awaited her, directing the stupid bele, helping the white haired margot, sitting proudly at the head of the table smiling across at a black eyed old gentleman who muttered and fumbled peevishly at his food or quite forgot to eat at all until she coaxed him. she always smiled at dinner; one should smile at dinner even though one feels very, very sad. and after dinner one must make an attempt to give a querulous old man his game of chess. and let his cold lips caress one's hand when bele comes to put him to bed. but after that, especially if it was spring, she would wander restlessly in her garden or pace back and forth in her high ceilinged bed chamber. and sometimes she would kneel beside her window and murmur a little prayer--she didn't know it was a prayer, it was just a scrap of something she remembered-- "'i can't get out--i can't get out!' cried the starling," which isn't in any prayer book of course, save the prayer book of a woman's imprisoned heart. she was in the kitchen garden one morning just beside the gatehouse showing bele for the thousandth time how to trench the peas without burying them, when a crumpled old man in a rough cap with a basket under his arm, limped through the gate. "i want to see major trenton--" he said firmly. felicia turned. no one ever came to see the major any more. not even certain legal matters since the time of the major's fall. felicia had signed many papers at his last visit some three years before and since then no one had bothered the major. "you'll have to see me," answered felicia, coolly, "bele, not--so-- deep! you're smothering them--what is your business?" the man took off his cap, he put down his basket and knelt to open it and out popped the littlest, drollest fluff of a spaniel that ever frisked. "oh, oh!" cried felicia softly and dropped to her knees. "oh, oh, it's a little babiche! oh zeb! zeb! to think i didn't see who you were--" and they walked across the paved door-yard with the tears in their eyes and felicia took him in to margot and brought him soup and fed the wee doggie and fluttered about like a wild young thing instead of a sedate person of twenty-seven. "i want to ask you a thousand million things! i want to ask marthy a thousand million things--" zeb closed his eyes and shook his head. felicia patted his shoulder. "has she gone away, like maman?" she asked softly. "i know how hard it is when folks go away, zeb." "but that's not the matter o' my comin'--" zeb pushed his bowl away and stood respectfully, "that matter o' my comin' was as i must see the major. on your going away, miss felicia, he promised me rent free for my lifetime and he gave me all the breedin' stock they was and left me the business for what i could make, so's to speak. which isn't what it were, with new-fangled big dogs getting in style now. and with marthy gone and all. but now with mr. burrel skipped out like he did, things is awful--just awful--and it seemed like i'd got to tell the major--" margot pulled out a chair for felicia. "sit down, cherie," she murmured, "margot will get it out--have you seen mr. burrel?" she questioned eagerly, "we've no sign of him this long time--" "he's skipped out--" repeated zeb dully, "things is awful--come last thursday they pasted 'auction, april for unpaid taxes' over everything. so's when i was packing my things i come on some writing miss octavia left marthy. as to how to get here, and i come." he was weary and spent with his journey; he was stupider than ever, poor old zeb. not even the round faced doctor, whom margot and felicia called for advice, could learn anything more from his disconnected story, save that there were "heathen, dirty filthy heathen" living in the old house. felicia cuddled the new babiche thoughtfully. "do you think," she asked, "that the major would miss me, doctor, if i went away a little while to find out about these things?" the doctor shook his head. "he wouldn't," he answered, "but, miss day, you couldn't go!" she smiled. "couldn't i just!" she breathed. she was quite calm about the details. her perfect poise awed both margot and the doctor into thinking her quite capable. "zeb could stay here with margot, the doctor could take me to the station, zeb says he didn't come on a boat, just a train. and you know, margot, when i get to brooklyn, i'll go right to temple bar. there was a man, as i told you, another lawyer. when i was young he told me to go to him if anything happened. maman had him come. he will know what to do." nothing they could say would dissuade her. the touch of imperiousness with which she silenced their objections made the blundering well- meaning doctor want to shake her. he waited impatiently while margot made felicia ready for the hasty journey. he saw nothing absurd about the slender figure that came down the stairway toward him wrapped in the very same traveling coat in which she had first journeyed to the house in the woods. she was wearing one of louisa's ugliest bonnets with the strings tied primly under her chin and she was fearfully pale. the major was sitting by his fire, dozing gently. he did not notice her at all. he roused himself for the doctor's perfunctorily cheerful farewell. it was then that he noted felicia's coat and bonnet. "what are you pretending?" he asked. "i'm pretending i'm going on a journey," she answered cheerfully. "don't you think i look like going on a journey, grandy?" "i think you look very charming, my dear," he murmured automatically, his thin hand on the top of his cane. he shivered slightly. "but i forbid you to go to paris--bad business--it's a bad business, louisa!" at the gateway, just as the doctor was clucking briskly to his horse, felicia put out her hand and stopped him. zeb and margot and bele stood respectfully beside the gatehouse, respectfully but very troubled. "it's silly," faltered felicia, "but i think--i--can't go alone--zeb, you bring me my new babiche, i can carry her under my arm." zeb handed the dog up proudly, patting her professionally. he scratched his head perplexedly as he stepped back from the wheel. "hey, wait!" he addressed the doctor as he started a second time. he fumbled in an inner pocket of his rough coat. "i was forgetting, miss felicia, a matter of a letter for you i found in marthy's things--she sent it off at you this long time ago but it came back at her--" he handed it up, thin, much creased and much bestamped and postmarked. miss f. day new york. or return to m. z. smather montrose lane, brooklyn, n. y. pretend you were the doctor if you like, the tired country doctor, mildly sorry for the little old maid granddaughter of your apoplectic patient--that queer patient who lives in that stone mansion some of those french refugees built over there across the pine plains. that's an easy enough thing to pretend, but a tiresome enough thing, too, for then you'll have to make believe you're urging your tired horse over those heavy roads to the railway station so you can get the old maid there in time for her train. she's quiet enough, in her seedy bonnet and shabby coat, a nice sensible body usually, only very self-willed. you know perfectly well she's going off on a wild goose chase and that she shouldn't be taking that fool puppy with her. _but oh, i hope you're good at pretending!_ for then you can pretend you're felicia day! felicia day sitting in a lumbering local train, quite unmindful of the atrocious rocking roadbed or the blurred spring forests that whirl past your smoke-glazed window; quite oblivious of all the terrors and discomforts of journeys past or journeys still to come! for then you can pretend that you've just slowly pulled away the envelope that was so useless because of poor old marthy's undecipherable handwriting and that you've kissed the inner wrapping that reads "please send this to miss trenton (if that's her name). at once." and then--oh then, you can pretend you are reading the first letter you ever had in all this world and that it says, dear felice: you see i've found out your first name even if i'm not sure of the rest. anyhow i know major trenton is your grandfather. he wouldn't let me see you this morning when i went to your house and this afternoon you'd gone away. the old woman says you've gone to a house in the woods. please, please tell me you'll let me come to see you. please tell me where it is. she doesn't seem to know exactly. the doctor says your foot will be all right but, oh, i can't forgive myself that i let you fall. i wish i had never, never let go of you at all-- oh, girl, please write in a hurry where you are. i want to tell you so many things. i want to ask you a lot of things. you can send a letter to my house, it's columbia heights, brooklyn. i know you know my name because you called it when you were falling. it was so wonderful to have you know my name-- oh, felice, please write me very soon. i can't wait until i get your letter. _your_ dudley hamilt. chapter iii lost dreams perhaps you remember the fat boy who teased little felice through the gate of the rectory yard. he didn't grow up like the rest of the choir boys, he merely expanded until he was a droll larger edition of his small tubby self; perhaps you've heard him singing at st. patrick's and smiled at the bland and childlike face from which his beautiful big round baritone pours forth--he surely can sing! and eat! it's really rather fun to go to the brevoort with him and watch his pleasingly plump wife remonstrate while he orders luncheon. "oh tomothy tom!" she groaned one showery april day, "those are all starchy, sweety, fatty things! don't order another food! or i'll want to eat them too, i shouldn't have another ounce, i shouldn't!" "not if you're going to take that jump over the fence in the second act," said graemer who was lunching with them. he was her manager, edwina ely was a much better known person than her fat husband. and a good bit older, too, if you must know it, though of course she did not look so with her almost too blonde hair coiffed elaborately under the wicked wings of her impertinent toque and her pleasure-loving chin nestled in her white furs. "i hate for us to eat here, the food's so good," she murmured with the same plaintive note that makes the audience weep at the end of the third act of "the juggler." "but i had a very special reason for wanting to come here," graemer explained. he had to be a bit wary of the starchy things too, though he still had a figure in spite of his weight. he was complacently vain of his prematurely gray hair, his fresh youthful skin and his dark eyes. he reminded one somehow of a husky widow, he was so feminine in spite of his size. he looked leisurely enough for a busy man. you wondered how he had time to manage so many player folk, write so many plays and yet dawdle over his luncheon as he did. he leaned forward to ask edwina's husband something. the fat man laughed uneasily. "well, he does usually lunch here," he admitted, "and i did use to know him rather well, but i'm not exactly the person to introduce you if you want anything from him--he's not overly fond of me--" "i understood from edwina that you were boyhood friends." the fat man smiled and deliberately and delicately chucked his wife under her rosy little chin. "tattle-tale!" he taunted her. "you were!" she persisted, "you know you were!" "if you ever were," said graemer earnestly, "permit me to suggest that you renew your youth. what i want him for is partly on edwina's account. "the juggler" isn't going as well as it ought to--i haven't anything new in sight for her and i'd like to keep this going until i have. what we need is a press agent like dudley hamilt." "he's not a press agent--" gasped the fat man. "he's the prince of press agents," answered graemer easily, "he gets more publicity, favorable publicity, for anything he touches than any one i've ever watched work. look what he did for the coal interests-- and look at that work of his in last fall's campaign--" "but that was politics--" protested the fat man. "he wouldn't call that being a press agent and i doubt if you could interest him in anything theatrical." "i can if i can get at him. some one's bound to if i don't. it isn't only for 'the juggler' that i want him, it's for all my things--what i'm going to offer him is something big--about the biggest end of the game--but i don't want to seem to go to him so i thought that if there was some casual way--if you should ask him to lunch with us--" "he probably wouldn't--of course he might--" the baritone ruminated, "our fuss was a long time ago." he settled himself comfortably, he dearly loved to gossip. "he's a queer chap, dud is. always was. we used to sing in the same boy choir when we were kids. little church over in brooklyn. he was an angel terror, regulation boy sopran'. into everything. nearly drove the old choir master to drink. was always being expelled. our families both belonged to the church so brownly always took us back after a row blew over. and carried us along while our voices were changing. when i first began doing baritone dudley was singing all the tenor solos, had a peach of a voice, but he never did anything with it afterwards." "after what?" asked edwina irritably. her husband chuckled. "wait, i'm telling you. it's a long story and a funny one even if the joke is on me. you see dud had a sweetheart on the other side of the rectory wall. he was everlastingly edging toward it, tossing things around to attract her attention and showing off generally. funny little girl. i didn't think she looked like much when we used to see her first but gee, she certainly did come along when she got older! grew into a young peach! dud just hung around silently worshipping, pretending all the time he didn't know there was anybody picking posies in the garden. i didn't know that she'd so much as noticed him until one night in the spring when we were rehearsing for a special oratorio. some night!" the fat man sighed reminiscently. "all to the romeo and juliet! choir forming on the outside, old brownly having a tempermental fit as usual and dud and i stationed over by the wall ready to split our epiglottises; on our marks, set all ready to go when dud tosses up his cap, just as he used to when he was a little shaver and bing! cap lands on top of the wall. so up clambers dud--" the raconteur smiled, "and i hope i may never see anything so pretty pulled off as what happened next! that girl's head over the top of the gate! big dreamy eyes shining in the moonlight, hair parted, big comb tucked in, lace dewdaddles around her shoulders! and dud had been languishing about her since he was twelve! first and only love! in about one minute three seconds he had disappeared over said gate. it was no place for a fat boy. besides old brownly was fairly roaring from the chancel door, so i trotted along like a good child and left dud to his philandering. brownly nearly had apoplexy getting along without his pet tenor. after rehearsal i made a try for dud, chirruped under that blooming wall for about half an hour until an old gentleman came out and requested me--er--more than requested me to go away. "old major trenton. ever hear of him? civil war hero. the fellow who raised all that rumpus about chaps taking pensions if they'd wits enough to earn their salt. he wouldn't touch one. seems he'd gone to war after having a row with his wife, she'd lit out for paris just before war was declared. died over there leaving an infant daughter that he had his own troubles getting away from some of her mother's french relations. i used to hear my grandmother tell about the trenton case by the hour. there was some kind of a queer will, something about the mother's money going to female descendants and a lot of talk about a bunch of property the dying wife had mysteriously acquired in france. the old major only had one arm left after the war was over but he fought a duel with a chap who insinuated that his wandering wife wasn't all she might have been. by the time he'd got things settled he was the finest old grouch you'd meet in a lifetime. had the recluse business down to a fine point. summers he used to go off to the wilds of canada or the adirondacks or somewhere that his wife's will had specified their daughter must live and winters he used to lock the girl up in that mansion next to our church. wouldn't touch a penny of his daughter's funds, actually paid rent to her, my grandmother said. made his living raising dogs, lap-dogs, in an old stable back of the church. they were all the style. the fair customers used to hope always that they were going to see the fascinating recluse widower. but they never did. the only time he ever came to the surface that the public knew about was the morning after the daughter eloped with the rector's son. grandmother says the major smashed up a couple of reporters the _hawk_ sent over to interview him but he did tell 'em what he thought on the woman question. nobody had the nerve to go near him for quite a while. not for a couple of years or so. and then somebody found the daughter starving in an attic. the rector's son had been a nice enough chap but he hadn't enough grit to earn his living and the girl, though she wasn't so young, couldn't touch her property without the major's consent and as she was as stiff-necked as he, she hadn't made any effort at getting that consent. the rector's son had died of pneumonia and their baby was just recovering from it and the girl herself never did get over the strain. somebody carried her home to die, which it seems she took some years doing. dud's sweetheart the other side of the rectory wall was her daughter. the major had lost a wife and a daughter and he evidently had made up his mind he wasn't going to let the last generation slip away. so you can just about guess how popular dudley hamilt was when he broke into the major's back yard. "the old soldier didn't take a chance. he abso-bally-lutely disappeared the next day. took the girl with him, of course. dud went around like a wild man. he was twenty-one that spring, tall as he is now and had about seven times as much pep as he has now, if you can imagine that much. evangeline looking for gabriel was a paper chase compared to dudley trying to find his lady-love. he spent months at it. got haggard and wan, had a couple of fights with burrel, a lawyer who was the only person who knew where major trenton had gone. funny thing, it was that same burrel who absconded with the american trust company's stuff two or three years ago. trenton must certainly have made it worth the lawyer's while not to tell--for that lawyer was as crooked as a corkscrew and yet dud couldn't bribe him with everything he could muster--which was quite some, for in those days the hamilt family had scads of money. "i made a sort of break one night--" the fat man felt of his neck ruefully. "tried to joke with dud a little, it was a year or so afterward and i thought he'd gotten over things--but--er--he hadn't. he--" he paused and blushed. "that's he though, coming through the door," he ended. "want me to try for him?" it was the fair edwina who dared however. she lifted her head charmingly and beckoned. "don't ball things up, tommy," she murmured under her breath, "leave it to us--get out if you see he's still miffed with you--please come over here, mr. hamilt," she called softly. "i want you to meet mr. graemer." he looked as blonde as she, almost, ruddy, lithe, but somehow old. he did not smile at her greeting, he merely nodded. she gestured again, so imperiously that he obeyed, but with scant courtesy, and he did not look at all overjoyed at meeting the illustrious mr. graemer. he sat down however, ordered his luncheon and listened gravely enough to edwina's chatter. "have you seen me in 'the juggler'? aren't you willing to say i can act now? he never would--" she turned to graemer. "he always said i couldn't--but, don't you think i do in 'the juggler'?" she entreated hamilt. "it's an actress-proof part, isn't it?" he bantered, watching her lazily. "brute!" she pouted. "perhaps he is complimenting me," teased graemer. "not at all," promptly answered the rude mr. hamilt. "you've all but ruined the play with your everlasting managing. it's a peach up to the last act. until you chuck that maudlin bunch of slush and scenery at us. where did you get that play, anyhow?" he asked insolently. "why, he wrote it last summer," protested edwina. "yes?" his uplifted eyebrows were insulting as he glanced quizzically at graemer. "then he was about twenty-five years younger last summer than he is now. the first two acts of that play--gad, it got me up till then, but the rest of it--" he broke a bit off a crusty roll and buttered it carefully, "i can readily believe, mr. graemer," he added deliberately, "that you did write the rest of the play." "you have to give the public what it wants," suggested graemer blandly. "no, you don't," said dudley hamilt. "you have to make the public want what it's going to get--or what it needs." "which is exactly what i wanted to see you about," drawled the manager significantly. hamilt shrugged. "if i ever did get into the theatrical game," he answered rather more good-humoredly than he had yet spoken, "i wouldn't insult the public by a perpetual bluff that they were getting something new. i wouldn't keep handing out things that assumed the public all had salacious minds or else no minds at all. i don't mean that i'd go in for uplift stuff--that isn't what the theater is for--it's to amuse--to thrill-- to wake up our emotions--it's to _play_--but as you chaps who control the thing have it going now it's so damnably mechanical there's no sense of play left in it. why don't you find something that admits the audience has an imagination?" "as for instance?" graemer put in adroitly. "i don't know--" hamilt sighed, "i haven't the least idea what. only it ought to be something that everybody is unconsciously hankering for--something that we miss all the while--something we lack in this machine-age. something that will come across the footlights by itself instead of having to have the spotlight show it to us, something that would make us feel the way we did when we were kids--i guess it's romance--and perhaps the spirit of it is gone--" graemer smiled. he nodded to edwina. then he drew a long breath and put his case bluntly. "i came in here rather deliberately, mr. hamilt, because i've been wanting to have a talk with you for a long time. it isn't only about 'the juggler' that i wanted to talk with you but about all of my productions. there are so many of them and i am so busy with them that there are a lot of angles of the game that i do not have time to touch. the thing i need is what you have aptly described--some one who will make the public want what it's going to get. some one who will make it think it's going to get what it wants. the kind of thing you did last fall in politics--making the whole thing seem something any regular fellow must find out about and something he'd have a lot of fun finding out. it's struck me all the while you were pulling your strings that that sort of work about the stage would wake up the theater-goer the same way you waked up the voter." "it might," agreed mr. hamilt cautiously. "there might be ways--if you had something to back your statements that the game was worth while--i mean to the theater-goer--" "well, wouldn't you be willing to think it over and have another talk with me? i don't mean immediately and i do mean on a big scale. i'm sure you understand that--" hamilt motioned for the waiter, coolly insisted on paying his own check and rose. "what you suggest is rather interesting," was all the answer he vouchsafed, "i might." but after he'd gone graemer looked after him and laughed. "middle name is cynic--but he's pretty young yet." "and the best looking thing," sighed edwina pulling on her gloves, bored with her long silence. graemer was thoughtful. "he's given me an idea," he announced suddenly. "or perhaps it was tom's gossip about him. how'd you like to do an ingenue part like that missing lady affair--start with your head over a garden wall--call it 'the heart of a boy,' say--fill it up with this stuff hamilt calls youth--" tommie absorbed his last pastry. "i've just remembered the girl's name," he announced, wiping a crumb from his moist lips. "it was felicia something or other--sort of sad, wasn't it?" "maybe it would have been sadder if she'd married him," suggested edwina ironically. "he is a grouch, you can't get around that." and the grouch, striding briskly up the avenue, was trying to be fair. "poor old tommie!" he thought ruefully, "i don't know why i should go on hating him because he will blab--it's the nature o' the beast--that stupid little much-divorced animal that married him--" he glared at two innocent young shoppers who were passing, "gad, women are such sophisticated cows nowadays--" spring always made him wretched, spring always made him fretful, spring always sent him off for the woods somewhere, any woods so long as it was woods. he pondered over whether he could get away friday or would have to wait till saturday morning, and eventually decided on saturday, consulting a memorandum book scowlingly as he did so, jotting down appointments. he noted that he would have to be in his office at five o'clock on friday. somebody or other was going to telephone him about something. which made him reflect irritably that of all the mechanical devices of a mechanical age the thing he hated most of all was a telephone! he could scarcely endure the stupid way everybody shrieked "hello!" through it. he wished morosely that he could take a week-end trip without any luggage whatever because he always had a row about his luggage. he wished there was some system whereby one needn't always lose half one's luggage. felicia could have told him! infrequent traveler that she was she had been properly educated on that point. however much she may have yawned, at the tender age of ten, over a certain dissertation on the etiquette of travel, given one summer afternoon by mademoiselle d'ormy, felicia aged twenty-seven, embarked upon her first journey alone, found herself musing with mighty comfort upon the charming definiteness of those never-to-be-forgotten axioms. for mademoiselle had made the small felicia recite them over and over until she was letter perfect. "on a journey the traveler should enumerate all the traveling equipment in fives to avoid the confusion caused by losing one's belongings. count upon the fingers what one has possessed upon starting." all unconscious of the amused glances of her fellow passengers, felicia day, in her absurd bonnet and antiquated traveling coat sat primly in the pullman section that the doctor's thoughtfulness had provided for her and counted her "five" just before her train reached new york. she smiled as she counted, a whimsical smile-- item one. a letter! a beautiful letter, reposing next her heart under the stiff bodice of a frock that had once belonged to josepha, mother- in-law of major trenton. item two. one fluffy, sleepy blenheim spaniel hidden in the capacious sleeve of a coat that had been octavia's. item three. a long and narrow knitted reticule, once carried by louisa, wife of major trenton, now containing bills and coins placed there by margot, said reticule held firmly, as margot had directed, with the center twisted firmly around felicia's left wrist. item four. one russet leather traveling bag once used by major trenton, now containing modest rolls of ancient lingerie, octavia's massive silver brushes and combs, a faded india dressing-gown belonging to whom even margot couldn't remember, on top of which was tucked a flat wicker basket containing small cakes and sandwiches wrapped neatly in a napkin and weighted over all these contents, where felicia herself had placed it when margot wasn't looking--the theory and practise of gardening! "perhaps the wistaria will have to be pruned--perhaps the ivy around the fountain will need trimming--maybe the narcissi will need thinning out when they're through blossoming--i'm stupid about narcissi. i've been living so long where there weren't any--" her thoughts had raced longingly toward the back yard of her childhood while margot had been packing the bag. item five. "myself," decided felicia nodding, "i must be careful not to lose myself." which, droll as it seemed when she enumerated, proved to be the most difficult item to remember. "_likewise on a journey especially of a business nature, one should keep clearly in mind the exact order of destination, choosing the most urgent first._" destination first. "temple bar" where one may find the portia person who long ago promised to help should one ever be "in trouble." destination second. the address at the bottom of a grimy handbill that announced "to be sold at auction for unpaid taxes--by the order of j. k. harlow, justice of the--" destination _really_! eighteen columbia heights! "first," felicia at least began her thinking clearly, "i shall go to see the judge and i shall say 'don't sell grandy's house because certain legal matters hasn't attended to things. just wait. i know another lawyer, he's in temple bar. he will attend to everything.' oh no! first i'll go find the portia person and while he is attending to everything i will send a letter to dudley hamilt's house--then i will go to grandy's house and wait for dudley hamilt to come--oh! oh! babiche--i can't arrange things clearly in mind, i can't no matter how i try! only i must--" so over and over to the roar of the train she tried to drill herself. "first the portia person--then the judge--" it was nine o'clock in the morning when, tired and bewildered, she emerged from the subway at borough hall, brooklyn. the little hand, that "had never spread itself over a doorknob or a fire-iron or any clumsy thing" struggled valiantly with the russet bag; the new babiche, cramped and shaken from her day and night of travel, poked her snubby nose from under the traveling coat and sniffed and squeakingly yawned. louisa's bonnet had worked itself askew, the sharp wind from the river was flapping the heavy clothing about her slender ankles and displaying the outlandish old "congress gaiter" shoes. a distressed and ridiculous figure, she stood and shuddered at the roar of the elevated above her and the jangle of the surface cars that clattered past her and trembled at the disconcerting honk of the motors that barely escaped crushing her. officer brennan, pompously regulating the congested traffic watched the grotesque person on the curbstone and chuckled. "for the love of hivin," he thought, "thim movie actors will dress like annything for the money--" and glanced about automatically to see the camera man. but something in the terror of the little woman's glance flashed over the crowded crossing to his warm irish heart, "hullo, she's no acterine!" he ploughed through the river of travel and caught at her arm and felt her slight weight sag against him. "annybody as turned her loose--" he continued his soliloquy after he'd jollied a newsboy into escorting her across to the temple bar building, "ought to be sent up--" he vented his disgust at the "annybody" on a daring chauffeur and watched until the newsboy came panting back to his stand to nod a triumphant grinning affirmative "'nd her head up in the air like a queen--" he held his own head regally to signal the cross-town traffic, "queer lot!" and forgot her. it was noon when she came back to him, looking older and queerer and whiter faced than ever. temple bar is a large office building and felicia day had tramped courageously from floor to floor, from office to office, persistently seeking the portia person. she had been laughed at, had been almost insulted, had been treated with deference and treated with indifference; she had talked with scores and scores of lawyers, looking searchingly into their faces, asking her question firmly and sweetly. she had asked it of busy lawyers, lazy lawyers, suave lawyers, thin lawyers, fat lawyers, rude lawyers, young lawyers, old lawyers; she had talked to dozens of clerks and stenographers, appealed to elevator men, janitors, scrub women, any one who would listen--she wanted to find the portia person, he had curly hair and he was quite tall and he had had a client whose name was octavia, who was pretty and ill and who had given him some papers sixteen years ago. he had talked with mademoiselle d'ormy, in a house in montrose place. of this business that she had for him the little woman was extraordinarily canny, it was no one's affair save hers and the portia person's. the patient girl at the news stand in the main hallway looked up and down a list of tenants, checking them off with an over-manicured finger as she tried to suggest. she had taken charge of felicia's bag, had offered to keep babiche. her good humor shone in a dreary morning. felicia began to have faith in her. "if i was you," said the girl, "i'd go get myself a bite to eat. it's noon, everybody's going out--don't you see?" felicia saw, she saw also that the patient newsstand girl was tired. "do you go to get yourself 'a bite'?" she asked curiously. "not till two o'clock," sighed the girl. "i wish," decided felicia whimsically, "that margot had cooked _de_-licious foods for us--broiled chicken and baked potatoes and a caramel custard and that we could go and sit by the bowling green and have bele bring our lunch out on the little folding table--for you have been most kind to me--" the girl stared after her in amazement. "well, i'll be darned!" she announced frankly to the elevator starter, "that woman is the limit! she's certainly got me guessing! one minute she seems as intelligent as anybody--only she can't remember the name of the man she's looking for--but gee, i forget names myself--and the next minute she's asking me to lunch on bowling green, as pleasant as you please! can you beat it? and i can't for the life of me make out whether she's young or old--her voice's dandy and young. honest, i like to hear her talk, she talks so comical--but don't she look like the last rose of summer, now don't she?" the elevator starter agreed that she did and whistled "she may have seen better days" till the news-stand girl giggled and told him he was "too comical" but they both of them commented about her when she did not return. "she may be a nut," admitted the girl, "but she's kinda got me going. gee i'd like to find the lawyer for her just to find out was she dorothy arnold come back--or somebody like that." it was officer brennan who had dissuaded her from her attempt to find the portia person. he had spied her, standing undecided outside the office building and hailed her as he was about to go off his beat. "did you find what you were looking for?" his sureness of manner and his uniform impressed her. "i couldn't find the man i wanted," she confided, "so i think i'll just have to see the judge person, myself, wouldn't you?" he cogitated. did she know what judge she wanted to see? she unfolded the grimy hand bill, the "to be sold for unpaid taxes" that zeb had brought to her. he read it slowly till he came to the "order of justice harlow" at the bottom. "that's an easy one," he cheered her, "i'll take you over there right now and put you next to a fellow who works there. he'll slip you through to his honor himself and you can tell him your troubles." but in spite of being "slipped through" there was a deal of waiting, sometimes in anterooms, sometimes in corridors, a deal of answering the questions of not overly intelligent clerks, and late afternoon found her sitting primly cuddling her restless doggie, waiting for some one to bring the tax records. she was a little tireder, a little hungrier, a little less sure of herself than when the friendly news girl had advised her to "get a bite." she was keeping her courage high by thinking over and over to herself, "after i see the judge then i'll go to dudley hamilt." it had not occurred to her that this busy place was a court room. it had no stately panelled walls like those that had been painted in the background of the portrait of grandy's father. nor did she understand when she was at last ushered into the justice's presence that he was the man she had been waiting to see. he did not wear a white curly wig and he did not wear a black satin gown the way grandy's father had. nor were there any scrolls of vellum with fat beribboned seals in this judge's hands. instead, alert slender fingers riffled their way rapidly through a mass of papers that a clerk put before him. felicia watched the fingers until the close cropped head was lifted and keen gray eyes glanced straight through hers. the abrupt phrase with which he had intended to dismiss her died. he stared at her curiously. he noted the traveling bag at her feet, the absurd old coat and bonnet, the dark circles under her beseeching eyes-- "she looked," as he explained afterward, "like a daguerreotype--old and youthful all at once, faded yet shining--most extraordinary little person--" "you are the felicia day mentioned here?" he asked gravely tapping the papers. felicia tried to smile. she managed it so far as her eyes were concerned but her lips were too tired. she nodded. "and have you any other lawyer than mr. burrel--the lawyer who has disappeared?" she nodded again. she spoke to him for the first time, her low contralto, her clear enunciation, her perfect poise of manner, startled him even more than the childlike simplicity--almost absurdity--of her words. "there's the portia person in temple bar." "a woman lawyer?" he was very patient with her. "no, he's a man. i only thought he was a woman when i was little. i can't quite think of his name but he is in temple bar and he came to see maman and he told me if there was trouble to come to him--i've looked and looked, but i can't find him today." "i see--" the justice looked out of the window thoughtfully, "but in the meantime, while you're finding him, don't you think you'd better have some other lawyer? is there some other one you know about?" "maman only had that one." it was going to be harder than he thought to make her understand. but somehow or other he did it, talking slowly and very gently as though he were talking to a child. "i'm sorrier than i can tell that you are having this trouble. this house in montrose place, miss day, has been your own property since you were eighteen years of age. it was formerly the property of your mother--" he consulted the papers, "octavia trenton day. this mr. burrel who had charge of your property has paid neither the taxes on it, nor the interest on some mortgages that he arranged on it, for about seven years back. can you understand that? and the house has been rented in the meantime to a great many families, it is technically a tenement house. the present trouble is not only about these unpaid taxes and the unpaid interest, but you have violated the tenement house laws. you have not installed proper fire escapes or plumbing, you have not answered any of the notices that have been sent you. this court had to fix an arbitrary fine--which you have not paid." "i nevaire do pay things," answered felicia, greatly bewildered, "you see mademoiselle d'ormy did not teach me much about money and margot only knows a little about money. grandy paid for things until he fell and now margot pays for them. but you see margot gets our money from mr. burrel, he has all of our money so i just think--" she ended with a businesslike decision, "you will have to get all that money for the taxes and other things that i owe from the money that he has." "but that is what i have been trying to explain. this mr. burrel has been missing for over three years. this margot you speak of must have had some other way of getting funds for you." "margot hasn't vairee much," felicia told him, "i can't ask her for anything more. i think mr. judge, you'll just have to take my house." he answered this seemingly absurd suggestion with deliberation. "these papers show," he explained, "that mr. burrel offered your equity in the house to the holder of the mortgage some six months or so before burrel himself disappeared. but the value of the property in montrose place has depreciated to such an extent and the unpaid taxes have piled up so alarmingly that the mortgager refused to agree to that. the only way i can see just now to help you at all is to arrange for a stay of thirty days in this matter of the proceedings against you for the violation of the tenement house law together with a thirty day injunction preventing the sale of the house for unpaid taxes. that will give you thirty days to arrange to pay that fine--which i have made as light as possible but which amounts to fifty dollars." "and the rest of it?" asked felicia coolly. he consulted the papers. "is eighteen thousand eight hundred and forty-two dollars and seventy- eight cents." she pulled open the strings of louisa's beaded purse, she let the money and bills therein slide into a heap on the desk between them. she frowned at it. "that's all there is now," she remarked, almost cheerfully, "except some that margot had to keep for buying sugar and flour and things in the village--" she was so calm that he knew she was utterly unaware of the enormity of the amount. "if i am going to have thirty days more," she concluded, "i'm quite sure i can get the rest for you, i'll find the portia person, i know, evaire so many lawyers weren't in temple bar today. he might be there tomorrow, you know." she nodded confidently. "but that's all i can give you now. you've been vairee good to try to make me understand. i'm rather stupid about it because mademoiselle did not teach me those things. and maman arranged for the portia person to attend to it." she rose, she cuddled her dog under her arm and stooped for her bag. he gestured for her to put the bag down, he scooped her small pile of bills and silver into his hand and reached for her reticule and tucked the money in slowly. "my dear miss day," he stammered, "if you do not find this--er-- lawyer, you mention, a lawyer will be assigned by the court to attend to things, and you would have to make your payments through him. in the meantime--" he put the purse in her hand. "i am more sorry than i can tell you that i have had to fix this fine--it is purely arbitrary --i am very sorry--" "of course you would be," said felicia slowly, her clear eyes looking at him without malice and without scorn. "you must be sorry a great deal of the time, aren't you? you couldn't be really happy making so many people unhappy as i've watched go to talk with you today--they looked vairee unhappy." the gentle unfairness of her rebuke was most disconcerting. "perhaps i make some of them happy," he protested. she shook her head. "i didn't see a happy one," she answered simply. an odd feeling that he wanted her to think well of him worried him. why he should have cared what this bedraggled, bankrupt little creature thought he did not fathom, perhaps it was just that she looked so helpless and so old that his heart smote him. awkward as a boy he stared out through the bedrizzled windowpane into the spring rain. "i hope you won't think i'm impertinent," he suggested suddenly, "but i believe you said you arrived from out of town this morning and came directly here. have you some friend to whom you are going?" from beneath louisa's ridiculous old bonnet her hair scraggled untidily, her pallor accentuated the dark circles under her drooping eyelids. yet when she looked up at him, the glory in those tired eyes surprised him. "i'm going,"--oh, how she wanted to say "to dudley hamilt"! it took all her reserve to finish her sentence calmly! "to eighteen columbia heights." "that's not far," he felt an inexpressible relief that she had somewhere to go, "i'm not quite ready to go home myself, but my car is waiting for me. suppose we have one of these boys take your bag down for you and that you let my chauffeur drive you to columbia heights while he is waiting for me--i should be very glad if you would--" she did not answer him until he opened the door for her. when she looked up at him he was fairly startled by her wide ingenuous smile. "i was just pretending," she said clearly, "that i had my ox-cart so that i wouldn't have to walk to find columbia heights--i was just thinking how delightful it would be if i did for i'm afraid--as afraid as margot is of a bat--of all of the things in the street--you are indeed kind--" ah, the stilted phrases with which mademoiselle had instructed her so many years ago!--"to suggest a drive for me--" he went back to his papers positively chuckling. "she's refreshingly different," he thought. "refreshingly different." but he sighed as he handed the papers to the clerk. the whole case seemed a hopeless tangle. and now that she was gone felicia herself seemed absolutely unreal. he rubbed his eyes and plunged into the next thing. but felicia, resting comfortably on the wide seat of the judge's car shut her tired eyes and let her head sink against the cushions. her heart was racing faster than this swiftly moving motor, she felt as though she could not breathe. they came to a slow halt before a pile of bricks and mortar. above them loomed a huge unfinished apartment house, from which were tramping forth the home-going laborers. the smell of the wet lime as they tracked across the rather narrow street was over-powering. the chauffeur opened the door and spoke to her respectfully. "there must be some mistake in your address, madam, this is eighteen columbia heights." she was overwhelmed, she could think nothing whatever to say to him. he came to the rescue himself with a quiet, "perhaps if you have the name of the person you wanted to see--" "it's dudley hamilt." there was a drug store on the opposite corner. he disappeared within its door and it was several minutes before he came back. this time he had a definite word. "the druggist says that the hamilt house stood where this apartment is being built, madam. he says he understands that the elder mr. hamilt is dead but that the younger one has an office somewhere in manhattan. perhaps you could speak with him on the telephone--" speak with him! her face glowed with sudden color. "how nice of you!" she rose obediently to follow him, putting babiche carefully on the cushioned seat. "will you tell the druggist that i'd like to?" the man helped her respectfully through the doorway, he was thinking as had his employer and as officer brennan had, that this odd little woman shouldn't have to go around alone, and yet, it was puzzling, she didn't seem to mind doing it. he obligingly found the telephone number, turned and asked her if she would like him to call mr. hamilt's office for her. the telephone was screwed to a small table near the door. felicia waited, her heart throbbing. beside her at the marble counter two giggling young things ordered soda water from a white-coated clerk. they were garbed in the triggest and gayest of spring clothing, they were as impeccably immaculate as the smiling ladies on the perfume bottles in the window. back of the telephone was a long mirror that reflected their pretty smartness and felicia's impossible dowdiness. but felicia did not see anything at all save the round black hole through which she was to speak to dudley hamilt. she was awed by it as she had been surprised by everything in this amazing day. she watched closely the way the man held the receiver; not for worlds would she have admitted her ignorance. she took the receiver, she sat down quietly, she drew a long breath. the chauffeur was already disappearing through the door, the drug clerk was joking with his giggling young patrons. suddenly her rapturous ear caught dudley hamilt's resonant voice speaking, "who is it?" he demanded impatiently. her low sweet laughter purred over the wires to him. "can't you remember?" she asked quietly. "i am felice.--yes, i _am_ felice. i have been trying to find your house, dudley hamilt, but it's gone, they are building a vairee big house there. i didn't have your letter, that letter that you sent me. not till zeb brought it to me day before yesterday. that was why i didn't write to you where i was." "where are you now?" the excitement in his voice frightened her. "tell me, where are you?" the giggling back of her grew so insistent that it broke in upon even the solitude of her wonderous moment. she raised her eyes to the mirror before her. she caught a swift glimpse of laughing faces, the impishness of their mischievous eyes made her shiver. she instinctively glanced into the looking glass to see where their gaze rested. and looked straight at--herself! at louisa's ugly bonnet, at the damp and shapeless shoulders of the gray coat, at her own pallor, at the deep shadows under her tired eyes, into her own eyes, and saw the whole drab mirrored ghost of the woman who had been the young felicia. and through the telephone rang dudley hamilt's eager voice, as eager as it had been that night when he clambered over the gate. "tell me quickly where you are--i must see you--oh, your voice sounds as though i'd not lost you at all--" he laughed nervously like an embarrassed boy, "i want to see you--" he repeated inadequately. she thought quickly, she could think of only one thing and that was that dudley hamilt must not see her. "let's pretend," she interrupted him, her low contralto voice trembling, "let's pretend that i'm somewhere you can't see me--i only wanted--to tell you that i had your letter. i wanted you to know how happy it made me to have it. dudley hamilt--" the receiver dropped from her hand; somewhere back of her the giggling grew fainter and farther away. she shook her head weakly when the drug clerk hurried with a glass of water. she was swaying, dimly conscious of the awe in the face of the girl who was hastening toward her. "oh, she looks awfully ill--" she heard a dismayed voice. "i'm not ill--" her proud chin lifted. she was pulling herself together again, she even managed to stand by holding one hand on the edge of the table. the whirling blackness of the moment had passed. even while the clerk was hastily calling back the judge's chauffeur, the drooping little figure had straightened itself. "i think the lady was kinda faint," mumbled the clerk, mechanically replacing the dangling receiver. "she's o.k. now--ain't you?" "did you find where you wanted to go?" the man's respectful query helped her. "if it's not too far," she answered with dignity, "i think i'd like to go to my own house--it's in a street called montrose place." inside the car her head drooped, she felt the new babiche licking her lifeless hand, she felt the whir of the motor. it vibrated through every jangling nerve of her weary body. the whole impossible journey was like a nightmare. "that wasn't i, i saw in there--" her thoughts blurred, "it's just a dreadful dream--that wasn't felice i saw--oh, dudley hamilt--i was so pretty that night! and now i'm just old--like grandy--like piqueur--" after a million years--or was it after one little minute?--the car stopped easily. like the dream that felicia had hoped the whole dreadful day had been. she opened her eyes as though she might have been waking up in the bed that poquelin, the father of moliere, had carved. "this," said the judge's chauffeur dubiously, "is montrose place." she got out slowly, tucking babiche mechanically under her arm. the man lifted out her bag and touched his cap,--she did not even see him go. the huge willows still arched above montrose place, but they were shabby and dying. and the mossy bricked sidewalk was gone but on its muddy concrete successor, scores and scores of noisy, dirty, alien children squabbled and cried. some of them were pushing against this strange woman who had descended from the motor, some of them fingered her coat, one bolder than the rest sat down upon her bag. it seemed to her as though more children than she had known there were in the whole world were crowding against her. wherever she looked there were children. they hung from the once lovely old windows, they slid down the once beautiful balustrade, they tumbled out of every doorway. and wherever there were not children there were signs. blatant, dingy signs. the first one she glimpsed was propped before the basement gate through which the housemaids had been wont to enter. it was shaped like a tombstone and with amateur lettering announced: "tony he sella coal wood ice" and from the rusty iron balcony hung a ragged pair of trousers into which had been inserted a board, the legs flapped dispiritedly in the gusty wind from the river. painted in scraggling white paint across the seat of the trousers was written "a. cohen. pressing and cents." it was twilight. the tailor had lighted a single flickering gas jet beside the basement window. in the old days the front basement had been the housemaids' sitting room with a channel-coal fire glowing in the grate and a tidy white cloth on the table and neat rows of geraniums in the windows--a cheery sort of place. not at all like this stuffy, overcrowded, ill ventilated place with the two silent shirt- sleeved men humped over steaming ironing boards and with a dozen more clattering away at noisy sewing machines. a grizzled man scowled at her through thick glasses. "vell," he rasped, "vat do you vant, madam?" "i want to stay here." "you vant to rent a room? i calls mine missus--" he called stridently, "i think she gotta room for three dollars, i don' know--" from the doorway of the once shining and immaculate kitchen a frowsy head protruded, "four we should get," whined a nasal voice "it is only that it is on the top floor that we can make it so cheap--" "this," announced felicia to the slatternly woman "--is my house. how dare you let it get so dirty!" her rising anger swept into her heart like a reviving fire. she thought of zeb, mouthing his scorn of the "dirty filthy heathen," she thought of mademoiselle d'ormy scolding a housemaid who left so much as a speck of dust on the hall balustrades, she did not see the grinning woman gesturing to her husband, touching her forehead to indicate felicia's lack of wits. "that ain't my business," the woman shrugged when she saw felicia looking at her. "we pays out rent by a receiver since the mister burrel goes avay--i gotta get mine renta in adwance. i gotta nice room if you vant to stay." "but it's my house, of course i'll stay." "it's a nice room, three dollars a veek--you vant to see it?" the color blazed in felicia's cheeks. "i should like you to take me to it at once," she announced with dignity. "you'll carry my bag, please." the tailor's wife grumbingly obeyed her, preceding her new lodger with ill concealed temper, her lumpy person almost blocking the ample stairway. up they passed from the basement to the once stately hallway. not even the encrusted dirt could hide the beauty of the old tessellated marble floors and arched doorways but where the oval topped doors had once swung hospitably wide their gloomy panels now hid the drawing-rooms, and where the long mirror had once made the hallway bright with reflected light a dingy ill-painted wall made the passage so gloomy that one could scarcely see above the first landing. silently felicia's weary feet carried her along behind her untidy conductor. unconsciously she tiptoed as she passed the closed door of her mother's room, tiptoed as gently as though that frail sufferer were still lying listlessly on the "sleighback" bed. quietly around the bend of the upper hall she followed, past the upstairs sitting room and up the second flight toward the sleeping chambers, her heart beating from the unwonted climb, her breath coming in quick gasps and her damp hair clinging to her aching forehead. "maybe," she exulted secretly, "it will be the nursery that i'll have --maybe i left something--" she smiled as she caught herself thinking it on the stairway--"perhaps there will be a little fire in the peggoty grate and i can shut the door and sit down and think clearly." but it wasn't the nursery. as they passed its closed door she could hear the wrangle of many voices, a baby's fretful cry and the hurrying whir of other sewing machines. the frowsy woman opened the door at the head of the stairs. the-three-dollar-a-week-room was the hall bedroom. the small room where mademoiselle d'ormy's bed had been wont to stand in the old days--with the door left ajar so that felicia would not be frightened when she awoke in the night. with the door to the adjoining room closed it looked twice as narrow as she remembered it. and it was not a nice clean room. it held an old iron bed and a pine table and a cheap wicker rocking chair. yet felicia could almost have kissed the dingy walls for they were covered with exactly the same droll paper that had always decorated them--the paper on which the oft repeated group of fat faced shepherdesses danced about their innumerable may poles and alternating with these perpetual merry makers were the methodical flocks of lambs. spang over the middle of the space back of the bed was the discolored spot where she had thrown the large and dripping bath sponge. she felt suddenly very small and very, very helpless--she was utterly spent. but there was something in her wide gray eyes--a dignity and a command--that completely dominated the shrewish wife of the hump- shouldered tailor, something that made the slatternly creature back out of the room, for felicia day, with her hand on the battered iron railing of the bed, had said clearly, "woman, go at once." and when the door was shut she sat down in one chair and put babiche carefully on the bed. she untied louisa's bonnet and dropped it to the floor; she loosed the cumbersome traveling coat. far out on the river the ferry boats and tugs were signaling; across the water the glamour of a million lights shone toward her. it was quite dark now; she stumbled to the window and looked down into the back yard. the dusk had mercifully blurred out for her the heaps of refuse and ashes that were dumped upon the spot where the narcissus border had been. the great iron pots on the top of the garden wall loomed out of the shadows. she looked straight down on the gate to the rectory yard. she sunk in a crumpled heap and rested her weary head on the window sill, then groped for the wee doggie as she heard the faint click of its tiny paws coming toward her over the bare floor. "oh, babiche!" she whispered, "babiche, how happy--we should be--to be home!" chapter iv the unfinished song you can't imagine anything more amusing than the satisfaction with which felicia day awoke. the early sun was streaming in her eyes. she rubbed them drowsily and sat up in the middle of the narrow humpy bed. at the foot of the bed babiche awoke too, yawning and stretching beautifully, reflexing her droll puppy body and wagging her wee feathery tail. on the floor the russet bag gaped open where felicia had dumped it the night before; her clothes lay in a limp heap beside the window. but the clear spring air, deliciously salty smelling to the woman who had been living inland so long, made her breathe deeply. "ah! babiche!" she murmured, smiling at the smudgy spot on the wall, "what a naughty child i used to be!" she had a naive pride in this evidence of her early wickedness. but a moment later she was frowning, her eyes fixed on the grimy woodwork. "what unspeakably lazy servants i must have! i shall send them away at once! just as soon as that woman has brought my breakfast i shall say to her, "'you are an abom-in-able housekeeper, pack your bags and go!'" she had heard mademoiselle d'ormy send a servant away once. it gave a splendid sense of superiority to think that she was going to do it herself this time. she pulled her travel-stiff body over the edge of the bed, and grimacing as she swung her pavement-sore feet to the floor, she wrapped the lovely old dressing-gown about her and opened the door into the hall. she could not think of any other way in which to summon a servant whose name she did not know and so she whistled clearly as she sometimes did when she wanted to call bele from the farther end of the orchard. the house seemed filled with sounds, mutterings, babblings, little cries, the heavy whirr of the sewing machines, the splintering clatter of tony, who was chopping his wares by the basement door--it seemed impregnated with odors, smudgy, burning, unsavory, smoky smells. she whistled again. an unkempt head, a man's head, was thrust from the nursery door, in the quick glance with which she looked at him and beyond him she seemed to see a score of persons. there were not really so many of them, merely a slovenly woman who was pedaling the sewing machine with a baby tumbling at her feet, an eight-year-old who sat on the window ledge pulling bastings while a half-grown girl cooked something on a stove that had been propped in front of the fireplace. zeb's phrase--"filthy dirty heathen" trembled on felicia's lips, her eyes burned hotly. she grew furiously angry. her breast was heaving, her bare foot tapped impatiently on the chilly floor, but the man slammed the door before she could speak. she stepped resolutely into the hall, she whistled again, this time imperiously. no one answered. she crossed to the bathroom beside the nursery. she was grimly determined now, she would bathe herself and dress and go down to the kitchen and speak at once to the servant. the bathroom door was slightly open but the skylight was so dusty that she could scarcely see. she put down her hand to turn the faucet and drew back in dismay. her tub was already filled--with coal! and behind her a voice ejaculated, "you no taka mine fires! get out!" felicia did "get out," speeding so recklessly back to mademoiselle's old room that she was breathless as she shut the door behind her and leaned against it laughing weakly. "oh! oh! i know it is all a dream! it's too ridiculous to be true!" she found enough water in a pitcher on the table to bathe her face. she sat on the edge of the bed thinking hard as she brushed her hair. "it is not a dream"--she shuddered, "the back yard is real--even with all the rubbish there, the back yard is real! the gate is there--the first thing i shall make them clean will be the back yard--after all, it won't be so difficult as my garden in the woods. i shall not have to wait to find the pattern, i know exactly how it all belongs. and i know that about this whole house. i shall"--she grew more determined, "make it all as it was before. first i shall put all these filthy dirty heathen out--it will be exactly like making the garden--only i shall have people pulled out instead of weeds--they are all like weeds, these filthy dirty people--i am not afraid of weeds." but all the same, when she was dressed and had begun the perilous journey downward, she found herself very much afraid of the "weeds" that she encountered on her way to the tailor's missus. nor did she issue victoriously as she had planned from her attempt to send the tailor's missus away. the tailor's missus stood her ground stoutly, she even forced felicia to give her three dollars for room rent from louisa's purse; the woman's awe of the night before had departed, she moaned strange things about her children's starving, she reiterated her absolute lack of belief that felicia owned the house, she laughed toothlessly over such a thing being possible. "you tell that to mister grady," she scoffed, "mr. grady, he is goin' to buy this house, comes the auction next tuesday--" mr. grady, felicia discovered, was the rent collector; this fact at last was something to seize upon. if he was the rent collector and it was her house, certainly she could go and collect from him. she learned that he lived across the street, a grimy finger indicated where and she set forth valiantly. breakfastless, almost moneyless, her chin in the air, she marched across the street and faced the redoubtable mr. grady. he wasn't a bad sort at all, though it was quite evident that he, like the tailor's missus, hadn't the slightest idea that she really owned her house. he rubbed his stubby, sandy chin and hitched his shirt sleeve garter higher, "i hain't collecting for myself," he assured her, "i only collects for the receiver for the estate--you can see 'im if you like--he's up in th' temple bar buildin'." he was so good as to jot down the number of the room for her. she thanked him and departed, leaving him staring after her, scratching his chin more violently than ever. by noon she stood quietly outside judge harlow's door. she presented herself without parley. there was a calm determination about her that reminded him somehow of a fanatic with a great cause. and yet there was a mirthful twinkle in her eyes. "it's been droll," she began, "i have been trying all day to make persons understand that it's my house. i can't make anybody believe me, not the tailor's missus, nor the rent collector nor the 'receiver for the estate,'" her drawling imitation of the redoubtable mr. grady made the justice smile. "oh, you've talked with that scamp, have you?" he flung the door open and pulled out a chair for her. "i've talked with a great many--scamps"--she caught at new words as delightedly as though they had been new flowers, and he laughed again. she was too absurd, this grotesquely garbed old maid! "i haven't found the portia person--" a note of gravity crept into her voice again, "but i'm going to do without him--i have a plan"--she leaned forward excitedly, "i thought it out--it's as good as the pattern of the garden--the reason you have to make me pay fifty dollars for-- violating that tenement law is because there are too many persons in my house, isn't that it?" he nodded. "then," she decided triumphantly, "it's quite simple. we must just put them out!" "miss daniel come to judgment!" he congratulated her. they talked quite seriously then. the matter of identification was not really droll, for there was literally no one to vouch for felicia day. he found it difficult to explain to her that while he did not in the least doubt her assertion that she was felicia day she would have to prove, legally, that she was. if the "receiver for the estate" could find any of the papers that felicia had signed for mr. burrel of course her signature would help, (he called a stenographer and wrote for a letter from the country doctor,) he explained regretfully that until she could prove that she was the person she claimed to be she could not actually take possession of the house. "then you can't 'actually' make me pay anything--those fines or taxes, until you prove that i'm the person who owes them--" she came back at him so quickly that she took his breath away. "again miss daniel comes to judgment!" he teased her. she put him in an extraordinary good humor with her alertness. her persistence and her indomitable courage were such futile weapons against the armor of the law that they seemed pathetic, but her droll faith in herself and her absurd comments about the persons with whom she had been talking made him want to laugh as one laughs at a precocious child. she left as abruptly as she had come, tucking babiche under her arm in a deliciously matter-of-fact way. "good morning, miss day," he called after her. she paused, she blushed furiously, she had forgotten mademoiselle's manners. but she made up for it. she dropped him the most amusing curtsy with an upward glance like that of the one-eyed scrub woman who had been cleaning the corridor. "good marnin', yer honor!" she groaned exactly like that rheumatic soul. he laughed silently, his head thrown back on his shoulders. how could he know that she couldn't help "pretending" that she was everybody she listened to! "and she looks like a little old tramp," he recounted at luncheon to a friend, "most extraordinary person, one minute she puts a lump in your throat--you're so sorry for her you could curse, and the next--lordy! the next minute you wonder at her impertinence--it's not exactly impertinence either,--it's absolute frankness." "no manners, eh?" suggested his friend. "no manners at all. a manner," said the justice neatly. back in the little hall room she sat dizzily on the edge of the bed and divided the last of margot's dry sandwiches with babiche. they were both ravenously hungry. felicia turned the few coins out of louisa's old purse and contemplated them. wherever she had turned in these two busy days she had had to pay, she was perpetually asked for money. and quite surely she must have some more. she couldn't ask margot, and the "receiver for the estate" would give her none. she stared at the smug faced shepherdesses. "where," she thought, "do persons get money?" the shepherdesses smiled back stupidly. babiche answered her really. having all there was to eat the wee dog settled herself uncomfortably on the thin pillow. "if i knew where the wheezy was i'd have her make you a cushion--oh! oh! babiche! how stupid i've been! the wheezy got money, mademoiselle used to give it to her from maman's purse, two dollars every day--for sewing--why, babiche, i can sew beautifully--much better than the wheezy!" it was a delightful moment, a self-reliant, decisive moment. her eyes sparkled, she caught up the ugly bonnet, she could hardly hurry fast enough to find the woman's exchange and employment agency. she even remembered the sign in the window. "applications for work received tuesdays and fridays." she was so glad that it was friday that she could have whistled. so down the stairs they went again, the little dog and mistress, and straight around the corner, past the old church, there they stopped for felicia to read what she hadn't stopped to read before, "this property for sale or to let suitable for garage or moving pictures apply your own broker" she stumbled around uncollected garbage, she waited impatiently for impudent children to move out of her way, she thrilled with rage at the sordid world about her. "that pattern of it all is gone--i can't see how it was unless i close my eyes," she thought. but when she came to the faded sign "woman's exchange and employment agency" she smiled. for that at least was exactly as it had been save that it looked tinier and dingier than it had in the old days. she opened the iron-grilled door, her eager heart anticipating the tinkling jangle of the spring bell at the rear, and when the shadowy curtains parted and a grizzled head, surmounted by gold-rimmed spectacles tucked above a worried forehead appeared, felicia could have cried out with delight. for there was the disagreeable walnut, limping more painfully than she had used to limp, blinking more uncertainly than she had used to blink. her rasping voice came thinner and more peevish than it had twenty years ago but she called out just the same, "well, what's your business?" felicia listened dreamily; she seemed to be absorbing the whole shop, the dusty shelves lined with useless "fancy" work, into whose fashioning no fancy at all had crept; the cracked show counters filled with pasty china daubed with violets and cross-eyed cupids,--propped up rakishly in the very front of the dustiest, most battered case of all the fat string dolly leaned despondently and smiled her red floss smile. "oh, how you've lasted!" breathed felicia. "what?" shrilled the disagreeable walnut, blushing under her shriveled skin. "i mean--the little person made of string--" murmured felicia abashed. "i saw her here--when we came for the wheezy--mademoiselle d'ormy and i." the disagreeable walnut snorted. "oh, that mademoiselle d'ormy," she squinted through her adjusted glasses, her shaking, purple-veined hands fumbling with the silk that was wound around the bows to protect her thin old temples, "she hain't been here this long while, have you seen her?" "do you know me?" demanded felicia stepping very close. "don't know as i do--yet it seems like i did too--you hain't been here in a long while, have ye?" "don't you remember--i lived in that same house where mademoiselle d'ormy stayed--she brought me in here when i was a little girl--when we came to get the wheezy to sew--" the disagreeable walnut shook her head. "i never knew anybody named wheezy." "the wheezy was fat--" felicia puffed out her chest, tilted her chin downward and hunched up her shoulders like the wheezy. she cleared her throat and panted and let her breath come sighingly through her pursed lips, "she couldn't see why under the shining canopy the major had her make c-cushions for the dogs--" the shop keeper nodded her recognition of the wheezy. "oh, you mean sophia pease--dear! dear!" she wiped her eye glasses tremblingly, "she's been out to the baptist home for the aged this long whiles. her eyes went back on her--a nice sewer, as nice a sewer as we ever had--dear, dear! i don't know when anybody asked me about sophia pease--she made them dolls you was just mentioning--" she motioned toward the disconsolate string toy--"dear, dear! she made them even after she couldn't see for regular sewing--" "now can't you remember me?" reiterated felicia pleadingly. the disagreeable walnut shook her head. "can't say as i do--" "but i am felice--the little girl who came with mademoiselle d'ormy to get miss pease--can't you see that i am?" the old woman's tittering laugh of denial made felicia want to shake her. "that child--why you hain't she--she wouldn't be the matter of half your age--you must be thirty-five or forty, hain't ye? she grew up and run away like the rest of her women folks--" she giggled sardonically, "was a young limb, she was, i used to hear her whistling at them choir boys next door--a young limb--all the girls in that family was man- chasers--the mother run off with the rector's son--younger'n she was-- by a good two years i should say, she must ha' been thirty if she was a minute--but pretty--prettier n' her mother--ever see the mother, miss trenton--miss montrose that was?" "did you?" breathed felicia. "oh, did you see grandy's louisa?" "did i ever see her?" the disagreeable walnut leaned her sharp elbows on the show case. "i see her when she was a bride--i'd just took charge here then--she was a high-stepper! the major hadn't a penny when she married him but she had all the montrose money and she got him--some say as she told him if he'd marry her she'd live on what he earned--but i guess he couldn't have earned the matter of her shoe strings--not the way she dressed--she was stylish and tasty in her dress--and then she eloped--with that lawyer fellow--some says she didn't elope with him, but she went off for some french property her mother had left her--but i dunno--she was an awful high-stepper. all i know is that after she was dead and the major brought miss octavia home--" "did you see maman? did you?" felicia could hardly breath, "did you see octavia--wasn't she sweet? wasn't she darling--didn't you love her, love, love her?" "too high-stepping!" sniffed the old woman, "whole lot of 'em was too high-stepping for me--never liked any of 'em--" "she didn't step at all--" felicia's anger was rising, "she just stayed in her bed and stayed in her bed--how dare you say you--oh! oh!" color burned in her pale cheeks, "i won't have you say such things--" "well, i hain't quarreling with you about them folks," said the disagreeable walnut sententiously, "they're all dead and buried anyhow. and pore sophia pease might jes' as well be--mewed up in that baptist home where her friends, if she's got any, can't see her excepting on sundays--my stars! i wouldn't go to live in that home, no sir, i wouldn't--nor i wouldn't want to live at the--" "can you tell me," felicia broke in upon this flood of opinions, "where i could go to see miss pease?" "i'm telling you--the baptist home--" "i do think she'd know me," felicia murmured thoughtfully. "i do think she would." she moved toward the door, intent upon trying to see miss pease. but the disagreeable walnut, for all that she was old, was quite capable of handling her job. she called petulantly after her retreating caller. "what was you coming in for--anything you wanted to buy?" felicia turned. "how stupid i am to forget. i came because it was friday, you know, i wanted to have some work, please. for two dollars a day and lunch." the shop keeper pulled a dusty ledger toward her. "are you registered or new?" "i--i think i'm new, i'm not registered." the ledger was pushed around toward her, the shop keeper reached fretfully for the spattered ink bottle. "by the day or home work?" "by the day," said felicia decisively. "then sign here," a trembling finger indicated the line. it was a new page. no one had signed it yet. at the top was printed, name address job applied for date mrs. or miss. and felicia wrote, guiding the rusty pen carefully. last of all, she wrote just after the printed miss, in firm letters, "by the day," and pushed back the book. the disagreeable walnut pursed her lips, she couldn't really see anything through the blur of her glasses. the bell jangled, a brisk old person, much like the disagreeable walnut, save that she looked agreeable, entered breathlessly. "sorry i was late," she dumped various bundles on the counter, "how'd you make out, susan?" she eyed felicia as she began pulling at her gloves. "did my sister find what you wanted?" "she wants work," quavered susan, considerably less reliant than she'd been a moment before. "i dunno where the work book is. i declare i can't keep track of where you put things, sarah--is there anybody could use her? she wants sewing." the brisk person swung the book around glancing at it capably as she removed her hat. "oh, you've signed it in the wrong place. you should have put your name there--not the way you were going to work"--her finger rested on the place felicia had written. "what is your name? your name isn't miss by-the-day is it?" she asked good-humoredly. "why, i think it is," felicia smiled back, "i think it will have to be--it's day," she added shyly. "miss or mrs.?" "miss." "and what kind of work, please?" "like the wheezy--sewing--for two dollars a day and lunch"--she repeated it like a lesson. "there's a day a week at linton avenue--mrs. alden's, perhaps you could go there. have you references?" "i don't even know what they are," miss by-the-day replied. the brisk person laughed. "well you must have an address, where do you live?" "in my own house," her chin lifted proudly, "montrose place." "but if you have a house," the interrogator's voice was kindly if her words were severe, "we can't possibly give you work. you see, our work is for persons who have no other means of support, no other ways of making their living." felicia's lips quivered. "i haven't, that's why i came. you see it's all taxes and assessments and fines and--it's so fearfully dirty and i haven't any money"--she held out louisa's reticule a bit ruefully. "you can see i haven't." "i see"--the brisk person stepped back to the telephone. she was thoughtful as she waited for her connection. she talked quietly, murmuring things about some one who looked thoroughly responsible. presently she wrote down an address that she handed to felicia. "you must be there at eight o'clock in the morning, can you do that, miss by-the-day?" "there's something else i'd like you to write--it's the place where miss pease lives--" "you can't go to see her except sundays," miss sarah cautioned her. "they're strict." after felicia had gone the brisk woman straightened things about a bit, humming under her breath. "su-san"--she called through the doorway, "haven't we seen that woman somewheres? she looks awful familiar." miss susan grunted. "she tried to make out she knew me, but i dunno--she can't never sew to suit mis' freddie alden and you know she can't--nobody can please young miss' alden--old miss' alden was bad enough but young miss' alden is worse--" of her adventures "by-the-day" only felicia could have "found the pattern." and as in the case of the garden of old, even she was a long time discovering any design in the confusing blur of their outlines. perhaps it was because each day was like a bit of glass in a child's kaleidoscope, an episode in itself, ugly, irregular and meaningless, until felicia's rage against life tumbled each piece into position and let them all reflect in quaint order against the clear sweet mirrors of her faith and hope and charity. who but felicia could have shaken beauty from that first unlovely "by- the-day"? seamstress after seamstress had come and gone in that impossibly selfish household, the meek ones enduring it until they could endure no more, the proud ones hurrying angrily away; competent or incompetent, not one of them had ever been able to please her exacting employer, yet felicia, mercifully unaware of the heart aches she would endure within, walked staunchly through the iron gates, with " linton avenue" boldly wrought in filagree upon their stern panels. the house was set close to the street but wide side yards separated it from its newer neighbors. it was pretentiously ugly with its mansard roof, intricate porches, balconies and bay windows that had evidently been added after the original architectural atrocity had been committed. at her first glance as the pert and frilly maid opened the door it seemed as though the whole house were filled with innumerable elaborate draperies and fat-framed paintings and much stuffed furniture. while she waited for the maid to announce her, her quick ears caught the nervous undertone of the house--the whining voices of children above stairs, the quick clatter of dishes in the far off pantry and a politely peevish voice that was raised as its owner struggled with an imperfect telephone connection. "--just at my wits' end--both maids have the day out,--the children are off my hands for the day--they're going to be in the pageant--but it is awkward for all that. uncle peter's nurse insists that she has to go out and it doesn't leave any one to stay with him. fred is so unreasonable about our leaving uncle peter alone. of course if the exchange did send the sewing person to do the mending i could go--only you never can tell whether people like that are honest or not--they often aren't--" the "sewing person" in the overstuffed chair looked straight ahead of her. she shut her lips together and tried desperately not to listen. "--that's all i can promise--if the sewing person comes and can sit in the hall--i think it would be perfectly horrid if you had to play a three table--if i can't get there in time for luncheon i'll hurry around by half past two--that is if i possibly can." her irritable voice was still raised to telephone pitch as she hurried toward her new seamstress. it wasn't until she had ushered felicia into the draughty angle of the upper hall where she was to sew that mrs. alden discovered babiche. she objected. felicia cuddled her tiny dog. "why, she's a precious," she protested sweetly. "she'll just stay right beside me if you can find her a cushion--" she felt very small and meek as she sat taking her wee neat stitches. all about her the unpleasant confusion of the house surged on. the half-grown children departed tempestuously for the pageant, their mother bustled out leaving a trail of half explicit instructions behind her. the last felicia heard of her voice was a fretful instruction to the cook. "--and you'll have to take something or other up to the sewing woman-- some of that cold lamb will do--" felice wrinkled her nose commiseratingly at babiche's questioning eyes. babiche the elder had hated cold lamb. from the door to her left she could hear soothing murmurs of a voice reading. a carefully modulated voice that evidently cared nothing at all about what it was reading. an irascible masculine "well, well, never mind that!" frequently interrupted the reader. at noon the voice stopped and a patient nurse appeared in the doorway. "i'm going down for mr. alden's tray," she announced primly, "if he should speak will you call me?" felicia nodded. she stitched steadily. she was putting new rows of lace on a torn petticoat, and so intent was she in joining the pattern of the lace that she forgot to watch babiche. that inquisitive one was exploring, sniffing cautiously as she approached the invalid's bed but a second later she was trotting hastily back to her mistress. "i positively won't have stray animals about the house," a quavering voice protested. this petulance continued long after the nurse had returned with his tray. felicia could hear the faint rumble of his disapproval even when the door was closed. she glanced up in dismay as the bulk of the cook blocked her light. it was not an appetizing luncheon that that individual banged down upon the lap-board that was propped across the receding arms of the morris-chair to serve as a table. there were some microscopic scraps of the cold lamb, a cup of cocoa on which the surface had long since grown thick and oily, a rather limp looking lettuce leaf with a stuffed tomato palpably left from some former meal. felicia sipped the cocoa, she dipped bits of the dry bread in it and fed babiche. she herself ate the lamb and struggled through the salad. she was really very, very hungry. she did not dare let herself think that the food was unpalatable. after it was all eaten she spread her napkin carefully over the empty plates and went on with her ruffle. there was a console table outside the invalid's door. presently the nurse appeared and put his tray upon it. she set the door carefully ajar. "i'm going out for my two hours, i think he won't want anything. i think he will just doze, he usually sleeps while i'm gone. but he didn't like his lunch, so i'll leave it here. if he should call, do you mind taking it in?" after that the house was still. felicia finished the petticoat, folded it neatly and began making exquisite darns in a white silk stocking. babiche lifted her small head and sniffed in the direction of the invalid's lunch tray. felicia eyed the tray. you would have known to have looked at that tray and its careful appointment that some one had given it to the invalid for christmas. the china on it matched so decorously. it was an alluring looking lunch--crisp curled hearts of celery, a glowing bit of currant jelly in a glass compote, half of a delectably browned chicken surrounded by cress, and set in a silver frame was a custard cup filled with the creamiest looking custard that inspired hands had ever snatched from the oven at the psychological moment. it was quarter of one when the sedate nurse left the tray on the desk. at quarter past one felicia fastened a glove button and sighed. babiche's eyes were pleading. at quarter of two felicia finished a jacob's ladder in a long purple stocking. babiche was sitting up and begging with her paws crossed. felicia made her sit down by tapping her head with the thimble. at ten minutes past two felicia had mended two pairs of short white cotton socks. at twenty-five minutes of three a throaty voice whispered up the stairway, "nurse 'phoned she can't get back until after four and would i mind giving mr. alden his orange juice when he wakes up. it's in this glass i'm lifting to you--" a moist red hand was thrust through the open space at the bend of the stair casing. "you give it to him if he is asking before i'm back. i'm stepping across the way to my cousin's for a while--" at twenty minutes of three felicia had finished all of the socks save the black ones. the silk for mending them was on the edge of the console table beside the tray. she crossed the space bravely. she had her hand on the spool of silk, when babiche stood on her absurd head, a trick she'd not performed before felice. her mistress cuddled her. "you can't have it, you precious little beggar," she whispered. "it isn't for doggies." at ten minutes of three, another pair of men's black socks had been added to the basket of completed work. babiche gave two hungry yelps that sounded painfully loud in that silent house. felicia struck her again with the thimble and began resolutely putting a new dress braid on a bedraggled serge skirt. at three o'clock a gentle snore emanated from the sick room. at quarter past three felicia smothered babiche's most frenzied bark. at seventeen minutes past three felicia day, seamstress, became a thief. "one simply cannot," as mrs. alden remarked "trust the sort of persons one gets from the exchange, you never can tell what they might take--" "they" might take just a bit of chicken skin to feed to a tiny hungry dog. and "they" might lift a bit of chicken wing to hungry human lips and after that "they" might deliberately and delicately eat the rest of it and give the bone to the doggie. and "they" might crunch the bits of celery and eat the last delicious spoonful of the custard-- "they" might even do that! especially when you remember that except for the dry bits of lamb and the sad tomato felicia day and babiche, her dog, had had no other food save that from margot's lunch box since they had left that bountiful house in the woods. at half past three, suddenly aware of the enormity of her crime, felicia put her face into her hands and shook with laughter. "oh, babiche! babiche! aren't we delight-fully wicked!" babiche pranced joyously, tossing her bone in the air and worrying it. with a sudden rush the wee dog dashed straight into the sick room, scurried about under the bed and back to her mistress. the snoring stopped abruptly. a waking snort was followed by heavy breathing. and then the quavering voice called, "miss grant--if you'll bring that confounded tray in i'll try to eat a bite--" felicia's eyes surveyed the empty tray, her lips moved but she could not speak. "miss grant--i said i'd--" she stood before him, her eyes dropped demurely to hide her mirth. she had had the presence of mind to bring his orange juice, but when she looked up she felt suddenly very sorry. for he was not a beautiful old man like grandy. he was wrinkled and yellow and gaunt and cross looking. he was not sad at being old, he was bitter. her heart went out to him, her mirth died as suddenly as a frightened child's. "are you really vairee hungry?" she asked solicitously. her low voice was not professionally low like the nurse's, it was just sweetly, normally low--to that irritable old man who lived in a family of shrill voices it sounded like an angel's. her smoothly coiffed head and antiquated gown spoke eloquently to him of a past when women dressed as he thought women should dress. he turned on his pillow and looked at her. "lord no! i'm not hungry! i'm never hungry--but what in the jumping jehosophat are you doing here?" "i'm mending. by-the-day, you know. your nurse went walking. and your cook went to see her cousin. so if you really were hungry--isn't it lucky you aren't?--i don't know what we would do." she advanced to the bedside. he made her want to shudder, he was so ugly in his long green dressing gown. with his bald head and piercing eyebrows he made her think of a gigantic worm. when he spoke his head waggled just as a worm's head waggles when it tops a rose bush. "there was chicken--" he remembered petulantly, "i like that cold--" "it was vairee good--" felicia assured him. just to hear felicia say "vairee" mouthing it as mademoiselle d'ormy had done, was refreshingly different. "babiche had the skin and the bones and i had the rest. we stole it, you know--" her confession was deliciously funny, her eyes danced laughter though her tone was demurely proper. she was really thinking of maman lying so lovely in her bed and she was thinking how maman had talked about amusing people when they were worried and she was thinking that this dreadful old man was the most worried looking person she had ever seen. his grizzled hand jammed another pillow feebly behind his shoulders. he glared at her. "well, well, miss--whadda-you-call-it," he was growing more peevish. "you'll have to find something for me--" her smooth hand stretched toward him as quickly as a prestidigitator's, with the glass of orange juice. he was too surprised to do anything save drink it, gulping it throatily and handing back the glass with a grunt. "and of course," added felicia with perfect good humor, "i shall have to pay a forfeit--i always did when i took anything from maman's tray. if i was caught." her childishness of manner did not seem at all incongruous to him. she was comfortably ageless so far as he was concerned, a drab figure with a pleasant voice who treated him as though he were a human being instead of a sick ogre. in some mysterious way her attitude suggested something that no one had suggested to him for years--the thing called play! "forfeits for maman," she continued, "meant i had to play chess--you don't play chess do you?" he sat bolt upright. his beady eyes gleamed with excitement. "miss whadda-you-call-it," he retorted, "you go right over there by my desk--open the bottom drawer--there's chessmen and a board. i've been looking for four years for somebody who had sense enough to play chess." babiche trotted at her heels, sniffing at all the new odors about her. felicia moved easily, she got the chess men, went and brought back her lap-board and sat patiently at the bedside. four o'clock, half past four o'clock, five o'clock--there was no sound save the shove of the chess men. the room grew dark--the old man impatiently indicated the light. the little dog curled contently on the foot of the bed, felicia's sleek head bent over the board. he was no easy opponent. at quarter past five nurse fluttered heavily in, looked at the bedside and gasped. "why mr. alden--" he waved her away. at half past five, the mistress of the household puffed up the stairway. she paused by the deserted chair in the hallway. "where's the seamstress?" she demanded. the nurse showed her. felicia's hand was poised over a knight, she looked up gravely and smiled. mrs. alden's hat with its waving plumes was overpowering enough, but her voice, strident and angry, seemed to fill the whole room. "well, really," she began, "i think that's the most impudent thing that i have ever had any one do in my house! what do you think i hired you for?" for a full minute it did not occur to felicia that the woman was addressing her. and when she knew, she rose slowly, even carefully, so as not to upset the chess-men. "for two dollars a day--and lunch--" she answered clearly. she hadn't the remotest idea of being impertinent. she was merely literal. the only thing that saved her from mrs. alden's mounting wrath was the old man's voice chuckling from his pillows. "and--" he looked triumphantly at his angry niece-in-law's snapping eyes, "she had to steal the lunch, by the jumping jehosophat, she had to steal her lunch! why don't you feed people, clara--why don't you?" "she had a good lunch, i'm sure i instructed the cook to give her a lunch--" with the annoying cunning of the old he contradicted her. he dearly loved a row with the mistress of the household. "cold lamb--" he cackled, "i heard you say cold lamb--" "very well, uncle peter," said mrs. alden tapping her pointed patent leather toe impatiently, "we won't argue. i'll pay the woman and she can go." uncle peter's head dropped pitifully, his bravado ceased abruptly, he became a whining child. "don't go, miss whadda-you-call-it--i want to finish the game. she can pay you but don't go. it's my house, isn't it?" he fretfully interrogated the nurse, "i guess it's my house yet even if i am half dead. i'm not all dead yet, not by a long shot--" the nurse stooped over him professionally but he waved her away. "sit down, can't you?" he demanded of felicia, "it's your move." felicia sat down, two spots of color burning in her pale cheeks. she extended her hand over the knight again, bowing imperiously to the angry woman. five minutes, ten minutes, twenty minutes--outside the echoes of the indignant woman's strident voice came across the hallway. she was venting her ill humor on the children noisily returning from their pageant, on the cook, whose frowsy head appeared at the stair landing for dinner orders, on the patient nurse who pattered about on errands. "--what we're coming to--the trouble is i can't say my soul's my own-- sewing women! playing chess instead of sewing! the last one couldn't sew and this one won't--" she reprimanded a grocer over the telephone, she sent a child snivelling to her bedroom. but the invalid, his eyes intent on the chess board, paid no heed. he moved cautiously, craftily, he had set his heart on winning. and he was too shrewd for felicia to dare to pretend to let him win. the minutes seemed like ages but at length, just as the angry voice was subsiding, the old man straightened victoriously on his pillows. "check!" he called buoyantly, "check!" felicia arose. "you play adroitly," she encouraged him. "and i'm really ra-ther glad i stole your luncheon for here comes your supper. i know you'll be hungry for your supper--" she was outside the door, as quiet as a shadow, fastening louisa's old bonnet under her chin, buttoning the old coat about her; even before mrs. alden was at her side she had babiche under her arm. "here's your money," said the woman stiffly. felicia shook her head. "you might as well take it, even if you didn't work full time. of course, i won't want you to come again." "no?" felicia asked with a curious upward inflection. in the exasperated silence the invalid's voice quavered out to them. "miss whadda-you-call-it!--call that woman back here, miss grant!" she stepped to his door. "i wish you'd come around sometimes," he asked her pleadingly, "i do admire a good game of chess--and it's my house, i tell you, this is my house, even clara can't say this isn't my house!" "i'll come sometimes," she promised, "indeed i will--" she stepped back to her abashed employer. "--you aren't making him happy," she murmured passionately, "sick people and old people ought to be happy--" and walked straight down the stairs and out through the ornate gates leaving a discomfited woman behind her. there were exactly six cents left in the bottom of louisa's reticule, --it was when felicia was passing a bake shop and saw a child buying currant buns that she knew what to do with them. she went in and bought buns. she walked slowly up her own stairs, pausing outside maman's door to push the bag of buns back into the niche by the stairway. and stood a moment getting her breath and then reached out her hand. "let's pretend--" she murmured under the turmoil of noises--the house was perturbed at suppertime,--"let's pretend you put them there, maman--" safe in mademoiselle's room she addressed babiche firmly. "that woman, that mrs. alden is just a weed! a weed like the tailor's missus and the rest. some one ought to pull her right out of uncle peter's house! she is worse than a weed! she ought to have to be a by- the-day! and sit in a windy hall and sew and sew. and then some one ought to bring her a tray, with messy napkins and just two pieces of dry lamb and a sad tomato--and all the while that she was eating it somebody ought to put uncle peter's tray on the table beside her! with chicken and custard and celery and all! yes, that's what some one should do, babiche!" babiche begged gracefully for her part of the buns. they had a delightful time together. "but i do wish," she murmured, after they'd settled themselves on the narrow bed for the night, "i could remember whether mademoiselle ever let the wheezy have such a dreadful luncheon--i shall ask her tomorrow--" she did ask her, for she did find the wheezy, just as she found anything she set out to find, by sheer dint of persistence. it was late afternoon when she found her. the visiting hours were almost over. the wheezy never had visitors, she was sitting listlessly looking at nothing at all when the attendant ushered felicia through the corridor. she was just the same old wheezy, but more crotchety, smaller and thinner, wheezing still and she turned her dim eyes toward the doorway and called, "if you want to speak to mrs. sperry why under the shining canopy don't you come in? she'll be back in a second." for several minutes she stubbornly would not recognize felicia. she grudgingly admitted that she did remember mademoiselle d'ormy and that she did recall there had been a little girl, but she was as incredulous as the disagreeable walnut had been that this frumpy, drab looking person was that sprightly child. felicia strove mightily to reassure her. "can't you remember when you used to sew for us at montrose place, how i called you the wheezy and it made you cross?" miss pease admitted that the child had called her that. "and can't you remember anything else i did? i mean that the little girl did? for if you could i would do it and then you'd know--" "she used to whistle--" the admission came slowly after deep thought, "she used to whistle real good, when the old man wasn't about." felicia sat down on the edge of the wheezy's bed. her eyes were shining. mrs. sperry had come back and was sitting by the wheezy's window. it seemed that they shared the room. she was staring animatedly at her room-mate's visitor. from the opened door into the corridor felicia could glimpse other old ladies, peeping in curiously, hovering about like gray moths at twilight. she smiled at them wistfully, as she was wont to smile at grandy, with her heart in her eyes. "we're going to pretend something," she called to them softly, "would you like to pretend? we're going to pretend i'm a little girl in a back yard who has been hearing marthy sing--marthy sings a song called billy boy about a boy who had been courting. she used to say, in the song, 'where have you been, billy boy, billy boy--where have you been, charming billy?' i can't sing but you shall hear me whistle it--" the little gray moths of women crept closer, some of them fluttered into the wheezy's room. the twilight grew deeper and deeper, and on the edge of the wheezy's bed sat little miss by-the-day and whistled the songs that marthy used to sing. "churry ripe--churry ripe--" and "ever of thee i am fondly dreaming--" she whistled until some one came down the corridor to light the lights. the wheezy's bony hand was on hers, the wheezy's tears were falling. "why under the shining canopy i didn't know who you was--" she muttered apologetically, "my soul, i guess it's because i can't half see!" "no, it's because--" felicia sighed, "i'm not really that little girl any more. only the happy part of her is here--" she put her hand on her breast. "i'm really old--like grandy--like piqueur. i can see vairee well. i saw myself--" she paused, "in a mirror, you know, i was that surprised--" she managed to laugh a little. "but wheezy dear, there's a man who has to know that i am felicia day. will you tell him that you know i am?" the wheezy promised eagerly. and then felicia whistled a while longer, because one little gray moth, more daring than the rest wanted to hear, "i remember, i remember in the years long passed away, a little maid and i would meet beside the stream to play-" her quavering voice recited the verses, while felicia whistled, oh, so softly! they fluttered after her as she walked down the corridor, the matron walked beside her and the wheezy's arm was through hers. of course she was coming again, she promised them she would, they accepted her promises with eager queries like children. "i'll come another visiting day--" she patted the wheezy's shoulders, "i like to! you all are _so_ good at pretending!" "do you know," she told judge harlow in the morning, "i did find some one who knows who i am?" her face was glowing with achievement, "even if you get so old that you don't look at all as you used to there's some part of you that people can't forget. some happy part of you! you really ought to try it! perhaps there is some old lady up there who used to know you when you were little! if you'd go there some visiting day and whistle for her she'd know you, just as quick! you try it!" she went away thrilling with anticipation. he had a young lawyer there, who had a great many papers. the young lawyer explained to her that the justice had asked him to keep track of things for her. and they were arranging it so that in another week, she would possess her house, mortgages, taxes, fines and all, and the thirty days "to straighten things" but she would actually possess it and the tailor and the tailor's missus and all their dreadful tenants would have to go out, bag and baggage. she trotted into the woman's exchange at noon, positively buoyant. "you'll have to find me another by-the-day," she announced to miss sarah. "how'd you make out saturday?" "i--made--_out_--" felicia laughed back at her. "she was a weed, that woman. the old man played chess with me but she didn't like us to do it. i couldn't take the two dollars--" "i'm afraid you aren't businesslike," miss sarah chided, "you said you needed the money." "i do," felicia assured her, "that's why i'm back for another by-the- day." miss sarah found another job for her, indeed she jotted down several possible places in a small notebook whose florid cover extolled the virtues of dinkle's cough syrup. "this would be a good book for anybody so unbusinesslike as you," she confided as she presented her client with it. "in the back here are pages to write what you earn and what you spend and to keep track of the days you are going out." it fitted nicely into the reticule. felicia felt competent with it there. she used to take it out at night and write in it. it had double entry pages labelled grandly "income" "expenditures." with the first pages felicia wrote a letter to margot, a masterly letter in which she bade her servant tell zeb that the filthy dirty heathen were going to be sent away, a letter in which she warned margot that unless grandy were too unhappy she would not go back to the house in the woods until the house in the city was clean once more. she explained that certain legal matters had to be attended to. the round stroke of her pen seemed to proclaim her complete confidence that they could be attended to satisfactorily. but the postscript begged margot to tell bele to stay all he could with grandy, "if grandy looks at the chess board tell bele to put the men on it and shove a man every time grandy pushes one--you must all keep grandy happy." and the last postscript of all said, "the narcissi are lovely, i have them in my room!" which was quite truthful. she did have narcissi in her room! their fragrance almost overpowered her. she lay in the darkness and pretended that they were in the garden and that she was lying on them. she had been most businesslike about them. if you could have audited her accounts in dinkle's cough syrup you would have seen on the page where she first began her reckoning, "income expenditures two dollars bone--five cents apples, cakes and sandwiches forty five cents narcissi one dollar." it is delightful to relate that no one ever in all this world purchased more narcissi for one dollar than felicia bought at the florist's stand that wonderful evening when she made her first expenditure from money she had actually earned. she looked so tired and wan in her frumpy old clothes that the florist's clerk, who was a sentimental young thing, assumed she must be purchasing them for some one's grave. even though he might be foredoomed to lose his job, he recklessly tied up the whole bundle that her hand had indicated. "honest, she made me feel like i oughta be giving things away instead of selling 'em," he apologized to his astounded boss, who had met the new customer on her way out, "honest, she got me hipped!" in spite of the "heathen," in spite of taxes and fines--in spite of the fatigue that still remained from those days of travel and hunger, in spite of the strangeness of sitting all day stitching, in spite of even the fierce longing, whenever she passed a telephone, to speak with dudley hamilt, felicia found herself--happy, happy with the same haunting happiness with which she had long ago untangled the puzzle of the lost garden, happy with the aching happiness that longs to attain and trembles lest it cannot. "babiche," she chattered, "when i was young, like the girls in piqueur's song i found my fun in spring forests; but now--" she was looking out across the river at the gleaming towers of manhattan, glimpsing the jewel-like line of trolleys crawling slowly over the lighted bridges, watching the busy shipping that scurried over the harbor in the violet and bronze evening, "now i find it in spring cities--" she consulted the garden book much, peering bravely down into the appalling rubbish heaps of her beloved back yard. "all of the ivy isn't gone and there's wistaria and we can make new ivies from slips, next spring it must be just as it used to be. perhaps we can find the old benches, i know exactly where to build the paths. we will have to get some pebbles to make the paths. we must plant plenty of narcissi again, babiche. because some day, there might be some other girl who lived in this house and who walked in the garden and when her night came we would want it to be just as lovely as it was that night--" she had no definite girl in mind, she had not really, although she thought she had found the "pattern" of what the house was to be, she only longed to get the "filthy dirty heathen" out and make things orderly as they once had been. i doubt if she had yet visualized anybody as living in that house, save maman and grandy and herself. yet even before the heathen were out she had brought home a girl--the sculptor girl, the first of those starry-eyed young humans who were to call the house their own. it happened this way. she set forth on a cloudy, threatening over-warm morning, babiche under her arm, toward a new address, a morning so palpably "growing" that she longed to be planting. she had promised herself eagerly that the very day when the heathen were gone she would plant some ivies. she was pretending vehemently that the heathen were gone and that she didn't have to be a "by-the-day" yet before night she was exclaiming passionately, "i am proud, proud, proud i was a by- the-day--" the new place was not a hard one. a fat, seemingly good natured employer awaited her, a boarding house mistress who had curtains to be mended and napkins to be hemmed, who was dubious about taking the applicant when she discovered she could not use a sewing machine but who decided on second reflection (aided by the fact that she had just discovered that her sewing machine was not in repair) to allow felicia her day's work. the vestibule doors were embellished with gilt lettering that proclaimed the place to be "seeley's" mrs. seeley did not object to babiche. indeed she kissed the top of her nose so resoundingly that babiche was terrified and felicia stared with amazement. it had never occurred to her that any one ever kissed a dog. if felicia had been left comfortably to her own devices at her previous "places" she quickly discovered that the seeley household made rather an event of the seamstress' coming. there was no necessity for stealing a lunch. indeed, when lunchtime arrived she was ushered into the basement dining-room and invited to eat with the rest of the family and as many of the "select boarders" as appeared. it was not a good luncheon. but to felicia it was an extraordinarily gay function. for at the table was mr. perry, immaculately groomed in a discreet uniform. mrs. seeley introduced them with a matter-of-fact statement of their occupations. "miss day, meet mrs. j. furthrington's chauffeur--miss day is sewing for me--" she poured their teas impartially. it appeared that mrs. j. furthrington's chauffeur did not often grace the boarding house for his meals. he usually, as he expressed it "ate wherever the run was." he talked with whimsical despondency of his job which, it appeared, was new. "good gracious," chaffed mrs. seeley, "i thought you'd felt grand from associating with swells and changing your rooms--" "well i feel swell," he admitted dubiously, "but in a way the job gets my goat. munition millionaires, that's what i'm working for, can you beat it? last year in a canarsie bungalow and this year a-riding in a rolls royce! everybody to his taste--mine wouldn't be for nobody else driving my car no matter how much spondulex come my way. it will be me for the little old low down 'steen cylinder racer when i get my pile--" he slid his long body under the table and grasped his plate as a steering wheel, "'poor, get out of muh way!' my horn will yell--" his fellow boarders laughed uproariously, his landlady wiped tears from her eyes. "hain't he comical?" she appealed to her sewing woman. felicia viewed the redoubtable mr. perry with amused eyes. "he's vairee good at pretending--" her shy approbation came. he winked at her. "any time you want a joy-ride, call on me!" which fresh sally seemed to explode uncontrollable mirth about the basement dining-room. flapping his wonderful gauntlets together he called a farewell from the doorway. "only get a different bunnet--" he waved louisa's from the peg on the hall rack, felicia didn't mind in the least, she was mouthing this new phrase "joy-ride," it sounded delightful. all the same she rescued her bonnet and carried it upstairs with her. "i love that boy like a plate of fudge," confided mrs. seeley as she and felicia were ascending to the ornate bedroom where the sewing was waiting. "he's the life of the place. everybody likes him. i don't know what there is about him, he hain't so handsome but he certainly is poplar. yet dulcie won't stand for him--dulcie thinks he's fresh." it appeared that dulcie was not pleased with anything or anybody. especially when she was having one of her "spells." mrs. seeley rocked violently as she recounted to her new seamstress her trials with dulcie. "she's a caution. in a way i do owe her a livin'. she's my husband's niece i know, that is by his first wife y'understand. she wasn't even exactly his niece. but on account of his havin' to use dulcie's money in his plumbin' business we agreed to give her her livin'. al kept her in a nart school, a swell art school when we was first married. that was a mistake. i said to him many a time to mark-my-words, it would be a mistake. of course when he died i didn't feel it was up to me to keep her in a nart school. so i took her right into the family, same's i'd take you or anybody. but it's no use. all she does is mope. even mr. perry can't cheer her up, though he tries. "says he to her only last night, 'cheer up, i'll take you a nice ride down to the morgue.' i thought everybody'd die laughing to hear him but she just got up and stalked out of the dining-room like somebody had insulted her. and i can't get a peep out of her today. just this noon i says to her, pleasant enough, because i was short of help, wouldn't she come down and wait on table, but would she?" demanded mrs. seeley bitterly, "she would not. she said she was no scullery maid and slammed the door in my face and went back to her wet mud--" "oh, is she building a garden?" asked felice eagerly. "nothing so useful as a garden," snorted mrs. seeley, "it's clay she's fussin' with, thinkin' she's going to be able to make statues some day. statues! what kind of a job is that nowadays! artist jobs is impractical. dulcie is awful impractical. i offered to send her to business college, she could make a good living, but no, she's gotta make statues! with the parks all full of 'em now and that kind of thing going out of style for parlors! i put both my rogers groups upstairs in the attic when i bought the phonograph--there's no style to a statue any more. and she wants to learn to make 'em!" "but i should think," breathed the seamstress her eyes glowing as she lifted them from her work, "that you'd be proud to have her want to try to make something." what mrs. seeley thought expressed itself in the bang of the door as she left to answer a strident summons below stairs. but after she had gone felice became aware of continued sobbing in the next room, a sobbing as penetrating, for all it was not so loud, as that of the noisy italian baby at home. for a long time the weeping was sustained and dreary. it never ceased save when mrs. seeley came back to give felicia instructions about her work, but usually after her footfalls had clattered down the stairway the crying would begin again, very softly. frequently felicia could hear the pad, pad, pad of stockinged feet. she knew that whenever the crying stopped the grieving one walked to and fro restlessly. after a longer interval of silence than usual felicia became aware that babiche was sniffing excitably. the nervous sniff that had always characterized the wee doggies on days when the carbolic water was ready for the rinsing. felicia wrinkled her own nose tentatively. presently she got up and opened the door to the next room. it was empty. but adjoining it was an untidy bathroom with a dark wainscoting and a grimy enameled tub and standing over near the uncurtained window was a boyish figure, wrapped in a man's overcoat, with a bottle in her hand. she had wept so long, poor girl, that felicia couldn't tell very much about how she really looked, except that it seemed to her she had never seen any one so unhappy. felicia stood there, an absurdly dowdy figure, babiche clasped in her arm, and smiled timorously. "where is your dog?" she asked sweetly. "what dog?" demanded a sulky voice. "the dog you were going to wash--" felicia's voice was casual. "with the 'scarbolic.'" "i wasn't--trying to wash any dog--" the girl breathed dully. felicia moved quickly, she took the bottle from the girl's hand. "then i wish you'd lend me your--'scarbolic,'" she entreated sweetly, "babiche really needs a bath." the youthful sufferer stared from her tear-stained eyes, stared with all her might at the shabby, frumpy, middle-aged looking little person who had taken the bottle from her hand. "i can't stand it--" she sobbed bitterly, "i've got to quit--you don't know how i feel--i feel as if--" "when you feel that way," interrupted felicia quietly, "you mustn't have a 'scarbolic' bottle, that's a thing that will make you go dead--" "it's my own business if i do--i'd rather be dead than the way i am--" she stretched out her arms passionately, "i haven't room to breathe! i did have that top floor front you know, it was a peach of a place to work. but she rented it to a chauffeur and put me in this hole--oh, oh, when all i asked was room for my model stand and room for my clay --when all i wanted was room for pandora--you can't know how i feel--" "but i do know how you feel!" slender hands cupped the girl's face. felicia's eyes looked through into the girl's soul. "you feel like 'i can't get out, i can't get out, sang the starling'! once i did. perhaps every one of us comes to a time when she feels all shut in--i went out into my garden when i felt that way. it is a big garden but it felt smaller than this room. i cried in it all night long, walking up and down and up and down--quite sure i didn't want to live any more. but when it was getting to be morning i saw a rosebush by the wall. in a jar. i'd forgotten to take care of it and bele--he is good, you know, but stupid--had been tending it. poor rosebush! "it was much too big for its jar. its roots were all cramped and its top all cut back so it couldn't bloom--you mustn't prune some roses too much, you know--i've just been thinking, that you're rather like my rosebush. you're dulcie, aren't you? i think i know exactly what you need. if you'd just come along with me--i've a big room--i mean i will have as soon as i get the abundance-of-weeds-for-which-we-have- no-name out--i'd just love you to come with me. you'd be proud, proud, proud if you did-- "listen, that's mrs. seeley coming back up the stairs. she's bringing me my two dollars. you put on your shoes and when she's down the stairs i'll whistle--so--vairee softly. and then you will come out and down we'll go. it will really be a great favor if you will--it's a big house, my house and i'm ra-_ther_ lonely--" it wasn't until they were outside in the shadowy, rain-sweet street that dulcie realized she had been coaxed that far. she drew back. "i've no hat," she whimpered, "it's no use--i don't want to go--" "you would," the seamstress insisted, "if you only knew what fun it's going to be. and we'll stop in the exchange and buy you a cap. it's a darling cap. i've wanted it evaire since i saw it, it's velvet, rather like a choir boy's, only it has a tassel." her arm was through dulcie's, they were really walking along. "and we shall buy our supper there too. miss susan has fat jars of baked beans and little round corn muffins and i think she has quince jelly--" she actually managed to get her hysterical guest as far as the shop without further parley. the girl took the cap and the parcels that felicia handed her, turning her head away when she fancied miss susan was eyeing her sharply. they walked around the corner and into the gateway of that unspeakably dirty house. the girl drew back in dismay. "oh, it's altogether too dreadful--" she exclaimed. "it's worse than aunt seeley's--i can't go in--" but she did go in and up the stairs too, protesting weakly all the way. she was plainly exhausted from her emotions, and clung to felicia's arm. and when they were safe in mademoiselle's room she looked about her wildly. "it's an awful place--" she moaned. "it's going to be lovely," promised felicia stoutly, "it used to be lovely. look here," she drew the girl to the window and pointed out across the gleaming river, "that's what you'll see every night from your windows. you won't be in this little room, you'll be in the big room next, the room that used to be my nursery." she wheedled the tired girl into eating a bit. she coaxed her to lie on the bed and watch the stars. she did not talk any more, just listened to sobbing breaths that the girl drew--listened as she sat in the wicker chair with babiche cuddled in her arms. and presently the girl slept. and felicia sighed and slept too. morning was droll and difficult. an enormous bumping and thumping awakened the sleepers. cramped and dazed from her uncomfortable night in the chair felicia jumped up startled; drowsy and bewildered in her unaccustomed bed, dulcie sat up and stared at her. "whatever is it?" dulcie stammered. felicia clapped her hands. "it's the weeds--this is going to be a wonderful, wonderful day, dulcie, you're going to be so glad--just think! the tailor and the tailor's missus and all of them are going--" they were not only going, they had already started. all day long the old house groaned under their leave-taking. all day long felicia chattered to dulcie of her plans of how they should find where the old furniture had gone and bring it back; of how they should make the whole house lovely. dulcie was shy and silent most of the time, her eyes were still red, she was still numb from her nerve-racking day before, still shamed by the fact that this queer little creature had given her her bed and slept in a chair beside her. late afternoon found the two of them standing in the empty room that had been the nursery. they had been laughing a little over the absurdity of their situation; the tailor's missus had removed the bed and chair from mademoiselle's room, and they were furnitureless. but dulcie was waking up mentally after her day of stupor. "impractical" as her aunt had proclaimed her, she proved the contrary very quickly. "steamer chairs," she decided instantly, "i left two steamer chairs and some rugs over on ella slocum's back porch--i'll bet we could get a grocery boy to bring them over for us--" "only what good will it do?" she tramped about the great room restlessly, "it's no use, miss day, you might better have let me quit --you've got troubles enough without bothering with me--" "isn't there room enough?" asked felicia shyly. "isn't it big enough?" "it's big enough for the model stand--" she admitted moodily. "it's a good light. i could paint these silly papered walls--" felicia sighed. dear old shepherds and shepherdesses! it was not the gathering twilight alone that let them mist away as she looked. "are they so silly?" she asked. "i didn't know." but the girl did not answer her. "it's no use," that moody creature was muttering despondently. "there's space enough but it's no use. i don't seem to want to do it any more--i used to sit and dream about how i'd do it and how it would make other people dream just to look--it wasn't going to be any ordinary pandora--it was to be a symbol--a symbol of what goes on in your heart when you're young--before you know about life--oh, i can't chitter-chatter about it--but i used to think i could make it--" "of course you can make it," felicia insisted. "not just now--" she led the girl to the window, "right now, the first thing you'll have to do is to help me in the garden. doesn't it look ugly down there? it used to be lovely. probably as soon as it's lovely again you will walk around in it and dream about your pandora. i used to dream a lot of things in that garden. some day, while i'm off sewing on my stupid sewing, you'll come dashing upstairs--and begin! think what fun it will be when i get home that night! i'll call out, 'where's my sculptor girl?' and you'll call out--'here, i've begun!'" felicia waved her hand into the gloom behind them as though pandora were already mysteriously there. perhaps she was! at any rate that was the moment that felicia won! the sculptor girl laughed, a nervous little laugh, and dashed off to arrange for the steamer chairs. presently she came back with them and found felicia had kindled a fire in the peggoty grate. it was delightfully cosy with two candles burning recklessly on the mantel- shelf and felicia and dulcie sitting by the embers of the little fire. they'd had a supper of sandwiches and milk. babiche was curled at their feet and they were planning excitably what they'd do with the house, when from the depths of the empty hall the old bell shrilled. they'd bolted the doors an hour before when the last of the tailor's tribe had departed. it was the sculptor girl who mustered courage to go down. "it's all right," she called up to felicia, "it's miss sarah from the exchange. there's a mr. alden with her--will you come down?" he was a very apologetic mr. alden. "i know it's after eight," he said, "but i've had a time finding you. it's uncle peter. he's--well, miss grant and the doctor think he's pretty bad tonight. he's a notion he wants to play chess with you, he's been asking all day. i couldn't find you till now. would you come along for an hour or two to pacify him?" the sculptor girl decided for her. "babiche and i will wait up for you," she said. "we'll wait--" it was as comfortable a motor as the judge's. little miss day let herself rest in its cushions. she felt rather lonely without babiche, but she was glad she had had her to leave with the sculptor girl. "maybe the dear old duffer will be asleep when we get there and i can send you right back," mr. alden suggested hopefully. "he was so darned good to me when i was a kid that i can't let him miss anything i can get for him--lord knows that's not much--i thought i could get you right away but i didn't have any name and i couldn't find out where you came from--my wife didn't have your address--" they entered quietly and were up the stairway quickly. outside the door he paused, "just as soon as he is asleep," he whispered, "you come out and let me know--i'll be in the library downstairs with some chaps and i'll phone for the car to come around for you--you're awfully good to come--" he was a bit awkward. "uncle peter" looked no more miserable than, he had the week before when she had met him, save that his eyes burned deeper. his voice was more petulant, he wasted no time in preliminaries, merely ejaculated a grateful, "ah! why didn't you come earlier?" the nurse sat by her light, reading; the chess board lay on the small table; uncle peter was propped in his cushions and the game began. from below stairs felicia could hear faint echoes of conversations. she had heard the mistress of the house departing in the same motor that had brought them, but a steady rumble of men's voices and a faint aroma of cigars floated up the stairway. you can't think what exultation it gave her, just having a sense of nearness to sturdy masculinity after a lifetime of invalids and old folks! she liked the spirit of argument that dimly arose, the eager confab--"it's not feasible"--"it couldn't be pulled off"--"quixotic plan"--"take a mint of money--" the sheltered sick room was like all her life, but below stairs there were--men! she moved her pawns quietly, watching uncle peter's adroit game. she watched too, something else, the light in uncle peter's eyes. they sparkled. the room was impossibly hot yet the old man shivered, just as grandy shivered, and drew his dressing gown closer. felicia was very tired from her exciting day. she grew paler and paler; the circles under her eyes grew deeper; her forehead was moist; her hand trembled a bit. but presently she heard. "check!" she roused herself, she had been playing badly, he had caught her! but he laughed, a feeble, senile laugh, and leaned back, altogether pleased with himself. "a drink," he panted and closed his eyes. "come again, miss whadda- you-call-it-" the nurse's eyes reproached her as she tiptoed out. a pert maid arose, from the hall chair, "mr. alden said for me to 'phone the garage, that the car would be here for you directly--will you sit down--" there was a bench on the stair landing below them beside an open window. felicia gestured toward it, and the maid nodded. she could hear the voices more clearly now, she could even see two of the speakers through an arched doorway. they were sprawled easily in big chairs, a blue haze of smoke floating over them. one of them was laughing, "that's all right--we agree with you--we'll go in your wild scheme if you can find some other fools too--only, i say dud, before you beat it just sing a couple things, will you? you might be gone six months instead of three and that's too long between songs. i know you aren't singing and you haven't any voice and all that, but just a couple to show there's no hard feeling--those things you used to--the one that the darkey boy wrote--that dunbar chap--'the sum'--and that other one--" others added to the appeal. some one objected. felicia caught a brief glimpse of a tall figure, over-coat on arm, the doorway, and a hand pulling him back. but on he came, protesting vibrantly that he never sang any more. he looked up toward the figure on the stairs, "i believe i'll run up to say howdy and good-by to your uncle peter--" one step, two steps he had ascended before she could actually see him. then with her heart in her eyes she looked to him--he was so tall, so broad shouldered, so superb in his ruddy blondeness! "oh, dudly hamilt!" her lips moved. but she leaned back against the shadow of the curtains as he drew nearer. he was so close she could touch him, he was so close that at last he saw her--that is he saw a little drab person whose figure was lost in a caped coat. "beg pardon," he murmured--and passed her-- she buried her face in her hands. she was too weak to move. she was still sitting with her face thus hidden when he came down the stairway a moment later, calling back to the invalid, "you'll be as good as ever when it's summer--" the others were waiting for him at the foot of the stairway. "un-cle pe-ter-" called freddie alden, "ask dud to sing 'who knows' for you." uncle peter did. and so with her pulse racing madly, with her throat so dry it seemed as though she could not breathe, felicia day sat and listened, listened with her trembling hand over her mouth to keep her lips from crying out. listened to the first firm chords as dudley hamilt's long fingers moved over the keys, listened as he began to sing. he wasn't using very much voice, just enough to let the melody ring upward to uncle peter, round and smooth and inexpressibly caressing. he wasn't singing as though it mattered especially what he sang, indeed at first the phrasing was careless. but presently his voice soared more freely, it grew vibrant with longing. "thou art the soul of a summer's day, thou art the breath of a rose; but the summer is fled and the rose is dead; where are they gone, who knows, who knows? "thou art the blood of my heart of hearts, thou art my soul's repose; but my heart's grown numb and my soul is dumb--" the song stopped abruptly. "sorry. can't sing it.--'night, uncle peter. 'night everybody--" a door banged. "gad, he's a queer chap! if i had his voice i'd sing--" she caught the fatuous phrases of the man who had laughed but after that she was no longer sure of herself. she could only hear the muffled rise of her own sobbing. the chauffeur asked a respectful question at the doorway. "why, yes," answered freddie alden, "the maid 'phoned--wait a minute-- hullo--" he called. but a second later he was racing upward, "i say, miss grant--this little woman here--she's fainted--" chapter v "certain legal matters" of janet macgregor and why she couldn't abide mrs. freddie alden the poetry girl once said epics could have been written. janet was gaunt and wiry, the relict of the late jock macgregor, who had cared for uncle peter alden's horses for a lifetime and died leaving his savings and a bit of life insurance to janet, together with an admonition to "keep an eye on mr. peter." janet did. she dropped into the alden kitchen frequently of an evening to glean a melancholy satisfaction from the morbid details of uncle peter's lingering betwixt life and death. whenever--which was frequent--there was an upheaval in the alden's domestic arrangements, janet filled in the gaps, spoke her mind freely to mrs. freddie, secure in the knowledge that mrs. freddie wouldn't talk back until a new cook arrived, and usually departed in a wholesome rage--which didn't at all deter her from accepting mr. freddie's sizable peace offering. to see her "washing oop" after dinner on an evening when she was about to depart forever--or anyhow until mr. freddie came for her again--was a tremendous sight. especially on an evening when at the highest moment of her justifiable wrath mr. freddie would appear and nonchalantly suggest a "few eats for some chaps who'd dropped in" as casually as though janet were not already on the verge of explosion. of course she would prepare the lunch, stabbing the bread-saw viciously into the defenseless loaf and muttering dark things as she assembled something she called "old doves" on a big sheffield platter. janet couldn't cook at all but she could arrange things as beautifully as her ancestors did--and they had been a race of public park gardeners! there wasn't anything she couldn't do with some parsley, a can of sardines and the cheese that was left from dinner. and then she would wait grimly for the platter. not for anything, even though she were leaving forever, would janet let the remnants remain to stain that sacred platter. besides if she waited she always had a fine chance to growl whimpering things about what an hour it was for a decent widow woman to be a-walkin' the roads and to agree, feebly, oh very feebly, that maybe mr. freddie was right, that it wouldn't hurt the chauffeur to drive her back to her tiny flat. this particular evening janet had been speaking her mind so freely that the new dining-room girl had fled absolutely dazed by janet's dark threat that, mr. peter or no mr. peter, she, janet macgregor, would never let her shadow rest again on the alden walls. she would tell mr. freddie that, she would let him understand that she didn't have to take miss' alden's lip, that she, at least, wasn't married to her, that she had some spirit left even if she was a widow woman. and that she wasn't dependent on the aldens nor anybody else. that she was going to quit service of any kind--day of week or month. she had a grand chance to open a window-cleaning emporium. she could get the ladders and harnesses and chamois scrubs for almost nothing from the widow of a boss cleaner who had cleaned a twenty-second story window without the aid of one of his own reliable harnesses. she didn't care so much for her flat anyhow. she was going to find a basement, she was, with a long hall to keep the ladders in and a sunny front room for her to live in and put her sign in the window. but with the aldens she was through--unless, of course, mr. freddie wanted to give her a window-cleaning contract. she had been loitering near the pantry door shamelessly eavesdropping during dudley hamilt's song because she hoped that meant the gentlemen would be going and that she could air her grievances while mr. freddie smoked and chuckled at her grumbling. so that when mr. freddie called for miss grant, janet was on the stairs a good three seconds before that professionally calm person appeared. janet sat on the landing window seat and cuddled felicia in her thin arms, crooning over her like a setting hen. "there, there--don't ye mind her--" she lifted glum eyes to mr. freddie as she soothed the sobbing woman, "it's this that miss' freddie's tantrums brings the help to! many a time have i masel' felt like givin' way the way this poor soul is givin' way. it's on'y ma fierce pride that saves me--don't ye cry over miss' freddie's way o' speakin'--" "it wasn't mrs. freddie, it wasn't anybody--" felicia lifted her streaming eyes from janet's spare bosom. she was deeply chagrined that the group hovering on the stairway could see her tears. "it was just that--i was tired--that uncle peter's room was rather hot--that i liked to hear the man sing--i'm vairee well--" her drawling "vairee" sounded anything but well, it was almost a sob in itself. "truly vairee well--" she was still "very well" a few moments later when she and janet settled themselves in the luxurious car. they were the oddest pair. janet's bonnet and shawl were as battered as felicia's garb; exhausted as she was felicia found herself whimsically wondering how she'd tell herself from janet when it was time to get out. felicia's tears had dissolved in little smothered hysterical sniffs. she was laughing at janet's scolding because the seamstress had refused to take what mr. freddie had tried to give her just as they were stepping into the car. "it's worth ony money to mr. freddie to have mr. peter snatch a bit of contentment from life--and mr. freddie is that prodigal with money that if you don't take it of him he'll hand it to the next one--" "but i can't take money for playing--chess is only playing, its only for work we should take money." janet snorted. she talked volubly in her rich broad scotch. agitated as she was, felicia's own lips were mouthing these strange new sounds, she was sure she could get the gutteral a, she wasn't sure of the burry r. she couldn't heed at all what janet was saying, indeed she couldn't listen intelligently, because her tired ears were still filled with the glorious harmonies of dudley hamilt's unfinished song. when she shut her eyes she could see his tall figure swinging up the stairs--she was trying to convince herself that she was really glad that he hadn't recognized her, when the car stopped before her darkened house. janet got out first, haughtily dismissing the chauffeur with the assurance that she could walk the four blocks over to her own house and she'd not leave a clean car in such a dirty street as montrose place. dulcie was waiting on the old balcony. babiche trotted ahead of her when she opened the door, in ecstacy at felicia's home coming. dulcie set her flaring candle carefully on the newel post and eyed janet. "it's janet macgregor with me, dulcie. she's a widow woman. this is dulcie dierckx, janet, you'll like dulcie--" she had babiche in her arms now, and was leaning wearily against the balustrade, "janet was good to bring me home--i was a silly fool--i cried, dulcie--" janet was peering curiously into the empty house. "is onybody livin' here?" she demanded. "i thought i saw them all movin' out--i heard the building was comin' down to make room for lofts." dulcie answered that it wasn't, holding the door open as a tactful hint that she'd better go. but janet had no intention of leaving. she had a woman's curiosity about a vacant house, and she was frankly looking things over, craning her neck to glance down the murky hallway. "would you think the basement might be to let to a decent body? it's no worth much, so old and all but i know a body as might conseeder it." impractical as the "beastly step-aunt" had proclaimed her to be dulcie grasped janet's thin arm. "how much would you pay?" "is it your hous'?" "it's miss day's--" dulcie nodded toward felicia. "she's just been thinking she might rent part of it. of course its altogether too large for her." "if she's livin' here where's her furnishings?" demanded janet cannily. felicia sat down on a stair. she motioned but the others remained standing, their lean figures casting grotesque shadows in the flickering light of the candle. "this is the pattern of it," the little seamstress explained. "it's my house, janet macgregor, only it's dirty because while i was gone building my garden, some dirty filthy heathen came to live here. but now i'm home his honor made them all go away. and as soon as i have earned enough money to pay the taxes and other things i shall make the house lovely again. the furniture is in a place called storage. i think i have to pay them something before i get my things, don't i, dulcie?" "what's the matter o' the storage bills?" demanded janet her eyes gleaming. dulcie answered her, her sharp slangy syllables falling incisively after felicia's low drawl. "i don't know that it's any of your business but they amount to about two hundred dollars. i know what you're thinking, that with the furniture we could open a rooming house. i've been thinking that myself while miss day was gone. i've experience you know, my beastly step-aunt does make a good thing of it. so if you wanted to rent the basement and had some furniture of your own miss day might consider it." janet's thin arms rested akimbo. she nodded. "if you've lodgings to let you've got to have some one to keep 'em tidy. there's a good bit o' money there for an able body. if the furnishings is what she ree-presents and you'd conseeder takin' me in on shares--i might conseeder--" "consider what?" gasped dulcie. "conseeder advancing for the storage of the furnishings--with the furnishings as security o' course. and doin' some cleanin' toward the matter o' what ma rent would be. mind i'm no sayin' i would until i see the furnishings. i'm on'y conseederin'--i'll have the matter o' some ladders--" she peered again down the dark hallway, "and i'd want a neat ticket in the window--" at midnight, by the embers of their dying fire, felicia lay with dulcie's rug about her, plaintively pretending from the feel of the chair, that she was the young felice of those long years ago, journeying toward the beloved house in the woods. it was an easy pretense for she could glimpse the dark waters of the bay and the silent ships drifting on the tide. a spring fog seeped through the open windows and she was quite as miserable as she had been on that memorable trip. beside her in her own chair, dulcie talked and talked, a thousand details that felicia's tired wits could not follow. it did not seem at all a miracle to her that she had found janet. she accepted her with the simplicity with which she accepted any one who came into her life. "the garden is a little old pippin," dulcie boasted. "we can make that all o. k. in a day or so, but the house did stump me! janet macgregor is an angel sent straight from heaven. if i ever get a commish' to sculpt an angel i shall use janet macgregor for my model, little miss by-the-day," she sighed drowsily, "your middle name must be luck." "my middle name is trenton," answered felicia literally. "dulcie, i am going to tell you something. something you must remember. when our little garden is lovely again, if any one--ever--kisses--you out there and you love him--don't let any one take you away from him. because it might be too long afterward that you come back--you might be old like grandy and piqueur--so that he wouldn't know you when he saw you. he wouldn't know that you were the--girl,--" something in the level flatness of her tones almost broke the sculptor girl's heart. she reached out her hand and caught felicia's and gripped it hard. she did not say much but what she said felicia found strangely comforting. "why--" her reply was the breathless reply of discovery, "i hadn't noticed till now--_how young your hands are!"_ they awoke to the dazzling wonder of the new day, a bit stiff from their unaccustomed couches but exuberant over the adventure. almost before they had finished their simple breakfast the excited janet macgregor appeared. it was dulcie dierckx, impractical dulcie dierckx, who took charge. she was a very different person from the hysterical girl that felicia had brought home with her two days before. "you'd better go to your by-the-day." dulcie was almost saucy. "babiche and i will stay and guard the fort. i'll show janet all the dirt, i think there's enough to satisfy even her unholy craving--and then if she still wants to go into the deal i can go to the storage place. i know i could arrange it because i did it once for aunt jen; it's a bore, it takes all kinds of time, you'd hate it and--" tears threatened, "unless i'm doing something for my keep i can't stay." little miss day agreed gratefully. she departed with tactful discretion before janet and dulcie began their argument. which was some argument! but in the end they came to something like a feasible plan and when they did--! ah! if you could have seen what those two accomplished that day! each put the other on her mettle. they did wonderful team work. janet agreed readily enough when she saw the massive furniture that she had ample security. dulcie fairly browbeat the storage manager, and between the two of them they actually arranged for a small van load of furniture to be delivered at montrose place before dark. as for the rest of it, dulcie had a wrist-watch, that for all we know is still reposing in the dusty pawnbroker's at which she cheerfully hocked it. she'd always wondered why she had it and i don't believe she ever remembered to go back for it. and janet had a nephew, a cross-eyed nephew, who was an odd-job man. can't you see dulcie buying the bags of creamy kalsomine and the brushes and janet packing up her pails and scrubbing things? there never was such a polishing, such a mopping, such a scrubbing such a--whisper!--fumigating--since the old house had been built! they'd sense enough not to try too much. they confined their efforts to the nursery, janet's basement room and mademoiselle's old quarters. dulcie knew she mustn't touch the shepherdesses there. felice had told her about the battle royal with the sponge, but in the nursery--well, the crossy-eyed nephew couldn't work fast enough to suit dulcie. she feverishly grabbed a brush herself and slashed about delightedly in kalsomine. janet bossed the nephew and dulcie, dulcie bossed janet and the nephew, the nephew nearly uncrossed his eyes from trying to follow all the instructions the two shouted at him. at quarter after six when miss by-the-day climbed slowly up the stairs, reaching out delightedly for babiche, who had been sleeping in the top-most niche of the stair, two tired and aching women flung open the door of the nursery. they were smiling. neither of them could think of a thing to say, but a curious mingling of odors told their story for them. the freshness of the clean, scarcely-dried, kalsomine, the faint tinge of smoke from the bit of fire, the delicious soapy cleanliness and a wholesome whiff of barley broth floated out into the dusty hallway to the little person on the stairs. she looked through the doorway and saw clean walls, creamy yellow; windows that glistened, a glowing fire, a tiny table spread for two--janet knew her place!--grandy's fat sofa under the dormer windows, the stately hall table flat against the side wall, maman's chaise-longue, the slender chaise-longue with its flowered chintz cushions, beside the fire-- when felicia saw that she reached out her arms and sighed contentedly, rapturously-- "oh! it's home--it's really home--" who shall say which of them won the greater triumph in those mad april days? sometimes it seemed as though it must be the valiant janet, who fought with soap and brushes and won gargantuan victories over squalor and filth. sometimes it seemed as though it were the belligerent dulcie, who bravely tried to forget that she had ever wept over "wet mud" and wanted to die--die! why, she couldn't live hard enough, the days seemed so short! she threw herself heart and soul into the fray; she grubbed in the bit of garden, she toiled upstairs and down with the clumsy paint brushes. whenever she lacked for pence she strode forth to the art school where she had once been a pupil in the days before "uncle al" had put her money into the disastrous plumbing venture, and boldly demanded the right to pose at fifty cents an hour. with the bravado born of her new grip on life she brazenly descended on the "beastly aunt jen" and demanded and received her trunks and personal trinkets. as for felice, her victories were humbler--they were small, silent victories over self. in the long hours while she sat sewing she fought out her little battle--the battle of hating uncongenial toil. it was not easy, for she had an honest hatred of it. not even the goal in sight could make her like being a "by-the-day." moreover as she grew wiser in the matter of reckoning she realized the utter impossibility of actually earning, with her hands, the appalling sum that she owed. she could only work on blindly from day to day, hoping, hoping against hope that she would find the portia person. she never gave that up. long hours after her day's work was over she kept following elusive trails that led nowhere. she would never admit defeat in that respect. she would find him and she was sure that he could solve the difficulties that beset her. slowly she was evolving a philosophy of life. it began with a bitter feeling that she had been cheated, that grandy hadn't been fair to her, to let her grow up so ignorant of life, so ignorant of the ways to earn a living. but gradually she began to discover that neither grandy nor mademoiselle nor maman herself could have taught her to live. "it's my stub, stub, stubborn way--" she chided herself, "i won't let any one tell me--i think it's only when i work that i learn--work! that's the thing to learn with--it's like the 'binnage'--the second digging of the garden to make things grow--its not pleasant but after all--it must be done." next she found out that it wasn't enough to work--you must like to do it! janet now, she _liked_ to clean--and so she did it beautifully, did it superlatively, whereas when dulcie or felice tried, it was only half done. so felice set herself to "like to" be a "by-the-day." and that was the time she discovered that to like to do anything you must make it genuinely amusing. "we should be immensely gay when we're working, shouldn't we, dulcie?" she asked one evening when they leaned far out of the windows to watch the ships in the harbor. "think how gay the sailors are. i remember one who whistled while he cleaned the deck--he did it very quickly, much more quickly than the stupid boys who didn't whistle--i think when i sew i shall whistle,--not aloud--" she laughed, "it would wake folks' babies! but in my heart--" she watched janet vigorously sweeping the area-way. "look dulcie, it's not the way that she does it that matters--you and i brush as hard--but it's because it's janet brushing--the broom acts as though it were janet instead of just a broom--isn't it delightful? i shall have to make my needle me--and you shall--" they were silent. all had not been victory for poor dulcie. there was the model stand and the tools and the "wet mud," but the part of dulcie that had wanted to create seemed dead--it seemed to have died back there that day when she had tried to die in "aunt jen's" house. morning after morning when felice went away she would encourage her. she would assure her that when she came back at night she would hear dulcie calling "it's begun." but alas, it never was--it was only by keeping madly, tempestuously busy at other things that dulcie endured the nag of some of those april days. sometimes she gave up entirely, flung herself prostrate on the sofa under the dormer windows and wept until she was no longer dulcie, until she was merely a limp rag of a human who wouldn't even speak to felice, who actually cursed when janet tried to bring her soup. but somehow or other the three of them squeezed and bumped along, a precarious existence really, which would have been utterly impossible if it hadn't been for janet. she it was, who held the purse strings. she it was who cooked sad looking, unpalatable, but none the less nourishing, stews and broths. you should have seen janet during one of those solemn conclaves with the young lawyer whom justice harlow had assigned to the case. he was a frankly gloomy lawyer. he was sure they were wasting time and money and energy in their attempt to make the house habitable--he didn't believe it was possible, he didn't think that even another thirty days extension of time could be procured and as for the debts on the property, they looked to his impoverished purse like the combined national debts of all the americas. he was a very young lawyer. he was sorry, he said he was sorry, protesting that he was doing everything on earth he could do to help "the case." he always called the house "the case." janet called him back one night after the two younger women had left. she informed him bluntly that she didn't think he was anything much of a lawyer. he retorted hotly that he'd done everything any lawyer could do. janet eyed him cannily. "where might ye be livin'? you're no married?" he admitted his single blessedness; he named his address; he on further urging named his room rent. and janet came back at him with a practical ferocity that was magnificent. "if you're so keen on helping my little lady why are ye no livin' here and paying her rent?" he murmured things about neighborhoods and slums and not being able to afford to live in such a hole and appearances and other futile excuses. but in the end he followed her meekly up the stairway and was shown the glories of grandy's old room. it was a huge cavern of a room, a whale of a room, with a curtained alcove holding a stately bed, with wide windows overlooking the bay and a low squatty chair beside the fireplace. while he was looking dulcie tripped down the stairs and winked solemnly at janet. and she too assailed him. he hadn't an argument left when the two of them were through with him. he felt like a henpecked mormon husband; he was red with wrath at the sculptor girl's cool bossiness; he loathed the very idea of living in the same house with such a person. especially when she told him bluntly, that he'd have to go to felice and beg to be taken in. felicia mustn't know that he'd been "influenced" she put it. in the end he capitulated, clambering up to the nursery and tapping meekly on the door, stammering as he made his request. but he'd his reward straight with--the reward of her wide, sincere smile. "how stupid i was not to offer it to you! of course you must have longed for it directly you saw it--oh, do you know i think you must have felt it was just the place for a lawyer! shall i tell you something--" she was down the stairs, running like a girl to point out the wonders of the room. "you see grandy's father was a judge and he knew louisa's uncle--it was louisa's uncle who used to live in this house and both those men used to sit in this room and talk and talk and talk--mademoiselle told me about it. you shall have grandy's father's picture over the fireplace. we shall bring it up from the hall. it's a beautiful picture--you'll just admire him! and to think-- we haven't unpacked the books, grandy's father's books--" she smiled over her shoulder at dulcie as she always smiled when she quoted that slangy young person, "that will be some law!" all the same he was young enough so that he apologized profusely to his friends for having such a disreputable lodging, "yep, i know it's a rookery and a rotten neighborhood, but i have reasons--" he said it darkly as though he were plotting. he didn't yet know that a very powerful reason was dulcie. he was so busy hating her, thinking up things to say back when she let her saucy, slangy phrases loose at him that he didn't know how easily he was learning to love the solemn heavy furniture that surrounded him, the bit of fire in the grate on chilly evenings, and dulcie herself, poking her head in the door crying, "how is the majesty of the law? would it mind lifting a ladder for a poor woiking goil?" the day he knew that the house was home was the languorous spring day when he stopped to stare at a bowl of strawberries in the niche outside his door. their purchase had driven janet almost to drink. she plainly told felice they'd all end in the poorhouse. but felice hadn't minded, she had inscribed a card, on which in her spidery slanting scrawl was written, "notice to lawyers and sculptors: have some on me." "by gad!" he breathed, grinning, "she's coming on!" he didn't protest at dulcie's demurely calling him "the rumor," not even when she added, "because as a lawyer, you're a false alarm." he took his humble part in the gigantic house-cleaning. he opportunely called to mind a chance acquaintance in the street cleaning department, whereupon an ancient white wings was stationed in the block. of course the white wings couldn't remove the dingy lace curtains and the grimy lodgings signs from the disconsolate six houses across the way; but he could and did do wonders to gutters and sidewalks. the hordes that had inhabited the great house had really made most of the noise, the "across the street" houses were fairly quiet. spring did a lot. she draped new ivy over the dilapidated church and rectory; she let the gray-green leaves of the wistaria flutter gaily over the cornices; she touched with magic the old denuded stumps of the trees of heaven and the back yard became a shaded retreat. sometimes at twilight when felice came home, it seemed to her that the long ago look of the street was creeping slowly back--perhaps, of course, it was just that she was growing used to it or else it was the tender light through the old willows that made the spirit of things strangely young again. she always came home bubbling with adventure now. dulcie would sit shamelessly smoking a cigarette filched from the lawyer and listen by the hour while little miss by-the-day imitated her employers and their maid servants and their man servants and the strangers within their gates. the two women would sit in the back yard on the old iron benches, which janet had found in the depths of the coal bin. the lawyer would walk grandly about, and chuckle and chuckle while felicia pretended she was a very fat customer who was always going to begin dieting after "mrs. poomsonby's bridge luncheon." and when janet was gone for her bit of walk--the dear soul liked to gossip with her old neighbors four blocks over--dulcie and the lawyer would laugh until tears blinded them at felicia pretending she was janet. oh, but she was inimitable at that! janet arguing with the fish man, janet experimenting with the telephone the lawyer had put in the hall, janet simultaneously polishing a window and singing. "ouch--" felicia would pull imaginary rheumatism through an imaginary casement, "oh weel--oh weel--to look at the du-urt! it's sickenin'! weel-- you tak the high road and i'll tak the low road and i'll be in scotland before ye, oh, i and my true luv shall never be-- oot of the way below there--summat is drapping--th' de'il tak my bit of soapie!-- 'on the bonnie, bonnie banks of loch lomond.'" the folk who lived in the rear alley used to lean, sill-warming fashion on their windows, the children shrilly whistling the chorus, the men forgetting their pipes, the women sniffling as women do when they hear old ballads, for of course once felice had started "pretending" she didn't stop. a moment after she'd been janet she'd be marthy, dear, lean, grizzled old marthy, dead these many years, singing, "in the gloaming oh, my darling, think not bitterly of me--" it never occurred to any of them, least of all felice, how many, many hours she spent "pretending." two evenings a week at chess with uncle peter--(thank heaven dudley hamilt came no more--!) sunday afternoons with the wheezy's gentle old fellow sufferers, almost all the other evenings in the garden. she was using ounce after ounce of her precious strength, pouring out her self to the whole world around her, making it laugh, making it weep, making it thrill, making it--work. she stopped one morning to see justice harlow. he stared at her as though it were the first time he had ever seen her. she no longer wore eccentric garb. dulcie had divided with her. she had a simple hat and a serge frock. she was shabby, to be sure, but it was no longer a ridiculous shabbiness. she was pale and wan, even paler than when she had first come to him but the timidity, the uncertainty, had gone. her eyes were deeper. they shone like jewels; the softened outlines of her profile were thinner, clearer; her beautiful mouth had grown firm and a bit of gray showed in her hair. she was altogether adorable, like a wee wren after a stormy day. the stilted phrases were slipping away. she spoke more alertly. bits of dulcie's lingo were creeping into her speech. but she still answered with a literalness that took one's breath away. "now whadda ye know about that?" asked the justice all unconscious that he was colloquial. "i do not know anything about it," she said demurely, and added with one of her casual references to the illustrious dead--she treated them all as though they were contemporary--"i think heloise might know what to do. one of the things abelard loved about her was that she always knew what to do--she was vairee good at administrating, like janet, don't you think?" all the while she was filling her house--with gentle paupers! think you how janet raged the day she brought home the most useless citizen of all--the poetry girl. felice had been sewing for two or three days for a dentist's wife, a rather amusing job for she was stationed in an upstairs window that let one look down two streets, and at the other window in the room the dentist's white haired mother sat and gossiped softly about all the persons who came. it was the dentist's mother who saw the poetry girl first, a thin figure who walked uncertainly up and down the street, eyeing doctors' signs. it was a regular streetful of doctors. "there's a poor thing that's lost her address," crooned mrs. miller, "she does look sick. it's a tooth, too, see how she holds her hand to her face, you can almost see the pain." felice saw, that is she thought she saw. of course no one could really see such an enormous pain as the one that was sweeping the poetry girl along. it was too big to see. it was something like this. orange red, pale blue, e flat minor, acrobatic, ariel-like in its changes. sometimes it made her careen heavily toward the curb--that was the time it made her head seem big and her feet very far away. sometimes she could walk but she wanted to scream, sometimes she felt like a volcano, a vesuvius of shooting pains, sometimes it hammered at her ears and she couldn't hear at all. but one thing she remembered all the time, that she had exactly twenty-seven cents in her purse. she was planning whether she'd better dash up to a door and act as though she had an appointment and give a false address for the bill to be sent or whether she'd better announce she hadn't any way to pay the dentist and would he take his pay in poetry, or whether she'd just shriek, "stop it!" in the end her body decided for her. it just flopped down outside the house where felicia and mrs. miller were watching. the poetry girl was normally very sweet tempered but she wasn't at all her usual self when she opened her eyes. she was in an operating chair and she looked accusingly at the man beside her. "you shouldn't sprinkle me," she murmured reproachfully, "i'm wet enough as it is and i've no rubbers;--" the faint blue shadows under her eyes accused them all. her thin hand tried to pat her rumpled hair, "i do believe you've lost another hairpin for me--i'd only three--" she was petulant, "and if you do pull it i can't pay you--" she was defiant. "not unless you need some poetry written. "or a play. i can write a play. but i can't sell knit underwear or i can't do general housework--i'm only--a toothache--bobby burns wrote me--maybe you've read me--" of course felicia took her home with her,--that was foreordained from the moment she saw her,--but she had a beautiful row getting her! the poetry girl had a "stub, stub, stubborn way" too. she was suspicious, she was wary. she said she didn't care a damn where she went but she didn't want any one to take her there. the dentist agreed with her. he took felicia aside and told her it was his private opinion that the girl was either drunk or on the verge of a nervous breakdown and he thought the best thing to do would be to notify a police matron. in short he was cool and practical. if there was anything felicia day couldn't endure it was a van dyke beard on a cool and practical man. she told the sculptor girl afterward that it took strength of mind not to pull his silly beard off. she tucked her thimble in her pocket, folded her apron and asked, "will you promise not to let her go till i get my hat?" "you can't manage her," said the dentist, "i tell you she's irresponsible." "so am i," confided felicia serenely, "but i'll come back to-morrow for the sewing. as soon as i get her in bed and janet brings her some soup she'll be perfectly all right--" but all the same it wasn't easy getting her home. it was a long walk. felicia hadn't two carfares and she had forgotten to ask the dentist for money. to make bad matters worse a heavy down pour of rain overtook them a good half mile from the house. its cool splatter seemed to bring the poetry girl to her senses. she laughed a bit. "what an idiot!" she exclaimed, "you must think me--my name is blythe modder, and usually i'm sane. you see just before i went into that dentist's i did such a fool thing. i bought some patent liniment and put on my tooth and i didn't notice until afterward that it said 'external use only'--i was such an idiot--i think it went to my head-- i'm very much better now." "well, come along and get some dry clothes and tea anyhow, then you'll be vairee all right." she left her with janet while she ran for the dry clothes. she left her on janet's immaculate bed in janet's atrocious dressing gown. her clothes she unceremoniously turned over to janet to dry, leaving that practical soul verbose with disgust. felicia herself was drenched and she loved it. she was loth to strip the damp clothes off; she felt like running miles and miles in the rain. she was dreamily happy, dreamily miserable; she felt like the day--all tears and smiles both. she dropped the outer garments to floor and pulled her shoes and stockings off. babiche sat up and begged for a cracker. felicia stooped, her damp hair clinging to her beautiful forehead, the long scant chemise that had been octavia's falling loosely from her smooth shoulders. "poor babiche," she crooned, "when your mistress does come in--" so intent was she on reaching for the cracker box that she lifted her voice a bit. dulcie, outside the door ready to tap on it, swung it open just in time to glimpse the charming posture. felicia blushed like a sixteen year old. she reached for her dressing gown and pulled it toward her. but dulcie dierckx, slamming the door behind her, leaned against the panels fairly devouring felicia with her eyes. "oh! oh!" she cried in absolute ecstacy; "oh, pandora! pandora! don't move! how could i have been so stupid not to have seen you before! oh, please drop the coat! oh! oh! you adorable--you beautiful person--you little old peach!" felicia laughed. laughed her soft, breathless laugh and drew the gown closer. "you--you're rather embarrassing--" she sighed, "though of course," her eyes danced mischievously, "my knees and my ankles and my insteps are vairee nice indeed--i got them all from louisa, margot says--and my hands--" she stretched one out--"they're grandmother trenton's--and i think i have nice ears--but the rest of me--" she shrugged, "the rest of me won't do at all--my mouth is too big and--no, i wouldn't be at all your pandora--it's dark here--that's why you thought you saw her--" "i saw her," insisted the sculptor girl stubbornly. "and you'd be a brute not to help me--i--look here," she lied casually, "i didn't tell you but i've managed a bit of money--i'm not asking you to pose for nothing--i can pay you more than you earn at your sewing--" "oh, money," she stammered. "i didn't think about money--sculptor girl--how could you--" "taxes," ejaculated the sculptor girl bluntly. "interest! you can't forget 'em or we'll all be back in the gutter you know--so that's settled--to-morrow morning at nine--i'll have a good fire--you won't mind awfully, will you, if i hang wet cheese cloth around you--?" she was trying to keep the excitement out of her voice but her eyes were sparkling. she no longer saw felicia, she only saw pandora--the pandora of her dreams! but all the same, after she'd lighted her cigarette in her own room she drew a long breath and pottered about her few possessions until she found something pawnable. in the shop she bargained coolly enough with the pawn-broker, pocketed the money she fought for and as she was leaving stopped to gaze casually at the motley array of things in the dusty case. she stared unbelievingly at a quaint mahogany box, warily priced two or three other things and finally asked "how much for the damaged writing case?" ten minutes later she fled with it under her arm. it didn't look like much. it was quite empty and it would make a nice box for pandora to be opening. but over and over her heart was pounding, "it's the same bee on it that's on her brushes--it's the same bee she has said was on the silver--it's--oh, if it only could be hers!" she burst in upon the poetry girl (now warm and snug in some of dulcie's own garments) and felicia sitting by the nursery fire. they were having a friendly little party. felicia introduced the two girls with the affable hope they'd be nice neighbors. "blythe's coming to have the front room next as soon as cross eyes can pink-wash it--" her eyes glimpsed the box, she fairly ran for it, "that's maman's," she exclaimed, "how did you find it?" she hugged it delightedly; she opened it--"even its emptiness smells nice," she sighed. "oughtn't there to be a secrud pocket in it, m'loidy? with the missing will and the dagger he stabbed her with?" "nothing like that," laughed miss day with one of her delicious excursions into slang, "it was just for maman's writing things--but i'm _that_ proud to have it--" she was still holding the box when janet brought up their dinner. after the poetry girl had left, she settled herself for her scolding. she knew that she was due for it. for naturally she had to confess that she'd asked miss modder to come live in the house. "what's she paying?" demanded janet. "a good bargain, i made. it's like this--she writes, you know, so she doesn't get her money everyday as you and i do, janet. she's more like--well, dulcie when she's sculpting. so i made a bargain with her that she'd not pay her rent just now, that she'll pay later. she's to pay some girl's rent for as long as she stays herself rent free, do you see? as soon as she can she'll pay her own rent and she'll pay another rent too, that's vairee business like, don't you think, dulcie?" dulcie solemnly assured janet she "couldn't beat it." she offered to enter into a similar agreement. janet couldn't get any sense out of either of them. she retired baffled and defeated. "all the same," confessed dulcie, "you've got to quit bringing home losers, miss day. you ought to pick one winner just to square yourself with janet." felicia promised. and, mirabile dictu, kept her word the very next week. of all the persons that her mistress brought home janet really approved of only that one. but that one, as she grudgingly admitted, made up for the whole "shiftless crew." "she's christian," she assured felice solemnly, "a christian." which was the more delightful from the fact that her sect was one that janet had hitherto scorned as "irish roman catolic." but just to look at molly o'reilly was to know you'd love her. fat, oh, ridiculously fat, in comparison with the rest of that skinny household--ruddy, glowingly ruddy, beside that pale-faced "crew." just by the law of contrasts they adored her when they saw her--especially after they'd tasted her heavenly food. miss by-the-day met her in the laundry of a great house where she'd put in a day mending curtains and table linen. not a bad sort of job if one had a suitable spot to work in; but a laundry, a steamy, soapy, wet-woolens-smelling laundry is not a comfortable place to sew. by noon felice wanted to indulge in one of dulcie's weeps--she was so nervous--when there entered, bearing a tray, molly o'reilly, with her blue sleeves rolled over her dimpled elbows and her red hair lightly dusted with flour. "here's something to put inside you--" she called to the perspiring colored woman who was washing and the tiny white person who was laboriously darning thin net, "something to think on save work." she stole a keen glance at the seamstress. "yours goes on this bit of table; susy, put down the top of your toobs and get a stool." ah, that food! even margot couldn't cook like molly o'reilly. why, molly cooked as janet scrubbed, as the poetry girl wrote, as the sculptor girl modeled--by inspiration! there wasn't anything on that tray she put before felicia that hadn't been made from crumbs that fell from the rich man's feast. yet so cunningly had she warmed it, so deftly had she flavored it, so daintily had she garnished it that it seemed food ambrosial. felicia let her fork slide into delectable crust underneath which snuggled the tenderest chicken she'd ever tasted in her life. bits of carrots and celery and potatoes drifted idly about a sea of creamy gravy--um--when you go to montrose place order "old fashioned chicken pie." the artist who had created this delight sat easily against the laundry sill and grumbled. "coompany, coompany all hours. and niver a sound of them reaching the kitchen. meals from marning till night and me niver seeing them ate. you'd think i'd be contint--the wages is so gr'rand, but honest, susy, i was happier doing gineral housework for brides at twenty per mont'-- at least i'd a bit of heart put in me, i heard something savin' a voice on the house 'phone sayin', "'dinner fur eight at seven o'clock--' i'm going to quit. as soon as iver i can find a partner. i'm going to open one of these stylish tea rooms where's i can peep through the door and see me food bein' appreciated--" can't you almost hear felicia talking with her, describing the kitchen and the back yard and the dumb-waiter that goes up to grandy's room and stops at maman's room and on up to the old nursery? can't you see felicia triumphantly bringing mollyhome to look it over? and can't you almost hear the lovely irish songs that molly's mother taught her? and felicia pretending that she is molly's mother? if you can't, why i'm afraid you haven't really understood felicia. so the days grew longer and sweeter and the little after-dinner group in the garden grew bigger--think of the excitement of the day when the lawyer brought home the architect and his timid wife! they came to live in maman's room, the room that felice had intended to keep for herself. but you'll know presently why she gave it to them. you remember it was only one flight up. he was a young architect well able to climb but mrs. architect couldn't. and he was a very new architect. felice said staunchly that she wouldn't think of having an old fat successful architect around, that he'd be bored with all the small jobs the house needed, but this obliging young one, now he was quite willing to work hours over where new bathrooms might go--if they ever had any tub money, or where old lattices could be replaced--if they ever had any lattice money. you see the idea was that he could pay his room rent architecting, a "vairee practical" idea felice assured janet. but janet sniffed. everybody brought somebody else. janet didn't approve of any of them but she did love them all! that was the unanswerable argument about all these persons who flocked to the house in montrose place--they were so lovable! such buoyant souls, who hadn't quite gotten a grip on life but were pathetically sure that once they did--! they triumphantly felt that the fact they'd been starving mostly, helped to prove their genius. though felice could never see it that way. long after the rest were in bed she used to walk passionately up and down mademoiselle's tiny room. "they're all starlings singing that they can't get out--it's not fair --not a bit right--they ought not to starve, they ought not to freeze. and folks who say so are stupid! you can't grow roses like weeds--just anywhere! and they're going to be the roses in the garden of world-- they ought to be in the sun, they ought to be watched so carefully-- why can't the stupid old world see it! but it doesn't. it just tramples and chokes and freezes them until it's a wonder they evaire do blossom at all. and di-_rectly_ they do--the world's surprised--huh-- i should think it would be! it's not fair. it's all wrong. when i find the portia person i shall do something, i shall buy the church next door and i shall make a school. it shall be a school where you learn to do one useful thing that will earn your bread and butter. and the rest of the time--you shall dream." babiche was a patient listener. but even babiche yawned at all the utopian theories with which her mistress would reform the world. do you remember the chauffeur who promised felice a "joy-ride"? can't you see his fatuous grin one day as he listened to a drawling young- sounding voice over the telephone of seeley's boarding house, a voice that he couldn't remember at all, demurely saying, "you said you'd give me a joy-ride sometime if i had a new bonnet--i have. i really look like anybody else now. i do need that joy-ride just now, could you come for me?" but can't you see that chauffeur's rueful smile when he reached the address she gave him and saw a nurse bringing the palefaced painter boy out the hospital door? felice ran ahead of them, breathless with achievement. "he is doing vairee nicely. his leg is better. it's only his spirit that's rather drowned, so i thought if he had a joy-ride and we took him home--" at least janet found comfort from the fact that the painter boy was the last pauper to be added to the list--there weren't any rooms or beds for any more! but the house hummed with their activities, rang with their arguments and theories, echoed with their laughter--and sighed with their midnight tears. they were so young! so impatient! so eager to set the river of life afire! dinner time was a joy. they usually had dinner in the garden and dinner was always the dish! even with janet's fingers on the purse strings and molly's capable hands in the mixing the slender funds would not stretch to more than--the dish. it might be a huge irish stew, or something molly called dago puddin' (there never was such spaghetti as her dago puddin') or a gigantic pie made of pigeons that had to cook all day to become edible. sometimes molly "slipped 'em somethin'" that she claimed was left from her catering business, but usually they ate only what their pooled funds could pay for and leaned back content to listen while felice "pretended" or scolded or encouraged them; her leadership was utterly unconscious, her calm assumption that she was a very old lady hypnotized them into thinking she was. she made no rules or regulations. she frankly let them know that perhaps they could live there a day or perhaps a century; that the length of residence depended on the finding of the elusive, untraceable portia person. they all searched ardently for him. they all knew that when they "made good" they would have to find some fellow who hadn't and help him. already octavia's motto was lettered under her lovely portrait over the drawing-room fireplace in the charming simulation of medieval script that the poetry girl loved to make, "she would like you to be happy here. you can't be truly happy if you are making anyone else unhappy." the days swept by so fast, felicia brave as she was, didn't dare count them! twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, oh, it seemed as though they surely must find the portia person now that they were all looking! yet each one in his heart generously hoped it would be felicia herself who found him. in spite of her high resolves to learn to "like to be a by-the-day" she found some days impossible. she grew to hate thursdays. sometimes it seemed as though she couldn't please anybody on thursday. thursday meant that she sewed in households that suffered from a feverish complaint known as maid's- day-out. thursdays always seemed to be associated with worse and more hurried luncheons than other days--thursdays she had to open doors and answer telephones--she used to think sometimes she could have stood all the other days if it hadn't been for thursdays. one thursday in particular stood out as a terrific day. to begin with it rained. a drizzling, penetrating, gloomy kind of a rain that brought her into the woman's exchange exceedingly moist, and seemed to have permanently warped whatever courtesy time had left in the soul of the disagreeable walnut. "--to eighteen willow court--" grumbled the cross old woman sliding a card with the address across the littered counter to felice. one comfort was, willow court was not far and the "eighteen" was emblazoned in enormous gilt letters over an elaborate plate-glass entrance. it was felice's first apartment house experience. she walked with humble awe through an enormous mirrored hallway lined with the largest, dustiest, artificial foliage that ever disgraced vegetation. an intolerant colored boy, pompous in green-and-gilt livery eyed her insolently. she stated her errand. "the help's entrance is on the side street," he informed her impudently. "you turn right around and go right out where you just came in and go around to the side where i tells you and go in there and you tell joe i sent you. if he hain't too busy maybe he'll run you up on the freight elevator, but if he is you can walk. it's apartment , fourth floor, front." ah, you should have seen octavia's daughter, tired and little and dripping and frumpy, lift her chin and look through and through that impudent senegambian! he confessed afterward she looked so like somebody's high-toned ghost that it had sent the shivers down his spine. and just when he was ready to hear the wrath that her eyes threatened she turned abruptly and walked away so regally that he found himself muttering, "i didn't notice she was such a high-stepping lady--" the service entrance and joe and the freight elevator conquered, she found herself face to face with new insolence, this time from a frowsy maid who led her grudgingly into the living-room that stretched across the front of the apartment. from ornate curtains a plump and fretful woman emerged, "you're fifteen minutes late--she said she'd send some one at eight o'clock--but come along, sew in the children's bedroom--" felice followed through the whole untidy apartment into the narrow cluttered room. it appeared that the children were not yet dressed nor had their beds been put in order and they sat, two weedy pallid- looking mites, in the midst of a tremendous heap of broken toys and fought desperately for the possession of an eyeless, hairless carcass of a doll. a sewing machine piled high with garments was in front of the one broad window that opened on the gloomy whiteness of the court. an overturned basket, from which oozed tangled spools and myriads of buttons, lay on the floor in front of the machine. a stiff-backed gilt chair stood beside it. "i cut out some pinafores yesterday," continued the fretful voice, "i wish you would run up the seams of those on the machine--french-seam them, please--and if i get time i'll show you how i want the collars-- " felicia stood, absurdly little beside her plump employer, and spoke the first words she'd been given opportunity to utter, "good morning, madame," she said in her clear contralto, "i think you do not understand. the exchange should have told you that i am a needle-woman--that i do only hand work--i do not understand sewing machines--" "not understand sewing machines!" shrilled the kimonoed one, "why anybody with any sense at all can run a sewing machine--" felicia smiled her wide ingenuous smile. "i am not any one at all--but it so happens that i cannot use a sewing machine. perhaps i can please you with my needle. or, i can go home." "you can't do anything of the kind. it's the maid's day out and i have to go to a matinee and i'd counted on you to watch the children--" she shook her head in exasperation. "well, take off your hat, don't stand there gawping. i suppose i'll have to put up with it. do you know enough to sew on buttons and mend stockings?" felicia looked at her curiously for a moment. she couldn't think of any flower or any vegetable that this strange creature was like, or any weed for that matter, and it's very hard to keep the garden of a day in order when strange unexpected things spring up in it. she took off her hat and her dripping coat. she seated herself in the silly chair and began to make something like order out of the mess of crumpled things before her. somehow or other the dreadful day limped along. the children howled while they were dressed. their mother by turns nagged or cajoled them from one crying spell into another. the frowsy maid pulled the covers untidily over the two little beds and half-heartedly picked up a few of the toys and dumped them in a closet. felicia's delicate fingers guided her needle back and forth making exquisite darns and patches in small petticoats and dresses. one grudging word of approval did her plump and fretful employer allow her. "you certainly can sew, but you needn't bother to take such small stitches--i wish you'd stop fussing with that and press my frock--" an ironing board added itself to the other confusion. propped up between the sewing machine and the uneven metal footboard of a child's crib felicia eyed it with misgiving. she almost laughed aloud. "do you think you'd better risk it with me, madame?" she asked. "i am not what-you-call-a-blanchisseuse--i have never held a flat-iron--" she was smiling because she was thinking of grandy's inflexible order "never let her hand be spread on any heavy object." she lived through my lady fretfulness's tirade at this appalling ignorance. she again patiently explained that she was sorry the exchange had let madame misunderstand. "i am only a needlewoman for hand work," she reiterated. "i know only embroidery and mending and knitting and the beading of purses--as they should have informed you--" the crisis was tided over by the frowsy maid being summoned to press the frock while felice corralled various hooks and eyes, mended a rip in a stocking heel, helped to fasten the pressed frock around a stiffly corseted person, breathed a patient "yes" to numerous instructions about the children's lunch. she sighed with relief when two o'clock heard the door bang after a second grand exit when a caricatured edition of the mistress passed out in the form of "sadie's thursday out." not that things were exactly placid after those two disrupting influences had fled to their pleasures. the rain dripped more steadily, the pile of garments heaped upon the sewing machine never seemed to grow less. the children ate the lunches that felicia found in the half tidied kitchen. the little woman herself carried a plate of not unappetising scraps into the ornate mahogany dining-room, rummaged for a knife and fork and sat down to eat, much to the disapproval of the scraggly nine-year-old who informed her with unconscious imitation of the mother's manner that "mama doesn't allow her servants to eat in here--" followed a bumping, dragging, nerve-racking afternoon that made felicia long to shriek like the raucous-voiced peddler who had disturbed her precious early morning sleep. by four o'clock things had become unendurable: she viewed her squabbling charges with scorn. they behaved no better nor no worse than "the-thousand-weeds-for-which-we- have-no-name--" yet a spirit of fairness roused itself in felicia's unhappy thoughts. "after all, they're not to blame, these two uncared-for savages!" she put down her needle and thimble, walked with a determination toward the wee contestants in a never ending fight and put her hand on the younger child's shoulder. the child jerked away. felicia's hand went out more firmly this time. "let us go out of this room," she said coolly. "i do not think it is possible for any one of us to be happy here any longer--" the children stared at her. this note of authority was something they did not question. there was something in this wide-eyed pale little seamstress' command that was unlike anything they had ever heard. they followed felicia meekly enough. they walked quietly while she moved to the least covered and least ornate corner of the apartment--an alcove with a bookcase and a flat writing table. "this," announced the older child, "won't do. it's faddo's one corner and he will not let it be touched." felicia laughed. "then there is but one thing for us to do," she announced leading her small sheep behind her. "we shall have to go back to that unhappy room and make ourselves one corner--" so back they went and watched her fling open the window. they obeyed her commands without murmuring for the next quarter of an hour. they helped her smooth their lumpy beds. they helped her stack the wrecked toys into an orderly heap. they helped her fold the heaps of mended and unmended garments. and when it was done she sat down on the floor on her knees as she had knelt so many times in her garden and smiled at them. she drew a long breath. you must remember that she had never known a child except that strange child: _herself_. she could only treat them as she had treated the lost flowers in her garden. or perhaps, she thought, she could try treating them as she treated babiche, but in another thoughtful second--(during which she nearly lost their strangely won attention)--she clapped her hands. those scowls on their puckered little foreheads were like grandfather's in the old days when he had been wrangling with certain legal matters. she seemed to hear her mother's happy voice: "it's not easy. but it's a game too. you see some one who is tired or cross or worried and you think 'this isn't pleasant.' maybe you play a little on your lute, maybe you tell something droll that happened in the kennel or the garden--" she drew another long breath, "let's pretend--" she began in her low contralto "let's pretend i have a little lute to make music for you." she sunk back on a hassock and held her arms in position for playing a lute. the children settled in crossed legged heaps and regarded her solemnly. "i haven't really a lute of course, so i shall have to whistle instead of playing the strings and i can't sing any words while i'm whistling so i shall have to tell you the story before i make the song--the first little song i'm going to do on my lute is about a bridge and how the pretty ladies liked to dance across it." they pretended it with her rather timorously at first, but presently they were singing "sur le pont d'avignon." a door swung open and a grizzled man in a dripping raincoat blocked the doorway. the children looked around at him. "go away, papa," ordered the older one casually. "we are pretending." he laughed. "and why, may i ask, shouldn't i be allowed to pretend with you?" "will you let him pretend with us?" the child asked felicia gravely. and, felicia looking at the tired face of the man in the doorway, nodded. he sat down on the edge of the larger bed and if felicia was aware of him after that she didn't let him know it. precious golden moments of happiness began to drip into the little room as incessantly as the silvery gray drops of the rain fell outside. "this," confided felicia "is a story about a girl who wanted to write a letter. she was a very pretty girl, a french girl. do you understand french? i don't very well. i didn't learn it when i was little like you--so we'll tell it in english the way margot--who is a nice fat, comfortable woman who lives in the little house in the woods right beside my big house in the woods--tells me. i'll whistle the gay tune about the girl who is going to write the letter until you can sing it with a tra-la-la-la so--and then while you make the music we'll pretend i'm the girl who wants peirrot to open his door so she can write the letter by the moonlight because her candle had blown out. her fire was quite low--she was cold," the children shivered sympathetically, "first we will do the tune--so." felicia's beautiful lips closed. remember that you could hardly see her lips move when she whistled and remember how very beautiful her whistle was! such a gay little tune, that old, old tune, _au clair de la lune!_ the wide-eyed children watched her, humming as she motioned. the tired man on the edge of the bed watched her, humming unconsciously as the little song sang itself into his eager ears. higher and sweeter and faster the tripping tune came. felice was clapping her slender hands to give them the time and now the two children and their father were singing it uproariously while felice on her hassock gestured and spoke the words. "--open your door, peirrot--" oh margot! with your translation that should not offend your atheistic master by telling his granddaughter what _dieu_ really means! the tired man, who'd known the song when he was a boy, was already laughing at margot's version. but when felicia came to "_pour l'amour de dieu_" and merrily cried out "for the love of mike" he caught up a pillow and hugged it as he howled his unholy glee. the four of them shouted together, shouted youthfully, buoyantly, savagely, not caring in the least at what they shouted. "oh! oh!" exulted felice, "how _de_-liciously happy we are--" under the noise of their merriment the outer door had opened and closed; the tread of overshoes pattered quietly along the hall--she stood in the doorway plump and puffing, her finery bundled clumsily under her coat. she wasn't very pretty. it didn't seem as if she'd ever been young, and it seemed as though she was the angriest woman in the world. and her voice thin, soprano, nasal, rose above the joyous shouting of the merry-makers. "you didn't know how to run the sewing machine!" she mocked the little woman who was rising from the hassock, "you didn't know how to use the flat-iron! you were much too fine to do the work you came to do! but the minute my back is turned you sit there playing with my children--" the anger was rising higher and higher now, "and flirting with my husband--" the man arose. "bertha!" he exclaimed. but even above the strident shrill of the scolding and the abrupt command of the man's voice and the frightened wail of the littlest girl, rose the cry of felicia's own anger. did i say her employer was the angriest woman in the world? i was mistaken. the angriest woman in the world was felicia day. tiny in stature, absurdly dowdy she stood. she didn't raise her voice after that first cry but its deep contralto seemed to penetrate everywhere. all the petty insults that she had endured through all the dreadful thursdays seemed as nothing compared to the unjust assault of this unfair person. "you'd better not talk any more," felicia's clear voice interrupted the angry tirade. "because i'm not listening and i'm sure you don't know yourself what you're saying. all day long i've been wondering what i could pretend you were like. first i pretended you were a big coarse zinnia. i don't like zinnias at all but some people do--they are gay and bold. part of the time i thought i'd pretend you were a weed--a rather pretty weed that chokes flowers out if you don't watch it--but you aren't even as much use as a weed--" her employer gave a little scream. she stepped closer to her husband and shook his arm a little. he was staring, as though hypnotized, at felice. "stop her! make her stop!" the woman screamed. "she's insulting me! make her stop!" he pulled himself together. "of course you must stop!" he spoke sternly as though he were speaking to a naughty child. "you must be out of your wits to talk that way! you'd--you'd better go--" he ended tamely. "much better," felicia agreed. "but i'd much better go after i get through telling her what i'm going to pretend she is! she's exactly like the black blight--that horrid black thing that makes the green leaves droop and the gay little flowers shrivel up--there's only one thing to do to keep it from killing the whole garden--that's to burn it out with coals!" "stop that!" the man commanded sharply. felicia coolly folded her arms. "i can't," she answered quietly, "not till i'm through. for i've started now. besides--" her eager words tumbled more gently now, "all the morning through she told me about things i didn't know--things of which i was ignorant. she thought it vairee dreadful that i did not know how to work with a flat-iron--she thought it vairee stupid that i could not manage the sewing machine--and i was ashamed because i did not know vairee much--and i would be glad if she would tell me how to do these things i do not know. now, i know something that she does not know--" she stepped very close to the amazed woman, "something i think--she will like to hear about--" a cooing sweetness crept into felicia's tones, the naive earnestness, the gentle candor of her appeal, silenced both the man and the woman. "she will like to hear about the way to be a mother. i know exactly the way--it's like this-- it isn't a bit like the way you do it--" her clear eyes looked straight into those of the awed person before her. "the way you do it is not at all pretty--not at all amusing--you shout and scold and fret and 'don't--don't don't'--all the time! that's not the way to be a mother!" felicia's eyes grew tender, her hand touched the woman's hand and patted it reassuringly. "i'll tell you the vairee best way to be a mother--evairy morning you have some one make you vairee, vairee pretty with a little lace cap and a rosy pillow--you must stay in your bed and wait till your children come to see you and then you must smile at them and speak vairee softly--this way, saying 'go out in the garden and be happy, my dears!' and when they come back to you at twilight, oh so vairee happy--" her voice wavered, she was no longer looking at them, she was looking far back across the years. she shivered a little. "that's the time for you to say, 'ah, felicia, you look as though you'd been vairee happy today--in your garden--" the man strode toward her eagerly. he put his hands on her heaving shoulders and dragged her toward the light. "who are you?" he demanded sharply, "tell me quickly, who are you?" and felicia looked at him, still dazed, still drifting happily on the flood of her beautiful memories. "why, of course i know you--" she whispered gently, "i've been looking everywhere to find you. you're my portia person--only the portia part of you is all quite lost--" chapter vi the last pretending the portia person and the young lawyer bent over a long table littered with papers from the young lawyer's portfolio and the storeroom trunks. they were sitting in the young lawyer's room, the room that had been grandy's and from the mantelpiece the portrait of grandy's father looked down upon them. his faintly ironical smile seemed to mock their baffled efforts to disentangle the mystery. the tide wind blew in softly from the river; the lights in the quaint old gas fixtures flared waveringly, but the wide room was very still. in grandy's "forty winks" leather chair by the fireside sat felicia, her hair smoothly parted, her tiny figure trig in one of the sculptor girl's much mended frocks. she sat primly upright as she always sat, but her sleek head bent itself charmingly--felicia was knitting. she was weaving a shawl for the wheezy, a gay red shawl. the warm glow of the wool cast a faint tinge of color upward over her pale cheeks; whenever the portia person or the young lawyer asked her a question, as they frequently did, she let her work rest in her lap and answered quietly, her great eyes lifted hopefully. from the garden they could hear the faint rumble of men's voices, the architect and the inventor and the cartoonist and the painter boy and the two new chaps, slender syrians; (felicia had found them a few days before starving in a cellar where they were experimenting with reproductions of antique pottery and had brought them and their potter's wheels and their kiln home to live in the glassed-in room. it was there in the autumn following that they perfected those wonderful bronze and turquoise glaze ceramics that delighted the whole art world)--from the nursery above came trailing the high sweet murmur of the sculptor girl and the poetry girl and the architect's wife and the milliner and the folk-dance teacher--in the kitchen janet macgregor and molly o'reilly wrangled half-heartedly over religious differences but each and every one of these inimitable persons cared not a whit about the thing he or she pretended to be discussing. each of them wanted to scream, "what's happening? why don't you say what you've found out? why don't you tell us something?" eight o'clock, nine o'clock, ten o'clock--molly o'reilly couldn't endure the suspense any longer. she cunningly stacked a tray with nut- bread sandwiches and a pitcher of milk and strode bravely up the stairs to grandy's room. "miss day, darlint," she called through the half opened door, "i've the matter of a nibble of food here--" felicia did not put down the knitting, she merely lifted her head. "how sweet of you, molly o'reilly, come in--this is mr. ralph. mr. ralph, i know you'll like molly o'reilly--" molly put down the tray, her hands were trembling so she couldn't trust them. "it's dying we all are wid curiosity, mr. portia ralph. you should have a heart--" her speech was bolder than her beseeching eyes, "what wid the men all rarin' about the bit of garden, calling, 'molly, isn't she coming down?' and the girls, calling down the kitchen tube, 'molly aren't they through talking?' i'm fair getting nervous myself--we feel like witches we're that flighty--" "the poor children!" felicia sighed heavily. "are you sure we couldn't tell them anything?" she consulted the portia person anxiously. he was biting absent-mindedly into the sandwich molly had almost shoved into his hand; he was eyeing the milk which that astute person was pouring out for him. "just a word, maybe," wheedled molly. he smiled, a wry smile. "we're making some headway," he vouchsafed, "but of course we've only begun really--" molly took to herself no comfort from his casual tone. she fixed an inquiring eye on the lawyer's despondent shoulders and went out without another word. but back in the kitchen she thumped her bread outrageously as she kneaded it, "lawyers is the numbskull boys," she grumbled, "i belave none of them know their business--" half past ten o'clock, eleven o'clock, half past eleven--felicia still knitted, she could no longer see what she was knitting. her eyes were blurred with unshed tears. it wasn't for herself that she cared, it was for all of the rest of them. from the stairway she could hear molly's voice comforting the architect's wife as they helped her down from the nursery to maman's room, "sure, they's no need to worry. take a peep through the door at miss felice. she's just knitting whilst they confab. sure wid a couple o' hundred papers alyin' there they couldn't get through in no hurry now, could they?" she managed to wave her hand gaily as they passed but her heart beat rebelliously. "i just can't, can't, can't give up their house--oh, wherever could i put them all? i couldn't take them to the house in the woods. i couldn't let them go back--oh, oh, i can't lose their house--" out of the mass of things that the portia person had tried to make clear to her felicia could only grasp this; that the house was hers but the taxes and interest and fines must all be paid if it were to remain hers; that certain legal matters had really taken everything that had been left her from the montrose estate; that he couldn't be found; that there was some other property and money somewhere in france; that the portia person had seen some of the papers concerning it when he was a young lawyer, when felice was a little girl; that these papers had been put into mademoiselle's hands for safe-keeping when maman went away; that mademoiselle d'ormy was to give them to felicia when felicia was eighteen. but though they had ransacked every paper that they could find in the old boxes and the cupboards they could find nothing that had any bearing on the case. of course there was more than a possibility that felicia might find something among major trenton's effects. the portia person was sure that another thirty days' stay could be secured to enable felicia to go to the house in the woods and see if she could find anything, but she made it quite clear to them that the old man's mental condition precluded the probability that he could be of any help to them. "it's not fair--it's not fair--" her tempestuous heart beat angrily, "always when i seem to find what i must have, it is as though i had found nothing. this is worse than when i lost dudley hamilt--it's not fair--" she spoke the last three words aloud in her intensity, so bitterly, that the two men, packeting together the papers, turned quickly. "it's beastly," agreed the portia person inadequately, "but you mustn't lose hope yet--" she caught at his glib words eagerly. "how silly of me! it was only the tired part of me that spoke!" she smiled. "i am like dulcie's pandora a little. i have opened the box and let out all the troubles--but perhaps i haven't let out hope-- probably everything is as right as right can be--in some of grandy's papers--" she was grateful that she had this hope to hold out to her "children" --she thought of them always now as children, these folk who dwelt about her. perhaps she caught that feeling from molly, who mothered every one of them. of course the journey to the house in the woods availed nothing. it only brought felicia back, graver and quieter than ever. the majorhadn't recognized her at all. he had merely called her louisa and forbade her to go to paris, and piqueur, margot, bele, and zeb had poured out their little troubles to her so that the trip had left her despondent. she went back to her work dully; she stitched as daintily and carefully as ever, but her whole spirit drooped. this was the end of all her high hopes and great dreams,--that in less than a fortnight she would have to give up the struggle. at least she was very busy during those warm april days. she had amusing things to sew upon, little tarltan skirts for children who were to appear in a huge charitable "may day" entertainment. they were of gay colors, those frills, like big holly-hocks, she thought as she flung the finished things into a hamper. she helped to make other costumes too, sitting with a score of seamstresses in the auditorium of one of the churches. these women talked a great deal about the entertainment. naturally, each one of them talked only about the person or the committee who had hired her. yet engrossed in her anxieties for her household as she stitched and stitched felicia listened not at all to the chatter about her. it was merely like the humming of the bees in her garden in the woods. she heard it but heeded it not, because her heart was intent upon her roses. because she was aware that the house would soon be taken away from her "children" she strove mightily to make these last days in it the most wonderful days in the garden of their lives. she never let them see that she feared. just to hear her when she came home in the late afternoon was like listening to a symphony of inspiration. it began at the basement door. how she braced herself for it! how she advanced, head up, lips smiling! a word to janet, grumbling over her cleaning; a quick grasp of molly's warm hand--molly was her hold on life in those discouraging days! molly, god bless her, would never admit defeat! who fought out her part in the battle! she made their slender funds nourish their hungry bodies and she took nothing from felicia but gave herself as royally as her little lady poured out herself to the others. there was nothing sanctimonious about felicia's handling of them. like the old woman in the shoe, she scolded them "roundly." the sculptor girl still laughs over a never-to-be-forgotten-day, when felice drifted into the nursery, her arms outstretched in droll swimming motions. "dulcie dierckx! how dare you let me find you weeping again! when pandora is almost here! i do declare you'll have to learn to swim and so will all of us if you're going to drip tears regularly, every day at five thirty--molly says you're only hungry, nobody else is snivelling all over the place--" "no, the lawyer c-c-cusses--" sobbed dulcie. "then learn to cuss!" admonished felice, but her eyes twinkled and the emotional sculptor girl's eyes twinkled back through her tears--all of them were for felice, if that despotic person had only known it. for the young lawyer had been upstairs pouring out his despondent feelings on dulcie, "she has just about eight days more before she'll be dumped in the gutter, for there's no possible way out--" a limp lot they were in the late afternoon, after they'd struggled all day with their unruly muses and pegasuses! "wouldn't it be droll," felice asked molly one day, "if i came home too tired some night and mixed them all up! and told the inventor i thought his feeling was poetic and told dulcie that she was getting a wonderful color into her work and talked about soul to the cartoonist!" sometimes it seemed to her that of all of them the architect, with his head bent over his drawings under his evening lamp, typified the hopelessness of the whole scheme, as he wrought so painstakingly at his detailed drawings for the re-construction of the house, drawings that couldn't possibly ever be used! from some absurd fragment he would dreamily reconstruct--his adventures filled the house with nervous laughter. as on the night when he discovered, high above the doorway in the bare old drawing-room, an ornate bit of copper grating that had escaped the clutches of the dirty filthy heathen. most of the quaint old hot-tair registers--they had been wonderful bronze things--had been removed and ugly modern ones that did not fit had been substituted. but this one grating--a delightful oval affair whereon chubby vestal virgins lifted delicate torches, had remained intact. the reason was plain enough, it was almost impossible to dislodge it. even with the lawyer and the cartoonist to help him, the enthusiastic architect, balanced dangerously on one of janet's ladders, could scarcely pry it loose. it was just after dinner. it had rained during the day so that the little garden was too damp for the evening and the whole household lingered idly in the bare drawing-room to tease the architect. when the register was finally loosened, showers of ancient dust descended. the room echoed as with one mighty sneeze. janet shrieked her dismay. "now look at the du-urt!" she wailed, "it's fairly in loomps and choonks!" the cartoonist stopped with an heroic sneeze to lift one of the "choonks." he dusted the bit of metal and bowed before felicia. "here is the key to the secret chamber--" but felicia instead of playing back with some mocking pretense as she usually did when any of them made melodramatic speeches to her, clasped her hands. "oh, how stupid i've been! that's the storeroom key! the one i threw away the day i was angry at mademoiselle d'ormy! and it tinkled down, down, down--" she was hurrying out of the room." all of us, now, we can go up--the store-room will be fun and maybe--" they were scrambling up the stairways, a laughing crew. "bring something to break wood with you," called felice over her shoulder, "for those shelves that dulcie put over the door that we thought went into the front room--it doesn't go there! wasn't i stupid! that's the door into the storeroom--it's the long narrow space between the two walls and it had trunks and a bureau--" it still had them! the men folks pulled out the dusty boxes into the immaculate neatness of the nursery floor and for the next two hours they delved and delved through the forgotten treasures. the poetry girl called it the "night of a thousand hopes" but the inventor sardonically added at midnight "of blasted hopes--" the nursery looked like a new england attic when they had finished mauling. felice gave things away recklessly, whenever one of them admired anything. how they all shouted at the painter boy when he triumphantly pulled forth a sage green taffeta frock with long bell sleeves, voluminous skirts and quaintly square-cut neck. "look! all of us!" he shouted buoyantly as he limped across the room to hold it against felicia's shoulders, "here's her color!" "put it on her!" begged the architect's wife. in the end the women dressed her in it while the men folk trooped down stairs to mess molly's speckless kitchen with their masculine ideas of how to make lemonade. she curtsied to the painter boy good-humoredly. "i don't feel at all like me! i feel like josepha or louisa or whoever she was who wore it--" she laughed. her laughter was tremulous in spite of her bravest efforts. they were all of them on the ragged edge of tears. they'd hoped so that the storeroom would give the house back to them! only the painter boy seemed not to care. he waited, his eyes gleaming, until after the others had trooped off to their own quarters, each with his or her bit of the loot. he caught at the hanging green sleeve. for that was the night the painter boy came into his own. the night he knew that he was going to paint the spirit of romance. "you're so paintable!" he begged, "i know it's rotten to ask you to sit for me, you're so busy now with all of us on your mind and the sewing and posing for dulcie that you'll think you just can't--but oh, dulcie dierckx--look at her! isn't she paintable!" dulcie agreed she was. felicia shook her head. "it's only the frock, nor'. i'll lend it to you, i can't quite give it to you, i love it so--but you shall have a really model--we'll manage somehow--and you shall paint the frock--that's what's paintable--" of course in the end she didn't refuse him. she never refused them anything she could possibly manage, but it was rather difficult to find the time. she never knew exactly how she found it. it was in the "paintable" green dress that she "pretended" her way to fame and it came about this way. without actually realizing it she was getting accustomed to a fairly large audience on the sunday afternoons when she whistled for the wheezy's friends. they were so eager to hear her and their chance visitors were so numerous that the matron arranged for her to do her "pretending" in the chapel hall at the front of the home. and it was there that an enthusiastic member of the may day committee chanced to hear her, one sunshiny april day, an enterprising member who bluntly asked felicia day if she wouldn't "pretend" for the may day program at the academy of music. it didn't occur to felicia to make excuses, especially when the committee member explained things a bit. the only thing at which she balked at all was when the energetic person murmured, "name please?" "i'm not--anybody--" explained felicia, "i'm not even sure myself who i am--" "but we have to have a name to print on the program--" this was the first time that anybody who'd been asked to appear hadn't eagerly supplied much information as to middle initials! "vairee well," suggested felicia, "we shall make up a name. i shall be called madame folie--no, mademoiselle folly--will that suit? then if it has been a mistake to put me on your program that will be a small joke, eh?" it looked very well indeed, "vairee business-like"-- "number --divertissement--mademoiselle folly in pretenses" she didn't even bother to tell them about it at home. it seemed to her as casual as the sunday afternoons when she whistled for [her accustomed audience of] the wheezy and her friends. that is until the hectic morning when she obeyed a summons to rehearsal in the empty, auditorium--felicia always says that the rehearsal was worse than may day night! so too were the behind-the-scenes confusions and the nervous moments while the makeup artist dabbled her cheeks with rouge and pencilled her eyes--_that_ left her limp with stage fright. after all, she thought as she waited her turn, "it's only for ten minutes! and an encore if they like me!" the moment when she actually faced her first big audience--a tired and fluttering and yawning audience, for two hours of brooklyn amateur talent will wilt even the most valiant listeners!--she had but one thought, and that was--that there wasn't any pattern to an audience! other thoughts raced like lightning. "but i must remember to smile. they are persons and i have to please them, they're sounding rather fretty--" perhaps you happened to see her when she stepped out on that vast stage, looking tinier than she really was, with the lights shining on her satin-smooth hair and white neck, with the coral comb and the carved bracelets making bright spots of color. do you remember how her wide green skirts spread about her as she made her deep curtsy? do you remember her smile? or were you rustling your program until you heard that deep contralto voice of hers beginning with, "what i am going to do for you i shall have to explain a little." there was a bald grouchy human in the front row, he honestly believed she was talking just to him! he leaned forward. "i am going to do some songs for you but i can't exactly sing--" the bald man grunted, he considered that plain foolishness and it was! "but i can play this lute a little--and i can whistle--" "louder!" called the voices at the rear. she lifted her chin defiantly. "oh, dear! oh, dear! maybe some of them are deaf like the wheezy's friends, oh dear! how slowly i must speak!" she admonished herself in her thoughts. her knees were shaking. but her voice lifted itself a bit; she enunciated carefully, "these are not new songs, they are just songs you know. so you'd better not look at me while i do them. you'd better shut your eyes and pretend--oh, i _do_ hope you're good at pretending--you must pretend that you are seeing the first person you heard sing these songs for you when you were little. the first one i heard, marthy sang. marthy was lean and small and ra-ther old. she lived over our stable in the cleanest rooms! with red geraniums in the windows!" oh, do you remember the adorable way she took you into her confidence? do you remember how strangely familiar she seemed? "marthy used to sing 'cherry ripe.' do you know it?" she asked so anxiously that one sympathetic soul murmured "yes" and hid her confusion in a cough as mademoiselle folly began, "it's about a young man who thinks his sweetheart's lips are like big ripe cherries, so he sings, "'cherry ripe, cherry ripe, who will buy my cherries?'" she hummed the tune tentatively. she swung the narrow green ribbon of the lute over her shoulders and her fingers touched the strings. and then suddenly the soft flute-like trill of her wonderful whistle was wafted out toward them. ah, who can describe the miracle, the mystery whereby her simple songs made them all feel young again! she was just a little seamstress, aged twenty-seven, who had lived an unreal life of sentiment and dreams and memories and they were just a sophisticated, tired, jaded audience. some of them twisted their lips and scoffed. some of them weren't especially moved by "cherry ripe," but the bald man in the front row pattered his hands together before she was through bowing and noisily told his neighbors, "gee, that's the stuff. you can't beat the old stuff! s'lovely stuff--" a few pioneers about him pattered too. it was enough to encourage felicia. she smiled. she was still frightened but her voice was firmer. "if you liked that one, maybe you will like the song about robin adair. there was a young woman a long time ago, who loved a man named robin adair. you see he went on a journey, i imagine a long journey--" ah, felice! he'd gone on a very long journey, that robin adair! a journey that a generation of rag-times and turkey-trots and walkin'-dogs had almost obliterated. yet from the tone of her voice they suddenly were very sorry that robin had gone a journey. "so the young lady sang a song asking 'what's this dull town to me? robin's not here--' like this it goes." this time she did not use the lute but put it down carefully and folded her hands quietly together. her own repose made it easy for her listeners to rest until the last questioning trill had died away. the applause was louder this time. some of them were talking delightedly and the rising murmur of their approval warmed her trembling heart. "another! another!" called her excitable bald friend. "it's vairee good of you to like them. do you think you'd enjoy a french one now? that is if it isn't ten minutes. they told me to do this for ten minutes--" the intimate way she took them into her thoughts made even the most sceptical of them lean back and smile. if they felt like questioning the genuineness of her feeling it could only be explained on the ground of consummate art and either way it was something they didn't want to lose. "margot taught me this one. it is about a forest. i heard it first vairee early in the morning, the first morning i evaire did see a forest. pretend you can see it. it was spring before the leaves had come but the tops of the trees were swaying and the branches had the colors you see when you dream--and the wind was warm and sweet and sighing. and on a maple tree a blackbird whistled--so--and in the shining melted snow-pools the little green frogs made this kind of noises--and down in the old stone stable two little new lambs were crying--it was a wonderful spring! you must pretend you can see margot sitting in a gray stone doorway sorting seed in a little broken brown basket. margot is ra-ther brown herself, but she has gray hair and black eyes and she's fat and she wears a blue dress, vairee old and clean and faded and a big white apron. her voice isn't pretty i'm afraid, but her song is. her song is the oldest song i've evaire heard. there was a frenchman, maitre guerdon, who made it a long time ago. he was a fine gentleman with ruffles of lace on his sleeves and he had a lute--perhaps like this--" she picked up hers again "and what he says in his song is that he wants every shepherdess to hasten to pleasure and to be vairee careful about time for youth alone has time to have fun with. because, as he tells them, time slips through your fingers like water and then you have nothing left but a sorry old sad feeling. so the best thing that you and the shepherdesses can do is to run around in the spring forests and spend all the time you can--" her voice faltered "--loving--" the absurdity of the thing never struck them. most of them couldn't have endured a forest ten minutes. but she had them completely under her spell and it suddenly seemed the most fascinating thing in this world to be young and "--run around in a spring forest--loving--" her melody began. it matched the dainty spirit of the words and i think if maitre guedron, in that heaven where all music makers, good men or bad, should go, could have heard her, he would have bowed his admiration just to hear the tender graceful spirit that her softly muted whistle gave his quaint old song. it was a spirit never lagging, that tripped ahead of the faint strum of the lute strings. the plaudits were coming whole-heartedly now. felicia adored them for liking her--she leaned forward to catch what a man in the side box was saying. bolder than the rest, he coughed and let his desire overcome his temerity as he cried out, "do you know--er--'ever of thee i am fondly dreaming'?" felice came quite close to the footlights and peered at him, "is it like this?" she hummed it over softly-- "that's the ticket," he nodded; "do you know the words?" she shrugged. "i just know it's about a person--who was thinking about some one he used to see," she translated dreamily, "and he thinks he can hear her voice and that cheers him up vairee much when he's feeling low spirited and so it's like this--" she whistled it. after that they just shouted at her, as eager as children. she never failed one of them--save once, when a gasping person demanded "after the ball." that _did_ puzzle her. "the ball," she echoed regretfully, "i think i don't know about it-- what sort of a ball, was it, m'sieur--a little tennis ball?" but the puffy old lady who asked for "white wings" was rewarded with the gentlest smile-- "it is stupid of me, i think i never heard the words except those two lines 'white wings they never grow weary--i'll think of my dearie--'" and she finished the "fly away home," with a charming gesture of her little hands and a triumphant warbling of the tune. can you wonder that they loved this amazing person who tugged their hearts this way and that with ail the dear old songs that those they'd loved best had once sung to them? janet's crooning scotch songs, molly's wistful irish ballads, margot's naughty french and marthy's sentimental loves, grandy's english favorites too, it seemed as though she could never give them enough of them--ten minutes! they'd have kept her an hour if they could! she talked, she hummed, she played her lute--but best of all she whistled for them because they liked her-- little mademoiselle folly! last of all, she stood very quietly and looked at them while they were still laughing over something she'd picked up from zeb, a ridiculous scrap of new england, "pretend i'm eunice making the gol-_dern_est huckleberry pie and that i'm singing, "'once upon a time i had a feller way down in maine. and he took me home under his umbreller--' "there is just one more i can do for you. i am a vairee little tired, perhaps you are too. this song you have heard before tonight. i heard this music playing it. perhaps we can make them play it again. it was piqueur who told me this song. piqueur is a vairee old gardener, who once was a soldier. he fought in battle. he was hurt vairee much. his head has nevaire been quite right since then. but some one taught him to be a vairee good gardener and that made him forget how frightful war had been. but in the spring, because spring makes all of us remember when we were young, piqueur would remember--war. he used to tell me about it while we planted the garden. early in the morning when the sun was rising. and he would sing this song, in french of course. it was margot who told me what the words meant. you know them-- "ye sons of france, awake to glory! hark! hark! what myriads bid you rise! your children, wives and grandsires hoary--" the violinist caught up his bow, the orchestra leader was on his feet. felicia was not smiling any more; her great eyes burned with excitement; she saw piqueur singing; she heard piqueur trying to tell her about war--she did not mute her whistle. she let it ring-- and after that they stood on their feet and whistled and sang and cheered with her while she poured out her whole heart at them, gave them her whole self until her tears blinded her and she turned and ran away. to the blessed shelter of the wings where some one opened comfortable arms and let her weep. nor could her rapturous audience get so much as even a little glimpse of her again. "ladies and gentlemen!" called the chairman of the committee, "i beg of you to be lenient. mademoiselle folly thanks you but she cannot whistle any more tonight--she says--" he cleared his throat, "to thank you--to tell you her lips and her heart are too much puckered up!" i think of all her audience perhaps the portia person was the happiest and the proudest. she took him absolutely by surprise. he hadn't remotely connected the mademoiselle folly of the program with his shabby client, but it was he who took her back in triumph to her "children" and let them understand something about what had happened and it was he who protected her interests during the excitable days that followed. it took more tact to manage this new mademoiselle folly than to arrange matters with the strange persons who sought her out. mademoiselle folly still measured the value of her services by the same standards that had governed little miss by-the-day's. she couldn't understand at all why one should be paid what seemed to be fabulous sums for a brief half hour of "pretending" that one loved, when a whole day's work that one hated meant only two dollars. i think if it hadn't been for the dire necessity of those last days before the impending auction they could never have made her consent to do it for money. impossible mathematician that she was, she could see the multiple of even the lowest salary that vaudeville managers offered, meant hope that she could sometime pay the appalling sum total of the debts on the house in montrose place; that is, if, as the young lawyer pointed out, she could "keep things coming her way." surely it seemed during those first delightful weeks of her amazing vogue that she could "keep them coming" forever! she was so flushed with enthusiasm, so joyous over these unexpected opportunities! she was so earnest in her desire to give "for value received"! never for a moment did she rest on her laurels. in spite of vast hoards of songs in her amazing memory she set herself very humbly to finding more.--the wheezy's friends helped her so joyously! her audiences helped her so artlessly! and the poetry girl fairly lived in the library unearthing treasures for her! it was a wonderful, wonderful month, that month of may! she whistled and sang and talked and gestured her way into thousands of hearts, she smiled naively at her audiences' delight in her. she constantly varied her methods. some of her happiest results were merely lucky accidents--as on the day when babiche followed her out on the stage and sat at attention like a trick dog. after that babiche appeared at all the children's matinees and oh, what a delicious lot of animal and children songs the poetry girl discovered! and did you ever see her do "battledore and shuttlecock" to minuet time? but it was uncle peter, with whom she still played chess whenever she could steal the time, who found out in some mysterious way about the house and its difficulties and it was uncle peter, (who wasn't half dead, not by a long shot) who sat up and forgot his ailments and held long conferences with the young lawyer and the portia person. and it was uncle peter whose own generous gift, coupled with what he coerced from his friends, who made it possible for the burden of taxes and interests on that great house to be lifted. it was "vairee businesslike," the same sort of "businesslike" that felice herself had been when she made the bargain with the poetry girl to pay double rent if she should ever be earning anything. the stockholders in the new corporation that took over the house were to sell their stock back at par whenever the house should be put on a paying basis, or whenever miss day should have earned enough to pay them back. she was immensely pleased with that idea. she was sure that even though it should take her as long as it had to rebuild the garden of the house in the woods that she would some day be able to do it. the "children" revelled in her reflected glory. they all of them loved knowing that their little miss-by-the-day was the mysterious mademoiselle folly who'd set the whole town talking. the sculptor girl fairly chortled her glee when she came back from manhattan after a walk down the avenue and brought an amusing census of the shops that sold "mademoiselle folly" novelties! "lordy," she related to the architect's wife, who couldn't even go into the garden these days, "when i think of it i could shout! the toy shops have battledores and shuttlecocks! they're actually selling lace mits like louisa's and coral combs like octavia's and the hair dressers' shops have windows full of silly wax-headed figures with their hairs all neatly coiffed in the middles and knots tucked down behind like felice--and the darling doesn't even know it!" how could she? she never had time for walks down the avenue--it was hard enough to find time for "pretending" these busy days when the carpenters and painters and masons and plumbers descended upon the house to carry out the architect's beautiful plans--the house fairly hummed with activity. yet there came a day when the house was still when all the workmen were sent away, when all that dwelt in the house walked restlessly in the garden; a night when mademoiselle folly hurried back from her audience with her little fists clinched and when she made molly come sit and hold her hand. that was the night when in maman's room the architect's feeble wife fought out her battle; a night that seemed interminable. but early in the morning, after all of them had gone to bed save the doctors and the nurses and felice, molly came running up to mademoiselle d'ormy's room with the honest tears coursing down her cheeks. "it's you she wants, darlint, it's you they says can see her--it's a little girl she has--" and felicia went down the stairway with her gift under her arms, the gift she had found that night when they ransacked the treasures of the storeroom and that she had hidden because she knew directly she peeped at it, what she would do with it. she knelt by the old sleighback bed and took a thin hand in hers. she smiled into the proud and happy eyes. "i brought something for her, mary, i brought her first present. it's vairee old, it is--clothes--i found them first when i was ra-_ther_ little myself." she talked softly, her slender fingers busied themselves with the old leather case. she held up the beautiful wee garments. even by the dim bedside light the architect's wife could glimpse their fragile loveliness. she protested faintly, "you shouldn't give them away--they're so old they're sacred." "i know they are but i want her to have them. they were josepha's first clothes, i found that out from mademoiselle d'ormy." "i mustn't take them--" felicia laughed softly. "the nicest part of our all being poor together is that we can give each other anything we have. and i'm proud, proud, proud i have these for her. isn't she--little--" she touched the tiny cheek longingly, "oh, mary, i wish she was mine--she makes me understand something. it's this. about the poetry girl and the sculptor girl and you and me. it's that women aren't half so happy making statues and poems as they are making--gardens--and babies--" the architect brought the leather case back to her door as soon as daylight came. he thrust it into her hands as she stood, with her beautiful old dressing gown about her. what they said to each other neither of them remembers. but after he was gone and she had spread out the opened case before her felicia day reverently unfolded the papers that had been hidden. they were such yellowed, faded papers with their ancient seals! those papers that louisa had found in madam folly's boudoir, those papers that louisa had taken to paris! those papers that octavia had tucked away, smiling to think how felicia would smile when she found them. indeed it was octavia's letter that made everything clear. dear daughter: now that you are old enough to understand and grandy is himself old enough to be more patient i think perhaps you will be the one who will be able to make him forgive louisa for going to france. he would never let me tell him; i tried to but he wouldn't listen because he thought it was going to be painful; he would only say that the past was over and done with and then he would walk away from me. we've had such an unfortunate habit, felice! we women of this family! we would run away with the men we loved! the first of us to run away was prudence langhorne who ran away with an old frenchman who came to america to try to forget the miserable troubles of his country. there were many reasons, some of them political, why she couldn't explain who this frenchman was--and besides i think she was so happy and so busy that she never minded what people thought. she was a little careless about explaining things until it was too late--for she died and left a daughter, josepha, who never knew that her mother had been really and truly married to her father and who was bitter and unhappy because there was a deal of gossip about her. this josepha was not asked about whom she wanted to marry. she was just taken to france and married to a man whom she never learned to love and sometimes people taunted her so that after he died she took just one of his names and came back to america with her daughter louisa and built this house in montrose place. she did not think it was time for louisa to marry. she meant to arrange things carefully when it was--but louisa was like the rest of us--she fell in love when she was still very young and she ran away with her man--(that was grandy) and she promised him that she'd always like to be poor with him. she would have, of course, only after her mother died she learned there was a great deal of money that belonged to us and when she knew that i was coming she wanted things for me. so she made a silly mistake. she kept everything a secret from grandy; she used to go to the lawyer's when he didn't know about it and then some one told grandy about her going and grandy misunderstood--he thought she loved her lawyer. so they quarreled and quarreled, for louisa was furious because he mistrusted her and in the end she was so angry that she sailed away for france with her lawyer. she couldn't make grandy believe that it was true that she really had business in paris; he thought it was only an excuse of the lawyer's to take her away. so grandy went away to war and louisa stayed in france and that's where i was born and that's where i lived until louisa died and the major came for me. sometime i hope that grandy will take you to france and let you live a little while at least in that house. i loved it so--sometimes i think i loved it even more than i loved the house in the woods or this house. it was in this house that your father learned to love me--it was in this house here that i waited a long time hoping that the major would let us marry. you see louisa, my mother, did leave me these houses and a great deal of money, some of it in france, and grandy thought your father wanted to get it, so in the end, after we had all been unhappy and wasted many precious years i did like the rest of them--i ran away. you must not blame grandy too much. i know that louisa and her mother josepha were as much to blame as he. felix and i were not patient. we all of us made many, many mistakes. they look so silly now that we are older but they seemed so necessary when they happened. when we knew you were coming, your father and i, we used to laugh because you see, i had so many names and a title too--and i'd run away from everything just to be with felix and i'd no way to get at what i owned without going back to grandy. besides it seemed to me that what i owned had made all of us unhappy. so we used to say all we'd give you would be the names and the titles but we'd keep you away from the rest of it--and that we were glad the days of princesses were gone for both our countries, america and france. but i think that when the time comes, for you to marry you will like to have all these papers that tell you who you are and i think too, that if you are wise, having the houses and the money that belongs to you cannot make you unhappy--i like to think you will find some way to be happier than the rest of us have been, for you have something that none of us had, something that was your legacy from your father. he was very poor, felice, but everyone loved him because he never let himself be morose or unhappy. he taught me that you can't be happy yourself if you are making anyone else unhappy. he said the delightful thing about not possessing much was that one could be prodigal and extravagant about being happy. he said he had no obligation in this world except to be happy. he made a game of everything he did whether it was something he liked to do or something he hated to do. toward the end he had to do many things he hated, that he wasn't strong enough to do. but he did them gaily. he made everyone around him laugh as he did. when the time comes for you to go out of this world you will have found that so little in it really matters and that everything in it matters so much! it is not until we are ready to go that we know how precious is the thing within us that men call--self. it is made up of all the loves and hates and good and bad of the men and women who went before us. it does not really belong to us. it belongs to all of the people who will come after us. there happened to be only a little of me left to give you, felice, but the part that is left is the happy part--the rest of me was lost a long time ago. and the titles and the names that they called me were not any of them so dear as the one you gave me--that is maman. which think you felicia day loved more? that letter or the thick old parchments that told her that she was the great-great-granddaughter of a king? it was the end of june. if you wanted to get little miss by-the-day to sew for you the disagreeable walnut would tell you that she'd gone away without leaving an address. if you wanted to hear mademoiselle folly at the theaters you discovered that she wasn't playing. but in the house in montrose place a shining eyed woman made a new "pattern" for the garden of her life--for the garden of the lives of all the folks she had taken into that house. they did not know all about her. they did not know how large the fortune was that was coming to her. they merely knew that there would be enough to take away the irritating fight for bread and butter and that each one of them would be taken care of until each one of them had taught his or her particular art to provide, and they knew, too, that each one was expected to repay in a "vairee" businesslike way--by helping some other fellow. they all of them knew that miss by-the-day was planning to sail for france. they knew it was about something in connection with the french property but they did not know that she was planning the most wonderful "pretend" of her whole life. the portia person was the only one who shared her secret--it was to the portia person that she always confided her troubles. "there is a man i know," she told him, "a man named dudley hamilt. when we were both of us vairee young--he--liked me vairee much. but i went away. and when i came back and he saw me again he did not know me at all. it was vairee hard for me--that time. you see, i looked vairee funny and old. much more funny than when you saw me. as funny as those little pictures thad makes so that people will laugh.--i wore louisa's bonnet and coat--they were such vairee ugly things--and so--he just didn't know me.--but now! i--i want to pretend something! this man--i asked it in the telephone--has been gone away for many weeks in the west on business and he is coming back soon--and i want you to make a way--to bring him to the little rectory yard some evening. it is only a 'pretend' of mine--" she blushed adorably, "perhaps, i can't do it. but i will try. i will be by the gate and you shall say, 'here's a girl you used to know, dudley hamilt!' and then you'll hurry off and leave it for me--i can't pretend i'm young and pretty but i can pretend i'm--i'm a little amusing--and it will be the last night before i go to france that i do it--so that if--he doesn't--find--me amusing--it won't really matter, because the next day i'll be gone and it will just have been--a 'pretending'--do you mind helping me?" the portia person didn't mind at all. he wiped his eyeglasses and coughed and didn't look at her at all. but he promised. there was so much for them all to do in those brief days before she sailed. she took a quick journey to the house in the woods. she rushed back to settle a thousand details about the house in montrose street-- joyous details of which perhaps the happiest was the moment she found that the poetry girl had named it octavia's house. she awoke very early that last day of all. she still slept in the little room at the top of the house. her modest traveling bags were packed and ready. over the back of the chair hung her demure traveling coat and veil. but tucked away out of sight in the walnut bureau were a scarf and a carved spanish comb. the very thoughts of them gave her stage fright. it was only by keeping her mind sternly upon her journey that she could steady herself at all. she dressed herself absent- mindedly in one of dulcie's much mended frocks, "maybe there's a garden with my french house," she thought as she looked down into the back yard. she reached for _the theory and practise of gardening_ and tucked it into the top of grandy's bag. all day long the house seethed with the excitement of her leave- taking. most of the morning belonged to dulcie, who was still working feverishly on pandora. the painter boy made believe sulk because it was late afternoon before felice would come to sit for him for the last time. he was really quite through with his painting. it was only because they were all longing to have her in the green gown and he'd promised the women folk that he would keep her so occupied that she wouldn't know what a wonderful farewell party her "children" were planning for her. she shook her head when she stood looking at the picture. "it's not i you've painted, nor', it's some one who's young! shall i tell you a secret? i do wish you could take all your brushes and make me as lovely as that girl in the picture--oh, nor'--she hasn't a gray hair!" "pouf! those two or three little gray things that you got worrying about us!" he touched them lightly, "why do you care how old you are-- " he kissed the edge of her sleeve awkwardly. his eyes were dancing. "i guess something--" he teased her. "i guess you only 'pretend' you're old--" it was the architect who rescued her. he was in such a temper that he completely forgot that felicia was to be kept at the top of the house until the hour for the "party." "it's all very well, miss felicia day," he sputtered, "for you to pick up a lot of poor old half-blind carpenters that nobody will hire because they're old--it's a nice sweet philanthropic idea! but they're absolutely ruining everything! it would cheaper to pay 'em for their time and let 'em sit outside while we hire some regular persons to work! what they've done today is spoiling the whole scheme--the yard looks like a swiss cheese--come and see--its simply awful!" she winked archly at the painter boy. she gathered up her green skirts daintily and descended the broad stairs. "sssssh!" she whispered, "walk lightly, mr. architect or you'll wake up little miss architect--besides, we'll have to sneak by the kitchen or janet and molly will see us. they really don't know that i know there's going to be a party, though i should think--" she paused to sniff critically as they passed the pantry door, "that molly would know that anybody could guess there was a party with celestial smells like that." she had soothed him somewhat even before they reached the back yard and of course the lattices weren't really so bad as they had seemed to his fastidious eye. they did deviate from his neat blueprints. even the sullen old carpenters admitted that they did, but presently things were adjusted and the workmen had departed bearing the offending trelliage with them with absurd little newspaper patterns pinned to the tops. felicia was flushed and panting from having cut those ridiculous patterns. she waved her shears slowly to and fro, and the architect shouted with boyish glee. "silliest way i ever heard of," he chortled, "perfectly silly, but the old ducks did seem to take to it. felicia day, you are a little old wonder." she gazed up at him mournfully. "old!" she echoed and shivered. "i didn't mean 'old' really," he stammered, "i just meant, well, i just meant you were--" he paused awkwardly. "i don't look awfully old, do i?" she asked it with such delicious anxiety that he laughed. "i mean, i don't look so awfully old as i did, do i?" he thought he was saying a perfectly satisfactory thing when he answered. "you look just like your wonderful self and we wouldn't have you changed for worlds. why, you're our fairy grandmother." her little hand crept to the back of the bench. she steadied herself. and decided something very quietly. "do this for me," she commanded. "telephone mr. ralph. tell him i said that i didn't want him to keep the engagement that i had him make for me this evening. that i won't be here at nine o'clock, that i have to go out. that he mustn't bring the visitor i asked him to bring. that i've changed my mind about seeing that visitor." and when he had gone away whistling atrociously and cheerfully she sat down on the bench and buried her face in her hands. the air was soft and warm and sweet. it almost threatened rain. and at her feet in the border of that rebuilt garden little pansies shriveled in the heat of the afternoon sun. all her life long she would hate the odor of those dying pansies. she sat very still. she thought that she had come to the very end. there was nothing more in the world that she wanted to pretend. except perhaps that she was hearing dudley hamilt's voice singing, very woodenly, "but my heart's grown numb and my soul is dumb--" like dudley hamilt, she couldn't bear to think of the rest of the song, there wasn't any hope of "after years"; the most precious thing in life, the soul of their youth, had been snatched away from them and there was nothing left that mattered. and so she sat for a long time underneath the ivy-locked gate, unheeding the happy babble of voices that floated out from the windows of the dear old house. the sculptor girl almost shook her to make her look up. "there's a man wants to see you. awfully theatrical looking person. i've a hunch it's that beast graemer. he wouldn't say. just said he must see you." felicia stiffened. "it's stupid of him to come here. we did send for him, the portia person and i. i wanted to try once more about 'the juggler.' i said dreadful things, dulcie, to the little lawyer man that he sent. i told the little lawyer man that i thought his wicked mr. graemer was afraid to come to see us--so that's why he's come now, i suppose. i don't want to see him half so much as i did. i feel vairee cowardly. you must send your majesty-of-the-law down to me. i am a little afraid alone. and tell blythe to come. tell him quickly. i do not like this job, so i must do it quickly." felicia was absolutely wrong about why the erratic graemer had come to see her. he hadn't the remotest intention of bothering to answer the oft-reiterated claims of the persistent miss modder; he wasn't at all interested in any unknown miss day. the person he had come to see was mademoiselle folly and he had come purely on impulse. his agents had been able to make no headway with mademoiselle folly's agents. it had aroused his curiosity when he discovered that the actress was living with all those queer geniuses who were dwelling in the much discussed octavia house and he assumed that she was merely one of the proteges of the mysterious wealthy backers of that unusual enterprise. he thought it very good business indeed that the clever young woman had known enough to disappear for a brief time that she might whet her audiences' appetite while she let her agents lift her prices. it didn't at all occur to him that she was actually abandoning such a career as her extraordinary success seemed to foretell. he had in mind a romantic play in which she should make her bow as a legitimate actress and he had a flattering mountain-to-mahomet speech ready with which to introduce his august self to her. he was debonnaire in his smart summer clothing. he felt rather lord bountifullish. and besides, he was in a very good humor because he had come directly from a rehearsal of "the heart of a boy." the play was scheduled to open very shortly and it seemed to him that it was going to be an easy success. all the way over to brooklyn he had contemplated bill posters who were slapping their dripping brushes over great posters--corking posters graemer thought them, with their effective color scheme of dull greens and pale yellows. almost any one would have commended those posters. a charming little figure in the shadows of a wall stood tiptoe with her arms upstretched and her blonde head shone in the light from a church window above her as a florid choir boy leaned over the wall to embrace her. "felicia, i love you with all my heart and soul!" the choir boy was declaring in large red letters, which was rather versatile of him considering that his lips were pressed firmly upon the blonde lady's. the placard further announced that he was embracing "america's foremost romantic actress edwina ely" and though there was nothing about their posture that could have offended even the ghost of anthony comstock, it had an almost galvanic effect upon a stalwart man who had stopped to look upon it. it was just about the moment that miss ely's manager had stepped into the taxicab that was to bear him to brooklyn, that the outraged citizen had paused before a side wall at a theater entrance to gape sceptically at a paste-glistening sheet. that particular poster was not yet in place. the fair lady still lacked her feet and a painstaking artisan was just delicately attaching them to her knees. he never finished attaching them. "dat guy you see going around de coiner," he explained to the gathering crowd who helped to pick him up. "i wasn't doing nothing to him, i was justa stooping over when all to onct he hit me and threw me paste in the street and grabbed me brush and trew it after me paste and just as i was going to lam him one he ups and shoves some money in me fists and groans, 'beg your pardon, of course you aren't responsible' and off he goes--and somebody better watch after him for he must have a heluva jag." the stalwart citizen did not stop to reason even after he had vented the first edge of his rage upon the innocent bill poster. he let himself intuitively guess at the whole damning chain of the fat baritone and his eternal gossiping and the pretty actress and the acquisitive manager. the intensity of his manner when he pulled open the manager's door frightened the manager's stenographer into an unwilling admission that mr. graemer had just left for brooklyn. and a dazed taxi starter, who decided that somebody's life must be at stake, remembered with much distinctness that the address, which mr. graemer had given some half hour before was montrose place, brooklyn. he remembered it because they'd had to look it up in a street guide. if dudley hamilt had been in a temper before he heard that address he was literally enraged when he did hear it. of what had happened in montrose place during the spring months while he had been in the west he had not the faintest inkling. the last time he had seen the little street it had looked as desolate and forlorn as on the day when felicia had come back to it. he assumed with that rapidity with which an angry mind makes decisions, that graemer was proceeding to montrose place for more of the damnably clever "local color" with which he was wont to dress his plays; that not content with having dramatized hamilt's youthful woes to the orchestra circle he wanted to reproduce the whole thing photographically. hamilt's thoughts raced turbulently as his own taxi followed the route of graemer's. he was keenly aware that his frenzy was utterly illogical, that he hadn't a reasonable argument to present against the play, that there was no possible way in which he could prevent any man from writing any play he wished or naming his heroine any name he chose and yet he grew angrier and angrier as his cab bumped over the old bridge. "there's not a chance in a thousand of my getting my hands on him, but, oh, if i only could--" he thought vindictively. as a matter of fact his "chance in a thousand" was a very good one, since he was able to direct his driver explicitly because of his familiarity with the neighborhood. moreover, the astute manager was not making very speedy headway in his interview with the erstwhile mademoiselle folly. his quick eyes commended the charming figure that the lady made in her quaint frock against the crumbling garden wall. he spoke a very pretty speech about her appearance. but he found her haughty indeed considering that she was nothing but an upstart vaudeville performer. she had no manners at all, he decided, for she did not even suggest that he sit down. he actually had to make his proposition standing. "your agent let us know that you're starting for abroad. that's a nice little plan but it won't get you anywhere at all," he began tersely. "except of course that you may get a little fun out of it if you've never been on the other side. but the best thing for you to do before you go off for your vacation is to have a contract, signed and sealed, in your inside pocket. frankly, i'm charmed with your--er-- personality. i saw you a couple of months ago at the palace and i like the way you get hold of people. i should say that with the right kind of training you ought to go quite a long way: who knows?" he was laughing so good humoredly that he did not see her wince, "some of these days i might pick up a nice little play for you--" the lady was standing perfectly still. he decided that she had admirable repose. her wide eyes looked straight into his. the intensity of her low voice was a bit thrilling. "if evaire i did want a play," she answered coolly, "i would know exactly where i would 'pick it up,' as you call it. i would not 'pick it up' the way you 'pick up' plays, m'sieur graemer. i have a friend whose play you 'picked up'--" she gestured toward the house. her deliberate reiteration of his chance phrase was irritating to say the least. he turned uncomfortably to look at the stairway toward which she was motioning. and he did have the grace to look rather disconcerted when he saw miss blythe modder approaching. he glanced quickly back to the woman he had come to see. felicia stepped close to him. "i did not want you to come to my house," she began passionately. "i just wanted you to see the lawyer who attends to certain legal matters for me." the little breathless rush of her words fascinated him, the alluring way she slurred her syllables together, the quick staccato with which she paused on short words! at first he hardly grasped what she was saying, so intent was he upon her extraordinary manner of speaking. it made him feel somehow like a child. it irritated and soothed him at the same time. "i did not want you to come here at all." she stamped her foot for emphasis. "it is insulting for you to be in maman's garden! but now that you're here and blythe is here and i am here, why, i think we must talk things ovaire. with this lawyer who lives here with us. it is blythe's play 'the magician' that we will talk about. it was in your offices for almost a year and you had it there at least two years before you wrote 'the juggler,' didn't you? tell me!" "the two plays are utterly dissimilar--" "the two plays are utterly similar." felicia's cool voice corrected him. she had an exasperating directness of manner! "whenever you are counting how vairee much money you did have from 'the juggler' do you not sometimes think that the girl who wrote the play ought to have some of those moneys?" "the two plays were totally dissimilar--" he repeated hotly. "felice! felice!" groaned the poetry girl. "you're just wasting your breath! it's no use talking to him! why, i almost got down on my knees to him! i wept--" "i shall not weep," said felicia calmly. "i shall just tell him how vairee simple it would be for him to explain. he can just tell people that it is her play and that some of it is her moneys and then he can give you the money. oh, you couldn't have understood how bad, bad, bad you made things for her! even this spring, while you were still getting money from her play, she was poor and sick and almost starving--just like the girl in her 'magician'--" she paused eloquently but she never let her eyes leave his. he fidgeted with his hat. he tried to avoid that clear gaze, but whatever the faint stirrings of his conscience might have prompted him to say the blundering but well meaning lawyer prevented. that indiscreet person stepped briskly forward. "i am one of miss modder's legal advisors," he began importantly. "you probably know that we are anticipating bringing another and much stronger action against you. but if you should happen to feel that you wanted to enter into some sort of negotiations for an adjustment of--" graemer caught his breath. "i'll be damned if i do--" he ejaculated. he was white with chagrin to think that his stupidity had trapped him into such an annoying situation. he was moving blindly toward the stairway; all he wanted was a quick termination of the whole irritating interview. felicia stopped him. she put her hand on his arm. "let me explain for you a little," she pleaded, "i am sorry that these lawyer men do not understand. i know exactly how you happened to do it. you didn't mean to take it at first, did you? i know because i once took something that was not mine. it was food," she smiled a little at the memory. "it did not seem like stealing because it was just a little food. it just seemed like something i wanted and that i must have and so i took it. maybe that was the way it was with you about 'the magician.' it was something that you wanted and must have! perhaps it didn't seem like stealing because it was only something that was written on a paper. it wasn't even like something you could hold in your hand. it was just something somebody wrote down on some pieces of paper. maybe you didn't understand that it was all of her hopes and dreams--" "gad! what a sunday school you do keep!" he sneered. he tried to pass her. he had jammed his hat back upon his head. perhaps he would have actually gotten away from her only that that was the moment that dulcie dierckt opened the long french doors at the head of the little outside stairway and motioned down the steps to the excited man who was following her. "there's mr. graemer," she said; "here's some one to see you," she called wickedly, as she leaned across the balcony. it was all over so quickly that afterward neither the poetry girl nor the lawyer could tell how it happened. dulcie could tell a little more because she watched it from above. dudley hamilt went down that narrow stairway in a sort of running leap. he faced the agitated mr. graemer squarely but he gave him something less than half a minute in which to defend himself. and then he proceeded with a most satisfying thoroughness to pummel and pound and thump. their struggling figures shoved to and fro in the pebbled paths. janet and molly o'reilly ran screaming from their kitchen. the poetry girl scrambled out of their way by jumping to an iron bench. she dragged felicia up after her. "stop them! stop them!" shrieked the poetry girl. but beside her felicia clasping her little hands under her chin, watched with shining eyes; her anger was as the anger of the man who was fighting. she did not realize who he was or why he had come to the defense of her blythe. she only knew that he was doing exactly what she had been longing to do ever since she had first heard about the acquisitive mr. graemer. and when she heard blythe modder shouting beside her she began to shout too. only she did not entreat them to stop fighting. a curious thrill of victory made her voice vibrant with rapture. "do not stop striking him! do not stop!" and then suddenly, she saw to whom she was calling. and with her new found joy in her heart she shouted still louder, "strike him much, much more, dudley hamilt!" he stopped, absolutely dazed. he thought that he must be struggling in a dream. he actually stepped across his fallen antagonist as he strode toward her. his blonde hair was rumpled from wrestling, his eyes shone with the light of victory. he stretched out his arms. "are you real--" he stammered, "tell me quickly, are you real--" "i am vairee real--" she answered breathlessly, "but i am old--" old! she was agelessly young as she stood there, smiling at him from her perch on the little iron bench. her slender figure in the sage green frock was silhouetted against the wall, her head was lifted joyously. it was the young lawyer who came to his senses first. he shoved the disheveled graemer out through the rear gate, the stable gate--it happened to be open and he took an immense satisfaction in after years in remembering that it was the stable gate, did that cocky young lawyer! the rest of them fled through the kitchen doorway, or rather molly o'reilly adroitly pushed them through it and for the next half hour the household babbled discreetly behind drawn blinds. but outside in the wee garden the years slipped back as though they had been time in maitre guedron's song. "dudley hamilt! dear dudley hamilt! you are hurting my arms a little-- " "felice! forgive me! i didn't mean to--it's only that i am afraid you are not real--i am afraid to let you go--" ineffably content she stood tiptoe to put her hands on his shoulders. she lifted her adorable head and smiled. "nevaire do--" she murmured with her lips on his. the end the future of brooklyn. the city's promised growth and increase, with comments on the building statistics for the year . message of the hon. alfred c. chapin, mayor. december , . mayor's office, } city hall, brooklyn, } december , } _to the honorable, the common council_: gentlemen: in this message i shall attempt a general statement of the condition of the city, and of its building operations. for the purpose of broadly considering the city's present condition and standing among similar communities, the returns of the recent presidential election furnish valuable data. presidential elections call out a full vote, and thus afford an indication of the relative growth of the different cities of the country. the following table is believed to correctly state the total number of votes cast in the four leading cities for president at the recent election: total vote cast in . new york , philadelphia , brooklyn , chicago , in the vote of these several cities in the presidential election bore the following proportion to the population as shown by the census of the same year: number of population to each voter in : new york . . philadelphia . . brooklyn . . chicago . . the following table contains the population of each city in , and the apparent population at present, basing the estimate upon the vote of this year, and assuming the ratio of population to the numbers of voters to remain the same as in : population apparent population in . in . new york, , , . , , . philadelphia, , . , , . brooklyn, , . , . chicago, , . , . the method of reaching this conclusion cannot be called unduly favorable to our city. the difference in the ratio existing between the population and the voters in in chicago and in brooklyn would seem to indicate either that chicago possessed an unusually large unnaturalized population, or else that it did not poll its full vote. if the unnaturalized population of our own city is larger than it was in , the above estimate may be too small. if the increase of population since has been one that brought with it a larger proportion of women and children than the increase before , the above estimate is too small. whether either of these possible modifications should be given serious consideration is a matter of conjecture upon which some light may be thrown by what will be set forth in this communication. the twenty-six wards now comprising the city of brooklyn, contained in a population of , ; if, therefore, their present population as above estimated is , , there has been an increase in eight years of , , or an average annual gain for each of those years of , . but the population in was , , and in , as enumerated by the state census, it was , , showing a gain for the five years of , , or an average annually of , . between and it rose to , , the total gain for the five years being , , the average annual gain being , . it should, therefore, first be noticed that the rate of increase of the last decade was more rapid during its first half than during its closing half. the present decade began in a period of more moderate growth than that of some years previous. we may, i think, safely assume that the falling off in the gain between and was largely due to the opening of the system of elevated roads in new york city in . making all necessary allowance for the increase due to the twenty-sixth ward, which was not a part of the city in , it is still impossible to believe that the average annual gain of , which prevailed from to could have been abruptly changed to the average annual gain of , which has prevailed from to the present time. we must, then, assume that during the years since the rate of growth of the city has advanced quite materially; and that the average increase of the first three or four years of the present decade may not have been much in excess of the average increase of the five years from to . a sufficient cause for the change of the rate of growth is furnished in the opening of the bridge in . a further promoting cause is found in the opening of the brooklyn elevated railway in . we must, therefore, assume the average annual gain for the past eight years (of , ) to be greater than the average gain of the three or four years following . if so, it is obvious that the gains for the present year and for the years immediately preceding must have been greater than , . that the two causes suggested contributed to change the rate of growth is not likely to be questioned by any one. but they are only the accompaniments of a broader and more persistent cause, which is the fundamental reason of the existence of the bridge and of our present system of rapid transit. this larger cause is a general change in the relation between new york and brooklyn, gradually manifesting itself as a necessary result of the development of the whole metropolitan community surrounding the port of new york. the first two causes, therefore, though permanent, were auxiliary and specific. the last is a general, continuous condition, whose force seems unlikely to decline, but more likely to augment from year to year. the first two causes, also, may be said to have a fixed or, at all events, an ascertainable maximum influence, based upon their respective capacity to transport passengers. they are merely methods of transit. their capacity may in time be exhausted. in such case they may be supplemented; new bridges can be built, and doubtless will be; newer elevated railroads have been built and opened for business since the construction of the one already mentioned. more elevated railroads are to be built. in addition to the brooklyn elevated railroad company, already named, now operating six and three-fourths miles of railroad, the kings county elevated railroad company is operating five and one-half miles of railroad, and the union elevated railroad company is operating four and three-fifths miles, forming together a system of nearly seventeen miles, which promises to increase its capacity as well as its mileage. construction is still progressing upon these lines, and it is reported that at the close of the year , or earlier, there will be twenty-five miles of elevated railroad in operation in the city. these features of the city's condition call attention to the fact that we have reached a period of development, at which it is our duty to provide clearly and understandingly for the needs of a far greater population than that now included within our limits. in earlier days americans did much empty boasting and made many glorious predictions. at the same time, so far as material preparations are concerned, they could do little for those coming after them. the art of living had not then been studied as it since has been. sanitary science can hardly be said to have been in its infancy, for in this country it seemed to have no existence whatever. in the establishing of enduring and fundamental principles of government, and in the field of law much was done for us and for our posterity by the men of previous generations, but it was necessary that there should be a gradual education of the business sense of the country before men could appreciate the nature and import of the problems now presented in the growth of cities. it was necessary that a more leisurely aspect should come over life; that comfort and health should be more highly prized. the more purely intellectual side of our ancestors' work was well done; but the needs of the by no means distant future, the inheritances which our successors should receive from us, are of a different description. pavements, sewers, sufficient water supply, parks, schools, public buildings, an enlarged application of the results attained in sanitary science, and the solid work of masonry are the inheritances we should transmit, rather than far reaching adjudications, such as that of the dartmouth college case, or comprehensive enactments, such as the ordinance establishing the northwest territory. naturally, the greatest and most pressing need will arise here at the centre of the greatest population. how great that need may be, or how great a population may congregate within our area or upon the borders of the bay of new york, we cannot indeed actually estimate, but to some extent we can forecast it. such forecasts are not useless. in his message of december, , president lincoln said: "there are already among us those who, if the union be preserved, will live to see it contain two hundred and fifty millions." such a vision of the future, at a time of extreme trial, seemed to him neither vain nor fanciful. its utterance was evidence that he possessed the sort of political imagination which a statesman should possess if he is to discern the drift of public thought, or to picture the future material condition of his country. when compared with other estimates, his outlook was not extravagant, though it may not be realized. its concern for us is direct and unavoidable. for the course of history, in our own land and abroad, makes it clear that the population about the port of new york is to hold a place of high importance in the nation, both numerical and otherwise. the state of new york passed to the first place in population in the nation in . since that day the population of the union, of the state of new york, and the combined population of the cities of new york and brooklyn, at each decade from to , and the percentage of increase in each decade, have been as follows: population population population of new increase of the increase of the increase york and per state of per united per years. brooklyn. cent. new york. cent. states. cent. , , , , , , . , , . , , . , . , , . , , . , . , , . , , . , , . , , . , , . , , . , , . , , . , , . , , . , . . thus the combined population of new york and brooklyn has at all times since grown at a rate much more rapid than that of the growth of the state of new york; the rate of growth of the two cities has at all times exceeded the rate of growth of the population of the whole union, although the rate of growth of the population of the state of new york has not kept pace with that of the population of the united states since . but for the growth of the two cities, the state would, before this time, have ceased to hold the first place. the degree to which the population of the two cities has gained upon that of the state in the whole period, is quite notable. their proportion of the population of the state in was less than one-tenth; while in more than one-third of the population of the state lived in brooklyn and new york. on the other hand, in , the state of new york included more than one-eighth of the population of the whole union; while in it embraced a little less than one-tenth of that population. at present, adopting the estimates already given, based upon the presidential vote for this year, new york and brooklyn include nearly, if not quite, two-fifths of the population of the whole state. without adopting lincoln's prediction, we need only look forward to a time when the country may contain one hundred and fifty million people. even then, the density of its population will be much less than that of older countries or of some states of the union. if the population of the state of new york failed to hold its present relation, and fell off until it numbered but eight per cent. or about one-twelfth of the population of the union, it would still contain more than twelve millions of people, of which a population surpassing one-half might be found in or near these two cities. as the two cities grow, apparently an increasing proportion of that growth must come to brooklyn. the mere question of area goes far to determine such a result. each mile of departure from the new york city hall emphasizes the inequality in the quantity of residence area lying respectively upon manhattan island and within our limits. it is four miles from the new york city hall to sixtieth street; and the capacity of the area below that street for purposes of residence may be said to be well nigh exhausted. the encroachments of business below that division line seem likely to diminish its capacity to furnish homes nearly as rapidly as improvements in building methods may augment such capacity. of the twenty-four assembly districts in the city of new york, nineteen--to wit, one to eighteen inclusive, and the twentieth--lie wholly below fifty-ninth street. in these nineteen districts the increase of registration in over that of is , . the remaining five districts lie almost wholly above fifty-ninth street; and in them the increase is , . apparently more than seventy per cent. of the growth of new york during the past four years has been north of fifty-ninth street. not only must this comparatively fixed condition of new york below fifty-ninth street remain or become more and more marked, but the line of division between the growing and the fixed parts of the city must rapidly shift from fifty-ninth street to one hundred and tenth street. for of the area between fifty-ninth street and one hundred and tenth street a substantial part is devoted to central park, and is unavailable for residences. furthermore, the presence of central park causes land east and west of it to be much sought after, and to command high prices. that part of new york, therefore, which lies between fifty-ninth street and one hundred and tenth street is to be largely taken by people whose means are abundant, and of the space not already occupied, but a small part will be left for the sort of population from which brooklyn draws its chief and characteristic growth. how far existing conditions may be disturbed by new means of transit or by new works of life in new york city, no one can now tell. at present, the broad fact is, that the whole area of brooklyn (excepting only the more remote parts of the twenty-sixth ward, the former town of new lots) is nearer in distance to the new york city hall than that part of new york city lying above one hundred and tenth street. furthermore, the residence area lying between fifty-ninth and one hundred and tenth streets in new york is not one-seventh of that lying between lines of like distance in kings county. to attempt a close estimate of the future population of new york and brooklyn might be neither wise nor profitable. some conception of the general course or character of that development is the most that is practicable. all nineteenth century progress discloses a tendency to concentration of population. in our own country the inhabitants of cities formed one-thirtieth of the population in ; one-eighth in ; and nine-fortieths or half way between one-fifth and one-fourth in . in this state a full one-half of the population dwelt in cities in . the proportion now is not less than three-fifths, and is rapidly approaching, if it has not already reached, five-eighths. the population of the union since has increased at a rate varying by decades from over per cent. to . per cent. the lowest rate was that of the war decade. the rate per decade since has been more than per cent. the population of the cities of new york and brooklyn has at all times increased more rapidly than that of the nation. this was true even during the war decade, although the marked falling off of their rate of growth in that decade disclosed a decided sensitiveness to whatever influences accelerated or retarded national growth. new york and brooklyn, indeed, have at all times shown by their rate and character of progress and growth that they are reflections of the development of the nation rather than of that of any state or locality. we may, therefore, safely say that the growth of the united population of new york and brooklyn hereafter, as in the past, will depend chiefly upon the general progress of the whole nation. how rapid this progress will continue, how great proportions it may finally attain can only be vaguely conjectured. lincoln's forecast of two hundred and fifty millions of souls during the life time of people who were in existence in , would seem to have been over-sanguine, although it was not without parallel or precedent. the decade between and , at the close of which he was speaking, had witnessed a most rapid national growth, that is, a rate of more than thirty-five per cent. for the whole union. percentages decline as aggregates increase. the rate of thirty per cent. which has prevailed since , would not produce two hundred and fifty millions ( , , ) of people until after . it is too much to assume that such a rate of national growth will continue. its continuance for so long a period would involve an increase of over forty millions ( , , ) between and , and over fifty-five millions ( , , ) between and . it seems more reasonable to expect a gradual decline in the rate of increase, and that the relation between this country and europe will more closely approach an equilibrium, accompanied or followed by a diminution of the force of immigration as a factor in our national growth. immigration in the past has fluctuated widely. the total number of immigrants landing in this country for the whole decade closing in , was less than that for the first five years of the present decade. to what degree the population of the future will dwell in cities can perhaps best be foretold by present indications in our own land, or by the conditions prevailing in more thickly settled nations. present indications here, as has been pointed out, suggest a city growth more rapid than that of the remainder of the population. among the older nations, the population of the british isles may be said to resemble our own most closely. the population of great britain and ireland in was thirty-five millions ( , , ). more than one-tenth of this population was contained in london alone. such an urban population manifestly sustains itself largely if not chiefly upon the commercial and maritime importance of the nation containing it, and only to a minor degree upon the community surrounding it. this condition of existence may never be as emphatically true of the population about the port of new york as it is of the population of london, yet it has always been believed that the final commercial position of our nation must be one of commanding importance. that belief compels the inference that the great port of the nation and of the continent must continue to attract an enormous population. that the present rate of growth, which adds per cent. to the population of new york, and more than per cent. to that of brooklyn, in every ten years, will endure, need not be expected. the results of a computation upon such a basis seem incredible, since they call for a population of three million five hundred thousand ( , , ) in new york in , and of two million two hundred thousand ( , , ) in brooklyn at the same time. but we may well believe that in the nation there will be a gradual approach to the density of population now maintained in older countries; that this port will hold its place as a general point of concentration and distribution for the nation, the continent, perhaps for the world; and that the excess of residence area in and about our own city over the corresponding area of new york must continue to tell in our favor, probably with increasing force. looking back no further than , and comparing the two cities with each other, the following table shows their numbers and rate of growth in the successive decades: population population of increase of increase years. new york. per cent. brooklyn. per cent. , , , . , . , . , . , , . , . as the present twenty-sixth ward of brooklyn was not a part of the city in , a comparison of the population of brooklyn, as the city is now constituted, with the population of the city of new york would be as follows: the figures for for both cities are estimated on the basis already stated. increase increase year. new york. per cent. brooklyn. per cent. , , , , , , --------- ------- , . , . pr. cent. . pr. cent. per year. per year. the records of the building department aid in testing the estimates already submitted, and more strikingly in disclosing the character of the population now coming to us. during the twelve months ending on november of this year, , permits were granted for buildings of all varieties, estimated by their projectors to cost $ , , . the estimated value of this proposed construction has not been exceeded during any similar period in the city's history. the buildings of a residence description were to furnish accommodation for , families. not every building for which a permit is issued is afterwards completed, but the magnitude of the volume of the business of this department--even after making all reasonable deductions for the plans not carried out--at least justifies all that has been said thus far concerning the city's present proportions and rate of progress. the united states census of declared the city's population of , to be contained in , families; thus fixing the average membership of each family at . . it is hardly credible therefore that the permits issued for residence purposes during the past year represent the city's actual growth during any given period of twelve months. if families now average as then, these permits would furnish homes for more than , souls--a number, to my mind, in excess of the city's yearly growth. we must, therefore, assume that there is some discrepancy between the methods of designation employed in by the united states officials and those of the building department, or that the average number of persons in each family is now less than in , or that these permits represent more than the actual needs of the period during which they were granted. probably the last supposition is best founded. like new york, the city may have been overbuilt during the past two or three years, and this record, no doubt, exhibits some permits not acted upon and some construction due to the impetus of the speculative ardor of , , and . this view is confirmed by the statement of the number and cost of the buildings actually completed during the calendar years and , and the first eleven months of the present year. year. no. of buildings. estimated cost. . , . $ , , . . , . , , . to dec. . , . , , . while these figures, together with the record of the twelve months ending upon november , , as already given, can not, from their nature, lead to a precise mathematical conclusion, they indicate most clearly a degree of activity in construction in which a slight decline in rapidity might be a cause for congratulation rather than for regret. the substantial prosperity of the city was at one time threatened by the over-speculative temper of builders. conservative witnesses now think that the normal relation of supply and demand has been partially restored. the interests of labor are directly concerned to avoid premature and forced development in so important an industry. those who lend upon real estate security, and all who deposit in savings banks which make such loans, are not less concerned that our growth should represent the response to actual demand, and not inconsiderate and headlong enterprise. further analysis of the permits issued during the twelve months ending november , , is of interest. of the , families for whose accommodation residence permits were issued, nineteen were to live in factories, stables, shops, or business offices, three thousand six hundred and seventy-two ( , ), were to live in , flats, to be erected at the estimated cost of $ , , . the average investment of capital to furnish a home for each of these families would seem to be $ , , _plus_ the cost of the land. , families were to live in buildings described as flats and stores, to be erected at a cost of $ , , , calling for an average investment for each family of $ , less the cost of the store, _plus_ the cost of land. it may be safely stated that the distinction between these two variety of residences is in general not great. if, therefore, we call the average cost of the flat the same in each case, $ , , _plus_ the cost of the land, we shall not be far wrong. neither do we err much if the value of the land is estimated to be one-third that of the building. it would thus appear that , families were to be given homes representing on the average an investment of $ , . the owner of such property would probably demand $ per year average rental, and since rent may be reckoned as forming one-fourth of the cost of living with these families, it would follow that the , families now under consideration should possess an average income of $ or $ . this body of inhabitants forms a full six-tenths of the growth of the city as the builders anticipated it. the next most important element in that growth consists of ( , ) three thousand and fifty-five families who are to occupy tenements, to be constructed at a cost of $ , , , the average investment to provide a home for each family in this case being $ , _plus_ the cost of the land. allow one-third as before to this latter item, and the cost of each home becomes $ , . assume $ to be the average rent asked for such dwelling places, and it would appear that these , families do not command an average income in excess of $ . these families form three-tenths of the city's growth for a year as foreseen by its builders. thus, nine-tenths of the expected increase has been classified with a reasonable approximation to accuracy. the averages thus far submitted are not likely to be seriously misleading, since they represent varieties of construction and modes of life in which a uniform type is closely followed. among those inhabitants composing the remaining tenth, incomes cover a wider range, but a comprehensive view even of these is by no means unprofitable. for , families the same number of private dwellings were built, costing $ , , , the average cost of each dwelling being $ , . in order that these averages might not be misleading, the commissioner of buildings has, at my request, examined every permit issued by him during the year, and has arranged them upon certain suggestive bases of classification. this last group of , families includes no permits for private dwellings whose construction cost over $ , . the average cost of dwellings costing less than $ , each, occupied by one family is, therefore, $ , . while this figure represents the average cost of dwellings of this class, it would appear that the actual cost of the greater number of these dwellings was considerably less than the average. otherwise the average would not have been drawn to a point so far below the maximum cost of $ , . these , families may be safely assumed to stand upon lots worth one-third of their cost. thus, these , dwellings are to dwell in homes representing an average investment of $ , . upon the basis of computation before employed the income of these families should average not far from $ , per year. in fact, for reasons just suggested, these incomes range from a minimum of $ , or less to a maximum rarely exceeding $ , or $ , . and a greater number of these incomes undoubtedly falls below the average point of $ , . perhaps the greater number would be found to be not far from $ , . there remain families, for whom private dwellings, each costing $ , or more, as estimated, were to be constructed. the aggregate value of these dwellings is $ , , . the average value is $ , . since the average rises so slightly above the minimum, it is clear that but few dwellings costing much more than $ , were to be constructed. the detailed report of the commissioner mentions but three residences of high cost to be built respectively for $ , , $ , and $ , . these families represent an average investment for both the land and the house of $ , . an attempt to average the income of this class would be attended with less success than in any of the prior instances. the minimum cost of living for a family dwelling in one of these residences would not be far from $ , . doubtless but a few of them spend as small a sum as this in a year. the surmise that in some of its features building has been overdone is apparently verified by a study of the remaining permits. the factories costing $ , , and the shops costing $ , call for so small a part of such a population as would be contained in the flats and tenements to be constructed, that we must believe that some of these latter will not be occupied at once. this conclusion accords with observation. at the same time the general magnitude of this sort of construction indicates the operation of those causes already spoken of which embarrass the growth of new york and promote the growth of brooklyn. manifestly the tenants of these numerous flats and the , families who are to dwell in the more modest residences belonging in part at least to the class which will not live in lower new york and which cannot endure the journey to the region above one hundred and tenth street. for the twelve months ending november th, , permits were issued for , buildings, to cost $ , , . among these are found dwellings for , families. of these families, , are to dwell in flats costing $ , , , the average investment for each family being $ , as against $ , in . two thousand eight hundred and sixty-eight families are to dwell in buildings described as stores and flats, numbering , and costing $ , , , the average investment for each family being $ , as against $ , in . two thousand three hundred and ninety-one families are to dwell in tenements costing $ , , , the average investment for a family being $ as against $ in . there remain , families who are to dwell in the same number of dwellings, each costing less than $ , , and the aggregate cost being $ , , , the average cost per family being $ , , as against $ , in . finally, there are families provided for by the same number of residences, each costing over $ , , and costing in the aggregate $ , , , or on the average $ , as against $ , in . it will be noted that a general survey of these twelve months is decidedly like that for the twelve months ending upon november th, . since december , , therefore, permits have been issued for the accommodation of , families the conclusion hinted at early in this message that present rate of growth of this city is in excess of , per year is more than supported by these figures. the conclusions thus arrived at as to the present and future of brooklyn are reinforced by observation of the life of the people as it ebbs and flows about us. closer union with new york has--to put it paradoxically--removed us further from new york. the increased population, whose growth is undoubtedly stimulated by improved transit, consumes such a volume of home supplies that our local business has vastly augmented and varied. the tendency to visit new york for every sort of purpose declines. closer alliance with new york means a more discriminating alliance and less general indiscriminate dependence on that city. this must ever be the rule of growth in great communities. it is the rule of national growth. of the products of the west some must be shipped in undiminished bulk, but even these are so handled that a small room in new york suffices to accommodate enough buyers and sellers to dispose in one day of a year's crop. other forms of product reach the east for consumption or export in a concentrated form. by the natural law of growth the process of concentration is constantly moving westward in its place of performance to intercept the raw material at a point as near as possible to that of its production. similar laws apply to new york and brooklyn with unusual intensity. obviously new york must be the clearing house and the site of the finer and more costly grades of industry. that it cannot be the abode of large industrial activity demanding bulk or space is not less clear. manufacturers who are to occupy much of the earth's surface, or whose products are bulky, must establish themselves elsewhere. some of them must and will come to brooklyn, and the population growing up about them will hereafter depend less and less upon new york for any except the finer bonds of relation which unify the diverse purposes and interests clustering around our majestic bay. it has seemed best to dwell upon this topic of the city's present magnitude and general condition. such a study of the people can hardly fail to enlighten those who conduct their affairs, or to arouse and stimulate a collective and aggressive public spirit, and a sentiment of just local pride, such as become a great community. few revelations of the future are as clear as that the commanding, if not the overwhelming problems of politics, are to spring hereafter from such communities. the necessities of compact and highly-organized bodies of people; the vast private enterprises, as well as public works, which must minister to their daily wants; the stress of industrial competition among them; the pressure of class upon class; the jarring of interest upon interest; the demand for comprehensive, honest and far-sighted administration of their public affairs; the absolute need to maintain order upon its established foundations; the fierce contentions and uneasy vitality which accompany hasty or irregular municipal growth; these and other features of city life, suggests much food for thought for the present and approaching generation of americans. since cities are to be so great a factor as well as so great a product in our material expansion, it follows that the government of cities is the one quarter of the political field in which american institutions must not fail; for if popular self-government fails there it fails at the heart, at the centre and source of vital and nervous power. in cities, therefore, are to be met those trials whose issue will determine in what characters the later pages of american history are to be inscribed. to designate great cities as an evil, or as a peril, is to note but half their significance. if men, when massed together, are accessible to evil suggestions they are likewise accessible to that which is good. at all events, the problem is not obscure or hard to find. one might go farther and say that in the question of the future of our cities is involved more even than the destiny of popular self-government. it involves the success or the failure of all the agencies of progress and of enlightenment. the moral and spiritual interests of the people cannot be separated from those which fall within the scope of governmental influence. moreover, these great populations will not remain at rest either materially or otherwise. their condition will be one of advancement or of progressive demoralization and decay. in its practical suggestions such information as is given by these statistics is of much value. in earlier days the forecasts of coming greatness were not and could not be accompanied by material provision for the future. they formed no basis for definite concrete policy. to-day the situation is changed. the vision of an approaching multitude casts before it the shadow of responsibility. their well-being must be made secure. nor is this obligation remote or of little present moment. already our numbers and rank place us among the great, advanced and interesting communities of the civilized world. on the continent of europe there can be found but six cities more populous than our own. the british isles contain but one. our place is surpassed only by that of the capitals of the great powers. what is done now, therefore, by way of provision for the brooklyn of to-day as well as for the brooklyn of the future, should be done in a manner befitting the character and needs of a numerous, permanent and expanding population. heretofore the public works not less than the private enterprises of our countrymen have often been experimental and insufficient. even those who dimly foresaw the magnitude of the future dared not prepare for all that seemed to them probable. hence the varieties of effort to supply the people have usually proved inadequate. demand has speedily overtaken the new methods of supply. there is more than one reason why this has been true. not infrequently the means with which to make adequate provision did not exist. often the drift of population or the general desire for some new product or convenience has set all previous calculations at defiance. in public matters the necessity of submitting large propositions to minds not familiar with them has operated to the public disadvantage. such a project as the erie canal or the brooklyn bridge is denounced for years as wild and extravagant. when completed, its capacity may almost at once be taxed to the utmost. it is now time to recognize that cities like ours are to be the homes of multitudes for successive generations--that the battle of civilization, of progress and of all that gilds the future with the light of hope must be fought out on this field. here must be established the broad and sure foundations of systematic provision for those vital daily needs upon whose gratification depend comfort, health, contentment and peace of mind. neither is there now the excuse that resources are not at hand. our credit is second to that of no existing community; the labor of those dwelling among us is not to be surpassed in intelligent and conscientious effectiveness; our frugality has produced at least one good result, for the cost of government to the citizen is less than in almost any other city. comprehensive effort and manly determination alone are needed to begin the task of supplying brooklyn with what is due to the city and its visible future. this task does not immediately involve any gigantic project. extraordinary outlay, such as attended the establishment of the park and the construction of the bridge, need not at once be contemplated. doubtless other bridges will some day be built--and that day may be nearer than some imagine--but i speak now only of such general forms of improvement as are necessary to the prosperity of the whole city. in a previous message i have outlined one such proposition to your honorable body. in other communications i shall complete the list. respectfully, alfred c. chapin, mayor. transcriber's note: volume i of this ebook is available at project gutenberg as etext # . [illustration: village of brooklyn in ] a history of the city of brooklyn and kings county by stephen m. ostrander, m.a. late member of the holland society, the long island historical society, and the society of old brooklynites _edited, with introduction and notes, by_ alexander black author of "the story of ohio," etc. in two volumes volume ii. brooklyn published by subscription copyright , by annie a. ostrander. _all rights reserved._ this edition is limited to five hundred copies, of which this is no. contents chapter ix brooklyn after the revolution - effect of the british occupation on life and business in the county. brooklyn particularly disturbed. town meetings resumed. the prison ships and their terrible legacy. tragedies of the wallabout. movement to honor the dead. burial of the remains. the tammany enterprise and the removal of the bones. further removal to fort greene. organization of the brooklyn fire department. the ferry. the mail stage. new roads. planning "olympia." early advertisements. circulating library and schools. the rain-water doctor. kings county medical society. flatlands. gravesend. flatbush, the county seat. mills. erasmus hall. new utrecht. bushwick, its church, tavern, graveyard, and mills. the boundary dispute. the beginnings of williamsburgh. rival ferries. "the father of williamsburgh" chapter x brooklyn village - brooklyn during the "critical period" in american history. the embargo and the war of . military preparations. fortifications. fort greene and cobble hill. peace. robert fulton. the "nassau's" first trip. progress of fulton ferry. the village incorporated. first trustees. the sunday-school union. long island bank. board of health. the sale of liquor. care of the poor. real estate. village expenses. guy's picture of brooklyn in . the village of that period. characters of the period. old families and estates. the county courts removed to brooklyn. apprentices' library. prisoners at the almshouse. growth of the village. the brooklyn "evening star." movement for incorporation as a city. opposition of new york. passage of the incorporation act chapter xi the city of brooklyn - government of the city. george hall, first mayor. plans for a city hall. contention among the aldermen. albert g. stevens and the clerkship. the jamaica railroad. real estate. the "brooklyn eagle." walt whitman. henry c. murphy. brooklyn city railroad. the city court established. county institutions. the penitentiary. packer institute and the polytechnic. williamsburgh becomes a city. progress of williamsburgh. mayor wall and the aldermen. discussion of annexation with brooklyn. the "brooklyn times." consolidation of the two cities. mayor hall's address. nassau water company and the introduction of ridgewood water. plans for new court house. proposal to use washington park. county cares and expenditures. metropolitan police chapter xii the period of the civil war - election of mayor kalbfleisch. the call for troops. the militia. filling the regiments. money for equipment. rebuking disloyalty. war meeting at fort greene. work of women. the county sends , men in . launching of the monitor at greenpoint. the draft riots. colonel wood elected mayor. return of the "brooklyn phalanx." the sanitary fair. its features and successes. the calico ball. significance of the fair. the christian commission. action of the supervisors of the county. the oceanus excursion. storrs and beecher at sumter. news of lincoln's death. service of the national guard. the "fighting fourteenth." the newspapers. court house finished chapter xiii brooklyn after the war - administration of samuel booth. metropolitan sanitary district created. cholera. erie basin docks. the county institutions and their work. the gowanus canal and the wallabout improvement. the department of survey and inspection of buildings. establishing fire limits. building regulations. prospect park. the ocean parkway. the fire department. the public schools. the east river bridge. early discussion of the great enterprise. the construction begun. death of roebling. the ferries. messages of mayor kalbfleisch. erection of a brooklyn department of police. samuel s. powell again mayor. a new city charter. movement toward consolidation with new york. henry ward beecher. frederick a. schroeder elected mayor chapter xiv the modern city - rapid transit. james howell, jr., elected mayor. work on the bridge. passage of "single head" bill. john fiske on the "brooklyn system." seth low elected mayor. his interpretation of the "brooklyn system." reëlection of low. opening of the bridge. bridge statistics. ferries and water front. erie basin. the sugar industry. navy yard. wallabout market. development of the city. prospect park. theatres and public buildings. national guard. public schools. brooklyn institute. private educational institutions. libraries. churches, religious societies, hospitals, and benevolent associations. clubs. literature, art, and music. the academy of music. "the city of homes" appendix index list of illustrations volume ii village of brooklyn in . (from the village map of jeremiah lott, , and the map by poppleton and lott in , showing pierrepont and adjacent estates) _frontispiece_ early ferry advertisement. (from historical sketch of fulton ferry and its associated ferries, ) _facing page_ ferry passage certificate, fulton ferry boat wm. cutting, built in . (from historical sketch of fulton ferry) guy's snow scene in brooklyn, . (from the painting owned by the brooklyn institute) fac-simile (same size) of letter by walt whitman in possession of charles m. skinner, esq., brooklyn cruiser brooklyn, built in statue of henry ward beecher in front of city hall. (from a drawing by h. d. eggleston) statue of j. s. t. stranahan at the entrance to prospect park. (from a drawing by h. d. eggleston) statue of alexander hamilton in front of hamilton club house appendix chart showing east river soundings and pier lines history of brooklyn chapter ix brooklyn after the revolution - effect of the british occupation on life and business in the county. brooklyn particularly disturbed. town meetings resumed. the prison ships and their terrible legacy. tragedies of the wallabout. movement to honor the dead. burial of the remains. the tammany enterprise and the removal of the bones. further removal to fort greene. organization of the brooklyn fire department. the ferry. the mail stage. new roads. planning "olympia." early advertisements. circulating library and schools. the rain-water doctor. kings county medical society. flatlands. gravesend. flatbush, the county seat. mills. erasmus hall. new utrecht. bushwick, its church, tavern, graveyard, and mills. the boundary dispute. the beginnings of williamsburgh. rival ferries. "the father of williamsburgh." during the whole period of the revolution brooklyn had been peculiarly disturbed. more than any other of the county towns, it had been distracted and prostrated. farms had been pillaged and the property of exiled whigs given over to tory friends of the governor. military occupation naturally resulted in great damage to property. "farmers were despoiled of their cattle, horses, swine, poultry, vegetables, and of almost every necessary article of subsistence, except their grain, which fortunately had been housed before the invasion. their houses were also plundered of every article which the cupidity of a lawless soldiery deemed worthy of possession, and much furniture was wantonly destroyed. at the close of this year's campaign, de heister, the hessian general, returned to europe with a shipload of plundered property."[ ] while the other towns were receiving pay for the board of prisoners, and thus being justified in maintaining their crops, brooklyn remained a garrison town until the end. after the evacuation, brooklyn's farmers and tradesmen at once turned their attention to the restoration of the orderly conditions existing before the war. it also became necessary to reorganize the local government. in april, , was held the first town meeting since april, . jacob sharpe was chosen town clerk, and leffert lefferts, the previous clerk, was called upon to produce the town records. the result of this demand has already been described in the reference to the missing records. before proceeding further with the narrative of brooklyn's growth after the revolution, it will be necessary to return for a moment to certain sad circumstances that followed the battle of brooklyn and other successes of the british. the battle of long island was fought august , , and fort washington was captured in november. these victories gave the british between and prisoners. at that time there were only two small jails in new york city. one was called the bridewell, and was situated in broadway near chambers street, and the other was known as the new jail. these prisons could not accommodate the daily increasing number of prisoners. it was a dark hour in american history; success seemed to perch upon the banners of the enemy. large accessions of prisoners were made, and quarters had to be provided for them. the churches were taken without ceremony and converted into receptacles for the captives. the sugar-houses were used for the same purpose. one of these was situated in liberty street, adjoining the old middle dutch church. that church was also used. within its walls thousands of prisoners were placed, regardless of comfort or sanitary rules. if its walls could speak they would tell a tale which would make a sad record. the old north dutch church on the corner of fair street and horse and cart lane (now fulton and william streets) was also used as a prison pen, and within its walls a thousand persons were held. within a few years this venerable landmark has succumbed to the march of progress. the infamous cunningham was at this time provost marshal of the city. he possessed the instincts of a brute, and often seemed to own the spirit of a demon. the sick and dying received no sympathy or care from him. healthy men were placed in the same room with those having the smallpox and other maladies. prisoners were not allowed sufficient food or bedding, and their clothes were scanty. the food was not fit to give to the beasts. the men must have reached the verge of starvation to induce them to partake of the unwholesome mess of wormy and mouldy food dealt out to them. the allowance made to the men was a loaf of bread, one quart of peas, half a pint of rice, and one and a half pounds of pork for six days. large numbers died from want, privation, and exhaustion. so crowded were these prisons that there was no room to lie down and rest. the impure atmosphere engendered disease. every morning the cry was heard, "rebels, bring out your dead." all who had died during the night were carelessly thrown into the dead-cart and carried to the trenches in the neighborhood of canal street, and buried without a vestige of ceremony. but the horrors of the city prisons were more than repeated in the tragedies of the prison ships in the bend of the wallabout. the first vessels used were the freight transports which had been employed in conveying troops to staten island in . these transports were for a short time anchored in gravesend bay, and received the prisoners taken on long island. when new york was conquered they were removed to the city. the good hope and scorpion for a while were anchored off the battery, and subsequently were taken to wallabout bay, and with other vessels were used as prisons. two vessels at a time were kept in this service. among the vessels thus used were the whitley, falmouth, prince of wales, scorpion, bristol, and old jersey. in one of the vessels was burned by the unhappy captives, who hoped thereby to regain their liberty. the effort was unsuccessful, and the prisoners were removed to the old jersey, which continued in service until the end of the war. wallabout bay had the shape of a horse-shoe. the jersey was anchored at a point which is now represented by the west end of the cob dock. if cumberland street were continued in a straight line to a point between the navy yard proper and the cob dock, it would pass over the spot where this vessel was anchored. historians agree in saying that the treatment on all these vessels was alike, and that the jersey was not exceptional. the jersey was the largest of all, and having remained in service for so long a time had the most prisoners. on that account she has attracted the most attention. the crew on board each ship consisted of a captain, mates, steward, a few sailors and marines, and about thirty soldiers. each prisoner on his arrival was carefully searched for arms and valuables. his name and rank were duly registered. he was allowed to retain his clothing and bedding, and to use these, but during confinement was supplied with nothing additional. the examination having been completed, he was conducted to the hold of the vessel, to become the companion of a thousand other patriots, many of whom were covered with rags and filth, and pale and emaciated from the constant inhalation of the pestiferous and noxious atmosphere which impregnated the vessel. strong men could not long resist inroads of sickness and disease. many were taken down with typhus fever, dysentery, and smallpox. the vessel was filled continually with the vilest malaria. the guns were removed, portholes securely fastened, and in their place were two tiers of lights to admit air. each of these air holes was about twenty inches square, and fastened by cross-bars to prevent escape. the steward supplied each mess with a daily allowance of biscuit, pork or beef, and rancid butter. the food was of the poorest which could be obtained, and of itself was sufficient to breed disease. the biscuits were mouldy and worm-eaten, the flour was sour, and the meat badly tainted. it was cooked in a common kettle, which was never cleaned, with impure water, and became a slow but sure poison. the prisoners were kept in the holds between the two decks, and the lower dungeon was used for the foreigners who had enlisted in freedom's cause. here again the morning salutation was, "rebels, bring out your dead." the command was obeyed, and all who had found relief in death were brought upon deck. prisoners were allowed to sew a blanket over the remains of their dead companions before burial. the dead were taken in boats to the shore, put in holes dug in the sand, and carelessly covered. frequently they were washed from their resting place by the incoming tide. often while walking along the old wallabout road, between cumberland street and the navy yard, i have seen the remains of the gallant patriots who lost their lives on the jersey. in the "'fifties" of the present century it was no uncommon thing for pieces of bone and human skulls to be dug up on the borders of the old road. the only relief the prisoners had was permission to remain on deck until sunset. when the golden orb of day sunk beneath the horizon, the ears of all were saluted with the obnoxious cry, "down, rebels, down." when all had retired to the hold, the hatchway was closed, leaving only a small trap open to admit air. at this trapdoor a sentinel was placed, with instructions to allow but one man to ascend at a time during the night. the sentinels possessed the same cruel spirit as their masters. a prisoner who had been confined on the jersey for fourteen months said that, on occasions when the prisoners gathered at the hatchway to obtain fresh air, the sentinel repeatedly thrust his bayonet among them and killed several. these acts created a desire for revenge. many of the men were enabled to endure their trials by the thought that the night of darkness would soon pass away, and the day dawn when they could take vengeance on the scoundrels who had treated them with so much brutality. an instance of this determination to be revenged is narrated in the life of silas talbot. it appears that two brothers belonging to the same rifle corps were made prisoners and sent on board the jersey. the elder was attacked with fever and became delirious. one night, as his end was fast approaching, reason resumed its sway, and, while lamenting his sad fate and breathing a prayer for his mother, he begged for a little water. his brother entreated the guard to give him some, but the request was brutally refused. the sick boy drew near to death, and his last struggle came. the brother offered the guard a guinea for an inch of candle to enable him to behold the last gasping smile of love and affection. this request was refused. "now," said he, "if it please god that i ever regain my liberty, i'll be a most bitter enemy." he soon after became a free man, and, to show how well he kept his word, it is only necessary to say that when the war closed "he had large and small notches in his rifle stock." these notches probably represented officers and privates. on one occasion men were brought to the jersey by the villain sprout, who was commissary of prisoners. as he approached the black unsightly hulk, he pointed to her sardonically, and told his captives, "there, rebels, there is the cage for you." the same bitter round was the daily portion of the men,--during the day a little air and sunlight, and being compelled to listen to the curses and imprecations of their captors, while at night they had to breathe the stifling air between decks, and listen to the groans of the sick and dying, without the power to give them any relief. some of the men were assigned to wash and scrub the decks. this of itself was a great blessing, as it gave them occupation and additional rations. during the night watches it was as dark as egypt between decks, for no sort of light was allowed. delirious men would wander about and stumble over their fellows. sometimes the warning shout would be heard, that a madman was creeping in the darkness with a knife in his hand. at times a soldier would wake up to find that the brother at his side had become a corpse. the soldiers in charge of the prisoners were mostly hessians, and were universally hated as mercenaries. yet no amount of cruelty could drive patriotism from the hearts of the captives. on the th of july, , they determined to celebrate the anniversary in a fitting manner. on the morning of that day, they came on deck with thirteen national flags, fastened on brooms. the flags were seized, torn, and trampled under foot by the guards, who looked upon the act as an insult. nothing daunted, the men determined to have their pleasure, and began to sing national melodies. the guards became enraged, considered themselves insulted, and drove the prisoners below at an early hour, at the point of the bayonet, and closed the hatches. the prisoners again commenced to sing. at nine o'clock in the evening an order was given requiring them to cease. this order not being instantly complied with, the animosity of the guards was aroused, and they descended with lanterns and lances. terror and consternation at once reigned supreme. the retreating prisoners were sorely pressed by the guards, who unmercifully cut and slashed away, wounding every one within their reach, and inflicting in many instances deadly blows. they then returned to the deck, leaving the wounded to suffer, without the means to have their wounds properly dressed. in consequence of this explosion of patriotism, a new torture was devised. the men, as a punishment, were kept below on the following day until noon, and thus were prevented from the enjoyment of the sun and air for six long weary hours. during this time they were also deprived of rations and water. as a result of the night's diabolism ten dead bodies were brought on deck in the morning. to show the heartlessness of the guards, an incident is narrated of a man who was supposed to be dead, and had been sewed up in his hammock and carried on deck preparatory to burial. he was observed to move, and the attention of the officer in charge was called to the fact that he was still living. "in with him," said the officer; "if he is not dead, he soon will be." the sailor took a knife, cut open the hammock, and discovered that the man was still alive. doubtless many men who had swooned away were buried alive. at the time of these occurrences, the government did not possess the ability to make exchanges. the captives on the prison ships were mostly privateersmen, and, not being in the regular continental service, congress was unwilling to restore healthy soldiers to the ranks of the enemy, thereby adding to their strength without a full and exact equivalent. the americans had entered into an agreement to exchange officer for officer and soldier for soldier. they had but few naval prisoners, and thus could make no exchange for the unfortunate ones on these ships. our authorities were compelled to let their captives on the water go at large, for want of suitable places to keep them. washington took a lively interest in the matter, and entered into a correspondence with henry clinton and admiral digby on the subject, threatening retaliation. he, however, threatened and expostulated in vain. the american rebels were urged by the british officers to enter their service. some did enlist, with the hope uppermost in their minds that they would be able to desert. the prisoners were released at the close of the war. the old jersey was destroyed, and its decaying timbers became buried in the mud. the bones of the prison-ship martyrs lay for many years bleaching on the banks of wallabout bay, where they had been rudely buried by the british. the action of the tide upon the sandy banks gradually washed away the little earth which had been thrown over them, thereby causing the sacred relics to become exposed to view. the attention of congress was frequently called to the necessity of providing a suitable resting place for these honored remains. the sight of these bones strewn upon the banks of the bay was enough to awaken the interest of the nation. at last the citizens of brooklyn became aroused, and at a town meeting held in , a resolution was passed requesting john jackson, who had collected a large number of the bones on his farm, which then included the land now used by the navy yard, to allow the relics in his possession and under his control to be removed to the reformed dutch church graveyard for burial, and a monument erected over them. general jeremiah johnson was the chairman of the committee. the application was refused, jackson having other intentions as to their interment. jackson was a blunt man, and a firm believer in the principles of democracy as enunciated by jefferson. he was one of the sachems of the tammany society or columbian order. he had several hogsheads full of bones which he had collected upon the beach. to consummate his plan he offered to the tammany society a plot in his farm for land whereon a suitable monument might be erected. tammany accepted the trust, and in february, , entered actively upon the work. the society at once proposed and caused to be presented to congress a stirring and forcible memorial on the subject. congress, however, came to no determination in the matter, and the matter remained quiescent until . between the time of the acceptance of the offer by tammany and the action by congress in , benjamin aycrigg, a prominent and influential citizen, became greatly interested in the measure. in the summer of , noticing the exposed condition of these remains on the beach of the bay, his patriotic heart was horrified by the sight; his soul was filled with indignation that steps had not been taken to have them decently interred. he, in the same year, made a contract with an irishman living at the wallabout to collect all the exposed bones. the remains thus collected formed a part of those subsequently placed in the vault erected on the jackson lot by the tammany society. in tammany again renewed its labors. at a meeting of the society a committee was appointed, called the wallabout committee, consisting of jacob vandervoort, john jackson, burdett stryker, issachar cozzens, robert townsend, jr., benjamin watson, and samuel coudrey. this committee was deeply interested in the work, and used every available means to enlist public sympathy and assistance. memorials were prepared and circulated, and appeals made through the press and otherwise, urging the citizens to come forward and aid the sacred cause. in their efforts they did not confine themselves to new york, but sought to create a national interest in the undertaking. the patriotism of the people was appealed to, and the effort was crowned with success. when the subject was thus forcibly presented, the citizens of the young republic realized their obligation to provide a proper burial place for the dust and bones of her brave sons, through whose death the nation rose into existence. the measure was presented in a way which could not be resisted. the inhabitants of all sections became greatly interested, and nobly responded to the call, and the committee, finding so many ready to aid, assist, and approve, were enabled to commence the erection of the structure much sooner than they had at first anticipated. the spot given was situated in jackson street (now hudson avenue), near york street, abutting the navy yard wall. the street was named after the owner of the land. the name was afterward changed to hudson avenue. the land was formally deeded by jackson to the tammany society in . when all things were ready the society caused the remains collected by jackson, with all the bones found upon the beach, to be committed to the tomb with appropriate ceremonies. the arrangements for laying the corner-stone were completed, and the th of april, , fixed for that interesting ceremony. the order of exercises was as follows: at eleven o'clock the procession formed at the ferry, foot of main street, marched through that street to sands street, thence to bridge street, along bridge to york street, through york street to jackson, and thence to the ground. as major aycrigg had ever manifested unabated interest in this labor of love, he was properly selected as grand marshal of the day. the first division of the procession consisted of a company of united states marines, under command of lieutenant-commandant johnson. the second division was composed of citizens of new york and brooklyn. the third division embraced the committees of the various civic societies. the fourth division contained the grand sachem of the tammany society, father of the council, and orator of the day. the fifth division carried the corner-stone with the following inscription:-- in the name of the spirits of the departed free. sacred to the memory of that portion of american freemen, soldiers and citizens, who perished on board the prison ships of the british at the wallabout during the revolution. this corner-stone of the vault erected by the tammany society or columbian order nassau island, season of blossoms, year of the discovery the th, of the institution the th, and of the american independence the d. jacob vandervoort, } john jackson, } burdett stryker, } wallabout issachar cozzens, } committee. robert townsend, jr., } benjamin watson, } samuel coudrey, } daniel and william campbell, builders, april , . the sixth division was composed of a detachment of artillery under command of lieutenant townsend. the procession having reached the ground, the artillery were stationed upon a neighboring hill, and the various divisions took the positions assigned them. the oration, which was a brilliant effort, was delivered by joseph d. foy. the stone was then lowered to its place and duly laid by benjamin romaine, grand sachem of the tammany society, assisted by the committee, after which a grand salute was fired, and the band discoursed sweet and solemn notes. the vault was completed in may, . arrangements were made for an imposing display, and no pains were spared in preparation. the various societies and public bodies were ready and anxious to do all in their power to render the occasion impressive and memorable. the citizens turned out _en masse_ on the th of may, , to bear testimony to the worth of these brave men whose obsequies were to be celebrated. they assembled at ten o'clock in the park in front of the city hall, new york, under command of brigadier generals morton and steddiford, garret sickels, grand marshal, assisted by twelve aides. the inscription on the pedestal was as follows:-- [front.] americans remember the british. [right side.] youth of my country martyrdom preferred to slavery. [left side.] sires of columbia transmit to posterity the cruelties practiced on board the "british prison ships." [rear.] "tyrants dread the gathering storm while freemen, freemen's obsequies perform." the orator of the day was dr. benjamin dewitt, who delivered an able and patriotic address to the assembled multitude. he feelingly depicted the sufferings endured in british dungeons, and drew tears to many eyes by his eloquent and touching remarks, referring to the tyranny of the oppressors and the patience of the patriots. the oration concluded, in painful silence the coffins were committed to their resting place. rev. mr. williston then pronounced the benediction, "to the king, immortal, invisible, the all-wise god, be glory everlasting, amen." the occasion was one long remembered in both cities. during many years these relics remained forgotten in their sepulchre. the grade of jackson street was altered so as to take a part of the sacred ground. jackson, when he gave the land, was not far-sighted enough to have secured the passage of an act to preserve its precincts intact, free from invasion by streets, and exempt from taxation. the land at one time was sold for taxes. it seemed as if the past had been forgotten. then it was that benjamin romaine came forward and purchased the lot. in order to preserve it from desecration, he adopted it as his family burial plot. he resolved to be buried there himself, and placed within the vault a coffin designed for his mortal remains. he constructed the ante-chamber over the tomb. upon the property he placed the following inscription:-- first--the portal to the tomb of , patriot prisoners of war who died in dungeons and pestilential prison ships in and about the city of new york during the war of our revolution. the top is capped with two large urns in black, and a white globe in the centre. second--the interior of the tomb contains thirteen coffins assigned in the order as observed in the declaration of independence, and inserted thus--new hampshire, massachusetts, rhode island, connecticut, new york, new jersey, pennsylvania, delaware, maryland, virginia, north carolina, south carolina, and georgia. third--thirteen beautifully turned posts, painted white, and capped with a small urn in black, and between the posts the above-named states are fully lettered. fourth--in , the colonial congress promulgated the federal league compact, though it was not finally ratified until , only two years before the peace of . fifth--in , our general national convention, to form a more perfect unison, did ordain the present constitution of the united states of america, to be one entire sovereignty, and in strict adhesion to the equally necessary state rights. such a republic must endure forever. in , a large number of citizens applied to the legislature for permission to remove the remains to a more private place. romaine vigorously and eloquently objected to the proposed change, and the matter was permitted to rest quietly until after his death in . during the following year attention was again called to the forlorn and neglected condition of the sepulchre. henry c. murphy was then in congress, representing kings and richmond counties. the abject condition of the vault was brought to the notice of congress, and action taken. the military committee recommended an appropriation of $ , to secure a permanent tomb and monument. the report was drawn by henry c. murphy, whose exertions in this behalf were untiring. the effort, however, was not successful. samuel boughton, john t. hildreth, john h. baker, and other public-spirited men, holding diverse political views, started subscription papers, and published articles in the papers urging the importance of immediate action to accomplish the praiseworthy object. in , a meeting was held and a martyrs' monument association formed. this association intended to have representatives from each state and territory. the committee started with commendable energy. they early took the ground that fort greene was the proper site. plans were proposed and subscriptions solicited. for a long time nothing more was done. the common council agreed to permit the use of fort greene. it was not until june, , that the remains of the prison-ship martyrs were carried to the vault on the face of fort greene.[ ] the narrative here concluded has passed far beyond the limits of the period to which this chapter is devoted. turning to the post-revolutionary period, we find the county towns resuming a normal course of life. the dutchmen who gathered at the brooklyn church ceased to talk of war. the episcopalians, who worshiped in john middagh's barn, at the corner of henry and poplar streets, turned from politics to denominational questions, and the "independents" built a meeting-house on the fulton street ground afterwards taken by st. anne's buildings. we learn from the "corporation manual" ( ) that the first step toward a fire department within the limits of the present city was taken in april, , by the organization of a fire-company. at a meeting of the freeholders of the town, held at the house of widow moser, in fulton street, near the ferry, it was agreed that the company should be composed of seven members, who should be commissioned as firemen for one year. they selected the following persons as the members of the company: henry stanton, captain; abraham stoothoof, john doughty, jr., thomas havens, j. van cott, and martin woodward. they also voted to raise by tax the sum of £ for the purchase of a fire-engine. among the regulations agreed upon for the government of the new company was a requirement that the members should meet on the first saturday of each month, to play, clean, and work their engine, and that in case of their non-attendance, upon notification from their captain, a fine of eight shillings should be imposed upon them, and that upon the captain, in the event of his neglecting properly to notify the members, a fine of sixteen shillings should be imposed. the engine was in due time procured. it was constructed by jacob boome, of new york city, who had just then commenced business as the first engine-builder ever located in that city. previous to his time, the fire-engines had generally been imported from england. the company adopted the name of "washington engine company no. ," and was, up to the time of dissolution of the volunteer department, still in active existence. their engine-house was situated in a lane, now called front street, near its junction with fulton street. the firemen continued to be chosen annually in town meeting, and the appointment was much sought after as conferring respectability of position in the community. on the th of april, , the number of firemen was increased to eleven, and it was resolved that each fireman should take out a license, for which he should pay a fee of four shillings, the sums thus accruing being appropriated to the ordinary expenses of the company. on the th of march, , came the first state legislation relative to the firemen of brooklyn. in there were about fifty families residing within the limits of the fire district; the entire population, including some slaves, numbering souls. there were about seventy-five buildings in the district, mainly located between what is now called henry street and the ferry. those devoted to business purposes were generally near the ferry, where a supply of water from the river could readily and easily be obtained. although fires were of exceedingly rare occurrence, and trivial in their character, yet nine years of use, or rather disuse and decay and rust, had rendered the engine unserviceable. in view of this fact, on the first tuesday of april, , it was resolved in town meeting that a subscription should be authorized to raise the funds necessary for the purchase of a new engine. the sum of £ s. was speedily collected, and a new and more powerful engine was procured. in the legislature extended the limits of the fire district, and increased the volunteer force to thirty men. in town meeting it was resolved that each house should be provided with two fire-buckets, under a penalty of two shillings for every neglect so to provide after due notification. in a fire-bell was purchased by popular subscription, and set up in the storehouse of jacob remsen, at fulton and front streets, in sight of the ferry. in the awarding of the ferry lease in , it was ordered "that the boats, together with their masts and sails, be of such form and dimensions as the wardens of the port of new york should approve; that each boat be constantly worked and managed by two sober, discreet, and able-bodied experienced watermen; that each boat be always furnished with four good oars and two boat-hooks."[ ] a new ferry at catherine street was established in . although the ferry was in active operation, traveling by land was by exceedingly primitive stages. as late as , according to furman, there was no post-office on any part of long island, and no mail carried on it. it was not until about the opening of the present century that the first post-route was started. as late as "the regular mail stage left brooklyn once a week, on thursday, having arrived from easthampton and sag harbor the afternoon of the previous day; and this was the only conveyance travelers could then have through this island, unless they took a private carriage." the practice was to leave brooklyn about nine in the morning, to dine at hempstead, and then "jog on to babylon, where they put up for the night."[ ] by the enterprise of the flushing bridge and road company, incorporated in , the distance between flushing and brooklyn was shortened about four miles. three years later the wallabout and brooklyn toll bridge company laid out a road extending from the cripplebush road to the easterly side of the wallabout mill pond, over which a bridge connected with sands street. [illustration: new-york and brooklyn ferry. such persons as are inclined to compound, agreeable to law, in the steam ferry-boat, barges, or common horse boats, will be pleased to apply to the subscribers, who are authorized to settle the same. george hicks, brooklyn. john pintard, wall st. commutation for a single person not transferable, for months, $ do. do. months, may , m. early ferry advertisement] within the limits of the town[ ] the spirit of real estate enterprise appeared in various quarters, but perhaps the most ambitious undertaking was that of the holders of the sands and jackson tract, surveyed in , and lying on the east river between the wallabout and the brooklyn ferry. to the prospective village planned for this region was given the name of olympia, after the habit of bestowing classical names which began to appear in post-revolutionary days. in john jackson sold forty acres of wallabout lands to the united states for $ , . the columns of the "long island weekly intelligencer," published by roberson & little, booksellers and stationers, at the corner of old ferry and front streets, give interesting glimpses of this period. in henry hewlet dealt in "general merchandise" near the old ferry; john cole was coach-maker; dr. lowe's office was "at the rev. mr. lowe's, corner of red hook road." there was demand for five apprentices at amos cheney's shipyard. benjamin hilton sold china, glass, and earthenware, "at new york prices," in old ferry street. postmaster bunce had fifty-three letters that had not been called for. in a later issue of the "intelligencer" the editor remarks that he has been "requested to suggest the propriety of each family placing lights in front of their houses, not having the advantage of lamps, as great inconvenience and loss of time arises from the neglect, particularly on dark nights." in the town appropriated $ for the erection of a new "poor house." the county court house of this period was at flatbush, then the county seat. the old court house had been burned in . the money required to build the new court house was raised by an assessment upon the inhabitants of the county. this building continued in use thirty-four years, when, by reason of its dilapidated condition, a new court house and jail were built in . the court house cost $ . . the contractor was thomas fardon, and the plans for the building were furnished by messrs. stanton, newton, and james robertson. in referring to the court house, furman says that "in the court house was let to james simson for one year at £ in money." in this agreement "the justices reserved for themselves the chamber in the said house called the court chamber, at the time of their publique sessions, courts of common pleas, and private meetings; as also the room called the prison, for the use of the sheriff if he had occasion for it." the building stood for forty years, when it was destroyed by fire. meanwhile the hamlet of brooklyn took on many of the characteristics of a maturing village. joseph b. pierson removed from new york to brooklyn in , and opened a circulating library on main street, two doors from sands street. in the "long island star" of june, , george hamilton advertised a select school where "students were taught to make their own pens." hamilton was succeeded by john gibbons, who in september announced the opening of an academy for both sexes, where the various educational branches are "taught on unerring principles." mrs. gibbons was to "instruct little girls in spelling, reading, sewing, and marking." to the notice of an evening school for young men is appended: "n. b. good pronunciation." two years later there was a private school opposite the post office; john mabon taught the brooklyn select academy; and at the inn of benjamin smith, on christmas-eve, an exhibition was given by the pupils of platt kennedy. at this time the town had a floor-cloth factory, eight or ten looms were at work in crichton's cotton goods manufactory, and over one hundred people worked in rope-walks. abraham remsen kept the one dry goods store at fulton and front streets. over the black horse tavern lived for a time the "rain-water doctor," who was consulted by people coming great distances. this strange man dealt mostly in herbs and simples, but his specialty was rain water, which he praised as containing power to cure all manner of ills. he often signed himself, "sylvan, enemy of human diseases." sylvan was evidently the first of a long list of "rain-water" quacks, against whom the regular practitioners of this and later periods had occasion to contend.[ ] at the time when the census of long island (in ) estimated the population of brooklyn at , rapid progress had also been made by other towns in the county. flatlands, which does not seem to have been particularly disturbed by the british occupation,--the church and schools continuing their regular sessions throughout the period,--built a new church in , which was painted red and sanded, and had lombardy poplars in front and rear. church-going was a cold experience in those days, the new church, like its predecessors, being without means of heating, save the foot-stoves carried by women. it was not until that a large wood-stove was introduced. the schoolhouse stood within the original lines of the graveyard. gravesend, which had passed through an active early period, had in a population of . the hamlet was conservative in its habits of life and slow in numerical growth. to reach coney island from gravesend at this time, it was necessary to ford the creek at low tide. the coney island bridge and road company was organized in . to get their letters the gravesend people were obliged to go to flatbush.[ ] the old schoolhouse, after being in service for sixty years, was in succeeded by a larger building, which was in service for half a century. the reformed church records were still kept in the dutch language. the church was a long low building with a gallery, under which, on the west side, were the negro quarters. flatbush had had a taste of the revolutionary fighting, and suffered considerably during the british occupation.[ ] the mill finished in , on john c. vanderveer's farm, is described as the first mill on the island. the mills became a prominent feature of flatbush scenery. clustered near them were some of the quaintest examples of dutch and colonial architecture that were to be found in this country. the examples surviving to-day give a distinctive charm to this village. in due time the stocks which had stood in front of the court house, the near-by whipping-post,[ ] and the public brew-house all disappeared. on the d of july, , public notice was given of the plan for building a county court house and jail at flatbush. the notice stated that the conditions would be made known by application to charles doughty, brooklyn ferry, and that propositions in writing would be received until july by him and johannes e. lott, of flatbush, and rutgert van brunt of gravesend. cruger, while mayor of new york city, had his residence within the village. generals howe, clinton, and other leading tories had their headquarters within its limits subsequent to the battle of brooklyn. erasmus hall, at flatbush, was erected in , its charter bearing the same date as that of the easthampton academy. the first public exhibition of erasmus hall was held september , , "and the scene," says stiles, "was graced by the presence of the governor of the state, several members of the assembly, and a large concourse of prominent gentlemen of the vicinity." the subject of public instruction continued to be agitated in the public prints and the pulpit, and the attention of the legislature was repeatedly called by the governor's messages to the paramount need of having a regular school system throughout the state. finally, in , that body passed "an act for the encouragement of schools," and made an appropriation of $ , per annum for five years "for the purpose of encouraging and maintaining schools in the several cities and towns in this state in which children of the inhabitants residing in the state shall be instructed in the english language or be taught english grammar, arithmetic, mathematics, and such other branches of knowledge as are most useful and necessary to complete a good english education." the rev. dr. john h. livingston, who, with senator john vanderbilt, brought about, the establishment of the academy, was succeeded as principal by dr. wilson, who also held a professorship at columbia college. the records of the academy reveal an interesting list of names, and the institution has held an important relation to the educational interests of flatbush. new utrecht, where the first resistance to the british forces had been offered, and whose church had been used as a hospital and also as a riding-school by the british officers, was quick to assume its wonted ways after the departure of the troops when peace with england had been declared. during the period between and the rev. petrus lowe was the pastor.[ ] the progress of bushwick after the revolution was noteworthy. the old dutch church had been built early in the last century. the dominies from brooklyn and flatbush had previously ministered to the people when occasion called. the old octagonal church received a new roof in , a front gallery five years later, and so it remained until . stiles[ ] mentions messrs. freeman and antonides as the earliest pastors, and peter lowe as serving here until . a regiment of hessians had their winter quarters here in , barracks being put up on the land of abraham luqueer, and free use being made of wood from the wallabout swamp. the case of hendrick suydam was typical. suydam had to give quarters in his house,[ ] and the filthy habits of these unsavory mercenaries were shockingly characteristic of this unhappy period. stiles mentions, among the "patriots of bushwick," john provost, john a. meserole, john i. meserole, jacob van cott, david miller, william conselyea, nicholas wyckoff, and alexander whaley, but no such list gives due honor to the service of all the bushwick patriots. after the revolution bushwick had "three distinct settlements or centres of population." these were "het dorp," the original town plot at the junction of north second street and bushwick avenue; "het kivis padt," on the cross-roads at the junction of bushwick avenue and the flushing road; and "het strand," along the east river shore. the first mentioned was the centre of village activity, with the old church for chief landmark. of the town house with its tall liberty pole, field[ ] writes: "long after the revolution the old town house continued to be the high seat of justice, and to resound with the republican roar of vociferous electors on town meeting days. the first tuesday in april and the fourth of july, in each succeeding year, found het dorp suddenly metamorphosed from a sleepy dutch hamlet into a brawling, swaggering country town, with very debauched habits. our dutch youth had a most enthusiastic tendency, and ready facility in adopting the convivial customs and uproarious festivity of the loud-voiced and arrogant anglo-american youngers.[ ] one day the close-fisted electors of bushwick devised a plan for easing the public burdens by making the town house pay part of the annual taxes, and accordingly it was rented to a dutch publican, who afforded shelter to the justices and constables, and by his potent liquors contributed to furnish them with employment. "in this mild partnership, so quietly aiding to fill each others' pockets, our old friend chas. zimmerman had a share, until he was ousted, because he was a better customer than landlord. the services of the church were conducted in the dutch language until about the year . the clergyman had the care of five churches, each of which received his spiritual services in turn. the homely but pious men who performed these duties were sometimes learned and dignified gentlemen, always a little aristocratic in their ways, for the dominie of a dutch colony was an important functionary, whom the governor-general himself could not snub with impunity. one of their self-indulgent customs would strike a modern community with horror. on arriving at the church, just before the time for sunday service, the good dominie was wont to refresh himself from the fatigue of his long ride with a glass of some of the potent liquors of the time at the bar of the town house. "at last the electors of bushwick got tired of keeping a hotel, and unanimously quit-claimed their title to the church. some time after the venerable structure [the town house] was sold to an infidel yankee, at whose bar the good dominie could no longer feel free to take an inspiriting cup before entering the pulpit, and the glory of the town house of bushwick departed." [illustration: ferry passage certificate, ] the graveyard of the original dutch settlement lay in sight of the church, and the last remains within its borders were not disturbed until , when the bones were removed in boxes and placed under the bushwick church. not far distant were the de voe, de bevoise, and wyckoff houses, the last named built by theodorus polhemus, of flatbush.[ ] on the river front was the famous tavern of "charlum" titus. toward bushwick creek was the wartman homestead. on division avenue was the boerum house; the remsen house was on clymer street. peter miller, frederic de voe, and william van cott were prominent residents. on newtown creek stood luqueer's mill, built in , by abraham jansen, and the second to be erected within the limits of the present city of brooklyn. freekes' mill at gowanus was the oldest, a pond being formed by damming the head of gowanus kill. remsen's mill was at the wallabout. it was built in , and it was from the vantage ground of his residence here that rem remsen witnessed so many of the prison-ship horrors. remsen performed many humane acts toward the unfortunates of the floating dungeons. the boundary dispute between newtown and bushwick--a wrangle beginning in stuyvesant's day and lasting until --forms one of the most picturesque features of political life in the history of the two towns. "arbitration rock," as a famous landmark in the survey was called, having been destroyed, a new rock was placed in position by nicholas wyckoff, with the permission of the commissioners appointed to resurvey the line in , and still remains. we have seen that one section of the town of bushwick, or rather an outlying group of farms and houses, lay on the river front. traffic to and from new york naturally passed through this river section of the settlement. at the beginning of the century richard m. woodhull, a new york merchant, established a horse-ferry from corlaer's hook, close to the foot of the present grand street, new york, to the foot of the long island road, now bearing the name of north second street. the new york landing-place of the ferry was then considerably above the settled part of the town. in new york at this period the tendency of development still was along the eastern side of the island. "the seat of the foreign trade," says mr. janvier, "was the east river front; of the wholesale domestic trade, in pearl and broad streets, and about hanover square; of the retail trade, in william, between fulton and wall. nassau street and upper pearl street were places of fashionable residence; as were also lower broadway and the battery. upper broadway, paved as far as warren street, no longer was looked upon as remote and inaccessible; and people with exceptionally long heads were beginning, even, to talk of it as a street with a future; being thereto moved, no doubt, by consideration of its magnificent appearance as the great central thoroughfare of the city upon mangin's prophetic map." notwithstanding the development of new york on the east river side, there were two miles of travel between woodhull's ferry and the business part of the city. woodhull bought and "boomed" property in the vicinity of the ferry road on the long island side, then known as bushwick street, and to the settlement in this region he gave the name of williamsburgh, "in compliment to his friend, colonel williams, u. s. engineer, by whom it was surveyed." a ferry-house, a tavern, a hay-press, appeared on the scene. "an auction was held," writes john m. stearns,[ ] "at which a few building lots were disposed of. but the amount realized came far short of restoring to woodhull the money he had thus prematurely invested. his project was fully a quarter of a century too soon. it required half a million of people in the city of new york, before settlers could be induced to move across the east river away from the attractions of a commercial city. woodhull found that notes matured long before he could realize from the property; and barely six years had passed before he was a bankrupt, and the site of his new city became subject to sale by the sheriff. by divers shifts the calamity was deferred until september , , when the right, title, and interest of richard m. woodhull in the original purchase, and in five acres of the francis j. titus estate, purchased by him in , near fifth street, was sold by the sheriff in favor of one roosevelt. james h. maxwell, the son-in-law of woodhull, became the purchaser of williamsburgh; but not having the means to continue his title thereto, it again passed under the sheriff's hammer, although a sufficient number of lots had by this time been sold to prevent its re-appropriation to farm and garden purposes." then came thomas morrell, of newtown, who bought the titus homestead farm of twenty-eight acres, prepared a map, and set down grand street as a dividing line. in , morrell obtained from new york city a grant for a ferry from grand street, bushwick, to grand street, new york. this new town site, extending between north second street as far over as the present south first street, received the name of yorkton. the rivalry between the morrell and the woodhull ferry became very heated. "while morrell succeeded as to the ferry," writes mr. stearns, "woodhull managed to preserve the name williamsburgh; which applied at first to the thirteen acres originally purchased, and had extended itself to adjoining lands so as to embrace about thirty acres, as seen in poppleton's map in , and another in , of property of j. homer maxwell. but the first ferry had landed at williamsburgh, and the turnpike went through williamsburgh out into the island. hence, both the country people and the people coming from the city, when coming to the ferry, spoke of coming to williamsburgh. thus yorkton was soon unknown save on loss's map, and in the transactions of certain land-jobbers. similarly the designations of old farm locations, being obsolete to the idea of a city or a village, grew into disuse; and the whole territory between wallabout bay and bushwick creek became known as williamsburgh." at this time the owners of shore property refused to have a road opened through their property or along the shore. the two ferries were not connected by shore road, nor with the wallabout region, and neither ferry prospered during the lifetime of either woodhull or morrell. general johnson, in going from his wallabout farm to williamsburgh, "had to open and shut no less than seventeen barred gates within a distance of a mile and a half along the shore." the owners opposed johnson's movement for a road, but with the aid of the legislature the road was opened, business at the ferries immediately improved, and williamsburgh began to grow. a methodist congregation built a church in ; a hotel appeared at about the same time, and in there were persons in the town. noah waterbury, by the building of a distillery at the foot of north second street and other enterprises, earned the title of "the father of williamsburgh." chapter x brooklyn village - brooklyn during the "critical period" in american history. the embargo and the war of . military preparations. fortifications. fort greene and cobble hill. peace. robert fulton. the "nassau's" first trip. progress of fulton ferry. the village incorporated. first trustees. the sunday-school union. long island bank. board of health. the sale of liquor. care of the poor. real estate. village expenses. guy's picture of brooklyn in . the village of that period. characters of the period. old families and estates. the county courts removed to brooklyn. apprentices' library. prisoners at the almshouse. growth of the village. the brooklyn "evening star." movement for incorporation as a city. opposition of new york. passage of the incorporation act. as the hamlet of brooklyn waxed in size and took on the characteristics of an organized community, with a formulated political plan, a fire department, a commercial nucleus that justified a petition[ ] to the legislature for the establishment of a local bank, and a population of nearly people, it began to feel more directly and inevitably than it ever had theretofore the effect of political and commercial movements in the state, and in the nation as a whole. the early years of the present century, during which napoleon was terrorizing europe, were years of formative uncertainties to the young united states. john fiske has called this time "the critical period" of american history. speaking of the extraordinary commercial manifestations of the post-revolutionary period, mr. fiske says: "meanwhile, the different states, with their different tariff and tonnage acts, began to make commercial war upon one another. no sooner had the other three new england states virtually closed their ports to british shipping than connecticut threw hers wide open, an act which she followed up by laying duties upon imports from massachusetts. pennsylvania discriminated against delaware, and new jersey, pillaged at once by both her greater neighbors, was compared to a cask tapped at both ends. "the conduct of new york became especially selfish and blameworthy. that rapid growth, which was so soon to carry the city and the state to a position of primacy in the union, had already begun. after the departure of the british the revival of business went on with leaps and bounds. the feeling of local patriotism waxed strong, and in no one was it more completely manifested than in george clinton, the revolutionary general, whom the people elected governor for nine successive terms. from a humble origin, by dint of shrewdness and untiring push, clinton had come to be for the moment the most powerful man in the state of new york. he had come to look upon the state almost as if it were his own private manor, and his life was devoted to furthering its interests as he understood them. it was his first article of faith that new york must be the greatest state in the union. but his conceptions of statesmanship were extremely narrow. in his mind, the welfare of new york meant the pulling down and thrusting aside of all her neighbors and rivals. he was the vigorous and steadfast advocate of every illiberal and exclusive measure, and the most uncompromising enemy to a closer union of the states. his great popular strength and the commercial importance of the community in which he held sway made him at this time the most dangerous man in america." the relations of the states became more amicable in the early years of the century, the rival commonwealths being drawn together by a general obligation of self-defense as against england. in had come jefferson's embargo act, of whose influence in new york john lambert writes: "everything wore a dismal aspect at new york. the embargo had now continued upwards of three months, and the salutary check which congress imagined it would have upon the conduct of the belligerent powers was extremely doubtful, while the ruination of the commerce of the united states appeared certain if such destructive measures were persisted in. already had failures taken place among the merchants and traders, to the amount of more than , , dollars; and there were above vessels in the harbor which were lying up useless, and rotting for want of employment. thousands of sailors were either destitute of bread, wandering about the country, or had entered the british service. the merchants had shut up their counting-houses and discharged their clerks; and the farmers refrained from cultivating their land; for if they brought their produce to market they could not sell it at all, or were obliged to dispose of it for only a fourth of its value." elsewhere in his journal, lambert writes: "the amount of tonnage belonging to the port of new york in was , tons, and the number of vessels in the harbor on the th of december, , when the embargo took place, was . the moneys collected in new york for the national treasury, on the imports and tonnage, have for several years amounted to one fourth of the public revenue. in the sum collected was , , dollars, which, after deducting the drawbacks, left a net revenue of , , dollars, which was paid into the treasury of the united states as the proceeds of one year. in the year the whole of this immense sum had vanished!" in june, , came the declaration of war with great britain. the news occasioned considerable excitement in brooklyn, whose middle-aged men retained a lively recollection of the british occupation. in the "star" of july appeared this announcement: "a new company of horse or flying artillery is lately raised in this vicinity, under the command of captain john wilson. this company promises, under the able management of captain wilson, to equal, if not excel, any company in the state. the artillerists of captain barbarin are fast progressing in a system of discipline and improvement, which can alone in the hour of trial render courage effectual. we understand this company have volunteered their services to government, and are accepted. the riflemen of captain stryker and the fusileers of captain herbert are respectable in number and discipline. the county of kings is in no respect behind her neighbors in military patriotism." the fusileers wore green "coatees" and roman leather caps. the green frocks of the rifles were trimmed with yellow fringe, a feature of the costume which is reputed to have originated the appellation "katydids." in august the artillery practiced at a target, and john s. king won a medal. two years elapsed before brooklyn was actually threatened with war. in the fear that the british fleet might, as in the revolutionary descent, land at gravesend, was naturally entertained. the committee of defense decided to build two fortified camps on brooklyn heights and on the heights of harlem. volunteers for labor on local and suburban defenses were called for, and there was a patriotic response. a company of students from columbia academy, bergen, n. j., performed work on the brooklyn heights fortifications.[ ] the long island defenses extended from the wallabout to fort greene, to bergen's heights (on jacob bergen's property), and to fort lawrence. on the th of august, , general mapes, of new york, with a body of volunteers, broke ground for the intrenchments at fort greene. the work was carried on day by day by a different corps of volunteers. one day the labor would be performed by the tanners and curriers and the veteran corps of artillery; on another day, in happy unison, would be seen working, side by side, a brigade of infantry, a military association of young men, the hamilton society, and students of medicine; on another, a delegation from flatbush would be seen engaged earnestly on the work; on another, the people of flatlands would be armed with pick and shovel; then gravesend dug in the trenches. irishmen were not to be outdone; they proved their patriotism and love of liberty by volunteering, strong, to labor in the cause. then the burghers from new utrecht gave a helping hand. the free colored people gladly gave their aid. jamaica came, headed by dominie schoonmaker, and with them came the principal of the academy, with his pupils. workmen came from new york, newark, paulus hook, and morris county, n. j. a company came from hanover township, headed by their pastor, rev. dr. phelps, and labored for a day upon these fortifications. so, too, the members of the baptist church in new york came, with their pastor, rev. dr. archibald macloy, and did a day's work. rev. dr. macloy was the father of congressman macloy, who ably represented the seventh ward of new york and a part of kings county before the late civil war. the erection of the defenses of brooklyn was thus not a local affair. it was one in which the neighboring cities, towns, and states took part. the people were enthusiastic. the grand lodge of masons enlisted in the service, and the watchword of the day was: "the master expects every mason to do his duty." old fortitude lodge, which still exists, rendered a day's service. a company of ladies came from new york, forming a procession, with music, marched to fort greene, and used the shovel and the spade for several hours. the people had one mind and were actuated by one purpose. the work advanced rapidly, for, as in the days of nehemiah, the "people had a mind to work," and their efforts were crowned with success. these were the times when the people willingly gave their money for the good of the country, without expecting to receive it again with compound interest. early in september the works were completed. the twenty-second brigade of infantry, composed of men, was stationed within the lines. heavy artillery was mounted. brigadier general jeremiah johnson was in command. he was a natural soldier, and possessed every element of character necessary to lead a brigade. stern and unflinching in the performance of duty, he yet had a warm and generous heart, which led him to take an active interest in the welfare of the men in his command. the soldiers loved him, and rendered willing obedience to his orders. being a resident of brooklyn, he knew or was known by most of his men personally. at the fort on cobble hill worked military companies under command of captains stryker, cowenhoven, and herbert, the "exempts" of bedford and the wallabout, fire company no. of brooklyn, and a company of bushwick people headed by pastor bassett. "next to the duties which we owe to heaven," said the bushwick people at their meeting, "those which belong to our country demand our chief attention." the volunteers worked with the utmost zeal, laboring by moonlight when sunset still left work to do. the sixty-fourth regiment, of kings county, was commanded by francis titus, with albert c. van brunt as second major, and daniel barre as adjutant. new utrecht's company was headed by captain william dewyre; brooklyn's company was headed by captain joseph dean; the wallabout and bushwick company, by captain francis stillman; the gowanus company, by captain peter cowenhoven, and later by captain john t. bergen; the gravesend and flatbush companies, by captain jeremiah lott. brooklyn was, indeed, ready, but fortunately the crisis for which it prepared did not appear. on the evening of february , , came the news of peace with great britain. on the evening of the st brooklyn was illuminated in a spirit of rejoicing, and the band of the forty-first regiment, then stationed in the village, voiced the delight of the people. meanwhile, various important advances had been made by brooklyn and her neighbors. in , robert fulton having made a successful experiment with his first steamboat, the clermont, a steam ferry was opened between new york city and paulus hook, jersey city. in that year fulton and his "backer," robert r. livingston, offered to the corporation of the city of new york a proposition to establish a steam ferry from fly market slip to brooklyn.[ ] the proposition was accepted, and it was decided to run the boats from burling slip. "as, however, the slip was not then filled in, and the cost of filling was estimated at $ , , it was finally concluded to establish the ferry at beekman slip (present fulton street, new york), which was accordingly purchased for that purpose by the corporation from mr. peter schermerhorn. beekman slip at that time extended only to pearl street. fair street, which then ran from broadway to cliff street, was extended through the block between cliff and pearl streets to join beekman slip. to this newly extended fair street, from the east river to broadway, and to partition street, which then extended from broadway to the hudson river, was given the name of fulton street, in honor of the distinguished inventor, in consequence of the establishing of whose steam ferry this street was about to become a great highroad of travel and traffic. the ferry from fly market slip was discontinued. "the lease of the ferry was granted to robert fulton and william cutting (his brother-in-law), for twenty-five years,--from the st of may, , to may, ,--at an annual rental of $ for the first eighteen years, and $ for the last seven years. the lessees were to put on the ferry one steamboat similar to the paulus hook ferry-boat; to run once an hour from each side of the ferry, from half an hour before sunrise to half an hour after sunset; to furnish in addition such barges, etc., as were required by previous acts of the legislature; and on or before the st of may, , they were to provide another steamboat in all respects equal to the first, and when that was done a boat should start from each side of the river every half hour. as a compensation to the lessees for the increase of expense which would be incurred in conducting the ferry upon such an enlarged scale, the corporation covenanted to apply to the legislature for a modification and increase in the rates of ferriage; and in case the bill passed before may , , messrs. fulton and cutting agreed to put on their second boat at the earliest possible date thereafter. in case of its failing to pass, they were to be permitted to receive four cents for each and every passenger who might choose to cross the river in the steamboat, but the fare in barges was to remain as it had been, viz., two cents."[ ] the proposed bill successfully passed the legislature, and fulton and cutting formed a stock company, called the new york and brooklyn steamboat ferry association, with a capital of $ , . the first steam ferry-boat, called the nassau, began running on sunday, may , . "this noble boat," said the long island "star," "surpassed the expectations of the public in the rapidity of her movements. her trips varied from five to twelve minutes, according to tide and weather.... carriages and wagons, however crowded, pass on and off the boat with the same facility as in passing a bridge. there is a spacious room below the deck where the passengers may be secure from the weather, etc." on one of the first day's trips an engineer was fatally hurt. the nassau made forty trips on the following sunday, and became a useful and popular institution. she was used after business hours for pleasure excursions on the river. the plan of construction was that of a double boat, with the wheel in the centre, the engine-house on deck and the passenger cabin in one of the hulls. peter coffee, the first pilot, died in , aged ninety-nine years. one end of the deckhouse of the nassau was occupied by a pensioner of fulton's, who sold candies and cakes. while the nassau was in operation the horse ferry-boats were also used on the fulton ferry. these horse ferry-boats were peculiar craft. the first horse-boats were single-enders, and were compelled to turn around in crossing the river. subsequently double-enders were used. all these boats had two hulls, about twenty feet apart and covered over by a single deck. between these hulls were placed the paddle-wheels, working upon the shafting propelled by horses. "by an invention of mr. john g. murphy, father of ex-senator henry c. murphy, the managers of these boats were enabled to reverse their machinery without changing the position of the horses. the steamboat was very popular with the public. owing to its success there was soon a very marked desire in both cities for the addition of the second steamboat, in accordance with the terms of the contract made by the lessees with the city of new york. objection was made by the lessees on the ground of additional expense, and boats run by horse power were substituted. in robert fulton died. mr. cutting, who had lived in new york, removed to brooklyn, and died at his residence on the heights in . the winter of - was one of the most severe in the history of the country. the ferries were obstructed by enormous quantities of floating ice. great cakes became jammed between the double hulls, and travel was practically suspended. brooklyn had grown rapidly, and an uproar arose in which the ferry management was roundly assailed. who can tell but it was here that the original idea of the east river bridge was first born? in a steamboat similar to the nassau, and called the william cutting, was put on the ferry, but even this did not satisfy the public, who were eagerly seeking more extended accommodations. in messrs. david leavitt and silas butler secured a controlling interest in the stock of the company, and sought to meet the anticipations of the people by adding two new steamboats, the relief and the olive branch. unlike their predecessors, these boats had single hulls and side wheels. subsequently agitation in the southern part of brooklyn led to the establishment of the south ferry." in , the loisian academy, which had been started four years before, received a salaried teacher, and was removed to the small frame house on concord and adams streets, where public school no. was afterward built. brooklyn began soon after the revolution to think seriously of the matter of incorporation as a village. on january , , a public meeting was held at the public house of lawrence brown, "to take into consideration the proposed application for an incorporation of brooklyn. a committee, consisting of thomas everit, alden spooner, joshua sands, the reverend john ireland, and john doughty, met the following day at the house of h. b. pierrepont. on april th the act incorporating the village passed the legislature." [illustration: fulton ferry-boat, wm. cutting _built in _] the section of the town of brooklyn, commonly known by the name of the fire district, and contained within the following bounds, namely: "beginning at the public landing, south of pierrepont's distillery, formerly the property of philip livingston, deceased, on the east river, thence running along the public road leading from said landing to its intersection with red hook lane, thence along said red hook lane to where it intersects the jamaica turnpike road, thence a northeast course to the head of the walleboght mill pond, thence through the centre of said mill pond to the east river, and thence down the east river to the place of beginning,"--was incorporated as a village, by the name of the village of brooklyn; and by the act the village was constituted a road district, and declared exempt from the superintendence of the commissioners of highways of the town of brooklyn, and the trustees of the village were invested with all the powers over the road district, and subjected to all the duties in relation thereto which by law were given to or enjoined upon the said commissioners, etc.[ ] the trustees were required to make a survey and map of the village, to be kept by the clerk, subject to the inspection of the people, "in order that no resident might plead ignorance of the permanent plan to be adopted for opening, laying out, leveling, and regulating the streets of said village." in pursuance of the requirements of this law, the trustees caused to be made a survey and map of the village, which was adopted by them on the th of april, . by a law passed in , the trustees were authorized to "widen and alter all public roads, streets, and highways, already laid out ... to such convenient breadth, not exceeding sixty feet, as they should judge fit;" also to lay out new roads and streets. in the village was divided into five districts. the first trustees of the village were andrew mercein, john garrison, john doughty, john seaman, and john dean. the first named of these trustees appears as one of the principal founders of a sunday school which was "in operation in the village of brooklyn" in . this school seems to have been designed and operated on broad grounds. while combining "moral and religious instruction with ordinary school learning," parents or guardians were privileged to say "what catechism" they wished the children to study. as a result of this school movement the brooklyn sunday school union society was afterward organized. the school met for a time in thomas kirk's printing-office on adams street, but found the schoolhouse quarters on the same street to be more desirable. previous to there were two markets in brooklyn: one at the foot of the old ferry street (which began to acquire the name fulton street, after the steamboats began running and fulton street had been named on the new york side); the other at the foot of main street. both were taken down in . the long island bank was incorporated in , with a capital of $ , , divided into shares. in the same year the brooklyn fire insurance company came into existence. on the village map adopted april , , sixty-seven streets appear, besides a number of alleys. several of the streets were sixty feet wide. doughty street was the narrowest, being only twenty feet wide. in the population of the town had increased to . the village population was . in there were four distilleries in the town, which at that time contained but little over inhabitants. this was a distillery to every inhabitants. all the grocers appear to have sold liquors. in the population of the village was about . the sum of the excise fees paid over to the overseers of the poor in that year was $ , the significance of which large amount need not be pointed out. in a bill was introduced into the senate, by john lefferts, to organize a board of health in the village of brooklyn. the act constituted the trustees a board of health. by its provisions the president and clerk of the village became the officers of the board. the president's salary was fixed at $ per annum, and the physician appointed by the board received $ yearly. the introduction of swill milk into the city appears to belong to a later period. it became the practice for milk-dealers to send to the various distilleries and purchase swill, which they fed to their cows. the stables were generally long, low buildings divided into narrow stalls, and afforded accommodation for forty or fifty cows. the swill cost one shilling a hogshead, and was fed hot to the cows. the principal distilleries were cunningham's on front and washington streets; manley's, corner of tillary and gold streets; birdsall's, john a. cross's, and wilson's. the two latter were at the wallabout. in the real estate of brooklyn was assessed at $ , , , and the personal property at $ , ; making a total of $ , , . on the th of january, , the supervisors of the county purchased the poor-house farm at flatbush. on the th of july, , the corner-stone of the building was laid, on which occasion an address was delivered by general jeremiah johnson, who afterwards became mayor. he served as supervisor continuously from to , and distinguished himself in the war of , a part of the time being in command of the fortifications on fort greene. the expense of supporting the poor of the town of brooklyn during the year was $ . . the taxes for all expenses amounted to only sixty cents on every hundred dollars of valuation of real and personal property. the items of village expense as estimated august , , were as follows:-- village watch $ , fire department , public cisterns interest on village stocks repairs of wells and pumps salaries of officers , contingent expenses , ------- $ , on the d of september, , the kings county temperance society was formed at flatbush. the hon. leffert lefferts was elected president. the population of the town as ascertained by the census of was , . the village contained about two thirds of the town population. furman, the indefatigable collector of statistics, says that in brooklyn (the village) was divided into five districts, which together contained , inhabitants. in the village there were licensed and unlicensed taverns. this was at the rate of one tavern to every persons. the second district appears to have enjoyed the privilege of having the most taverns. it contained in a population of , or one to every inhabitants. in view of the fact that the proportion of saloons to population to-day is one to every persons, those rash debaters who persist in finding a movement toward ruin in modern life may find the figures significant. an interesting glimpse of brooklyn as it appeared in is furnished by guy's well-known picture, painted from a front street window, and showing a cluster of houses in the heart of the village. the scene is of winter, and the figures in the foreground snow are in most instances likenesses of people of the day. the brooklyn institute is in possession of the picture. at the time of the fire which, in , destroyed the institute building, then on washington street, and since completely obliterated to make way for the bridge approach, it was slightly damaged; but it remains one of the most interesting memorials of an interesting period. according to the key published in stiles, the picture represents stores and dwellings of thomas w. birdsall, abiel titus, edward coope, geo. fricke, diana rapalje, mrs. middagh, benjamin meeker, mrs. chester, robert cunningham, jacob hicks, joshua sands, augustus graham, burdett stryker, selah smith, and dr. ball, as well as the figures of mrs. harmer, mrs. guy, jacob patchen, and judge john garrison. diana rapalje, a daughter of garrett rapalje, was one of the prominent figures in the village, formerly a "favorite in presidential circles at washington, and latterly an eccentric of haughty bearing." her house was bought by colonel alden spooner, who printed the "star" under its roof. near the ferry stairs was the house of william furman, overseer of the poor, who was one of the founders of the catherine street ferry, and served as the first judge of the county between and . he served in the state legislature, and filled other important commercial and political offices. his son, gabriel furman, was the author of the "notes" on the antiquities of long island, which have been so useful to later writers. at birdsall tavern, on the fulton road, people bought the new york papers, and quakers made it a stopping-place. near at hand was the house of henry dawson, who ran the "sixpenny boats." in a low stone house lived "the gentlemen hicks," and in the same region to the south were "milk" hicks and "spetler" hicks, other prominent members of a family whose name is closely associated with the early history of the heights. here also were the middagh and pierrepont properties, which were greatly improved by a street plan originated by hezekiah pierrepont. on the middagh estate was a house built by thomas kirk for a home and printing-office, and afterward occupied by george l. bird, the editor of the "patriot." to this house, too, came james harper, the grandfather of the distinguished publishers, harper and brothers. [illustration: guy's snow scene in brooklyn, ] john doughty occupied the house formerly owned by diana rapalje. doughty was intimately connected with brooklyn's village life, as fireman, assessor, town clerk, overseer of highways, president of the fire department, school-committee-man, and collector of the village. a picturesque figure was jacob patchen, a pungent, unmanageable man, conspicuous in the village life by his obstinacy and determination. over the wheelwright shop of george smith, opposite the lower corner of hicks street, was the court-room of judge garrison. garrison was born at gravesend in . he served as fireman, trustee, school commissioner, and justice. joralemon's lane was a rough country road, at the foot of which had been pierrepont's anchor gin distillery, which was converted about into a candle-factory, and again became a distillery. the road had been laid out by peter remsen and philip livingston. the site of the present city hall was then an open field, while the site of the county court house was occupied by a famous resort known as the military garden. the pierrepont mansion stood at the foot of montague street. it was built by john cornell, and became pierrepont property in . hezekiah pierrepont was a dignified and influential member of a community in which his exertions were always for broad and public-spirited plans. teunis joralemon, who had been a harness-maker in flatbush, bought part of the livingston estate, on which he practiced market gardening. he filled the offices of justice of the peace and trustee, and other offices, but was of a temperament antipodal to that of pierrepont, hotly opposing new streets, especially through his own property, and scorning the distinction of having joralemon street named after him. another prominent estate was that of the fleets. the name of bergen is prominently associated with the progress of the village. at bedford corners were the meseroles, ryersons, lefferts, vandervoorts, suydams, tiebouts, cowenhovens, and other old families. in december, , the subject of removing the court house from flatbush to brooklyn was agitated in the papers, and on the st of january, , a meeting was held at duflons, whereat a committee was appointed to obtain the removal of the court house and jail from flatbush to brooklyn. in the subject was brought to the attention of the legislature, and that body passed an act that the court of common pleas and general sessions should alternate between flatbush and the apprentices' library building in cranberry street, then just finished. the court of common pleas in those days corresponded to the county court of our time. the county clerk's office was removed to brooklyn in march, . the county court began to hold sessions in brooklyn in january, . the trustees of the village of brooklyn deemed a debtors' prison a very important addition to the city. on the th of february, , joseph sprague, president of the board of trustees, made a report on the subject of fitting up under the market a prison-room for debtors. in accordance therewith a lockup was provided and cells built under the market. these cells were oftentimes crowded, and but little provision was made for the comfort of the occupants. the bridge approach now passes over the old lockup. during those early days prisoners were also confined in cells in the almshouse, then situated on the south side of nassau street, between bridge and jay streets. the building is still standing, and has been converted into dwellings. the agitation relative to the removal of the court house still continued. the supervisors took the matter in hand. they were empowered in to raise by tax a sum of money for the purchase of lots, and the erection of a suitable building in brooklyn to accommodate the courts and jail when completed. it may well be supposed that flatbush did not relish the idea of the removal, and, being anxious to retain her precedence among the towns, her representatives strenuously opposed the change, and their votes for a short time delayed the inevitable. the elements, however, aided those who urged the removal, by the burning of the jail and court house, as heretofore stated, and the way was opened for a new building. the next year an act was passed by the legislature providing for the building of a jail and court house in brooklyn. under the provisions of this law three commissioners were chosen to purchase a suitable site for the buildings. the act also provided that when the court house was finished and ready for occupancy, a certificate to that effect should be obtained from the first judge of the county, and that thereafter all terms of the court of common pleas and general sessions of the peace should be held in the new building, and that all processes and writs should be made returnable thereat. it might be stated that subsequent to the fire at flatbush, and prior to the occupation of the new building, the courts were temporarily held at the apprentices' library, and were removed to hall's exchange building. baily, writing in , says: "the kings county courts are held in the large building called the exchange, situated on the corner of cranberry and fulton streets. it is a plain brick building without any extraordinary architectural beauty." the court-room was on the second floor. on the first floor of the building was bokee & clem's hardware store. david a. bokee was an influential politician of the whig school. his store for a time was the headquarters of the whigs, who would assemble almost daily for consultation. bokee ran for mayor in against joseph sprague, the latter being elected by majority. the whigs elected him an alderman, and he served during the years - , - . he was state senator in and , congressman from to , and naval officer from to . mr. bokee was one of the leading members of the first baptist church. the apprentices' library building, where the courts were held, was a notable structure. one of the principal sources of its fame arose from the fact that its corner-stone was laid on the th of july, , by that earnest and zealous friend of american institutions, lafayette. it was taken down in to make room for the armory, which was afterward sold. previous to the erection of the city hall it served as the municipal building. the common council and board of education met there. the municipal court also held its sessions in the building, and it afforded room for the post office and county clerk's office. on the st of may, , an act was passed by the legislature providing for the erection of a fire-proof county clerk's office in brooklyn. the legislature, on the th of april, , passed an act for the erection of a court house and jail in kings county. by this act losee van nostrand, joseph moser, and peter canaver were appointed commissioners to purchase a suitable site or sites in the village of brooklyn for the same. to defray the expenses to be incurred in erecting the buildings, the supervisors were authorized to create a public stock to the amount of $ , . a building committee of five persons was directed to be appointed by the supervisors of the county, and the president and trustees of the village, within sixty days after the passage of the act. the act also provided that when the court house and jail, or either of them, should be so far completed as to permit either of them being used for the purpose intended, that the first judge of the county should sign a declaration to that effect, and file the same in the office of the clerk of said county. the clerk thereupon was to publish the notice in the papers printed in the county, and from and after this publication the terms of the court of common pleas and general sessions should be held in the court-room, and from and after such declaration relating to the jail it should become the common jail of the county. this act was amended february , , so as to declare that the second section of the act of authorized the supervisors to create stock, not only for the purchase of a site, but also for erecting buildings. meanwhile the village had been flourishing in other directions. its general growth was marked not only by the increase in population, but by the increase in the number of commercial institutions, churches, and schools. a second bank was chartered. a "night boat" began running on the ferry. there was an effort to establish a theatre; and a building for this purpose, subsequently abandoned, was erected, in , on fulton street, between nassau and concord. the brooklyn "evening star" began daily publication, and continued to be a daily paper for six months, when insufficient patronage made it necessary to suspend daily issue. stone walks were laid. the movement resulting in the formation of the brooklyn gaslight company was begun. a second bank was chartered. a temperance society, a dispensary, a tract society, and a literary association (the hamilton) were organized. there began to be talk of water-works and of railroads. fulton street was widened, boats appeared on the south ferry, and the boom in real estate indicated the growing popularity of the village. the movement for the incorporation of brooklyn as a city met the determined opposition of a large proportion of new york's inhabitants, who maintained that the propriety of natural growth demanded that brooklyn and new york should become one city. from the earliest days of their common existence new york had grudged brooklyn an independent life. the "water-rights" quarrels occupy much space in the early records. under the early charter new york claimed ownership in the east river, and of brooklyn land to low-water mark, and afterward to high-water mark. this brought many disputes in the matter of ferry rights,[ ] and the spirit of this early dispute survived in the later attitude of new york. in the year the town on manhattan island received an income of over eight thousand dollars from the east river ferries. the legislative provision for brooklyn's harbor-master had been declared to be an encroachment on the rights of new york.[ ] despite strong opposition, brooklyn triumphed at albany, and in april, , became a full-fledged city. chapter xi the city of brooklyn - government of the city. george hall, first mayor. plans for a city hall. contention among the aldermen. albert g. stevens and the clerkship. the jamaica railroad. real estate. the "brooklyn eagle." walt whitman. henry c. murphy. brooklyn city railroad. the city court established. county institutions. the penitentiary. packer institute and the polytechnic. williamsburgh becomes a city. progress of williamsburgh. mayor wall and the aldermen. discussion of annexation with brooklyn. the "brooklyn times." consolidation of the two cities. mayor hall's address. nassau water company and the introduction of ridgewood water. plans for new court house. proposal to use washington park. county cares and expenditures. metropolitan police. the act of incorporation erected the city of brooklyn from the village and town of brooklyn, dividing the city into nine wards. by section of this act, provision is made against closing or altering streets "within the first seven wards, or fire and watch district, set apart as such by the owners thereof, etc., and graded, leveled, paved, or macadamized, and against closing or altering streets in said city laid out and opened and used as such for ten years from the passage of this act, without the consent of the common council." the act was otherwise conservative in adjusting the new plans to existing conditions. the government of the city was vested in a mayor and a board of aldermen, the latter, to the number of two from each ward, to be elected annually. the selection of a mayor was conferred upon the aldermen, whose first choice was george hall. hall was born in new york, in , in the year preceding his father's purchase of the valley grove farm at flatbush. he was educated at erasmus hall, and chose to follow his father's trade of painter and glazier. he made friends, and established a good business position. in he became a trustee in the third district of the city. he became president of the village, and in was reëlected after a hot contest, the bitterness of which resulted from hall's support of the movement to exclude hogs from the public streets, and to prevent the unlicensed selling of liquor in groceries and elsewhere. the defeat of what was called the "whig-hog-rum" party was announced amid much excitement. in the july following the choice of hall as mayor of the new city, it was resolved to raise $ , for the purchase of ground for a city hall. general agreement fixed upon the junction of fulton and joralemon streets as sufficiently central. in january of the following year ( ) a committee of the corporation reported favorably on low lands of the wallabout for a city park, and before the close of the year ground was selling for $ an acre. in may the aldermen chose jonathan trotter for mayor. trotter was an englishman who had been in this country since , and who in had opened a leather-dressing factory in brooklyn. he became an alderman, representing the fourth ward, in . in the total valuation was $ , , ; in it was $ , , ; in it was $ , , ; and in , $ , , . previous to , the assessments were made by wards, and it is impossible to give the aggregates. the valuation and total taxation for subsequent years, up to , are as follows:-- year. valuation. taxation. $ , , $ , . , , , . , , , . , , , . , , , . , , , . , , , . , , , . , , , . , , , . , , , . , , , . , , , . , , , . , , , . , , , . , , , . , , , , . , , , , . , , , , . , , , , . , , , , . , , , , . in there were thirteen churches in brooklyn, as follows: st. ann's, st. john's, and christ church, episcopalian; sands street, york street, and washington street, methodist, and the african methodist; first, second, and third presbyterian; st. james', roman catholic; nassau street, baptist; and joralemon street, dutch reformed. st. luke's (then trinity) church, in clinton avenue, was organized in this year. the population was , , making a church for each persons. in there were fifty-two churches in the city, or one to each inhabitants. on the th of september, the plan of the city hall was submitted to the common council and approved. the corner-stone, as originally planned, was laid april , , by the mayor. the building, if it had been completed in accordance with first intentions, would have rendered unnecessary the building of the new court house and municipal buildings. it was started during the inflation times of . the era of wild speculation came to an end. the bubble burst, and work upon the city building was suspended on august , . the walls, which had risen above the basement, stood for many years, when the work was resumed and carried to completion on a much smaller scale. the city hall, as originally planned, was intended to cover the entire square in front of the present edifice. on the th of august, , the apprentices' library, having been purchased by the corporation of the city for $ , , was officially named the city buildings. during the time the common council met in the city buildings, whigs and democrats were very belligerent. the cause of the trouble grew out of the election for alderman of the seventh ward. that ward then embraced the area of the present seventh, eleventh, nineteenth, and twentieth wards. the charter election was held in the public schoolhouse on classen avenue, between flushing and park avenues, on the th of march, , and resulted in a tie between john a. cross and zebulon chadbourne, the former being a whig and the latter a democrat. a protracted lawsuit followed. albert h. osborn, whose seat was to be filled, held over, and ever after the people declared that his initials, a. h. o., stood for alderman hold over. the contention ran high, and bitterness and rancor marked the deliberations of the aldermen. at a regular meeting of the board, held at the city buildings may , a separation took place between the whig and democratic members, occasioned by the fight between cross and chadbourne for the seat from the seventh ward. the whig members retired to hull's exchange buildings, whilst the democrats remained in possession of the city buildings, and made their appointments. the whigs did the same. on the th of may a writ of mandamus was served on alfred g. stevens, who had been appointed clerk of the common council by the democrats may . his election was secured by the vote of a. h. osborne, without whose holding over the board would have been a tie. on the d of may the mandamus which had been obtained by worthington hodgkinson, the clerk appointed by the whigs, was argued before the supreme court. on the th of july, , the motion to displace stevens and substitute hodgkinson was decided and denied by the supreme court, chief justice nelson and greene c. bronson presiding. the decision did not suit the whigs, and was carried to the supreme court at albany, and argued october , . abraham crist appeared for the relator, and john greenwood for the defendant. shortly afterwards the court decided in favor of the defendant. the matter was again argued november before judge kent in new york, on a motion to obtain the books and papers of the common council in the hands of mr. stevens. on the th judge kent again decided in favor of mr. stevens. on the st of december the whig aldermen were arrested for misdemeanor in neglecting to perform their duty. the complaint was abandoned. on the th of december the grand jury found bills of indictment against the several whig aldermen for neglecting to serve as members of the common council. at this time seth low (grandfather of the president of columbia college) represented the fourth ward in the common council. the indictment against the whig aldermen grew out of an effort on their part to indict mayor sprague. it was a case of the biter being bitten. the grand jury refused to indict the mayor, and indicted his accusers. the indictment was, however, not pressed to trial. meanwhile the jamaica railroad had obtained permission to occupy atlantic street, and other projects matured. the population of the city had, in , reached , , showing a gain of in fifteen years. trotter was reëlected mayor, and was succeeded by jeremiah johnson, a man whose contemporaries revered him, and whose name occupies, and must always occupy, a high place in the annals of the city. general johnson was reëlected, and was succeeded by cyrus p. smith, who was elected by vote of the people, and who also was reëlected. the fluster in the real-estate market was paralleled by the financial excitement, which resulted in the suspension of specie payments by the three banks of the city. the year of general johnson's reëlection was one of general business depression, but the community rallied quickly from the blow inflicted by disordered markets. in the democrats of the county received representation in a new newspaper, the "brooklyn eagle and kings county democrat." the movement for the establishment of the "eagle" was led by henry c. murphy, with whom richard adams locke was associated in the editorship. the first number appeared in october, and the democrats were not loth to give the lusty young journal full credit for the success of the campaign, in which its voice gave no uncertain sound. directing the helm of the "eagle" enterprise was the clear-sighted, practical genius of isaac van anden, who soon came into complete control of the paper, and remained sole proprietor until the year . the "eagle" had its days of adversity; but it had a field, and it had vitality, and its growth was sure and steady. following murphy in its early editorship were william b. marsh, walt whitman,[ ] s. g. arnold (under whose editorial leadership the name of the paper was abbreviated to "brooklyn daily eagle"), and henry mccloskey. in mccloskey was succeeded by thomas kinsella, who gave force and distinction to the editorial page of the flourishing paper. kinsella died in , after having made himself a power in the community. he was succeeded by his first lieutenant on the "eagle" staff, that graceful writer and orator, andrew mclean, who afterward took the editorship of the brooklyn "citizen." that the "eagle" was destined to be lucky with its editors, received further indication in the appearance of st. clair mckelway at the post of command. mr. mckelway's brilliant gifts as a speaker and as a writer have given to him peculiar prominence in the social, artistic, and political life of the city and the state. the policy of the "eagle" has been independently democratic from the outset, a policy which has fostered, as it has been favored by, a singularly representative constituency. the paper is now controlled by the eagle association, of which colonel william hester is the president, william van anden hester is secretary, and harry s. kingsley is treasurer. its business management, like its editorial management,--if these may consistently be separated,--has been aggressive and liberal, and goes far toward explaining the present national reputation of the paper. [illustration: facsimile (same size) of letter by walt whitman in possession of charles m. skinner, esq., brooklyn (transcriber's note: text of letter is in footnote .)] henry c. murphy, who had, as we have seen, taken so important a part in the starting of the "eagle," was a young democrat of prominence in the county. born in the village of brooklyn, murphy had been educated at columbia college, where he distinguished himself as a writer as well as in general scholarship, and was admitted to the bar in . during his student years, he had taken part in debates in the young men's literary association, which afterward became the hamilton literary association, with murphy as president. to this association belongs the honor of popularizing the lyceum lecture system, which afterward became so potent a factor in american civilization, and which in this city represented the beginning of the brooklyn lyceum and the brooklyn institute. in he was appointed assistant corporation counsel of the city, and in the following year he formed a legal partnership with the leading lawyer of the city, john a. lott. this firm, which judge vanderbilt afterward joined, won great influence in the city, with whose early politics it was so closely connected. in murphy was chosen mayor of brooklyn. he was then but thirty years of age. his administration was forcible throughout, and consistently resulted in his election to congress, of which he was one of the youngest members. he was a candidate for reëlection, but was defeated by henry l. seaman. in the state constitutional convention of , he was a delegate from kings county, with tunis g. bergen and conrad schwackhammer, and in the autumn of the same year he was again elected to congress by a large vote. upon the election of buchanan, murphy was appointed minister to the hague. on his return to this country he was elected to the state senate as an avowed champion of the union cause. in the later political life of brooklyn, murphy took an active interest; and local enterprises, such as the bridge and various railroads, claimed his attention and support. he made important historical collections, wrote valuable contributions to local history, edited the "journal" of dankers and sluyter, and was a leader in the establishment of the long island historical society. murphy was succeeded as mayor of brooklyn by joseph sprague. the city had now , population, and thirty-five miles of paved and lighted streets. the atlantic dock company had been incorporated. thirty-five churches opened their doors on sunday. a line of stages ran from the ferry to east brooklyn, and soon afterward a line was established between fulton and south ferries. in the year of sprague's election new buildings were finished or in course of erection. during sprague's second term the brooklyn city hospital was incorporated. sprague was succeeded by thomas g. talmadge, who was followed by francis burdett stryker. in march, , gaslight came into use. it was in the same year that augustus graham indelibly wrote his name in the annals of brooklyn, by his munificent gifts to the brooklyn city hospital, and to the establishment of the brooklyn institute in the building on washington street built for the brooklyn lyceum. a fire which took place in september destroyed three churches, the post-office, two newspaper offices, and other property to the value of a million and a half of dollars, and might have been more disastrous had not the flames been checked by the destruction of buildings in their path. edward copeland was elected mayor in . cypress hills cemetery had been established in . in the following year the cemetery of the evergreens was incorporated. the ground for greenwood cemetery had already been secured. the idea of a bridge to connect new york and brooklyn, which had occasionally been discussed at earlier times, was now seriously taken up. the water front assumed a constantly increasing activity. copeland was followed in the mayoralty by samuel smith, conklin brush, and edward c. lambert. the latter was able to congratulate the city on a population of , , and the position of seventh city in the union. the brooklyn city railroad, incorporated in , began in july of the following year the running of street cars on myrtle avenue, fulton street, and fulton avenue. in august cars were running to greenwood. the act of may , (session laws , chapter ), authorized the mayor, aldermen, and commonalty of the city of brooklyn to create a temporary loan, in addition to the loans already authorized, not exceeding the sum of $ , , for the purpose of erecting a city hall, and provision was made for the issuance of bonds for the purpose. the legislature at their session on the th of april, , amended the th section of the act of april , , authorizing the supervisors to create a loan, and provide further accommodations for the confinement of prisoners, so as to read as follows:-- sec. . the board of supervisors of said county, if land should be purchased, are authorized to remove as many prisoners sentenced to hard labor in the county jail, as they may deem necessary, to the lands so purchased; to place them under such keeper or keepers as they may appoint for that purpose, and to employ them in erecting said penitentiary and workhouse, or such other labor as may be deemed expedient; and they may also authorize and direct the superintendents of the poor of said county to take charge of the establishment (subject to the directions of said board), and provide the necessary food and clothing for said prisoners, and for those committed as herein next provided. and it shall be lawful for the several magistrates and justices of the peace in said county to commit all offenders convicted before them of petty causes, offenses or misdemeanors, who are in their judgment proper subjects for the penitentiary and workhouse in their discretion. the city court of brooklyn was established by an act of the legislature, march , . it had but one judge until , when it was reorganized with three. on the th of march, , an act was passed authorizing the mayor and common council to create a loan, in addition to the loans which had already been authorized by law, not exceeding $ , , to complete and finish the city hall. by virtue of the laws of , chapter , the mayor, aldermen, and commonalty were authorized to create an additional loan of $ , , for the purpose of completing the city hall of brooklyn, paying for the fences, ornamenting the grounds belonging thereto, and all other necessary expenses for the full completion and protection of the same. the subject of building a new court house was again agitated in . on the th of september in that year a special committee was appointed by the board of supervisors to consider the matter. on the th of january, , they reported in favor of applying to the legislature to carry out the work. on the th of june, , charles g. taylor offered a resolution in the board of supervisors declaring that it was expedient to purchase lands for the purpose of erecting a workhouse and penitentiary thereon, in accordance with the act of the legislature passed april , . charles g. taylor, barnet johnson, and james debevoise, the committee having the matter in charge, reported that acres could be purchased at $ per acre, and acres for $ per acre. on the th of august, , a resolution was adopted that the same should be purchased, if the titles proved good. on the th of december, , seth low, john skillman, and tunis g. bergen were appointed a committee to present plans and details. in april, , the county treasurer issued $ of bonds for the erection of the penitentiary. in $ , more were issued. the total amount of bonds issued up to march , , was $ , . on the th of june, , the committee reported that the cost thus far of the easterly and main wing was $ , . . the new penitentiary was occupied as early as january, , although it was not completed until august, . the total amount of bonds issued for the penitentiary was $ , . it was not until may , , that steps were taken to build the female wing of the new penitentiary. on the th of april, , an act was passed by the legislature requiring that whenever the penitentiary should be ready for the reception of prisoners, the board of supervisors should file a certificate thereof in the office of the clerk of the county, and publish a notice thereof for three weeks in one or more newspapers, and that thereafter all persons who, on conviction, are liable to imprisonment for not less than thirty days, should be sent there by the magistrates. the penitentiary is situated on a spot familiarly called crow hill, and is bounded by nostrand, rogers, president, and carroll streets. it faces on carroll street. prisoners have been sent here from all parts of the state, and, through the efficient management of its wardens, it has been rendered nearly, if not wholly, self-supporting. the increase of business and the unsuitableness of location rendered it necessary to change the place for holding the courts. the legislature was again appealed to, and in an act was passed authorizing the county to borrow a sum not to exceed $ , , to purchase a site, and erect buildings for such county offices as the board of supervisors might designate. many sites were offered, and various and diverse propositions and suggestions were made. some were anxious to have the court house built on fort greene, holding that it would, from its elevation, give character to the building. the matter slumbered until october , , when it was again brought up and postponed indefinitely. the difficulty of securing a suitable site now presented itself. seventeen lots on vanderbilt avenue near baltic street were proposed, and the board resolved to purchase them. soon after the purchase the people, realizing that it was not a proper place, instituted opposition. when the city hall was opened the courts were transferred to that building. the room long occupied by justice courtney was used by the supreme and county courts. a small room opposite, now occupied by the bureau of elections, was appropriated for the purpose of holding special terms. the county clerk's office occupied a part of the apartments of the present comptroller. the surrogate's court occupied the court street portion of the comptroller's present rooms, whilst the register's office was opposite, in the rooms of the present auditor. the city court was held in the room now used by the city clerk. hall's exchange building, in which the courts had been held, was destroyed in the great fire of , and the courts were, thereupon, transferred to the city hall. in those days the sheriff lived with his family in the jail on raymond street. if the city was forced to look to the building of its penal institutions and courts of justice, institutions of another kind were springing into being. in the brooklyn female academy became the packer collegiate institute for girls; and in the same year a boy's academy was established, with the title of the brooklyn collegiate and polytechnic institute. the development of these important educational institutions has been one of the most gratifying incidents in the life of the city. as early as there had been serious talk of the civic union of williamsburgh and brooklyn. the village of williamsburgh was incorporated in . its boundaries then were: "beginning at the bay, or river, opposite to the town of brooklyn, and running thence easterly along the division line between the towns of bushwick and brooklyn, to the lands of abraham a. remsen; thence northerly by the same to a road or highway, at a place called sweed's fly; thence by the said highway to the dwelling-house, late of john vandervoort, deceased; thence in a straight line northerly, to a small ditch or creek, against the meadow of john skillman; thence by said creek to norman's hill; thence by the middle or centre of norman's hill to the east river; thence by the same to the place of beginning." the first officers of the board of trustees were noah waterbury, president; abraham meserole, secretary; and lewis sanford, treasurer. in williamsburgh had a population of . in williamsburgh and bushwick together had a population of . it was in this year that the "williamsburgh gazette" was started. within a few years came the williamsburgh lyceum, the houston street ferry, the "williamsburgh democrat," and a bible society. by chapter of laws of (p. ), passed april , , so much of the territory of the city of brooklyn as lay east of the centre of division avenue, between the intersection of south sixth street, in the village of williamsburgh, and flushing avenue, in the city of brooklyn, was annexed to the village of williamsburgh; the city of brooklyn was divided into eleven wards (therein described), and the common council of the city was authorized, under certain restrictions and limitations, to cause streets and avenues to be opened and widened, and to be regulated, graded, and paved, public squares and parks to be opened, regulated, and ornamented, etc., and to close up and discontinue roads, streets, lanes, and avenues, etc.[ ] by chapter of laws of (p. ), passed april , , a portion of the town of bushwick--"beginning at the southeast corner of the present village of williamsburgh, running thence southeasterly along the line that divides the town of bushwick and the city of brooklyn, to a turnpike road leading from brooklyn to newtown and flushing, at a point near, and southwesterly of, the house of charles debevoise, thence running along said road northeasterly to the crossroads, thence northerly along the road leading to bushwick church to the williamsburgh and jamaica turnpike, thence northerly along the road, passing the church, and leading to newtown bridge, about twelve hundred feet, to an abrupt angle in said road turning to the east, thence westerly about eighteen hundred feet until it intersects the head of navigation of a branch of bushwick creek, thence westerly along said branch creek, according to its meanderings, to the main creek, which is the present boundary of the said village of williamsburgh, thence southerly along the eastern boundary line of the said village of williamsburgh to the place of beginning"--was annexed to williamsburgh, and nicholas wyckoff, david johnson, peter stagg, robert ainslie, and john leonard were appointed commissioners to lay out streets. in the town of williamsburgh was created, and eleven years later the city of williamsburgh was incorporated, comprising the village of williamsburgh. the city was divided into three wards, and the common council was authorized, under certain restrictions and limitations, to cause streets and avenues to be opened and widened, and public squares and parks to be opened. the city charter was drawn by s. m. meeker, counselor of the village, a lawyer, whose name was prominent in the annals of this section of brooklyn for many years. mr. meeker was counsel of the williamsburgh savings bank when chosen its president in . he was a prime mover in the establishment of the first national bank. abraham j. berry was the first mayor of the city of williamsburgh, william h. butler being city clerk, george thompson, attorney and counsel, and jas. f. kenny, comptroller. in the first year of the new city's life the farmers' and citizens' bank, the williamsburgh city bank, the williamsburgh city fire insurance company, and the williamsburgh medical society were incorporated. the population was estimated at over , . over children attended school, and there were fifteen private schools. a year later the mechanics' (now the manufacturers') national bank was established, and a number of new churches appeared. there were twenty-five sunday-schools of different denominations. the young men's christian association of williamsburgh began its career under favorable auspices.[ ] william wall, elected mayor on the whig ticket in , was soon at swords' points with the aldermen, whose resolutions he vetoed with remarkable frequency. his antagonism toward the aldermen led him to take an active part with those who were urging the consolidation of the cities of brooklyn and williamsburgh. the movement toward annexation was accompanied by all of the conflict of opinion that inevitably characterizes such movements. the brooklyn "star," in march, remarked editorially: "we know there are some amongst us who prate of greater taxation and inequalities in favor of williamsburgh. there are those in williamsburgh who argue that brooklyn has greatly the advantage. we are rather disposed to argue that it is like a well-assorted union between man and wife, where, with kindred feelings and objects, both have the advantage. no matter how the property relations may seem to be, we are convinced that time will vindicate the advantage of the union. "we hope our members of the legislature will not be persuaded by individual efforts and desires to thwart the will of three committees clearly expressed, with brooklyn at their head, lifting up the loudest voice. we have taken some pains to ascertain the public sentiment, and it is at this day more clearly in favor of the union than when the vote was taken." the williamsburgh "times" warmly supported the consolidation movement. when the bill prepared by the consolidation commission was before the legislature for action, the "times" said (march ): "with the exception of the amendment relative to the office-holders, the bill is nearly in all respects as it passed from the hands of the commissions. thus the hopes of the friends of consolidation seem in a fair way of being realized, and after a world of pain and trouble the parturition of the new city is at hand. let us trust that the friends of this measure will not meet with an entire disappointment. there are two grounds for hope in this connection. brooklyn has been at least a little better governed than ourselves, and a large city can be more cheaply managed than a small one." the publication of the williamsburgh "times" was begun in by aaron smith and george c. bennett. bennett, who previously had been associated with levi darbee and isaac a. smith in printing the williamsburgh "morning post,"[ ] acquired control of the "times," and made it a pronounced whig organ. in an interest in the paper was secured by bernard peters, and under this favoring partnership the paper rapidly advanced in circulation and influence. bernard peters, who subsequently became sole proprietor of the paper, had made an important journalistic record at hartford, conn., and was already well known in brooklyn as a universalist clergyman, whose ringing union sermons and addresses had aroused public interest during the war period. the later history of the "times," under peters' energetic editorship, has been one of consistent progress in public confidence. in politics the "times" has been republican, while its policy, to avoid any partisanship that might impair its value as a newspaper, has been strongly worked out with the notable business management of william c. bryant. by the act of the legislature passed in april, , all that part of the county of kings known as the cities of brooklyn and williamsburgh and the town of bushwick, and bounded easterly by the town of newtown, queens county, south by the towns of new lots, flatbush, and new utrecht, west by the town of new utrecht and the bay of new york, and north by the east river, was consolidated into one municipal corporation called the city of brooklyn, and divided into eighteen wards, therein described, and into the eastern and western districts. a year later all local distinctions in relation to the eastern and western districts were abolished, except as to the fire department. george hall, who had been first mayor of brooklyn upon its incorporation as a city, became the first mayor of the consolidated cities of brooklyn and williamsburgh. in his inaugural address the mayor said:-- "it is now twenty-one years since i was called by the common council to preside over the affairs of the late city of brooklyn, then first ushered into existence. the population of the city at that time consisted of about , persons, residing for the most part within the distance of about three quarters of a mile from fulton ferry. beyond this limit no streets of any consequence were laid out, and the ground was chiefly occupied for agricultural purposes. the shores, throughout nearly their whole extent, were in their natural condition, washed by the east river and the bay. there were two ferries, by which communication was had with the city of new york, ceasing at twelve o'clock at night. there were within the city two banks, two insurance companies, one savings bank, fifteen churches, three public schools, and two weekly newspapers. of commerce and manufactures it can scarcely be said to have had any, its business consisting chiefly of that which was required for supplying the wants of its inhabitants. sixteen of its streets were lighted with public lamps, of which thirteen had been supplied within the previous year. the assessed value of the taxable property was $ , , , of which $ , , consisted of real estate and $ , , of personal property. "williamsburgh was incorporated as a village in . its growth was comparatively slow until after the year . at the taking of the census in that year it was found to contain inhabitants, and since that time it has advanced with almost unparalleled rapidity, having attained a population of , in . it was chartered as a city in . "within the comparatively short period of twenty-one years what vast changes have taken place! bushwick, from a thinly settled township, has advanced with rapid strides, and yesterday contained within its limits two large villages, together numbering a population of about persons. williamsburgh, from a hamlet, became a city with about , inhabitants. brooklyn, judging from its past increase, yesterday contained a population of about , , and on this day--the three places consolidated into one municipal corporation--takes its stand as the third city in the empire state, with an aggregate population of about , inhabitants."[ ] under the new charter the board of aldermen consisted of one alderman elected from each ward. a new board of education came into existence and held its first meeting in february. other incorporations were those of the fire department, the nassau water company, and the brooklyn sunday school union. the williamsburgh ferry company had been authorized in to build and maintain docks, wharves, bulkheads, and piers on the land under water in the east river, in front of their lands in the city of williamsburgh between the foot of south sixth street and the foot of south eighth street, and extending into the river to a line not more than sixty-five feet from the front of the largest pier on the property. the common council voted a subscription of $ , , to the stock of the nassau water company, on condition that the company show $ , , paid capital stock, and the aldermen afterward added $ , to the subscription. in july of the following year ( ), work on the nassau water works was begun at reservoir hill, flatbush avenue. the occasion of breaking ground was signalized by imposing ceremonies. in his january address mayor hall announced the opening of fourteen miles of new streets, and the erection of new buildings. the business of the city was rapidly increasing, and with the annexation of williamsburgh the municipality needed all the accommodations afforded in the city hall for the transaction of its business. the judges were complaining of the cramped condition of their rooms, and the need of further accommodations. the question of a new court house was publicly discussed. it was not, however, until july , , that anything definite was done. the board of supervisors awoke to the necessity of the hour, and decided to renew their efforts to accomplish the desired result. on the th of july, , they resolved to make a new application to the legislature for authority to purchase land and erect the necessary buildings thereon. on the th of april an act was passed authorizing the board of supervisors of kings county to build a court house for the county. the county treasurer was authorized by the act, under the direction of the board of supervisors, to borrow on the credit of the county a sum not exceeding $ , , and to give his official bonds, in such form as the board might prescribe, for the payment of the same, with interest payable annually or semi-annually as the board might direct. the money so collected was to be expended, under the direction of the supervisors, in the purchase of lands and the erection of a building for the proper accommodation of the courts and county officials. the act also provided for a levy of tax to pay the principal and interest. the board of supervisors was authorized to select and determine the location; and when completed, and ready for occupancy, and notice thereof filed, by the board with the clerk of said county, the same should become for all purposes the court house of the county. on the d of may, , a special committee was appointed to select a proper site for the building, and to report to the board. every owner of lots was anxious to dispose of them to the county. washington park had its advocates. so favorably did the supervisors look upon that location, that a committee was appointed to confer with the board of aldermen on the subject. when it began to look as if a portion of that famous old hill would be chosen, the abutting owners sent in a remonstrance, claiming that as the park had been paid for in part by assessment on the surrounding property, the city had no right to grant any such privilege. the city fathers, adopting this view of the case, gave the board no satisfaction, and the scheme was abandoned. a circular was prepared, and invitations extended to architects to submit plans. the plans were to be deposited with albert h. osborn, clerk of the board of supervisors, on or before june , . a large number were submitted, some coming from st. louis. the plan of king and tackritz of brooklyn was finally accepted. in march, , the special committee appointed by the supervisors purchased the land on which the present building stands for $ , . the land having cost $ , , only $ , was left of the sum directed to be raised to purchase the land and erect the building. as that was insufficient for the purpose, the aid of the legislature was again invoked, and the passage of an additional act obtained, authorizing the supervisors to borrow, on the credit of the county, an additional sum of $ , to be expended under their direction for the erection of a building or buildings, for the use of the courts and county offices. in the expense of supporting the almshouse, and the several institutions connected therewith, was $ , . . including expenditures for out-door relief, the aggregate cost of supporting the poor of the county was $ , . . the average number of inmates during the year ending august , , was . the cost for the support of each of them was $ . , or $ . per week. this was a decrease on each as compared with the previous year. the expenses of the several departments were as follows: almshouse, $ , . ; hospital, $ , . ; lunatic asylum, $ , . ; nursery, $ , . ; store, $ ; miscellaneous, not including temporary relief, $ , . . the total number remaining july , , was ; number admitted during year, ; number of infants boarded out during year, ; number temporarily relieved, in brooklyn, western district, , ; eastern district, , ; flatlands, flatbush, and new lots, ; new utrecht, ; making a total of , ; and the total number relieved and supported wholly or in part during the year ending july , , was , . the population of the county was at this time about , . the number relieved was - / per cent. of the population. it may be interesting to state the number of persons remaining in these institutions at the termination of previous fiscal years. the official statement is as follows: , ; , ; , ; , ; , ; , ; , ; , ; , ; , . the number admitted to the hospital during the year was , of whom were born in the hospital. during the seven years from august , , to august , , there were cases of small-pox, of which only died. of those admitted into the hospital during and , were born in the united states, in ireland, and in germany. on the st of july, , there were patients in the lunatic asylum. in the number in the asylum was only . the nursery had, in , boys and girls; total, . on the st of july, , there were in the almshouse, ; in the nursery, ; in the lunatic asylum, . in there were in the almshouse; in the nursery, ; and in the lunatic asylum, . the total number relieved and supported, in whole or in part, for the year ending july , , was , . the population of the city at the time was , . the net cost was $ , . . mayor hall was succeeded by samuel s. powell, who served for three terms. during his occupancy of the mayor's chair many significant advances were made in the growth of the city. in april, , the metropolitan police law went into effect. by this enactment the counties of new york, kings, westchester, and richmond, and the towns of newtown, flushing, and jamaica were placed under a single system of police. the first commissioners from brooklyn were j. s. t. stranahan, james w. nye, and james bowen. ridgewood water was supplied to the city through mains which were opened on december , . in april of the following year the event was marked by a public demonstration. the brooklyn academy of music was incorporated in , and the collegiate department of the long island college hospital was opened. chapter xii the period of the civil war - election of mayor kalbfleisch. the call for troops. the militia. filling the regiments. money for equipment. rebuking disloyalty. war meeting at fort greene. work of women. the county sends , men in . launching of the monitor at greenpoint. the draft riots. colonel wood elected mayor. return of the "brooklyn phalanx." the sanitary fair. its features and successes. the calico ball. significance of the fair. the christian commission. action of the supervisors of the county. the oceanus excursion. storrs and beecher at sumter. news of lincoln's death. service of the national guard. the "fighting fourteenth." the newspapers. court house finished. the sense of impending and imminent danger, which made itself felt throughout the country in the winter of - , was strongly apparent in brooklyn, and when the crash came the city was not unprepared in any sense. it was only a few days after the election of martin kalbfleisch as mayor[ ] that brooklyn was startled by the news that fort sumter had surrendered. the announcement occasioned intense excitement throughout the city. in a remarkably short space of time the strength of the city's loyalty to the union cause made itself felt. those who sympathized with the south, or who were wavering in their allegiance, were made to feel the necessity for modifying their views, or for avoiding any sign of disloyalty. the national flag appeared in every quarter of the city. its absence was noted wherever that absence could be construed into a sign of unpatriotic feeling. crowds threatened violence to southern sympathizers. the mayor urged moderation, and the early excesses of patriotism soon passed. meanwhile, volunteers flocked to the flag. the four militia regiments in the fifth brigade were the thirteenth, fourteenth, twenty-eighth, and seventieth. at the time of the alarm the regiments were not numerically strong. less than men were in the thirteenth; less than in the fourteenth; the twenty-eighth and seventieth were somewhat stronger. at the call of the president the regiments rapidly filled. captain w. h. hogan organized an artillery company. in the eastern district, the forty-seventh regiment was organized, with colonel j. v. meserole in command. amid enthusiastic demonstrations the fourteenth left for the front in may, . the scenes during the first hours of the war period were those characteristic of every community in which the union sentiment was strong and unquestionable. every class in the community made response. plymouth church, from whose pulpit had come the loyal and stirring oratory of henry ward beecher, subscribed $ toward the equipment of the local regiments. a sum equally generous came from the pierrepont street baptist church. the union ferry company offered to continue the salaries of any of its employees who might volunteer, thus assuring the safety of their families. local business men and corporations gave similar demonstrations of patriotism. the appropriations of the common council began with a provision for the disbursement of $ , for the relief of the families of those who should volunteer. the kings county medical society resolved that its members should attend gratuitously the families of volunteers. there were signs of lukewarmness in certain quarters, and definite manifestations of sympathy with the south; but these met with decisive rebuke whenever they appeared. the navy yard was threatened, or was supposed to be threatened, by incendiary rebel sympathizers, but prompt action prevented the possibility of any form of attack. a war meeting at fort greene drew out , people, and elicited demonstrations of hearty patriotism. a corps of brooklyn women volunteered as nurses, and lint societies were organized by energetic women who undertook to supply equipment for the nurses. women in the clinton avenue congregational church supplied over fifteen hundred yards of bandaging to the twenty-eighth regiment, which, amid great enthusiasm, followed the thirteenth to the front. brooklyn was largely represented in the organizing of the twenty-first new york volunteers. the organization of the forty-eighth new york, under colonel perry, the first long island regiment, the nineteenth new york volunteers (east new york), and the fifth independent battery followed. in the city and county sent out , men. the draft of rather staggered the city at its first coming, but the rally was enthusiastic, and the patriotic work proceeded. the armories of the city became centres of loyal activity. the new fighting engine, the monitor, was launched at greenpoint in january, . in march the novel iron craft had her struggle with the rebel merrimac in hampton roads. greenpoint sent over a company to the thirty-first new york volunteers. in the local militia, or national guard, included the thirteenth regiment, under colonel woodward; the twenty-third, colonel everdell; the twenty-eighth, colonel bennett; the forty-seventh, colonel meserole; the fifty-second, colonel cole; the fifty-sixth, colonel adams. in the southern trips, such as those made by the twenty-third and the forty-seventh regiments, the national guard performed excellent service aside from the heavier duty in action. the new york draft riots of naturally affected brooklyn very closely, not only in such instances of mob violence as the firing of the grain elevators in the atlantic basin, but in the menacing and really dangerous movements incident to the reign of terror. brooklyn volunteers lent important aid in the defense of the state arsenal in new york. to facilitate recruiting in the county, the supervisors, in november, , resolved upon acquiring a loan of $ , , and $ bounty was afterward paid to each recruit. mayor kalbfleisch was succeeded as mayor in by colonel wood, who had organized the fourteenth regiment, was wounded and captured at the first bull run, and was released by exchange in . the return of the "brooklyn phalanx," the first long island regiment, under colonel cross, in january, , was the occasion for an immense demonstration. the regiment had taken part in fourteen battles, and came home with men out of . an event of the war period that is to be regarded as of the highest significance, not only for the relation it bore to the necessities of the war, but to the progress of the city, was what is known as the great sanitary fair. [illustration: cruiser brooklyn, built in ] this brooklyn and long island fair was instituted by the war fund committee of brooklyn and kings county, and the woman's relief association of brooklyn, which was known as the brooklyn auxiliary of the united states sanitary commission. the fair committee was organized with a. a. low as president. arrangements for coöperation between all the churches and private and public societies in the city were efficiently perfected, and a public meeting was held at the academy of music in january, . meetings to promote the same object were held at flatbush, greenpoint, and elsewhere. buildings were erected adjacent to the academy to give shelter to the museum of arts, a restaurant, a department of relics and curiosities, and quarters for the "drum beat," a journal published during the fair, under the editorship of the rev. dr. storrs and francis williams. the fair opened on washington's birthday with a great military parade. the academy presented a brilliant spectacle. the art display in the assembly rooms was a triumph in the art annals of the city; the new england kitchen ingeniously duplicated the features of a colonial new england domestic scene. on march the fair closed with a memorable calico ball. in the hall of manufactures was a huge broom, sent from cincinnati, and bearing this inscription: "sent by the managers of the cincinnati fair, greeting: we have swept up $ , ; brooklyn, beat this if you can." brooklyn's reply, in the words of an individual respondent, was: "brooklyn sees the $ , , and goes $ , better." such, indeed, were the superb figures of profit from this remarkable enterprise. the fair has been much extolled for its influence on the city itself. "the first great act of self-assertion ever made by the city of brooklyn," is a typical comment on the event. however the fair may be regarded in this light, it was a brilliantly successful effort. the service of the women's relief association, of which mrs. j. s. t. stranahan was the distinguished leader, was in the highest degree admirable. the christian commission for brooklyn and long island, to act in concert with the united states christian commission, was organized in march. before the close of the war this commission had sent out bibles and parts of the scriptures; psalm books and hymn books; , magazines and pamphlets; , newspapers and periodicals, and other printing, making up a total of , , . the supervisors of the county repeatedly took measures to stimulate volunteers. in july ( ) the board directed its bounty committee "to pay to any person furnishing an accepted volunteer or recruit for three years' united states service, the sum not exceeding $ , the same as paid to any drafted man furnishing a substitute, and to be paid upon the like certificate of the united states officer, and without regard to the person furnishing such recruit being liable to be drafted into the united states service." in july, shortly after the laying of the corner-stone of an armory in the eastern district, the committee began paying "hand-money" prizes of $ and upward to persons bringing recruits. in september the news that kings county was "out of the draft" was hailed with great satisfaction. early in the evidences that the war was drawing to a close clearly appeared. a party of excursionists which left brooklyn, in april, on the steamer oceanus, learned at charleston of lee's surrender, and witnessed the restoration of the flag on sumter. the rev. dr. storrs and henry ward beecher were present and spoke. the party heard of lincoln's assassination before reaching home. the tragedy of ford's theatre, by which the strong hand of lincoln was taken from the government of the nation, threw the city into profound gloom. the war fund committee opened subscriptions, which were limited to one dollar from each person, and the result of this prompt, patriotic, and well-managed movement was the statue of lincoln by henry k. brown, which occupies a commanding place in prospect park plaza.[ ] the record of brooklyn's national guard organizations is an honorable one. the thirteenth regiment (national guard), the first company of which, known as the brooklyn light guard, was organized as long ago as , had for its first colonel abel smith. the call of president lincoln in elicited a unanimous offer of service from the thirteenth, which went farther south than any other new york regiment, save the eleventh. it formed a part of the left wing of mcclellan's army. when the regiment was called into active service for the third time, john b. woodward was in command.[ ] the fourteenth regiment has the distinction of being the only one of the national guard regiments that served throughout the war. it left for the front under command of colonel alfred m. wood. at bull run, at gettysburg, in the wilderness, and elsewhere, it performed heavy and prolonged service. in twenty-one battles its mettle was tested, and the record made by the "red-legged devils" is a brilliant and honorable one. the twenty-third regiment was the outgrowth of one of the home guard companies of the war period. it was summoned to harrisburgh, penn., in , being then in command of colonel everdell. the subsequent history of the regiment has been one of steady rise in efficiency and distinction. the forty-seventh regiment, organized, as already stated, under the leadership of j. v. meserole,[ ] was called to washington, and was recalled after thirty days' service in consequence of the draft riots, in which, with the forty-third, it performed valuable service. the third battery was organized in , by major e. o. hotchkiss. brooklyn is estimated to have contributed , men to the guards and armies of the union during the war; but this estimate would not represent the highly creditable extent of the city's support to the great cause which saw its triumph in . during the years of the war the voice of the brooklyn press gave no uncertain sound. the "eagle" had become a lusty leader of public opinion. the "times" on the other side of the city was making for itself a creditable name. the "daily union," established in , voiced the ardor of the union cause with energetic patriotism. german readers found in the "long island anzeiger,"[ ] started in , cordial support to every good northern principle in a strain worthy of the young journal's editor, colonel henry e. roehr, who had been one of the earliest volunteers, and won many honors at the front. in colonel roehr began the publication of a german daily paper, the "freie presse." on the th of april, , the legislature passed another act authorizing the supervisors to raise a sum not exceeding $ , , to be used in the erection and furnishing of the court house building. the ground on which the court house stands is feet on fulton and joralemon streets, by feet deep. no better location could have been selected. the building was constructed under the direction of the board of supervisors, of which body the late general crook was chairman. the building committee were samuel booth, charles c. talbot, william h. hazzard, charles a. carnaville, gilliam schenck, and george g. herman. the architects were gamaliel king and henry teckritz. the ground was broken october, , and the corner-stone was laid may , , by the grand lodge of free and accepted masons of new york, daniel t. walden of brooklyn officiating as grand master. addresses were made on the occasion by mayor kalbfleisch, representing the city; general crook, president of the board of supervisors, representing the county; judge john a. lott, for the judiciary; and dr. storrs delivered an eloquent address. owing to the unsettled condition of the country, during the rebellion, the work did not advance rapidly. the price of materials increased, and labor commanded war prices. many of the contractors declined to proceed, and new and less advantageous contracts had to be made. the price of the carpenters' work alone was increased $ , and the feverish state of the times added more than $ , to the expense. the total cost of the building, land, and furniture was $ , . . the building is erected on the site of the old military garden. when the land was purchased and the building erected, there were some old buildings between it and boerum place. the court house was placed on a line with the street, in order that it might not be hidden by the adjoining structures. it is a great pity that the supervisors did not see that in the process of time the adjoining land would be owned by the county. had they thought of this, they could have placed the edifice twenty feet further back from the street, and thereby greatly improved its appearance. it is to be noted that the court house was constructed within the sum appropriated. its manner of construction is in striking contrast to the methods pursued in new york. it stands to-day a monument to the integrity and capacity of the board of supervisors, and all in any wise concerned in its construction. the building was finished in february, , and thrown open to public inspection on the evenings of february and march , .[ ] chapter xiii brooklyn after the war - administration of samuel booth. metropolitan sanitary district created. cholera. erie basin docks. the county institutions and their work. the gowanus canal and the wallabout improvement. the department of survey and inspection of buildings. establishing fire limits. building regulations. prospect park. the ocean parkway. the fire department. the public schools. the east river bridge. early discussion of the great enterprise. the construction begun. death of roebling. the ferries. messages of mayor kalbfleisch. erection of a brooklyn department of police. samuel s. powell again mayor. a new city charter. movement toward consolidation with new york. henry ward beecher. frederick a. schroeder elected mayor. when samuel booth entered the office of mayor in , the city of brooklyn, in common with other communities throughout the country, was suffering from the results of the strain imposed by the war and its resulting incidents; and the fact that his own party was in the minority in the board of aldermen did not lighten the burden of the mayor. notwithstanding these political conditions no veto by booth was overridden by the board. in february of this year the legislature created a metropolitan sanitary district corresponding to the metropolitan police district, and a board of health composed of the police commissioners, four sanitary commissioners, and the health officer of the port of new york. brooklyn was represented in this board by dr. james crane, as sanitary commissioner, and t. g. bergen as police commissioner. dr. john t. conkling was made assistant sanitary superintendent, and dr. r. cresson stiles was made deputy registrar of vital statistics for brooklyn. to this force six sanitary inspectors were added. this movement represented the practical beginnings of that interesting modern system of sanitary inspection and regulation by which the cities of new york and brooklyn have in recent years attained such improved conditions. the movement had been urged by the prevalence of cholera in europe, and the new board found occasion to make great exertions to prevent the entrance of the disease here. the disease appeared in new york in april, and brooklyn's first case was reported on july . in spite of the precautions the disease gained considerable headway in sections of the city where the sanitary conditions were worst, and the total number of cases in brooklyn reached . more than a quarter of the total number of cases occurred in the twelfth ward. the number of deaths in the city reached . the cholera hospital, opened at hamilton avenue and van brunt street in july, was closed on october . in october the completion of the large erie basin dry docks was the occasion of a celebration. these great docks, built by a boston syndicate, have since been used by most of the large iron ships that are docked at the port of new york. the chamber of dock no. is feet long, and feet wide at the top. dock no. is feet long and feet wide at the top. in this month occurred also the interesting occasion marked by the presentation of the medals ordered by the common council for each honorably discharged, or still serving, brooklyn soldier who had done his share toward the saving of the union. among the legacies of the war was a great deal of poverty that public provision had not obliterated. an exceptional degree of distress appeared during the decade following the war. there were admitted into the almshouse during the year ending july , , persons, and at the close of the year there remained . the total number relieved by the commissioners during the year was , . the amount expended was $ , . , being an average of $ . to each person relieved. of the number relieved, were in the institutions. the population of the county at this time was , . it will be seen that . per cent, of the population received aid from the public institutions. in addition to this, many others received assistance from the churches and benevolent societies. formerly the county was divided into districts, to which the poor would come to receive assistance. during the year ending july , , , persons applied for and received aid. this was about ten per cent, of the population. the amount expended was $ , . . this system has been discontinued, and the work is done by other agencies, notably by the society for improving the condition of the poor. this society, officered by public-spirited and efficient men, has made a highly creditable record. connected with the society is an effective advisory committee, selected from each ward. every case is carefully investigated, and imposition is rendered almost impossible. in the number of cases investigated was ; of these , or about eight per cent., were rejected. the number relieved who were found worthy was about one fourteenth of the number receiving aid in , while the disbursements were only $ , . , or . per cent. of the former expense. during the year ending july , , there were remaining in the lunatic asylum of the county, . the whole number under treatment during the year was . of those remaining, were males and females. there were admitted, during the year, . the whole number admitted into the almshouse in was . the number treated in the hospital in was ; in , ; in , ; in , ; in , . in the hospital there were treated, in , persons. by an act of the legislature in may, , the inebriates' home for kings county was incorporated. a movement led by a. e. mudie resulted in the establishment of a brooklyn branch of the american society for the prevention of cruelty to animals. the legislature provided at this session for the dredging and docking of gowanus canal, and for the "wallabout improvement," under the direction of a commissioner. another provision of the legislature was for a department for the survey and inspection of buildings in the western district of the city. a section of this law provided that the chief officer of this department should be called the "superintendent of buildings." he was to be appointed by the board of trustees of the fire department, and confirmed by the board of aldermen. he was to have been an "exempt fireman" for five years, a fire underwriter for ten years, and was to be, ex officio, a member of the board of trustees of the fire department. concerning the duties of inspectors the law said:-- "it shall be the duty of the inspectors to examine all buildings whereon violations are reported, and all buildings reported dangerous or damaged by fire, and make a written report of such examinations to the superintendent, with their opinion relative thereto; to reëxamine all buildings under applications to raise, enlarge, alter, or build upon, and report to the superintendent the condition of the same, with their opinion relative thereto; and in the absence of the superintendent they shall be empowered to act with all the powers enjoyed and possessed by said superintendent. and the said inspectors shall perform such other duties as the superintendent of buildings may from time to time require of them. "the inspectors of buildings shall be under the direction of the superintendent, and shall attend all fires occurring in their respective districts, and report to the chief engineer or assistant engineer present, all information they may have relative to the construction and condition of the buildings or premises on fire, and the adjoining buildings, whether the same be dangerous or otherwise, and report in writing to said department, all such buildings damaged by fire or otherwise, with a statement of the nature and amount of such damages, as near as they can ascertain, together with the street and number of such building, the name of the owners, lessees, and occupants, and for what purpose occupied; and said inspectors shall examine all buildings in course of erection, alteration, and repair throughout their respective districts, at least once every day (sundays and holidays excepted), and shall report in writing, forthwith, to the superintendent, all violations of any of the several divisions of this act, together with the street and number of the building or premises upon which violations are found, and the names of the owners, agents, lessees, occupants, builders, masons, carpenters, roofers, furnace builders, and architects, and all other matters relative thereto, and shall report in the same manner all new buildings in their respective districts, and the clerk shall perform such duties as may be assigned him by the superintendent. all the officers appointed under this act shall, so far as may be necessary for the performance of their respective duties, have the right to enter any building or premises in said city." the fire limits of the city were then fixed to "comprise all that portion of said city beginning at the east river at the northwest corner of the united states navy yard, and running thence southwesterly and southeasterly along said navy yard to the centre of navy street; thence southerly along the centre of navy street to the northerly side of flushing avenue; thence easterly along the northerly side of flushing avenue to the centre of washington avenue; thence southerly along the centre of washington avenue to the southerly side of warren street; thence westerly along the southerly side of warren street to the easterly side of vanderbilt avenue; thence southerly along the easterly side of vanderbilt avenue, and across flatbush avenue in a straight line, to the southeasterly corner of union street and ninth avenue; thence southerly along the easterly side of ninth avenue to the northerly side of fifteenth street; thence easterly along the northerly side of fifteenth street to the centre of tenth avenue; thence southerly along the centre of tenth avenue to the centre of twenty-first street; thence westerly along the centre of twenty-first street to a point distant one hundred feet west of the westerly side of third avenue; thence northerly and parallel with third avenue, and one hundred feet westerly therefrom, to a point distant one hundred feet southerly from the southerly side of hamilton avenue; thence northwesterly and parallel with hamilton avenue, and one hundred feet southerly therefrom, to a point distant one hundred feet easterly from the easterly side of columbia street; thence southerly and parallel with columbia street, and one hundred feet easterly therefrom, to a point distant one hundred feet southerly from the southerly side of nelson street; thence westerly and parallel with nelson street, and one hundred feet southerly therefrom, in a straight line, to a point distant one hundred feet easterly from the easterly side of richard street; thence southerly and parallel with richard street, and one hundred feet easterly therefrom, to a point distant one hundred feet southerly from the southerly side of king street; thence westerly and parallel with king street, and one hundred feet southerly therefrom, to the east river, and thence along the easterly shore of the east river to the point or place of beginning at the said northwest corner of the united states navy yard; and also extending from the centre of washington avenue along both sides of fulton avenue, one hundred feet on each side, to the easterly side of bedford avenue, and such further portion of the western district of said city as the common council of the city of brooklyn by ordinance may from time to time, as hereinafter provided, include therein." [illustration: statue of henry ward beecher in front of city hall] the act provided in detail rules for building within the fire limits, and regulations appertaining to building in general. thus it was provided that "no timber shall be used in the front or rear walls of any dwelling, store, or storehouse, or other building hereafter built or erected within the western district of said city, where stone, brick, or iron is commonly used; each lintel on the inside of the front or rear wall or side walls shall have a secure brick arch over it, and no wall strips in any wall thereof shall exceed in thickness one half of one inch, and in width two and one half inches; and no bond timber in any wall thereof shall in width and thickness exceed the width and thickness of a course of brick; and no bond timber shall be more than six feet in length; and such bond timbers shall be laid at least eighteen inches apart from each other, longitudinally, on either side of any wall, and the continuous line thereof shall be broken every six feet by inserting a brick of eight inches; and no front, rear, or other wall of any such dwelling, store, storehouse, or other building now erected, or hereafter to be erected, as aforesaid, within the fire limits, or as they may hereafter be extended as aforesaid, or any brick or stone building or buildings in the western district of the city of brooklyn, shall be cut off or altered below, to be supported in any manner, in whole or in part, by wood, but shall be wholly supported by brick, stone, or iron; and no wood or timber shall be used between such wall and such supporters; but it shall be lawful to insert a lintel of wood over the doors and windows of the first story of stores, of oak or georgia pine, of such length and size as shall be first approved and determined by the superintendent of buildings." an important movement, begun before the war, culminating in , and bearing fruit soon after the close of the war, resulted in the establishment of one of brooklyn's chief objects of pride,--prospect park. the actual construction of the park began in , and was steadily continued until . the laying out and adornment of the park was placed in the hands of a commission, of which j. s. t. stranahan, always a leading figure in the park movement, was the president. this commission, originally constituted under an act of the legislature for the laying out, adornment, and management of the park, had its powers and duties increased by succeeding laws, until it had under its control washington park, city park, carroll park, the parade ground, and all the public grounds appertaining to the city. in their report for the commissioners said: "the propriety, if not the absolute necessity, of an extension of prospect park at its western angle, so as to allow the principal drive in that direction to be carried out according to the original design, has been repeatedly urged in former reports of the board, and the legislature was on more than one occasion applied to for permission to make the desired acquisition; but without success. the commissioners have now, however, the pleasure of stating that an act was passed at the last session, authorizing this extension, and directing the board to apply to the supreme court for the appointment of commissioners to estimate the value of the land so taken." the ground under treatment during the year covered by this report represented over two hundred acres. "the finished drives," says this report, "now amount to nearly three miles and a quarter, being a little more than two miles in excess of that which we were able to report last year. of bridle paths, we have nearly a mile and a half finished or well progressed; and of walks three miles and three quarters are completed, and nearly five additional miles in progress. the very large and continually increasing number of delighted visitors show how thoroughly these walks and drives are appreciated by them. a fine specimen of rustic work has been erected near the main entrance to the park for a summer house; and a vine-covered trellis-work, with seats overlooking the children's play-ground, commands a beautiful sea and island view, and, when covered with the foliage and flowers of climbing plants, will afford grateful shelter to all such as may be disposed to linger in its shade." the arrangement of the park steadily advanced until it has become one of the most beautiful in the world. covering acres, its meadows, woodland, lakes, and drives combine to create a picture of remarkable beauty. the lakes cover acres; the woodland, acres; the meadows, acres; the gardens and shrubbery, acres; and there are over acres of water-way. five and a half miles of main drives were laid out, and minor drives and walks covering a distance of thirteen miles. the later creation of the ocean parkway was a desirable movement, resulting as it did in a driveway running southward from the park to the sea,--a distance of five and a half miles. this magnificent drive is feet wide for its entire length, being subdivided into a main and two minor roadways, with lines of shade-trees to mark the receding lines. the parade ground, adjoining the park on the east, was a popular device. the broad field has contributed an important factor in the summer life of the city, its acres being in constant demand during the out-door season for all manner of sports. these improvements and others associated with the minor parks of the city have placed heavy obligations on the park commissioners. a permanent board of water and sewerage commissioners was created by an act of april , . the board received exclusive power to cause streets to be repaved, regraded, and repaired; to cause cross-walks to be relaid and sidewalks to be reflagged; and generally to have such other improvements, in and about such streets so to be repaved, regraded, or repaired, to be made, as in their judgment the public wants and convenience shall require. the board held other authority, afterward vested in the board of city works. the charter of the nassau water company was obtained in . in the city had acquired all the contracts, property, and rights of the nassau company. the thirty-six inch main laid from ridgewood in was followed by an additional forty-eight inch main laid in . three mains have since been added, giving the city water from a drainage area of seventy-four square miles. the act of , by which the fire department of the city was reorganized, called upon the mayor, the street commissioners, the president of the board of aldermen, the city treasurer, and the comptroller, to appoint four citizens as fire commissioners: "said commissioners, on being qualified, shall meet and reorganize the fire department of the city of brooklyn, by electing one of said commissioners to be president, and appointing a person to be secretary; whereupon they shall possess and have all the power and authority conferred upon or possessed by any and all officers of the present fire departments of the city of brooklyn, and of each division thereof, except such power and authority as is now vested by law in the trustees of the fire departments of the eastern and western districts of the city of brooklyn, which said divisions shall continue distinct from each other, so far as relates to the widows' and orphans' fund of each district, but for no other purpose; and the persons elected and now acting as the trustees of the widows' and orphans' fund of the eastern district, and those elected and acting as trustees of the widows' and orphans' fund of the western district, shall remain and continue to have and exercise, each division respectively, all such powers and duties as are now vested by law in said boards, with regard to the widows' and orphans' fund of each district" (sec. ). by the report of school superintendent buckley, issued in july ( ), it appeared that the whole number of pupils attending the public day schools numbered , . in the evening schools , more were taught, while the private schools received , scholars. at this time the value of the schoolhouse sites in the city was placed at $ , ; that of the buildings at $ , . building throughout the city became very active. the widening of broadway in the eastern district materially affected the prosperity of that section of the city, to which broadway became the leading business artery. grand street developed into a busy thoroughfare, and fourth street, now northern bedford avenue, became the third important street of this section. for a site for a new building on broadway at fifth (now driggs street), the williamsburgh savings bank paid the then enormous sum of $ , . the superb structure afterward erected on this ground is one of the most imposing in the city, its classic dome rearing itself among those objects in the city which command first attention from bridge spectators. in it was estimated that brooklyn had miles of streets, and miles of sewer. mayor kalbfleisch's message reported a total of buildings erected in . the assessed value of real and personal property in the county was $ , , . but most momentous of the movements of this period was that looking to the building of the first east river bridge. the possibility of a bridge over the east river had been discussed early in the history of the two cities. general johnson[ ] had discussed the feasibility of the suggestion, and had argued that the plan was quite within the possibilities of engineering science. thomas pope, in a volume published in , by alexander niven, duane street, new york, describes his idea of a "flying pendent lever bridge," which was intensely original as well as impossible. in general swift proposed the erection of a dike over the river. the dike was to have a central drawbridge, and was to give foundation to a broad boulevard, running between the two cities. at a later day colonel julius a. adams of brooklyn, while engaged upon the bridge of the lexington and danville railroad, over the kentucky river, conceived the idea of an east river bridge, to extend from fulton ferry on the brooklyn side to a point near chatham square, on the new york side. the intention was to have the main body of the bridge built of two elliptic tubes, placed side by side, and supported by ribbons of steel. there were to be three platforms for travelers, and it is claimed by its projector that the capacity would have been greater than that of the present structure. colonel adams communicated his plan to mr. william c. kingsley, who was largely engaged in the contracting business in this city. mr. kingsley entered heartily into the spirit of the enterprise, and carefully examined the diagrams submitted by the engineer. he spent several months in a thorough and exhaustive examination of the entire question, studied the needs of the two cities, and finally became thoroughly impressed with the practicability and feasibility of the scheme. in connection with the project he consulted with some of the eminent and public-spirited citizens of brooklyn, among them james s. t. stranahan, henry c. murphy, judge alexander mccue, isaac van anden, seymour l. husted, and thomas kinsella.[ ] the more these gentlemen talked and thought about the matter, the deeper interest they felt in it. mr. kingsley in particular continued undisturbed in the belief that the time for bridging the river had come, and he persisted in this view until the enterprise was carried beyond the region of remote speculation into the clear atmosphere of intelligently directed and practical effort. the hon. henry c. murphy at the time represented kings county in the state senate, where he wielded a vast influence, and was regarded as one of the leaders of his party in the state. upon the basis of colonel adams's plans a bill was prepared providing for the construction of a bridge across the east river. copies of the original drawings were taken to albany and exhibited in the senate and assembly chamber. the project received senator murphy's unflagging support, and through his endeavors and the energetic and untiring aid of its projectors, it became a law. the act incorporating the new york bridge company was passed by the legislature on april , . it named as incorporators the following citizens of new york and brooklyn:-- john t. hoffman edward ruggles samuel booth alexander mccue martin kalbfleisch charles a. townsend charles e. bill t. bailey myers william a. fowler simeon b. chittenden smith ely, jr. grenville t. jenks henry e. pierrepont john roach henry g. stebbins c. l. mitchell seymour l. husted william w. w. wood andrew h. green william c. rushmore alfred w. craven t. b. cornell isaac van anden alfred m. wood william marshall john w. coombs john h. prentice john p. atkinson edmund w. corlies ethelbert s. mills arthur w. benson john w. hayward p. p. dickinson j. carson brevoort samuel mclean william hunter, jr. edmund driggs john morton by this act power was given these incorporators and their associates to acquire real estate for the site of the bridge and approaches; to borrow money up to the limit of the capital, and to establish laws and ordinances for the government of the structure upon its completion. the capital stock was fixed at $ , , , in shares of $ each, and the directors were given power to increase the capital with the consent of the stockholders. it was further provided that the incorporators already named should constitute the first board of directors, holding their places until june , , and that after that the board should have not less than thirteen nor more than twenty-one members. the officers were to consist of a president, secretary, and treasurer. the cities of new york and brooklyn, or either of them, were empowered at any time to take the bridge by payment to the corporation of the cost and . per cent. additional, provided the bridge be made free. an additional provision was made that the structure should have an elevation of at least feet above high tide in the middle of the river, and that it should in no respect prove an obstruction to navigation. in conclusion, the law authorized the cities of new york and brooklyn, or either of them, to subscribe to the capital stock of said company such amounts as two thirds of their common councils respectively should determine, to issue bonds in payment of these subscriptions, and to provide for the payment of interest. it was subsequently determined that the city of new york might subscribe $ , , of the total capital; the city of brooklyn, $ , , , and $ , to be paid by the private stockholders. an enterprise of such magnitude was not carried forward without extraordinary struggles. to keep the work, so far as possible, out of politics required much ingenuity and persistence on the part of those who were actuated by the most public-spirited motives. it was not possible to wholly eliminate politics and self-seeking. an act of the legislature in provided that new york city should be represented by its mayor, comptroller, and president of the board of aldermen, and brooklyn by the commissioners of the sinking fund. the company was authorized to occupy land under water on each shore to the distance of feet. meanwhile, operations were begun in the direction of an effort to raise the required $ , , by private subscription, but they were not successful, and it was determined to apply to the cities for aid. application was made to brooklyn, through the common council, for $ , , . after many months the incorporators were successful, and later, in , the city of new york subscribed the $ , , required, and the stockholders made up the additional $ , . the shares, as has been shown, were fixed at $ each. the list of the original subscribers, as revealed by the original minute-book still in the possession of the trustees, is very interesting. it is as follows:-- subscribers shares. mayor, aldermen, and commonalty of the city of new york , the city of brooklyn , henry c. murphy isaac van anden william marshall seymour l. husted samuel mclean arthur w. benson martin kalbfleisch alexander mccue william m. tweed peter b. sweeny hugh smith henry w. slocum j. s. t. stranahan grenville t. jenks kingsley & keeney , john h. prentice william hunter, jr. john w. lewis ------ total , after the subscriptions were all made, several of the subscribers withdrew or failed to make good their promises, whereupon mr. kingsley took up their stock and advanced the amount necessary to cover their deficiencies. in fact, he and the firm he represented took in all over $ , of the entire $ , subscribed by the new york bridge company. john a. roebling, who had made a brilliant record as a bridge engineer, was chosen for the responsible post of chief engineer. his son, colonel washington a. roebling, was made first assistant engineer. the plans of roebling having been duly approved by the war department engineers, the united states government commission,[ ] the secretary of war, and lastly of congress itself, the company was formally organized in the summer of , with the following directors: henry c. murphy, j. s. t. stranahan, henry w. slocum, john w. lewis, seymour l. husted, demas barnes, hugh smith, william hunter, jr., isaac van anden, j. h. prentice, alexander mccue, william m. tweed, peter b. sweeny, r. b. connolly, grenville t. jenks. at this juncture a distressing accident darkened the opening days of the great work. "one morning in june, , mr. roebling, in company with colonel paine and his other engineering associates, was engaged in running a line across the east river, making the first survey of the site for the brooklyn foundation. colonel paine crossed to the new york side and made the necessary signals, while the chief engineer stood on the brooklyn side. just as the operations were approaching completion mr. roebling was standing on the rack of one of the ferry slips taking a final observation. at the moment a ferryboat entered the slip and bumped heavily against the timbers, pressing them back to the point where the chief engineer was standing. his foot was caught between the piling and the rack. colonel paine, who was on the boat, noticed that his chief started suddenly, and, while he made no outcry, an expression of agony overspread his countenance. the first person to reach the side of the injured man was his son, colonel washington a. roebling, and colonel paine quickly followed him. the chief engineer was assisted to a carriage, remarking, as he went, 'oh, what a folly.' he was quickly driven to his residence on the heights, and a surgeon was summoned. the surgeon found that the toes of the right foot were terribly crushed. it was at once decided that amputation was necessary. mr. roebling rejected the suggestion of an anæsthetic, and personally directed the operations of the surgeon. nearly all of his toes were taken off at the joints, but he maintained his composure throughout, and endeavored to soothe the apprehensions of his family and friends. during his subsequent illness he preserved intact the use of his mental faculties, exhibiting indomitable will power. eight days elapsed before fears were entertained of a fatal result. then the patient complained of a chill, and it was soon discovered that lockjaw had set in. he lived eight days longer, and toward the close suffered the most excruciating agonies, but without complaint, and steadily insisted upon directing the method of his treatment. even after the muscular contraction precluded the possibility of utterance he wrote with a pencil directions for his attendants. he died of lockjaw just sixteen days after receiving his injuries." for a time work on the bridge was paralyzed. as soon as possible the directors chose colonel roebling to succeed his father, and the great undertaking proceeded. the mechanical difficulties of the work were enormous. the history of the labors, by which one difficulty after another was overcome, is one of the most absorbing in the annals of engineering enterprise. huge wooden caissons were sunken on the diving-bell principle to a depth sufficient to assure firm foundations for the piers, which were built over them. the brooklyn caisson was launched on march , ; the new york caisson, in september, . the greater difficulties existed on the new york side, where an area of quicksand made it problematical whether bed-rock could ever be reached. the foundation on the new york side was required to be begun at a depth of seventy-eight feet. on the brooklyn side brick was used under the caisson. on the new york side the space remaining after the lowest point had been reached was filled with concrete. the most perplexing problem having been solved by the sinking of the foundations, the work advanced steadily. difficulties with anchorages, materials, contracts, expenditures, and appropriations made the work necessarily slow, and there was a proportionate degree of public impatience. the distant possibility of a completed bridge was the permanent theme of newspaper jest and popular song. but the brooklyn tower, containing , yards of masonry, and rising feet above high water, was completed in the spring of , and by the summer of the new york tower had also been finished. during this period the pressure on the various city ferries was demonstrating the necessity for some relief to the strain of travel between the two cities. during the year the union ferry company carried , , passengers; the roosevelt, grand, and james slip ferries, , , passengers; the greenpoint, , , ; and the thirty-fourth street, , , . the terms of the new lease of the union ferry company included a provision that the fare between five and half-past seven o'clock, morning and evening, be one cent. it was a few months later that the brooklyn city railroad company reduced its rate of fare to five cents. mayor kalbfleisch was reëlected mayor. in his message of january , , he places the population of the city in at , ; the taxes levied during the year at $ , , ; the city debt at $ , , . the period was active in building operations. the foundations of the still unfinished roman catholic cathedral were laid in . the twenty-eighth regiment armory was completed in . the brooklyn theatre was begun early in the following year, shortly before the finishing of the new wing of the long island college hospital, and the laying of the corner-stone of the church charity foundation at albany avenue and herkimer street. brooklyn acquired a police department distinct from that of new york in . the management and control of this new department was vested in a board of commissioners, known as the board of police of the city of brooklyn, composed of the mayor and two other persons nominated by him, and appointed by the aldermen. the first two commissioners thus chosen were daniel d. driggs and isaac van anden. patrick campbell was appointed chief clerk. henry w. van wagner was placed at the head of the detective squad. the following provisions were embraced in the law establishing the department. "the commissioners shall divide said city into precincts, not exceeding one precinct to each thirty-six of the patrolmen authorized to be appointed. they may also establish sub-precincts and assign two sergeants, two doormen, and as many patrolmen as they may deem sufficient to each sub-precinct, and shall appoint a telegraph operator who shall be assigned to duty by the chief of police. they shall appoint as many captains of police as there may be precincts, and assign one captain and as many sergeants and patrolmen as they shall deem sufficient to each precinct. the police force shall consist of a chief of police, captains, sergeants, and patrolmen, who shall be appointed by the commissioners. the number of sergeants shall not exceed four for each precinct, and one for each special squad; and the number of patrolmen shall not exceed the present number now doing duty in said city, unless the common council of the city of brooklyn shall, by resolution, authorize a greater number, in which case they shall not exceed the number fixed in such resolutions; and such resolutions may be passed by the common council from time to time as that body may deem expedient. the commissioners shall fill all vacancies in the police force as often as they occur." by the message of mayor powell[ ] in january, , it appears that there were men on the police force, supported at an annual expense of $ , . the total liabilities of the city were then over $ , , , and the total county debt nearly $ , , . during twenty miles of streets were graded and paved, and , buildings erected. in his second message, a year later, the mayor reported that the water department was self-sustaining. the pressure of opinion in favor of a new charter for the city resulted in the appointment of a committee of one hundred, whose report appeared in , shortly before the death of ex-mayor kalbfleisch. in may the charter was passed by the state assembly. by this charter the offices of mayor, auditor, and comptroller were made elective; the excise and police departments were consolidated; the appointment of heads of departments was placed in the hands of the mayor and aldermen, the departments being as follows: police and excise, finance, audit, treasury, collections, arrears, law, assessment, health, fire and buildings, city works, parks, public instruction. in november, , john w. hunter, who had represented the third district in congress, was chosen mayor. the mayor's message in the following january shows that the city debt rose from $ , , . in , and $ , , in , to $ , , . it was in february of this year that a largely attended meeting of the municipal union society urged the consolidation of brooklyn and new york. meanwhile the town of new lots, known as east new york, had voted for annexation to brooklyn. the city's growth continued at a remarkable rate. in the decade between and , , buildings had been erected. of this number had been built during the year ending . perhaps the most sensational incident of the year was the announcement of theodore tilton's action against the rev. henry ward beecher, brooklyn's foremost preacher and orator. the news that the pastor of plymouth church was to be sued by his former friend upon charges assailing the integrity of mr. beecher's relations with mrs. tilton, created intense excitement in the city, and throughout the country. the action was opened in the city court before judge neilson, and the trial began on january , . the public interest aroused by this extraordinary trial has no parallel in the history of the county. during the months of the progress it remained the chief topic of public and private talk in the city. the court room on trial days presented an historic spectacle, and excitement reached a great height when, at the end of june, the case was at last closed, and the fate of the great preacher was placed in the jury's hands. it was on july that the jury reported its inability to agree. the case was never retried, and the painful drama thus came to an end. that such an incident should cast a cloud over henry ward beecher's life was inevitable. but the cloud passed away. mr. beecher remained at his post, his fame and influence growing; and the celebration of his seventy-fifth birthday drew to the academy of music one of the most remarkable gatherings ever witnessed in that place. mr. beecher's sister, harriet beecher stowe, the author of "uncle tom's cabin," occupied a seat in one of the boxes.[ ] in the population of the city was estimated at , ; that of the county at , . in november of this year frederick a. schroeder was elected mayor. schroeder represented the staunch german element, which had begun long before this period to form an important proportion of the city's population. he was the founder of the germania savings bank. in he was elected comptroller. his opponent in a heated mayoralty contest was edward rowe. the most extraordinary incident of the year was the burning of the brooklyn theatre in december, and the loss of lives. this tragedy caused intense excitement throughout the city. the temporary morgue on adams street presented the most ghastly spectacle the city had ever witnessed. after all possible identification had taken place, unclaimed bodies were publicly buried at greenwood. chapter xiv the modern city - rapid transit. james howell, jr., elected mayor. work on the bridge. passage of "single head" bill. john fiske on the "brooklyn system." seth low elected mayor. his interpretation of the "brooklyn system." reëlection of low. opening of the bridge. bridge statistics. ferries and water front. erie basin. the sugar industry. navy yard. wallabout market. development of the city. prospect park. theatres and public buildings. national guard. public schools. brooklyn institute. private educational institutions. libraries. churches, religious societies, hospitals, and benevolent associations. clubs. literature, art, and music. the academy of music. "the city of homes." brooklyn had now fairly entered upon what may be called its modern period. the first wires had been stretched for the great bridge, and soon afterward the six years' labor at hell gate culminated in the long-anticipated blast. ground had been broken for the new municipal building, the ocean parkway had been opened for travel, work had begun on the brooklyn elevated road, rapid transit trains had begun running on atlantic avenue, the manhattan beach and sea beach railroads were opened to coney island, which had started upon its career as a great popular watering-place and pleasure resort, and a line of annex ferryboats was opened between jewell's wharf and jersey city. in the mayoralty contest of james howell, jr., was elected on the democratic ticket. the bill which had passed the legislature at the previous session reduced the mayor's salary from $ , to $ . mayor howell took a strong interest in the progress of the bridge, and succeeded henry c. murphy as a trustee. work on the bridge advanced steadily during the years and . the breaking of a strand of the cable at the new york anchorage in june, , resulted in the death of several workmen. in april, , farewell services were held in st. ann's church, at washington and prospect streets, preparatory to the removal of the building, to make way for the bridge approach. the prospective area of the approach necessitated the removal of much property, and the slow work of demolition and advance still continues, after fifteen years, to present unsightly pictures at the threshold of the city. mayor howell's message in january, , revealed the fact that the taxable value of property in the city had reached $ , , , which was an increase of nearly $ , , over the figures for the previous year. an important event for the city was the passage in may, by the legislature, of the "single head" bill, by the provisions of which the system of triple heads of departments was abolished, and complete appointive power and responsibility vested in the mayor. this radical step toward municipal reform and good government was one which could not fail to attract the attention of the country, since brooklyn was the first great city to take it, and the experiment was watched with the liveliest interest by all students of municipal government. john fiske, in his admirable work on "civil government," thus succinctly describes the new system of city government: "besides the council of [nineteen] aldermen, the people elect only three city officers,--the mayor, comptroller, and auditor. the comptroller is the principal finance officer and book-keeper of the city; and the auditor must approve bills against the city, whether great or small, before they can be paid. the mayor appoints, without confirmation by the council, all executive heads of departments; and these executive heads are individuals, not boards. thus there is a single police commissioner, a single fire commissioner, a single health commissioner, and so on; and each of these heads appoints his own subordinates; 'so that the principle of defined responsibility permeates the city government from top to bottom.'[ ] in a few cases where the work to be done is rather discretionary than executive in character, it is intrusted to a board; thus, there is a board of assessors, a board of education, and a board of elections. these are all appointed by the mayor, but for terms not coincident with his own; 'so that, in most cases, no mayor would appoint the whole of any such board unless he were to be twice elected by the people.' but the executive officers are appointed by the mayor for terms coincident with his own, that is, for two years. 'the mayor is elected at the general election in november; he takes office on the first of january following, and for one month the great departments of the city are carried on for him by the appointees of his predecessor. on the first of january it becomes his duty to appoint his own heads of departments,' and thus 'each incoming mayor has the opportunity to make an administration in all its parts in sympathy with himself.' "with all these immense executive powers intrusted to the mayor, however, he does not hold the purse-strings. he is a member of a board of estimates, of which the other four members are the comptroller and auditor, with the county treasurer and supervisor. this board recommends the amount to be raised by taxation for the ensuing year. these estimates are then laid before the council of aldermen, who may cut down single items as they see fit, but have not the power to increase any item. the mayor must see to it that the administrative work of the year does not use up more money than is thus allowed to him."[ ] the first mayor to act under this charter amendment was seth low, who was elected, in , over howell by a vote of , to , .[ ] low, who was born in brooklyn, where his family had occupied a distinguished position, and had graduated from columbia college in , afterward entering the business house of his father, was in his thirty-second year when elected to office, a circumstance which, added to the novelty of the conditions under which his administration must work, did not fail to attract special attention throughout the country. in his first message (january, ) low touched upon the important question of the appointing power:-- "the manifest purpose of the act is to make the mayor the responsible head of the city government, and to secure a homogeneous government by laying upon each mayor the necessity of making his appointments at the beginning of his term. to accomplish this purpose the act does some things by direct provision and some things by implication. it provides, in section i, that the terms of office of certain specified officers shall expire on the first of february, . it then provides, in section , that 'after the first day of january, , the mayor of the city of brooklyn shall have sole and exclusive power to appoint the successor of any commissioner or other head of department (except the department of finance and the department of audit), or of any assessor or member of the board of education of said city, when the terms of such officers shall respectively expire, or as by law may then or thereafter be required to be appointed.' "there are certain officers in the city whose terms of office expired some time in the year , to wit: the corporation counsel, the city treasurer, the collector of taxes, and the registrar of arrears, and to these officers the charter amendment makes no distinct reference. the reason that the present incumbents hold over is that, by section of that amendment, all power to appoint during was taken away from the mayor and common council, where it formerly resided, without being lodged anywhere else, except that the sole power of filling vacancies during was lodged with the mayor. the evident purpose of this provision was to place the appointment of the successors to the present incumbents of these offices in the hands of the mayor to be elected by the people in . so much is clear; but it leaves two points uncertain: first, when are the successors to the present incumbents to be appointed? second, when appointed, is it for the balance of an unexpired term, or for two years? "i shall be governed by what i believe to be the clear and intelligent purpose of the law. i shall appoint the four officers alluded to so that their terms shall begin practically on the first of february, or at the same time with the officers distinctly mentioned in the act, and i shall appoint them for two years." speaking further of appointments and removals, low said:-- "it is a matter of grave public concern for the people to know in what spirit an officer intrusted for the first time in the history of our city with such powers purposes to use them. the whole theory of the law is that the mayor shall be responsible for the administration of the city's affairs, and for the policy which animates the different departments. it makes the relation of the different commissioners and heads of departments to the mayor practically that of the cabinet officer to his chief. i feel it to be a matter of no less importance to my successors than to myself to emphasize this thought. it is no reproach to mr. evarts that president garfield placed mr. blaine at the head of the state department. it is no reproach to mr. blaine that president arthur has called senator frelinghuysen to succeed him; and what is true of the state department is equally true of a purely administrative department like the post-office. it will, therefore, be a great injustice to any official who may be retired through my action to interpret it into reproach upon him, just as it would be equal injustice to me to assume that i meant it as such; or to my successor, to hamper him with any obligations toward my appointees. the mayor being responsible to the people must be left free from such personal embarrassments. i claim this right, as i believe, in the interest of good government, for my successors and for myself. "the law does not give the mayor the absolute power of removal. i presume it was not thought to be necessary. but the whole purpose of the law will be defeated unless the mayor knows at all times and under all circumstances that he is responsible because his appointees represent him. if any of them get out of harmony with him he must ask for their resignations, and he is entitled to receive them on demand. i hazard nothing in saying that the people of brooklyn elected me mayor with the full purpose of placing precisely this responsibility upon me. as there is no precedent to govern in this case, i wish to state distinctly that the acceptance of an appointment at my hands will be evidence to the community that the gentleman accepting it has personally given me his assurance that he will without delay give me his resignation whenever i ask for it." the remainder of the message was in the same spirit, and left the people of brooklyn in no doubt that the new mayor meant to interpret the movement represented by the charter amendments in its most radical and reformatory light. low was renominated in . the democrats nominated joseph c. hendrix,[ ] who led a brilliant campaign. in a hotly contested election that drew out an extraordinary vote, low was elected by a vote of , against hendrix's , . the two administrations of low demonstrated beyond question the availability of the "brooklyn system." in his message for the mayor offered a strong plea in behalf of the public schools, in which free books had just been introduced. the president of the board of education made the following urgent presentation of the case:-- "notwithstanding the number of new buildings erected and occupied during the year, i am unable to report any relief from the general crowded condition that existed at the time of my last report. the children come faster than we can make room for them, and in some localities for nearly every seat provided there are two applicants. as evidence of the demand made upon our new schools, at their opening, by primary pupils, i cite the following: the new primary building to relieve no. was opened on the th inst., this being the last of the new buildings. the crowd of children with their parents seeking admission was so great and the excitement so intense that for two days two policemen were required to preserve order at the doors. in a building seating pupils were registered, the average age being years. only the fifth and sixth primary grades are admitted to this building. it is not pleasant for me to state that many of these children, and years old, have never before had a day's schooling, because there was no public school into which they could gain admittance. from the first day the class-rooms have been devoted to half-day classes. "the registry of attendance in october of this year numbered , pupils. our regular seating capacity is but , , or , less than the actual attendance. we have classes, numbering over pupils each, and of this number classes have over each, the largest class having pupils. a large proportion of these crowded classes are from necessity divided into half-day sessions. "this is our condition after redistricting the city and reorganizing several schools, thereby decreasing the number of grammar classes, and increasing the number of primary classes by eighteen, and after building eight new school buildings,--we have been compelled to crowd and pack our school rooms without due regard to the convenience, comfort, and health of the pupils and to the proper facilities and conditions for imparting instruction.... "we have exhausted every means at our disposal to utilize space save one. it is now the purpose of the committee on studies to so revise the course of study that all grammar class-rooms will be full. when this has been done we shall have no resource left by which to gain space but to build new buildings." possibly the most important achievement in low's administration was the framing and passage of the arrears bill, which had an immediate and salutary effect in the management of the city's finances. an historic event during the period of low's mayoralty was the opening of the bridge on thursday, may , . the two cities were greatly aroused by the event, and much enthusiasm prevailed. the ceremonies were held at the brooklyn approach, and the formal programme of ceremonies was as follows:-- music: d regiment band. prayer: rt. rev. bishop littlejohn. presentation address: on behalf of trustees, william c. kingsley, vice-president. acceptance address: on behalf of the city of brooklyn, hon. seth low, mayor. acceptance address: on behalf of the city of new york, hon. franklin edson, mayor. oration: hon. abram s. hewitt. oration: rev. richard s. storrs, d. d. music: th regiment band. the ceremonies over which james s. t. stranahan, who had won the distinction of being called "brooklyn's first citizen," presided, drew a large and memorable company. the military marshal of the day was maj.-gen. james jourdan, commanding the second division of the national guard, and the arrangements were as follows:-- "the president of the united states and cabinet, the governor of the state of new york and staff, with other distinguished guests, will be escorted from the fifth avenue hotel to the new york anchorage by the th regiment of the st division, n. g., s. n. y., emmons clark, colonel commanding, and there received by the trustees and escorted to the brooklyn anchorage, from which point the d regiment, d division, n. g., s. n. y., rodney c. ward, colonel commanding, will act as escort to the brooklyn approach. "to avoid confusion, it is requested that holders of blue tickets will enter gates marked a at the roadways on either side of the bridge. holders of white tickets will enter at either gates a or b. "officers of the army and navy and the national guard are requested to appear in uniform. officials of new york and brooklyn are requested to display their badges of office." [illustration: statue of j. s. t. stranahan at the entrance to prospect park] in the course of his address mayor low said:-- "as the water of the lakes found the salt sea when the erie canal was opened, so surely will quick communication seek and find this noble bridge; and as the ships have carried hither and thither the products of the mighty west, so shall diverging railroads transport the people swiftly to their homes in the hospitable city of brooklyn. the erie canal is a waterway through the land connecting the great west with the older east. this bridge is a landway over the water, connecting two cities bearing to each other relations in some respects similar. it is the function of such works to bless 'both him that gives and him that takes.' the development of the west has not belittled, but has enlarged new york, and brooklyn will grow by reason of this bridge, not at new york's expense, but to her permanent advantage. the brooklyn of can hardly be guessed at from the city of to-day. the hand of time is a mighty hand. to those who are privileged to live in sight of this noble structure every line of it should be eloquent with inspiration. courage, enterprise, skill, faith, endurance,--these are the qualities which have made the great bridge, and these are the qualities which will make our city great and our people great. god grant they never may be lacking in our midst. gentlemen of the trustees, in accepting the bridge at your hands, i thank you warmly in brooklyn's name for your manifold and arduous labors." speaking of a glance forward for twenty-five years, mayor edson said:-- "no one dares accept the possibilities that are forced upon the mind in the course of its contemplation. will these two cities, ere then, have been consolidated into one great municipality, numbering within its limits more than five millions of people? will the right of self-government have been accorded to the great city, thus united, and will her people have learned how best to exercise that right? will the progress of improvement and the preparation for commerce, manufactures, and trade, and for the comforts of home for poor and rich, have kept pace with the demand in the great and growing city? will the establishment of life-giving parks, embellished with appropriate fountains and statues and with the numberless graces of art, which at once gladden the eye, and raise the standard of civilization, have kept abreast with its growth in wealth and numbers? these are but few of the pertinent questions which must be answered by the zealous and honest acts of the generation of men already in active life. here are the possibilities; all the elements and conditions are here; but the results must depend upon the wisdom and patriotism and energy of those who shall lead in public affairs. may they be clothed in a spirit of wisdom and knowledge akin to that which inspired those who conceived and executed the great work which we receive at your hands and dedicate to-day." the address of abram s. hewitt contained these significant words:-- "i am here by your favor to speak for the city of new york, and i should be the last person to throw any discredit on its fair fame; but i think i only give voice to the general feeling, when i say that the citizens of new york are satisfied neither with the structure of its government, nor with its actual administration, even when it is in the hands of intelligent and honest officials. dissatisfied as we are, no man has been able to devise a system which commends itself to the general approval, and it may be asserted that the remedy is not to be found in devices for any special machinery of government. experiments without number have been tried, and suggestions in infinite variety have been offered, but to-day no man can say that we have approached any nearer to the idea of good government which is demanded by the intelligence and the wants of the community. "if, therefore, new york has not yet learned to govern itself, how can it be expected to be better governed by adding half a million to its population, and a great territory to its area, unless it be with the idea that a 'little leaven leaveneth the whole lump'? is brooklyn that leaven? and if not, and if possibly 'the salt has lost its savor, wherewith shall it be salted?' brooklyn is now struggling with this problem, it remains to be seen with what success; but meanwhile it is idle to consider the idea of getting rid of our common evils by adding them together. beside, it is a fundamental axiom in politics, approved by the experience of older countries as well as our own, that the sources of power should never be far removed from those who are to feel its exercise. it is the violation of this principle which produces chronic revolution in france, and makes the british rule so obnoxious to the irish people. this evil is happily avoided when a natural boundary circumscribes administration within narrow limits. while, therefore, we rejoice together at the new bond between new york and brooklyn, we ought to rejoice the more that it destroys none of the conditions which permit each city to govern itself, but rather urges them to a generous rivalry in perfecting each its own government, recognizing the truth that there is no true liberty without law, and that eternal vigilance, which is the only safeguard of liberty, can best be exercised within limited areas. it would be a most fortunate conclusion if the completion of this bridge should arouse public attention to the absolute necessity of good municipal government, and recall the only principle upon which it can ever be successfully founded. there is reason to hope that this result will follow, because the erection of this structure shows how a problem, analogous to that which confronts us in regard to the city government, has been met and solved in the domain of physical science." the brilliant oration of dr. storrs closed with the following glowing passage:-- "local and particular as is the work, therefore, it represents that fellowship of the nations which is more and more prominently a fact of our times, and which gives to these cities incessant augmentation. when by and by on yonder island the majestic french statue of 'liberty' shall stand, holding in its hand the radiant crown of electric flames, and answering by them to those as brilliant along this causeway, our beautiful bay will have taken what specially illuminates and adorns it from central and from western europe. the distant lands from which oceans divide us, though we touch them each moment with the fingers of the telegraph, will have set their conspicuous double crown on the head of our harbor. the alliances of nations, the peace of the world, will seem to find illustrious prediction in such superb and novel regalia. friends and fellow-citizens, let us not forget that in the growth of these cities, henceforth united and destined ere long to be formally one, lies either a threat or one of the most conspicuous promises of the time. cities have always been powers in history. athens educated greece as well as adorned it, while corinth filled the throbbing and thirsty hellenic veins with poisoned blood. the weight of constantinople broke the roman empire asunder. the capture of the same magnificent city gave to the turks their establishment in europe for the following centuries. even where they have not had such a commanding preëminence of location, the social, political, moral force proceeding from cities has been vigorous, in impression, immense in extent. the passion in paris, for a hundred years, has created or directed the sentiment of france. berlin is more than the legislative or administrative centre of the german empire, and even a government as autocratic as that of the czar, in a country as undeveloped as russia, has to consult the popular feeling of st. petersburg or of moscow. in our nation, political power is widely distributed, and the largest or wealthiest commercial centre can have but its share. great as is the weight of the aggregate vote in these henceforth compacted cities, the vote of the state will always overbear it. amid the suffrages of the nation at large it can only be reckoned as one of many consenting or conflicting factors. but the influence which constantly proceeds from these cities--on their journalism not only, or on the issues of their book presses, or on the multitudes going forth from them--but on the example presented in them, of educational, social, religious life--this, for shadow and check, or for fine inspiration, is already of unlimited extent, of incalculable force. it must increase as they expand, and are lifted before the country to a new elevation. a larger and a smaller sun are sometimes associated, astronomers tell us, to form a binary centre in the heavens, for what is doubtless an unseen system receiving from them impulse and light. on a scale not utterly insignificant a parallel may be hereafter suggested in the relation of these combined cities to a part, at least, of our national system. their attitude and action during the war--successfully closed under the gallant military leadership of men whom we gladly welcome and honor--were of vast advantage to the national cause. the moral, political, intellectual temper which dominates in them as years go on, will touch with beauty or scar with scorching and baleful heats extended regions. their religious life, as it glows in intensity, or with a faint and failing lustre, will be repeated in answering image from the widening frontier. the beneficence which gives them grace and consecration, and which, as lately, they follow to the grave with universal benediction; or, on the other hand, the selfish ambitions which crowd and crush along their streets, intent only on accumulated wealth and its sumptuous display, or the glittering vices which they accept and set on high--these will make impressions on those who never cross the continent to our homes, to whom our journals are but names. surely we should not go from this hour, which marks a new era in the history of these cities, and which points to their future indefinite expansion, without the purpose in each of us that so far forth as in us lies, with their increase in numbers, wealth, equipment, shall also proceed, with equal step, their progress in whatever is noblest and best in private and in public life; that all which sets humanity forward shall come in them to ampler endowment, more renowned exhibition; so that, linked together, as hereafter they must be, and seeing 'the purple deepening in their robes of power,' they may be always increasingly conscious of fulfilled obligation to the nation and to god; may make the land, at whose magnificent gateway they stand, their constant debtor, and may contribute their mighty part toward that ultimate perfect human society for which the seer could find no image so meet or majestic as that of a city, coming down from above, its stones laid with fair colors, its foundations with sapphires, its windows of agate, its gates of carbuncles, and all its borders of pleasant stones, with the sovereign promise resplendent above it-- 'and great shall be the peace of thy children.'" the newspapers tendered homage to the leaders of the bridge movement, and to the guiding minds of the vast mechanical triumph--to john a. roebling, washington a. roebling, henry c. murphy, william c. kingsley, j. s. t. stranahan, and others who had been prominent in the labors of organization and of execution. the original cost of construction amounted to $ , , . the total number of passengers on promenade, roadway, and railroad during was , , . the total number in , the year after the promenade toll was removed, was , , . the statistics for show that the traffic was highest in december and lowest in august. the earnings of the bridge are thus shown:-- from may , , to dec. , $ , . " dec. , , " dec. , , . " " , " " , . " " , " " , . " " , " " , , . " " , " " , , . " " , " " , , . " " , " " , , . " " , " " , , . " " , " " , , . -------------- total $ , , . the receipts from all sources for the year ending december , , were as follows: city of brooklyn construction account, $ , ; city of new york construction account, $ , ; receipts from tolls, $ , , . ; material sold, labor, etc., $ . ; interest, $ , . ; rent, real estate, and telegraph wires, $ , . . total, $ , , . . the management of the bridge was formed under control of a board of twenty trustees, eight being appointed by the mayor, comptroller, and auditor of brooklyn, and eight by the mayor, comptroller, and president of the board of aldermen of new york city. under an act of the legislature, passed april , , on april following, this board was replaced by the present board of trustees, consisting of two persons appointed by the mayor of the city of brooklyn, two persons appointed by the mayor of the city of new york, at a salary of $ each, and the mayors and comptrollers of the two cities, members _ex officio_, the appointed trustees to hold office for five years. supplementing the work of the bridge are the elevated railroads and the electric or "trolley" system. six steam railroads run into the city, four running to coney island, one to rockaway beach, and one, the long island railroad, connecting with the railroad system of long island. sixteen ferries connect the bay and river front with new york. the new york and brooklyn ferry company carried about , , passengers in . the boundaries of the city, measuring about thirty-two miles, include an extended water front that is one of the most picturesque in the country. the erie basin and atlantic docks on the southern extremity of the line represent an immense industry in grain shipments. grain-elevators, coaling-stations, store-houses, the chief naval station in the united states, and the big establishments of the greatest sugar-refining district in the world, combine to give the river front an unusual interest. the great docks on the southwestern water front represent important industries in which brooklyn occupies a foremost place. the atlantic basin covers forty acres, and is surrounded by brick and granite warehouses on three sides. these are feet in depth, and three to five stories high. the basin contains four piers, three of which are covered, and are , , and feet in length, by feet in width. south central pier, feet long, is the largest in the port. in the basin are seven elevators, six of which are controlled by the new york grain warehousing company, the seventh being owned by pinto brothers. atlantic basin is the largest grain-depot in the world. its frontage line of basin and piers measures three miles. south central pier is leased by the union hamburg and the nicaragua and central american lines of steamships. barber & co. and t. hogan & sons control the east central pier; funch & edye's steamships dock at the south central pier, as do the lines to bordeaux and oporto. at the west central pier many goods from the indies are unloaded, especially plumbago and cocoa-nut oil. the entrance to the basin is feet in width. the north pier is much used by italian barks. the basin has a uniformed police force of its own. in this region also are finely appointed shipyards and dry docks, the anglo-american docks, opened in , being the largest in the united states. the chamber of dock no. is feet in length, and that of dock no. , feet. most of the large iron ships that are docked at the port of new york are hauled up here. on the old williamsburgh water front are the vast sugar-refineries, the greatest group of the kind in the world, and representing brooklyn's greatest manufacturing interest. the output of most of these great hives of industry is now controlled by the american sugar refining company. the largest of the refineries melts tons of raw sugar per day, producing over , barrels of refined sugar. vessels from the west indies and other points as remote as java line the piers at this part of the water front, loading with barreled sugar. large cooperages and extensive oil refineries occupy the water front to the north, the great standard oil company having its plant in this region. the united states reservation, known as the navy yard, occupies about acres in the bend of the river to which the dutch gave the name that still clings, the wallabout. this is the chief naval station of the united states. it contains trophies of the three great wars, and the feet of water front is always made interesting by the presence of one or more ships of war. in brooklyn obtained from the united states government a lease of the , square feet of land on the east of the navy yard, and adjoining the wallabout canal. on this plot a large market has grown up and supplied the city with a marketing centre of which it long stood in need. in july, , an act of congress authorized the sale of the fee-simple of the land to brooklyn; the city authorities completing the purchase in november, , at the valuation of $ , . later, an additional purchase of adjoining land from the federal government extended the market property to the wallabout canal, and enabled the increase of the number of lots for stands to . the present area of the market lands is bounded as follows: on the north by the wallabout canal; on the east by the lands of the united states naval hospital; on the south by flushing avenue, and on the west by washington avenue. in december, , the national government authorized the sale to brooklyn of additional lands of the navy yard reservation, abutting upon the west side of washington avenue, and embraced between that avenue and a line on a continuation of clinton avenue, flushing avenue, and the east river,--a tract which would more than double in extent the area of the market possessions. brooklyn's boundaries on the east and south touch a number of large cemeteries, most noted of which is greenwood, which holds many distinguished dead, and many notable monuments. in there were interments at the cemetery of the evergeens, and during the same year at cypress hills, and , at calvary cemetery. there are not less than thirty cemeteries within the county, a fact that presents a serious problem in the extension of the city's lines. the development of prospect park has been a matter of great pride and gratification to the city. in recent years the park has been adorned by a number of statues. j. s. t. stranahan has received the unique honor of a public statue in his lifetime. in the plaza is the statue of lincoln already mentioned. within the park are busts of thomas moore, washington irving, and of john howard payne, one of long island's sons. the soldiers' and sailors' memorial arch in the park plaza was proposed by seth low in a speech at greenwood, on decoration day. the legislature voted $ , , subscriptions were raised, the competition for a suitable design was won by john h. duncan, the corner-stone was laid in , and the monument was finished in . the municipal building was finished in , at a cost of $ , , and the hall of records adjoining the county court house in , at a cost of $ , . the most imposing public building in the city is the federal building, bounded by washington, johnson, and adams streets. this massive structure of maine granite contains the central post-office quarters, and the federal courts and offices. the site cost $ , . , and the building $ , , . . some of the most important building operations in recent years have expressed the enterprises of the great bazaars, gathered most thickly on fulton street, but appearing also on other leading thoroughfares. a glance at the buildings of the city quickly suggests the remarkable increase in the number of theatres. according to gabriel harrison's "history of the drama in brooklyn" the first dramatic performance in the city took place in a stone building on the north side of "the old road" (fulton street), near the corner of front street. this building had been known for thirty years or more as corporation house, belonging to the corporation of the city of new york. it contained a tavern and a ferry room on its ground floor and a hall on the second. when the british gained possession of brooklyn the house changed hands, and was known while they remained as the king's head. it was fitted as a resort for officers and men, and all sorts of amusements were offered, from bull-baiting to games of chance. george iii.'s birthday was celebrated by illuminations and fish dinners, to which the tories of new york came over in rowboats. at the first dramatic performances here an original farce was acted, of which general john burgoyne was the alleged author. it was called "the battle of brooklyn." the title-page reads: "the battle of brooklyn; a farce in two acts, as it was performed in long island on tuesday, th day of august, , by the representatives of the tyrants of america, assembled in philadelphia." there were also dramatic performances in greene's military garden in , and later. an amphitheatre was built on fulton street in . the assembly rooms of military garden were converted into a theatre in . chanfrau and burke opened the brooklyn museum in . the odeon was built on the site of the present novelty or proctor's theatre on driggs street, in . it was afterward known as apollo hall. washington hall, afterward called the comique, was built at the corner of broadway and fourth street (now bedford avenue); hooley's opera house, at court and remsen streets, in , and the park theatre was built a year later. the brooklyn theatre was opened in , and rebuilt after the fire.[ ] hyde & behman's theatre was built in , the grand opera house in , the criterion in , the amphion in . the completion of the fine columbia theatre on washington street was due to the enterprise of edwin knowles, who had been a successful manager of the grand opera house, and subsequently of the amphion. the newer city armories are further important additions to the city architecture. on the first day of january, , the military organizations of brooklyn, comprising, with the seventeenth separate company of flushing, the entire second brigade of the new york national guard, numbered about men. the strength of the brigade in , as shown at inspection, was . in this number were included the officers and men of the thirty-second regiment, shortly afterward disbanded. very few members of that organization are now in the service. in , inspections of the several commands were held, as follows: seventeenth separate company, april ; signal corps, october ; third battery, october ; forty-seventh regiment, october ; fourteenth regiment, october ; thirteenth regiment, october ; twenty-third regiment, october . the thirteenth and fourteenth regiments, which did not go to the state camp last year, were inspected in the afternoon at prospect park. below is shown the attendance of each organization:-- muster roll for . ----------------------+----------+---------+--------+----------- organization. | present. | absent. | total. | percentage | | | | present. ----------------------+----------+---------+--------+----------- brigade commander and | | | | staff | | -- | | -- thirteenth regt | | | | . fourteenth regt | | | | . twenty-third regt | | | | . forty-seventh regt | | | | . third battery. | | | | . seventeenth sep. co. | | | | . signal corps | | | | . +----------+---------+--------+----------- total | , | | , | ----------------------+----------+---------+--------+----------- the difficulties arising from inadequate school accommodations, to meet which mayor low and other mayors had urged broad and sufficient action, continued to hamper the action of the department of public instruction. the development of the department under the superintendency of william h. maxwell has been along thoroughly modern lines. recent reforms have had a tendency to improve the quality of teachers by placing obstacles in the path of the incompetent. to a considerable extent these reforms have diminished the chances of political interference in the working of the school system. the successful establishment, in , of a central grammar school, admitting graduates from the public schools, was followed by the organization of separate high schools for boys and girls, and afterward by a manual training school, and a movement for the establishment of kindergarten classes and definite means of physical culture. on october , , there were on register in the public schools of the city , pupils,--more than in excess of the sittings. for many years preceding this date a large number of classes had provided a half day's schooling only for the registered pupils, forcing the teachers of these classes to assume responsibility for two large classes of children on each school day. [illustration: statue of alexander hamilton in front of the hamilton club house] in his report for the year ending december , , superintendent maxwell said:-- "the child that begins the school course at six ought to complete it easily, and be ready to enter the high school, at the age of fourteen. in every grade, however, the average age is about one year higher than it ought to be. there is now a well ascertained consensus of opinion among educational authorities that this delay in reaching the high school--in getting at such disciplinary studies as languages, geometry, and natural science--is detrimental not only to the individual child but to the public welfare. in some cases this delay is doubtless caused by protracted illness or general physical weakness; in some, by the mania--i can call it by no other name--which some principals and teachers have for holding back pupils from promotion; in some, by positive dullness or slowness of wit; but in the majority of cases it arises from the crowded condition of the lower primary classes. instead of accommodating more children by swelling the registers of these classes, we are accommodating fewer. the teachers in these classes, work as hard as they may, are able to prepare but a small proportion of their classes for promotion; while by reason of lack of proper teaching in the introductory classes--a lack which is not chargeable to the teachers--the pupils are less able than they otherwise would be to do the work of the higher grades as they advance. the consequence is that pupils are put through our schools more slowly and in smaller numbers than they ought to be. if in a piece of machinery or in a living organism a greater strain is put on any one part than it is able to bear, the strength and efficiency of the whole are proportionately diminished. just so it is with our school system. the strain put upon the seventh primary teachers by choking up their classes impairs the efficiency of the entire system. the only rational conclusion is that _the number of pupils to a class must be limited_." the movement toward centralizing responsibility in the school principals began at this time to gather force. it was warmly supported by the superintendent. in the girls' high school, in , the number of registered pupils was ; in the boys' high school, . the annual appropriation for schools in was $ , , . ; from the city, $ , , . ; from the state, $ , . ; other sources, $ , . . a training school for teachers was established in . from this admirable institution the graduates increased in number from in to in . with the educational interests of brooklyn the brooklyn institute of arts and sciences is closely associated. in the summer of several gentlemen, among whom was augustus graham, met at stevenson's tavern for the purpose of establishing for the apprentices of brooklyn a free library.[ ] they adopted a constitution, and issued to the citizens of brooklyn a circular, in which they solicited donations of books and money with which to effect their purpose. on november , , they were incorporated by the legislature of the state under the name of "the brooklyn apprentices' library association," and on july , , the corner-stone of the first building owned by the association was laid by general lafayette, at the junction of henry and cranberry streets. as early as the association had outgrown its original quarters, and the property having been sold to the city the institution was removed to a new building in washington street, then the centre of the wealth and culture of our young city. the first lecture delivered in the newly completed structure was by prof. james d. dana. in order to broaden the scope of the association, an amended charter was granted by the legislature in , and the name therein changed to "the brooklyn institute." for many years thereafter the institute was a most important factor in the social, literary, scientific, and educational life of brooklyn. its library had a large circulation; in its public hall took place many social and historic gatherings, and from its platform were heard such eminent scientific men as agassiz, dana, gray, henry, morse, mitchell, torrey, guyot, and cooke; such learned divines as drs. mccosh, hitchcock, storrs, and buddington, and such defenders of the liberties of the people as phillips, sumner, garrison, emerson, everett, curtis, king, bellows, chapin, and beecher. during this brilliant period of its history ( - ), the institute received from mr. graham two very important donations. on july , , the building, which had been heavily mortgaged, he presented to the trustees free from all incumbrance, and through his will, made known to the board of directors on november , , shortly after his decease, he bequeathed to the institute the sum of $ , , as a permanent endowment fund. the will directs that the interest of $ , of this sum shall be used in the support of lectures on scientific subjects and in the purchase of apparatus and collections illustrating the sciences; that the interest of $ , shall be used in the support of sunday evening lectures on "the power, wisdom, and goodness of god as manifested in his works," and that the balance of $ , shall be used in the support of a school of design and in forming a gallery of fine arts. for several years, however, prior to , owing to the erection of the academy of music and other public buildings, the institute building was regarded as behind the times. the income from rental of portions of the building was dwindling to a low figure, and the financial support of the free library was becoming inadequate. under these circumstances the directors remodeled the building in , at an expense of about $ , , a part of which was raised by life-membership subscriptions of $ and $ , and the balance by a mortgage on the building. for twenty years ( - ) this indebtedness necessitated the application of a portion of the income from the rent of the building and from the graham endowment fund to the payment of the interest and the principal of the debt. final payment on the mortgage was made early in . the causes of the partial inactivity of the institute during the twenty years ( - ) are therefore apparent. the most that it was able to do was to circulate its library, keep up its classes in drawing, and provide for the annual addresses on the d of february. freed from debt in , the institute was enabled once more to use the whole income from its funds and building for educational purposes, and again to become an important agent in the work of education in the city. the property of the institute in consisted of the institute building and land, valued at $ , , a library of , volumes, a collection of paintings valued at $ , , and endowment funds of $ , . these last comprise the $ , bequeathed by mr. graham, the william h. cary fund of $ , for the support of the library, and an increment of $ , realized through premiums on the sale of bonds. during the year - a new era in the history of the institute was inaugurated. the board of trustees determined to make the property of the institute the nucleus of a broad and comprehensive institution for the advancement of science and art, and its membership a large and active association, laboring not only for the advancement of knowledge, but also for the education of the people, through lectures and collections, in art and science. it was observed that while boston had the lowell institute, a society of natural history, and an art museum; while philadelphia had the franklin institute, an academy of sciences, and a gallery of fine arts; and while new york had the metropolitan museum and the american museum, yet that brooklyn had nothing corresponding to these institutions. it was felt that brooklyn should have an institute of arts and sciences worthy of her wealth, her position, her culture, and her people; that it was her duty to do more than she was then doing for the education and enjoyment of her people, and that some step should be taken looking towards the future growth and needs of the city in matters of art and science. accordingly, a form of organization was adopted which contemplated the formation of a large association of members, and a continual increase of the endowment funds and the collections of the institute. provision was made for a subdivision of the membership into departments, representing various branches of art and science, each department forming a society by itself and yet enjoying all the privileges of the general association. a general invitation was extended to citizens specially interested in science and art to become members of the institute. courses of lectures on science and art were provided. the directors' room of the institute was enlarged to accommodate the meetings of some of the departments contemplated, and a large lecture-room on the third floor of the institute building was fitted up at an expense of $ for the occupancy of those departments that would make use of apparatus and collections at their meetings. during the first fifteen months after the reorganization of the institute a membership of three hundred and fifty persons was recorded. the brooklyn microscopical society joined the institute in a body, with sixty-four members, and became the department of microscopy. the american astronomical society, whose members resided mostly in new york and brooklyn, became the department of astronomy, with thirty-two members. the brooklyn entomological society united with the institute, and became the entomological department, with forty-one members. the linden camera club of brooklyn became the department of photography, with twenty-six members. departments of physics, chemistry, botany, mineralogy, geology, zoölogy, and archæology were successively formed. each of the above twelve departments began to hold monthly meetings. the permanent funds and property of the institute were increased $ . additions were made to the library, and its circulation increased from , to , volumes per year. the lecture courses were fully attended. the classes in drawing were enlarged, and a general citizens' movement to secure a museum of arts and sciences for brooklyn was inaugurated. the subsequent growth of the institute has been remarkable. the old building on washington street was burned in , and the work was continued in temporary quarters, chiefly in the building of the young men's christian association on fulton street. during the fourth year of active work after the reorganization new members were recorded. the real estate belonging to the old brooklyn institute on washington street was sold to the trustees of the new york and brooklyn bridge, and the old institute was formally consolidated with the new brooklyn institute of arts and sciences. by an act of the legislature the city was authorized to expend $ , in the erection of a museum of arts and sciences on prospect hill, on a favorable site bounded by the eastern parkway, washington avenue, old president street, and the prospect hill reservoir. in the year , new members were added, bringing the total up to ; the number of lectures and class exercises open to members and others, by the payment of a moderate fee, was , as against the previous year; the number of concerts was increased from eight to fifteen; the average daily attendance on all the exercises of the institute for the eight months of active work was , and the total attendance for the year, , ; the annual income was increased from $ , . in the previous year to $ , . ; special courses of lectures were delivered on american history from the time of columbus to the beginning of this century, and a special course of addresses was given by college presidents on educational problems; institute extension courses of lectures were given in the eastern section of the city; the school of political science was established, with four classes and ninety-six pupils; the brooklyn art school was transferred to new and larger quarters in the ovington studio building, and the number of pupils was increased from ninety-four to one hundred and twenty-eight; the department of architecture, acting through its advisory board, devised a scheme of competition for the best plan and design for the proposed museum of arts and sciences, which was accepted by the board of trustees, and adopted by the mayor and park commissioner, and the competition so arranged resulted in the award to the distinguished new york architects, mckim, mead & white. foremost among those who have brought the institute to its present influential position in the city have been gen. john b. woodward and prof. franklin w. hooper. professor hooper, who had been elected curator of the institute in , became director of the new institute of arts and sciences in . mention has already been made of the establishment of packer institute and the polytechnic institute. the handsome gift of mrs. wm. s. packer resulted in the opening of an academy for the education of young women. since the time of the opening in , under the presidency of dr. alonzo crittenden, the packer collegiate institute has enjoyed a peculiar prominence in the educational work of the city, and has won a high, if not a foremost, place among academies of the kind in the united states. dr. crittenden was succeeded in by dr. truman g. backus, who had filled the professorship of english language and literature at vassar, and whose brilliant attainments as a scholar and director have given new distinction to the institute. a commanding position likewise has been gained by the polytechnic institute, whose establishment as an academy for young men resulted from the successful movement, aided by the gift of mrs. packer, for the establishment of a young women's school. a building on livingston street was completed and opened in , dr. john h. raymond then being president of the faculty. dr. raymond was succeeded by dr. david henry cochran, who had for ten years been principal of the state normal school at albany. under a new charter, secured in , the brooklyn collegiate and polytechnic institute received "all the rights, powers, and dignities given by the law and the ordinances of the regents[ ] to a college, including membership in the university of the state of new york." dr. henry sanger snow, an alumnus and a trustee of the institute, took a leading part in the negotiations which resulted in the significant change. the new building adjoining the old was first occupied in september, . the adelphi academy began its life in as a private school for both sexes. in charles pratt, then president of the board of trustees, made gifts to the institute, by means of which it secured a new building that was opened in . the since extended buildings now occupy a large part of the block bounded by lafayette avenue, st. james place, clifton place, and grand avenue. the preparatory, academic, and collegiate departments are supplemented by a kindergarten and a physical-training school. art education has always occupied an important place in the adelphi academy. many well-known artists have graduated from the art school superintended by prof. j. b. whittaker. the principals of the adelphi since its establishment have been john lockwood, homer b. sprague, stephen g. taylor, albert c. perkins, john s. crombie, and charles h. levermore. it is to charles pratt, who took so important a part in bringing adelphi academy to its present position, that brooklyn is indebted for the school which, more than any other educational institution within its borders, is distinctively original and of a national fame. pratt institute is frequently compared with cooper institute in new york. the comparison between the wise beneficence of cooper and that of pratt is, indeed, interestingly close; but the likeness between the two great schools is less perfect. pratt institute's remarkable characteristics are the result of a wise idea logically worked out. the buildings on ryerson street and grand avenue contain a unique combination of departments under a form of management that has proved to be eminently practical and progressive. its educational plan illustrates manual and industrial training, as well as education in high-school and artistic branches. the methods of teaching domestic art, as well as political, economic, and natural science, have excited the admiration of students of education throughout the country. the large free library is one of many features of the institution. the kindergarten idea in brooklyn has had its leading exponent in froebel academy on tompkins square. among other private educational institutions are st. john's college, the most prominent of the roman catholic schools, situated on lewis avenue, between willoughby avenue and hart street; st. francis college, bedford academy, st. joseph's institute, brooklyn heights seminary, long island business college, brooklyn latin school, bryant & stratton's business college, miss rounds's school for girls, kissick's business college, and browne's business college. in special education the long island college hospital and the brooklyn college of pharmacy occupy an important place. the long island college hospital and training school for nurses was chartered in . its history as a hospital and as a college has been notable. the graduates in numbered , bringing the total list of graduates nearly to . it frequently has been lamented that brooklyn has no great free library, and the deficiency is one for which the city deserves a mark of discredit. but it is due to brooklyn to observe that she is by no means without excellent opportunities for those who wish to read. the brooklyn library, which succeeded the old mercantile library, is not free to the public, but the subscription rate is so low in comparison with the privileges that the institution is in many respects to be regarded as a great public library. the building on montague street was finished in at a cost of $ , , and its beautiful gothic front forms one of the genuine ornaments of the city. the library contains nearly , volumes, admirably selected. the catalogue compiled by stephen b. noyes was of a character to bring honor alike to library and librarian. upon the death of mr. noyes the management of the library came into the competent hands of w. a. bardwell, who became librarian in . the reading-rooms are furnished with periodicals and newspapers. in the reference departments there were , readers in , and in the reading-rooms , readers. the brooklyn library has, indeed, performed an immensely important service in the development of the city. the brooklyn institute free library, formerly in the old institute building on washington street, and now at fulton street, contains , well-selected volumes, and is efficiently managed. pratt institute free library is a notable instance of a great public service through a private agency. the library of , volumes includes german and french books. there are an astral branch at franklin avenue and java street, and delivery stations at froebel academy and driggs avenue. reading-room and library are free to the use of all residents of brooklyn. the long island free library, at atlantic avenue, is the result of a well-directed movement. there are but , volumes, but method of selection and distribution have assured the usefulness of the work. to this must be added the free public school libraries, and the substantial free library of the union for christian work on schermerhorn street. the free library of the long island historical society naturally occupies an important place. the reference department of , volumes includes the noteworthy publications of the society itself. the law library in the court house contains , volumes, and there are volumes in the library of the kings county medical society. in addition to the libraries of the young men's and the young women's christian associations,[ ] there are over twenty-five special free reading-rooms throughout the city, most of them connected with churches. the large number of churches, and the emphasis laid upon church interests, once gave to brooklyn the title of the city of churches. the proportion between the number of churches and the population no longer is so exceptional as to justify such a title, but church life in brooklyn is, in many respects, of unique prominence. the greatest preacher the united states has produced, henry ward beecher,[ ] occupied the pulpit of plymouth church during a great formative period in the city's history. the rev. richard s. storrs, d. d., pastor of the congregational church of the pilgrims since , the descendant of a distinguished family of preachers and orators, who has been called the "chrysostom of brooklyn," occupies a place among the most scholarly of american orators. the popularity of the rev. t. de witt talmage, pastor of the brooklyn tabernacle since , has been unexampled in the church history of the country. the thirty years' pastorate of the rev. theodore l. cuyler, at the lafayette avenue presbyterian church, constituted a notable force in the advancement of the community. the enlightened leadership of the catholic church by the right reverend john loughlin, first bishop of brooklyn, who was succeeded in by the right reverend charles e. mcdonnell, has been a matter for congratulation in the catholic church; and the episcopal church has been under no less obligation to the first bishop of the protestant episcopal diocese of long island, the right reverend a. n. littlejohn, d. d. when dr. littlejohn was elected bishop in , he was succeeded as rector of holy trinity church by the rev. charles henry hall, d. d., who has been one of brooklyn's strongest preachers. st. james' church, at jay and chapel streets, has been the cathedral church of the catholic diocese for nearly half a century. the corner-stone of a great cathedral, to occupy the block bounded by lafayette, clermont, greene, and vanderbilt avenues, was laid in , but only a part of the structure has been completed. in the following were the numbers of churches of different denominations in brooklyn: baptist, ; congregational, ; german evangelical association, ; jewish, ; lutheran, ; methodist episcopal, ; primitive methodist, ; methodist free, ; methodist protestant, ; presbyterian, ; roman catholic, ; reformed presbyterian, ; united presbyterian, ; protestant episcopal, ; reformed episcopal, ; dutch reformed, ; unitarian, ; universalist, ; miscellaneous, . in the county towns the churches are numbered as follows: baptist, ; hebrew, ; lutheran, ; methodist episcopal, ; protestant episcopal, ; methodist protestant, ; reformed, ; roman catholic, . in there were ten so-called chinese sunday-schools in brooklyn, most of them connected with protestant churches, and said to enroll members.[ ] religious societies in brooklyn include a large list of prosperous and efficient bodies. among these may be mentioned the catholic historical society, the union missionary training institute, the baptist church extension society, baptist social union, city bible society, church society of the methodist episcopal church, city mission and tract society, brooklyn sunday school union, eastern district sabbath school association, brooklyn theosophical society, brotherhood of christian unity, church charity foundation, congregational church extension society, congregational club, foreign sunday school association, german young men's christian association, greenpoint sunday school association, greenpoint young men's christian association, kings county sunday school association, long island baptist association, order of deaconesses of the methodist episcopal church, women's auxiliary, unitarian club, universalist club, and the young people's baptist union. brooklyn's churches occupy a particularly intimate relation with the intellectual and social life of the city. the circumstances under which the rev. john w. chadwick, d. d., became a leader in that highly significant intellectual movement, the brooklyn ethical association, which has held meetings during a number of seasons at the second unitarian church, and under which the rev. john coleman adams, d. d., instituted the free historical lectures to public school children at all souls universalist church, have been typical of a wholesome and progressive tendency in the community. the work of the churches is supplemented by many and admirable organizations devoted to the relief of the weak, destitute, and incompetent. an important position is occupied by the association for improving the condition of the poor. the brooklyn bureau of charities, with central offices on schermerhorn street, has "the general purpose of promoting the welfare of the poor, the suffering, and the friendless in the city of brooklyn. the specific objects and methods include: the promotion of cordial coöperation between benevolent societies, churches, and individuals; the maintenance of a body of friendly visitors to the poor; the encouragement of thrift, self-dependence, and industry; the provision of temporary employment and industrial instruction." the society of st. vincent de paul undertakes the general relief of the poor, without regard to color or creed, the work being done by a conference in each church (catholic). the society is governed by a council composed of the president and vice-president of each conference. a number of industrial agencies have been devised for the purpose of supplying temporary work for men and women. a bureau of relief for needy veterans of the rebellion was established in grand army quarters at the city hall. in recent years the number of free dispensaries throughout the city has greatly increased. the brooklyn hospital, incorporated in , received valuable aid from augustus graham, the founder of the brooklyn institute. the present hospital at raymond street and de kalb avenue has been in operation since . st. catherine's hospital was established in . the memorial hospital for women and children was founded in ; the methodist episcopal hospital in the same year; st. mary's hospital in ; st. john's hospital in ; the german hospital in ; the lutheran hospital in ; the brooklyn hospital for contagious diseases in ; st. peter's hospital in ; the brooklyn home for consumptives in ; the eastern district dispensary and hospital in ; the long island throat and lung hospital in ; the brooklyn throat hospital in ; the brooklyn homoeopathic hospital in ; the brooklyn eye and ear hospital in ; the kings county hospital (a county institution) in ; the brooklyn maternity in ; the faith home for incurables in ; the inebriates' home for kings county in . for the protection and relief of children, the city has the society for the prevention of cruelty to children, the children's aid society, the industrial school association, with six branches, the nursery and infants' hospital, the howard colored orphan asylum, the hebrew orphan asylum, the orphan asylum society, the roman catholic orphan asylum society, with three branches; the eastern district industrial school, the sheltering arms nursery, st. giles's home, st. vincent's home for boys, st. christopher's day nursery, and st. malachi's home. brooklyn's right to the title of the city of homes, rather than to that of the city of churches, is excellently supported by a study of its social life; and in no phase is this peculiarity more apparent than in the club life of the city, which is distinctly in harmony with the general social life of the city. several of the city clubs have "ladies' nights," or special receptions to which ladies are invited, and to some of the clubs ladies are admitted at certain hours of the day. "the union league, with its romanesque front of cinnamon brick and brownstone on a semi-square, is near the south end of bedford avenue. its location is fine, and during the political campaigns it is an important centre. medallions of grant and lincoln adorn the front, an eagle with outstretched wings holds up a 'bay,' and a carved bear stands on the roof, a symbol of the 'grip' that clubdom has on the modern man. the great hall in this house is one of the finest in the country. across the city, a square below the park plaza, stands the montauk, a fine structure, ornate, in light tones of brick, and with a greek frieze above the third story, which is unique in architectural decoration and is a replica of old bas-reliefs. near by is the mammoth building of the riding and driving club, the largest and best arranged structure of the kind in this country. the hamilton, one of the older clubs, has a tall building on the corner of clinton and remsen streets, showing an expanse of red brick and brownstone. it has no distinctive architectural style. architecturally, a most elaborate club-house is the germania on schermerhorn street. its style is a rich but modified florentine. the material is pale brown brick. a feature of it is the great arched doorway. the bush wick democratic club-house on bushwick avenue is, architecturally, on the same lines, a reduced version in stone and terra cotta. the club has but recently taken possession of this new house. out in flatbush, on the avenue, is the midwood, an old colonial manse, unaltered, with wide-spreading grounds, its façade marked by great white columns, such as are almost unknown elsewhere in the county of kings to-day. the hanover, on bedford avenue, is a fine modern double house, with extensions and remodelings. the brooklyn and the oxford clubs have recently enlarged their rather unpretentious buildings without special reference to architectural beauty. the excelsior is a plain city house. the lincoln has the appearance of several buildings joined together, but is ornate and striking. out of town the crescent and the field and marine clubs have charming country homes, turreted and porticoed, and surrounded with trees and lawns."[ ] in literary, artistic, musical, dramatic, and social clubs, the city has become populous. the academy of music had its origin in the success of the brooklyn philharmonic society, the leading organization for the patronage of music, which was incorporated in . it had been remarked that the audiences which patronized the concerts of the new york philharmonic society were, in a great part, made up of brooklyn people. in or it occurred to the heads of several families, who were the best and most appreciative patrons of the new york society, that brooklyn might and ought to have a philharmonic society of its own. the project was inaugurated, and was attended with success. the subscription list doubled the second season. there were, the second year, over seven hundred subscribers, and numerous patrons besides. the athenæum was entirely inadequate for the purposes of the society. in , the leading members of the philharmonic society, by circulars, called the attention of several leading citizens to the relative change that was going on between the two cities, and pointed to the success of their society as the best evidence that the time had come when a large lyric hall was demanded by the necessities of our city. about fifty gentlemen responded to this call, and a preliminary meeting was held at the polytechnic institute, in october, .[ ] a public meeting followed, a popular stock company was formed, and the academy was incorporated in . land in montague street was bought for $ , . the total expenditure reached $ , . the academy became and has remained the city's leading opera house, and largest place of public meeting. most of the greatest musical artists, actors, and orators in the country have been heard under its roof. among the leading musical associations of the city are the apollo club, the seidl society, the brooklyn choral society, the arion society, the brooklyn maennerchor, the zoellner maennerchor, the amphion musical society, the cæcilia ladies' vocal society, the concordia maennerchor, the euterpe chorus and orchestra, the deutscher liederkranz, the saengerbund, and the prospect heights choral society. in recent years there has appeared a disposition to regard brooklyn as a musical city. the increase in the number of musical societies and the patronage of opera and concert have unquestionably been great. among the musical composers, resident in the city, who have made national reputations, dudley buck has been of first prominence. the brooklyn art association, a development of the sketch club, formed by brooklyn artists in , erected a handsome building adjoining the academy of music in . the exhibitions held in the association galleries have been the chief displays of pictures seen within the city. in recent years the brooklyn art club, a society composed of artists solely, has attained a large membership, and has exhibited annually in the art association galleries. the art association maintains a free art school. the leading society of art connoisseurs is the rembrandt club. the society of old brooklynites, the franklin literary society, and the bryant literary society have won prominence, and a position of influence has been assumed by the brooklyn woman's club. in private libraries and art collections brooklyn has grown rich within the past twenty-five years. the development of certain valuable picture collections has induced the wish that the city had a great museum similar to the metropolitan in new york, which might receive contributions by bequest. the advancement of the brooklyn institute promises to supply this need. the newspapers of brooklyn have acquired an increasingly influential position in the life of the city. we have seen how the "eagle," the "times," and the "freie presse" attained their established positions. the "standard-union" represents some interesting newspaper history. the "union" was started in the midst of the war period, its first editor being edward cary. the paper was purchased in by henry c. bowen, and gen. stewart l. woodford became editor-in-chief, and h. e. bowen (son of henry c.), the publisher. when general woodford retired a few months later, he was succeeded by theodore tilton, whose skillful pen was in the service of the paper until january, , when henry c. bowen assumed the editorship. in the following year the control of the paper passed to benjamin f. tracy, f. a. schroeder, john f. henry, and others associated with them, and robert burch, who afterward became managing editor of the "eagle," took the post of editor-in-chief. later the property came into the hands of lorin palmer, and in the purchase of the name and good-will of the brooklyn "argus," which had been established as a weekly in and as a daily in , resulted in the change of title to "union-argus." when the union publishing company was formed, the name "argus" was dropped, and the paper was again known as the "union" during the aggressive editorship of john foord, formerly of the new york "times," and afterward editor of "harper's weekly." in the "standard," which had been established in , was consolidated with the "union," and john a. hatton assumed the editorship of the "standard-union." soon afterward william berri became principal owner of the paper, and in murat halstead, long the master spirit of ohio journalism, was called to the chair of editor-in-chief. the qualities which gave halstead a national reputation while editor of the cincinnati "commercial gazette" have not failed to make his pen a power in brooklyn and throughout the state. the "citizen," established in by leading democrats of the city, since has been a forceful and consistent organ of the local democracy. the editorship of andrew mclean has been one of eloquence and energy, uniting a consummate knowledge of brooklyn with a rare sagacity in estimating men and affairs. the establishment of "brooklyn life" by frederick mitchell munroe and john angus mckay was a felicitous stroke in brooklyn journalism. "life" has enjoyed a unique popularity as a weekly review of brooklyn social, artistic, and literary affairs. brooklyn journalism has been quick to reflect the life and sentiment of the city. it has been energetic, original, and clean. the fact that only two of the newspapers, the "eagle" and the "citizen," publish sunday editions, is one which of itself indicates the presence of a conservative element in the city. the establishment of travelers' bureaus by the "eagle," under the direction of the assistant business manager, herbert f. gunnison, was a piece of characteristic enterprise. the political complexion of brooklyn and kings county during the past two or three decades has become increasingly democratic, with periodical republican relapses. in the incumbency of the sheriff's office, for example, there has been an interesting alternation in parties since . during the same period the two parties have been represented with approximate evenness in the mayor's office. in leadership of the democratic party henry c. murphy was succeeded by his energetic lieutenant, hugh mclaughlin, who has retained the position at the head of the party since before the rebellion. the period and completeness of this local leadership probably finds no parallel in american political history. no analogous situation has ever existed in the republican party, which has never had a generally recognized leader, and whose successes at the polls have been those of a party or a public feeling in opposition to the dominant organized party. both independent democratic and independent republican movements and leaderships have played an important part in the later activities of political life. of the commercial development of brooklyn since , it is to be said that it has advanced more remarkably on the water front than elsewhere. the traffic in grain, sugar, and oil, with the extensive cooperage and ship-building and repairing operations, constitutes an important element in any estimate of the city's prominence in manufactures. in the value of products[ ] the sugar industry stands first, the foundry and machine-shop interests coming second, and slaughtering and meat-packing third. fourth and fifth positions are to be given respectively to chemical industries and the grinding of coffee and spices. cordage and twine making has for a long time occupied a prominent place in brooklyn. other prominent industries are in boots and shoes, furnishing goods, and paper hangings. the national meter company plant in south brooklyn is the largest in the world. one of the most striking illustrations of brooklyn's advancement in commercial affairs has been the increase in the number and importance of its financial institutions. the city's first banks were the long island bank,[ ] incorporated in ; the brooklyn savings bank, incorporated in ; the atlantic bank, incorporated in ; the bank of williamsburgh, incorporated in ; the south brooklyn savings bank, incorporated in ; and the williamsburgh savings bank, incorporated in . the first fire insurance company (the brooklyn) was contemporaneous with the first bank. the long island insurance company was organized in . in four insurance companies had their home offices in brooklyn; there were twenty-three banks of deposit, fourteen savings banks, four safe deposit companies, seven trust companies, four title guarantee companies, and four savings institutions. in the same year there were about one hundred and ten strictly local securities. appendix i francis lewis[ ] one of the names ever to be remembered in the history of brooklyn, and of the state and country, is that of francis lewis, who was an ardent patriot, and sacrificed his all to secure the independence of the colonies. as he resided for more than twenty years on long island, he can justly be claimed as one of her sons, and as such richly deserves a place in her history. few men displayed so much zeal in the cause of liberty, or evinced such readiness to endure the hardships which the struggle necessarily entailed. his career covered a period of fourscore years and ten. he spent sixty-eight of these years in the new netherlands,--forty-one of them under the rule of england; seven years in the cause of the revolution; and twenty years as a citizen of the republic of the united states, upon whose banner he ever looked with pleasure and delight. born amidst the wilds of rocky wales, in the town of llandaff, in , he possessed the sturdy endurance and perseverance for which the ancient britons, from whom he was descended, were proverbial. in such a clime, and under such circumstances, he early learned to bear patiently the privations of life, and thus was fitted and prepared for the great work which characterized his eventful career. his father, the rev. william lewis, was a worthy minister of the established church of england, and his mother was the daughter of the rev. dr. pettingill, a clergyman of the same faith, whose parish was in the north of wales. young lewis did not long enjoy a parent's care, being left an orphan at the early age of four or five. his education and training were now committed to a maternal aunt, who ever manifested a deep interest in his welfare. this relative and adopted mother took particular pains to have him thoroughly instructed in his native language, and instilled into him those deep religious principles, which formed a marked and striking phase of his character. not satisfied with the means of education to be obtained in his mountain home, she sent her ward to scotland to visit some relatives in the highlands, amongst whom he soon acquired a perfect familiarity with the gaelic tongue. remaining in scotland a short time, he was transferred to the care of an uncle, who held the position of dean of st. paul's in london. the dean at once gave him the advantages of the celebrated school at westminster. the opportunities thus afforded were embraced and appreciated. by his assiduity and proficiency he soon won a distinguished place as a scholar. his progress was rapid, and when he left the school he had obtained a complete classical education. on leaving school the natural bent of his mind appeared to be for commercial pursuits. in order to prepare him for the path he had chosen, he was apprenticed to a merchant in london. when lewis reached manhood he came into possession of the little fortune left by his father, and thereupon resolved to engage in ventures on his own account. perceiving that the old world did not present a suitable field of operation for a young man with a small capital, he anticipated the advice of the sage of chappaqua, and determined to seek his fortune in the new and promising western world. collecting his effects together, he converted them into money, which he invested in such articles of merchandise as he thought marketable, and, with his stock in trade, sailed for new york, where he arrived in the spring of . he was disappointed in finding that his stock of goods could not be sold in new york, by reason of the limited demand. a man of his energy was ready to overcome all difficulties. in the emergency he entered into a partnership with edward annesly, with whom he left a portion of his goods for sale, shipping the remainder to philadelphia, whither he himself went to superintend their disposal. in the latter city he remained two years, and then returned to new york. once more in new amsterdam, he entered into business, becoming extensively engaged in foreign trade. while thus employed, and on june , , realizing the truth of scripture "that it is not good for man to be alone," he entered the holy and sacred relation of marriage with miss elizabeth annesly, his partner's sister. the issue of this marriage was seven children, three only of whom survived infancy. one of his sons, morgan lewis, greatly distinguished himself, subsequently becoming governor of the state of new york. during the remarkably severe winter of lewis drove his horse and sleigh from new york to barnstable, the entire length of long island sound, on the ice. this must have been an interesting episode in his life. referring to the intensity of the cold season, the "boston post" of january , , says: "for these three weeks we have had a continued series of extreme cold weather, so that our harbors and rivers are continually frozen up. on charles river a tent is erected for the entertainment of travellers. from point alderton, along the south shore, the ice is continued for the space of above miles." the boston "news letter" of march , , contains the statement that "people ride every day from stratford, conn., to long island, which is three leagues across, which was never known before." it appears that the temperature did not moderate with the appearance of spring, as the same paper, on april , again alludes to the subject, saying, "that people from thompson island, squantum, and the adjacent neighborhood have come fifteen sabbaths successively upon the ice to our meeting." francis lewis being an active and industrious man, his business often required his presence abroad, and led him to travel extensively in europe. at various times he visited russia, the orkney and shetland islands, and on two occasions endured the terror and discomfort of shipwreck on the coast of ireland. on his return from the old world he found the affairs of the colony in a very unsettled condition. the french war was engaging the attention of the people. during a short period he was employed as agent to supply the wants of the british troops. the romance of his life was now about to commence. in the performance of his duties, he was present in august, , when fort oswego was reduced, and compelled to surrender to the french general de montcalm. the fort at this time was commanded by colonel mersey, one of his warm personal friends. in the emergency attending the bombardment, lewis, to serve his friend, acted as his aid. montcalm on the th of august approached the fort at the head of a mixed array of men, consisting of europeans, canadians, and indians. the garrison having used up all their ammunition, mersey spiked the cannon, and crossed the river to little oswego, without the loss of a single man. montcalm at once took possession of the deserted fort, and immediately began a heavy fire, which was kept up without intermission. the next day mersey was killed by a shot while standing by the side of lewis. the commander having fallen, the garrison at once capitulated, surrendering themselves prisoners of war. it consisted of men, composing three regiments, one of which was the jersey blues, under col. peter schuyler. by the terms of the surrender they were to be exempted from plunder, taken to montreal, and treated with humanity. the french, however, did not regard the promise which they had made. when the surrender was effected, montcalm soon forgot his pledge, and shamefully allowed one of the indian warriors to select thirty of the prisoners to treat as he pleased. lewis was one of the number chosen, and naturally expected a speedy and cruel death. he was, however, saved in a most unexpected manner. the family tradition on the subject, handed down by his son, and communicated to the writer by a gentleman of this city, who received it from governor morgan lewis himself, is that francis lewis soon ascertained that he understood their dialect, and could freely converse with them, so that they comprehended what he said. his ability to communicate with the indians in their own tongue pleased the chieftain, who extended to him the utmost kindness, and on his arrival at montreal sought by every means within his power to induce the french commander to allow him to return to his family, without being compelled to pay any ransom. the request so urgently made was refused. lewis was sent as a prisoner of war to france, and upon being exchanged was permitted to return to america. the british government, in consideration of the services he had rendered, gave him a grant of acres of land, but as the fees amounted to more than the land was worth he never took out the necessary patent, the warrant for which was left in the secretary of state's office. many have looked upon this tradition concerning francis lewis as mythical. had it been false, a man of his sterling qualities would have contradicted the statements published during his lifetime. some have supposed that he gathered more or less knowledge of the indian dialect through business intercourse. it presents a very interesting feature in american history, opening up as it does a wide field for research. as it deserves more than a passing notice, it will not be out of place to turn aside for a moment, and consider how it was that francis lewis understood the indian warrior. it frequently has been claimed that madoc, a welshman, made voyages to america, long before columbus was born. it has been conceded by many authorities that prince madoc, a welsh navigator, upon the death of his father resolved to seek a new home, and thereby avoid contention with his brothers and relatives as to the succession. this was about the year . he prepared his ships and munitions of war, and sailing westward came to a country theretofore unknown. upon his return to his native land he gave a glowing account of the richness and beauty of the land he had visited. restless in spirit, he could not long remain satisfied with the crags of cambria, and prepared a fleet of ten sails, once more bent his course westward, and was never heard of again. there are many curious evidences that in early times welsh tribes of indians, or indians speaking the welsh language, were to be found on the continent of america. dr. john williams published in london, in , a very interesting inquiry into the truth concerning the discovery of america by prince madoc. in his treatise much valuable information is to be found, and many strong arguments in favor of the claim that the welsh settled america more than years anterior to the discovery by columbus. dr. williams refers to the lewis incident, and published his book twelve years before the death of francis lewis. to return from our digression, francis lewis could not be idle. on his return from his enforced trip to france, we find him once again engaged in business. he was a man in advance of his time, and well knew the value of newspaper advertisements. the following is a copy of one of his announcements, published in the "new york gazette and weekly post boy," the leading journal of the day:-- "just imported and to be sold by francis lewis in the fly, alamodes, lutestrings, ducapes, damasks, mantua silks, grazettes, padajoy's velvets, india taffities, groganes, sewing silks, etc." the commercial trips taken by lewis gave him an enlarged view of men and things. in europe he had witnessed the aggressions of the rich landed proprietors upon the poorer classes, and the untold wrongs perpetrated upon the white slaves of the mines and manufacturing towns. his natural, inherent sense of right led him to endorse and freely proclaim the doctrine, "that all men are born free and equal." wherever he went he beheld the outrages which the assumed leaders imposed upon the common people. he saw how utterly powerless they were to remove the burdens and restrictions which stood in the way of their advancement. everywhere he found power trampling upon human rights. in him the downtrodden and oppressed ever found a faithful friend and helper. as he always kept his eyes and ears open, he was prepared with force and vigor to oppose the encroachments of the british crown upon the rights of the people. looking upon america as the home of the oppressed, with whom he always sympathized, he at once became greatly attached to his adopted country. watching with close scrutiny every act of the mother country, he early foresaw that the demands of great britain would eventually result in a rupture. george ii. died october , , and was succeeded by his grandson, george iii., a young man of twenty-two years of age. shortly after his accession, and on the th of november, , lieutenant-governor cadwallader colden assumed control of affairs in the colony of new york, during the temporary absence of governor monckton. governor monckton returned after capturing the island of martinique in june, , and remained in office until june, , when he returned to his native land, again leaving the management of affairs in the hands of lieutenant-governor colden. during monckton's career, it may be said that the principles of liberty were first invaded by an assault upon the independence of the judiciary by the board of trade. justice pratt was appointed chief justice in the place of de lancey. the board of trade declared that he should hold office during the pleasure of the king, and not during good behavior, as had always been the rule. such a declaration and assumption gave the king power to remove for political reasons any judge in the land, thus making the judge but a tool of the king, and depriving him of that independence which could alone render his decisions entitled to respect. the people naturally looked upon this action as an invasion of their civil rights, and calculated to destroy the confidence of the community in the expounders of the law. to their credit be it said that both monckton and colden boldly opposed the measure. the provincial assembly looked upon the conditions imposed relative to the appointment of the chief justice with detestation. they opposed it bitterly, manifesting their opposition by absolutely refusing to make any provision for the payment of his salary until he received a commission, which would place him above and beyond legislative political control. the board of trade refused to surrender, or in any wise alter the conditions they had adopted. as the assembly would make no provision for his salary, it was suggested that the royal quit-rents should be applied to the object. the plan was adopted, and thus the judiciary passed under the control of the sovereign, and the death knell of its independence was sounded. colden was destined to wield the reins of government during an important and trying time. the storm cloud could be seen gradually rising. at first appearing no larger than a man's hand, it slowly increased until at last the black and heavy clouds seemed ready to break forth at any moment with devastating fury. everything looked dark and gloomy, and betokened the approaching storm. the mutterings of the people grew louder and more threatening. the government did not heed them, but made their demands more arrogant, seeming to take the egyptian taskmasters as their guide. parliament acted as if they considered the colonies fit subjects for plunder. in the subject of taxing the colonies was brought up in parliament, and a measure introduced for its imposition. this was antagonized by the provincial assembly of new york, and denounced as arrogant and illegal. lord grenville was the chancellor of the english exchequer. to him belongs the credit of suggesting the proposition of raising a revenue by a direct tax upon the colonies. he, then, was the initiator of the abuses which led to the independence of the people. lord grenville understood human nature, and therefore resolved to accomplish his purpose by degrees. he sought to gradually obtain entire control over the finances and resources of the colonies, take from the people their liberties, and render them merely subservient vassals of the crown. he proposed as an entering wedge that a tax should be imposed upon foreign productions, and that stamp duties should be created. as such measures were always unpopular, he saw at once that men and means would have to be provided for the collection of the duties. he well knew that the people would not tamely submit to the enforcement of such burdens. in order to carry the law into effect, he proposed the creation of an army of , men, believing that such a force would act upon the fears of the subjects, and compel them to submit quietly to the great wrong. the thunderings of discontent grew louder and louder; and the murmurs resounded on every side. grenville became prime minister in , and by reason of his elevation exerted a great and controlling influence over parliament. he was now in a position to successfully carry out the schemes he had proposed the year before. upon assuming his new position, next to the crown itself, he forcibly urged upon parliament his peculiar methods to raise revenue. he contended that the home government had the right to impose such duties and taxes as they thought proper, without consulting the wishes of the colonists. an act was passed in accordance with his views, providing a tax upon various articles, which formerly had been admitted free of duty. the provincial assembly of the colony of new york protested against these tyrannical acts, and forwarded a strong and forcible memorial to the ministry. the manliness manifested by the assembly in thus declaring its rights brought down upon them the animosity of the crown; led to the suspension of their legislative prerogatives, thereby depriving the people of representation in the affairs of the colony. new york was not the only province that sent protests. while the assembly of new york spoke boldly and fearlessly, the sister colonies were more suppliant. if the other colonies had displayed the same determination to oppose the inroads upon their rights as new york evinced, it would have resulted at the outset in a repeal of the odious measures. the stamp act was passed on the d of march, , to take effect on the st of november ensuing. the colonial governor colden declared that he would enforce the law. this enunciation did not terrify the people, as a fixed resolve permeated the masses to oppose its enforcement at all hazards. citizens obtained copies of the act, and in broad daylight hawked them about the street with a death's head bearing the inscription, "the folly of england and the ruin of america." meetings, public and private, were held throughout the city, and in the outlying sections of the colony. the subject was earnestly discussed on the streets and in all places of public resort. lewis was amongst the first to refuse submission to or acquiescence in the royal demands. love of liberty and justice induced him to enlist in the cause of the patriots against the enactments of parliament. this was the grand principle which induced him to unite with the devoted band which sprang into existence, and was known as the "sons of liberty." the avowed object of this noble company was to concert and adopt measures whereby the exercise of an undue power by the mother country might be defeated. when the provincial assembly of new york, apprehending danger, and realizing the necessity of united action on the part of all the colonies, deemed it wise and prudent to recommend a congress of delegates to assemble in new york on the th of october, , to consider what action should be taken to oppose the repulsive stamp act, mr. lewis was elected to represent new york as a delegate, and when they met took his seat in the convention. his head, heart, and soul were enlisted in the cause, and he earnestly advocated the adoption of the bill of rights. he was one of the men selected to circulate the principles of the sons of liberty, and seek the formation of similar societies throughout the colonies. in this grand work he was associated with isaac sears, marrinus willett, gershom mott, hugh hughes, william wiley, thomas robinson, flores bancker, and edward laight, all of whom were tried patriots, whose deeds of daring and earnest labors will live in the memory of a grateful people while time shall last. truly have they "left behind them footprints on the sands of time," and "their actions smell sweet and blossom in their dust." at this time francis lewis resided at whitestone, l. i., having removed with his family to his country home early in . his residence in queens county did not prevent his acting with the sons of liberty. in those days many of the prominent officials lived in brooklyn and on the island. the appointment of this committee resulted in the selection of a correspondent in london, who kept the patriots informed as to the projected movements of the british authorities, by which means they were enabled to adopt measures to thwart the purposes of the crown. the information received from time to time led to a desire for a closer union of the colonies. the old dutch maxim, which has been preserved and adopted as part of the seal of our good city of brooklyn, "in union is strength," was uppermost in their minds, and induced them to invite the respective colonies to send delegates to a congress to assemble in new york on the th of october, . some new england writers have given the credit of the formation of this congress to massachusetts. this is an unhistorical assumption. whilst new england men did yeoman service in the cause, they did not enlist in it until they had been spurred on by the "sons of liberty" of new york. this congress of delegates owed its existence to the persistency of new yorkers, and was by them first called together. the congress was organized by the election of timothy ruggles, of massachusetts, as president. the session lasted for three weeks. the measures introduced and the work accomplished were mainly initiated by the delegates from new york. a declaration of rights, prepared and submitted by john cruger, mayor of new york, was adopted; and a memorial and statement of grievances for presentation to parliament was prepared and introduced by robert r. livingston, also of new york. livingston subsequently was a member of the continental congress, and associated with jefferson on the committee appointed to draft the declaration of independence. livingston's address to parliament was signed by nearly all the members. the declaration of rights was a vigorous and forcible document. it announced the grand principle that "taxation without representation is tyranny," and declared that as the colonies were so remote as to preclude representation in parliament, the right of taxation only vested in the legislative authorities. it boldly denounced the stamp act as tyrannical, and demanded its repeal. prior to the assembling of this congress a committee waited upon governor colden to solicit his aid and encouragement. as colden had in former times advocated the rights of the people, it was but natural to expect encouragement and support from him in this trying hour. the committee was disappointed. to their infinite surprise and disgust he declared the congress to be "unconstitutional, unprecedented, and unlawful," and announced that he should give it no countenance. it is within the bounds of reason to say that jefferson, in the production of his inimitable paper, caught his inspiration from these noble documents emanating from the dutchmen of new york, and so readily endorsed by their associates in this congress. the doctrine brought over in the mayflower led for a time to proscription, whilst the lesson taught by the dutch settlers was freedom and toleration. the forefathers of new england who sought the new world to enjoy religious liberty refused to grant the same privilege to others. the dutch, on the other hand, extended a welcome to the pilgrims, gave them a home at delft haven for eleven years, afforded an asylum to the persecuted quakers who fled from new england, and always exercised the precept enunciated at a later day by the martyr lincoln, "with malice toward none, with charity for all." the acts and enunciations of the congress were approved by the people, and adopted by the colonial assembly which met in november. shortly after the ratification of the petitions by the colonial assembly, governor colden wrote to the home government that "whatever happens in this place has the greatest influence on the other colonies. they have their eyes perpetually on it, and they govern themselves accordingly." the stamp act was to take effect on the st of november, . the merchants on the eve of the st were greatly excited. with one accord, they congregated at burns's coffee house, near the battery, and with united voice passed the following resolution: "to import no goods from england until the stamp act be repealed; to countermand all orders already sent for spring goods; to sell no goods from england on commission; to abide by these resolutions until they should be rescinded by a general meeting called for that purpose." the sons of liberty, in order to carry on their work so well commenced, appointed from their number a committee of five, which was termed the non-importation committee, whose duty it was to enter into correspondence with the other colonies, and, by enlisting their sympathy, induce them to coöperate in the work, and adopt a similar policy. the stamps reached new york october , . in order to protect them from the rage of the people, they were placed on board of a british man-of-war, in the harbor. governor colden declared that he could not be intimidated; that the stamps should be delivered in due time. the governor was in a dilemma, as neither threats nor persuasion could induce the people to aid or assist in the removal. the st of november came. business was entirely suspended. every heart was burdened with anxiety. the flags on the shipping were placed at half-mast, and the church bells tolled mournfully. many private residences displayed the insignia of mourning. on every side it appeared as if a great and dire calamity had visited the colony. handbills denouncing the administration appeared in public places as if by magic, and the people were warned not to give in their adhesion to the crown by purchasing the condemned stamps. activity marked the rank and file of the sons of liberty. during the day they bent their energies in making preparations for an evening display. shortly after dark they assembled and proceeded to the commons, in the neighborhood of the present city hall, where a gallows was quickly erected, and an effigy of governor colden suspended therefrom. a piece of stamped paper was placed in his hand, a drum at his back, and a placard on his breast with the inscription, "to the rebel drummer of ." another company carried a life-sized figure of colden, seated in a chair, through the streets to the fort. when they reached colden's residence they broke open his stable, took therefrom his coach of state, placed the image in the coach, and with it returned and joined their companions in the park. with them they formed into line, and once again proceeded to the fort and demanded admission. at this time the fort was under the command of general gage, who wisely withheld his fire, well knowing that the first shot would madden and infuriate the populace. as admission to the fort was refused, the citizens repaired to the bowling green, kindled a fire, and placed thereon the governor's coach, image, and the effigy which had been suspended on the gallows. the sons of liberty could not hold the people in check. the residence of james, one of the crown officers, was visited, and because he had advocated the stamp act his house was reduced to ashes. the excitement did not abate. colden well knew that his successor was expected daily, and he was anxious to lift the responsibility from his own shoulders, and place it on those of his successor. this proffer on the part of colden did not satisfy the people; they wanted the entire control of the stamps themselves. again the sons of liberty assembled, fully equipped, resolved to obtain the stamps at all hazards, and, if needs be, storm the fort itself. the governor became alarmed, and agreed to deliver them to the mayor and corporation. the stamps were thereupon transferred to john cruger, the mayor, who gave a receipt on behalf of the city, "to take charge, and care of, and be accountable in case they shall be destroyed or carried out of the province." the sons of liberty, satisfied with the results of their labors, quietly dispersed. this was the th of november. peace and quietude once again reigned. sir henry moore, the new governor, arrived november , , and wisely declared at the outset that he would have nothing to do with the detested stamps, and directed that those he had brought with him should be deposited with the others in the city hall. the spirit of hatred to the stamp act, manifested in the province of new york, proved contagious. the colony of maryland caught the infection, and drove from her midst a stamp agent, who sought a refuge on long island. hither the sons of liberty followed him, and compelled him to resign his office, under the solemnity of an oath. this act on the part of the sons of liberty was greatly appreciated by the inhabitants of maryland. the spirit displayed by the inhabitants of new york continued to spread, until at last the different colonies became one in spirit. parliament saw it would be useless to attempt the enforcement of the stamp act, and repealed it february , . the news reached new york march , , filling the community with untold joy. a dinner was given, and a liberty pole erected, bearing the inscription, "the king, pitt, and liberty." this pole was destined to become the rallying-spot of the sons of liberty. peace did not last long. in , the chancellor of the exchequer introduced and secured the passage of a bill, imposing duties on all tea, glass, paper, painters' colors, and lead, imported into the colony. this measure was looked upon as a fresh invasion of their rights by the inhabitants, and a new burst of feeling appeared. in a new assembly was convened. kings county was represented by simon boerum, john rapalje, and abraham schenck. at the opening of the session in october, a correspondence was entered into with the colony of massachusetts, responsive to a circular sent by that colony, asking their aid, sympathy, and coöperation in securing a removal of common grievances. in unmistakable terms the assembly denounced the outrages. the public prints were equally emphatic. the boldness of the assembly led to its dissolution, and a new one in the interest of the crown was convened in . the new body catered to the royalists, passing resolutions in the interest of the crown, thereby exciting the sons of liberty to renewed efforts. in december, , the patriots again circulated handbills, denouncing the assembly as base betrayers of the sacred trust reposed in them. the assembly received no consideration at the hands of the malcontents. in january, , the royalist soldiers, to show contempt for the citizens of the city, attempted to destroy the liberty pole. they even, in their fury at the failure of the effort, broke into the building occupied by the sons of liberty, and destroyed its windows and furniture. during several nights in succession the soldiers renewed their endeavors to destroy the emblem of liberty. at last they succeeded, manifesting their spite by cutting it in small pieces, which they placed in front of the headquarters of the patriots. the insult was understood, and fresh conflicts arose, the soldiers and the people finally coming into violent collision in the so-called battle of golden hill. early in parliament repealed all the duties except that on tea. in francis lewis removed his family to new york, and entered into business with his son. this connection did not last long. the political atmosphere was surcharged with dissatisfaction. the storm cloud of dissension still hung threateningly, and the future looked black and dismal. in such a state of affairs his course was not doubtful. the english authorities resolved to enforce the duty on tea. the vessels containing it sailed from england october , . the events that followed are familiar in american history. the new york "tea party" was a greater success than the one in boston, as the new yorkers not only threw the tea overboard, but also confiscated one of the vessels, and sent the captains of both back in the other craft, disheartened and crestfallen. on the d of april, , lewis, having relinquished business, was elected by a convention of delegates from kings, queens, new york, and the other counties, to represent the province in the continental congress to assemble in philadelphia. at this time lewis lived on long island. the colony had two governors. tryon represented the crown and the royalists, and general nathaniel woodhull, of suffolk county, was president pro tem. of the provincial council, possessing the functions of a governor. antagonism existed between the two. the provincial council directed the guns to be removed from the battery. this was opposed by tryon. on the d of august, , the committee proceeded to discharge the duty assigned them. the british ship asia was in the harbor, having just arrived from boston, and by direction of tryon at once opened her broadside. morgan lewis, son of francis lewis, during his lifetime stated that at this time the first ball shot from an english ship, during the war, struck his father's house on the long island shore, shattering the beam under his mother's foot. the family were greatly terrified, and hastily sought a refuge in the neighboring hills. the provincial congress met in new york in december, . francis lewis was continued a delegate to the continental congress for . his appears as one of the immortal fifty-six names appended to the declaration of independence. on that occasion, in the impetuosity of his enthusiasm, he exclaimed: "now we must hang together or we shall hang separately." the convention of representatives of the state of new york, which met at white plains, july , , unanimously ratified the acts of their delegates. two of the signers of the declaration from new york, to wit, francis lewis and william floyd, were residents of long island. it will thus be seen that our island sent one half of the state delegation. lewis was now kept busy in political matters. during several subsequent years he was appointed to represent the state in national affairs. whilst in congress his advice was often sought, and his prudence and business tact made him a valuable member. always maintaining a spotless reputation, he secured and retained the confidence of his associates. matters which required caution and discretion were referred to him. valuable service was rendered by him in purchasing clothing for the army, and in importing arms and ammunition. besides all this he was frequently employed on committees and in the secret service of the government. at the time the tories occupied new york, and terror and consternation filled the hearts of all, he, with messrs. sherman and gerry, was appointed a committee by congress to repair to new york, ascertain the condition of the army, and devise means to supply its wants. in lewis removed his family to his country residence at whitestone, l. i. it did not prove wise on his part, as it was stepping into the hornet's nest. shortly after the occupation of the island by general howe, and on august , , a party of british light horse, under colonel burch, plundered his home, destroyed his library and valuable papers, and removed such articles as they could conveniently carry away, leaving him barely sufficient means with which to pay his debts. at this time he was sixty-three years old, and by this wanton act was placed in a truly pitiable condition. they were not satisfied with the destruction of his property, but thirsted for vengeance on the man who dared to proclaim himself a friend of liberty by signing the declaration of independence, which was an indictment by the grand jury of the people against the tyranny of great britain. the vandal invaders took mrs. lewis a prisoner, and retained her in close confinement several months, without allowing her either a bed to rest upon or a change of clothing. the attention of congress was directed to her situation in november, . a resolution was passed to exchange mrs. grace kempe, wife of john tabor kempe, the tory attorney-general of new york, whom the americans held as a prisoner, for mrs. lewis. in the effort they were unsuccessful. washington became greatly interested in her behalf, and through his instrumentality she was at last released. she had endured intense suffering, which impaired her constitution, and resulted in her death within two years thereafter. she was buried in the graveyard of christ church, philadelphia. about this time lewis's son francis was married to a miss ludlow. the ludlow family strenuously opposed the match, saying that his father was a notorious rebel and would certainly be hanged, and they did not want to be allied to a family whose head was destined to meet such a fate. by the terms of the resolution passed by congress, october , , each state was entitled to a representation of seven members, and unless two members were in attendance, the state would have no vote. the cabal took advantage of the fact that new york had but two members in town, and, as one of them was sick and unable to attend, the state would thereby have no vote in the deliberations of congress. they determined to raise the issue in congress by appointing a committee to arrest washington at valley forge. francis lewis was the only member from new york capable of taking his seat. the other member, col. wm. duer, was very sick; but, loving his country more than his life, immediately upon learning the necessity of his presence sent for his physician, and demanded to know whether he could be removed and taken to the halls of congress. the doctor replied, "yes; but at the expense of your life!" "do you mean that i would expire before reaching the place?" "no; but i would not answer for your life twenty-four hours afterwards." "very well, sir," the noble roman replied; "you have done your duty, prepare a litter for me; if you refuse, some one else shall do it; but i prefer your care in this case." the litter was prepared, and the patient made ready to sacrifice his life, to defeat the machinations of the misguided men who sought to degrade washington. fortunately the sacrifice was prevented by the opportune arrival of gouverneur morris, another delegate, who, on reaching the headquarters of the new york delegation, found colonel duer on the litter, covered with blankets, attended by his physician and carriers, ready to go to the court house, where congress was to meet. lewis and morris being present gave new york a vote, and forced the evil-minded members to see that their scheme could not be safely advocated, and the effort was abandoned. when lewis retired from congress, that body, in consideration of his services, and remembering his many sacrifices, appointed him commissioner of the board of admiralty, which position he accepted. in april, , lewis was an earnest worker in the reorganization of the chamber of commerce, which he had been instrumental in founding, and assisted in procuring its charter, which passed the legislature april , . lewis lived to see the accomplishment of his heart's desire, and was permitted to live in the infant republic for which he had spent his time and fortune for a period of twenty-seven years. his children followed in his footsteps. one of them, francis lewis, jr., represented queens county in the assembly of . the other son, morgan, was born october , , graduated at princeton college in , studied law with john jay, and joined the army under washington in . at first he was captain of a rifle company, but rose rapidly, becoming, in , colonel and chief-of-staff under general gates. he was at the battle of saratoga, and distinguished himself under general clinton in the mohawk valley. after the war, he continued his legal studies, and was admitted to the bar. soon after he was appointed judge of the court of common pleas. in he was elected attorney-general, as the successor of aaron burr, holding the position until december , , when he became a justice of the supreme court. on the th of october, , he took his seat as chief justice of the supreme court of the state of new york. other honors awaited him. he was governor of the state from to , succeeding governor clinton as the third governor of the commonwealth. at the election, party spirit and feeling were manifested to a great degree. aaron burr was his opponent, and displayed great anxiety to secure the election. although lewis was a jeffersonian, he received the warm support of alexander hamilton. it was mainly through the efforts of hamilton that his success in the contest was secured. hamilton's labors in behalf of lewis embittered burr, and formed one of the main causes which a few months later led to his untimely end at the hands of the miscreant intriguer burr. burr was a student with lewis at princeton, and graduated in , one year in advance of the governor. on several subsequent occasions, morgan lewis was elected state senator, and also chancellor of the university. in he was appointed quartermaster, and became a major-general in . during that year he was engaged in operations on the niagara river, and commanded the defenses in new york city in . in , when seventy-four years of age, he was elected a presidential elector for the fifth district of new york. lewis avenue, brooklyn, was named in his honor. morgan lewis was a man of great scholastic attainments. the new york historical society elected him their president in . in he was chosen president of the society of the cincinnati, holding the office until his death, april , . he was the last but one of the revolutionary soldiers who filled that position. he was grand master of the free masons at the time of his death, and was buried by the craft with their impressive ceremonies. he was married at clermont on the hudson in may, , to gertrude, the sister of chancellor livingston. on the th of august, , morgan lewis purchased eighty acres of land in brooklyn, bounded by the gowanus road, and the road leading from brooklyn to flatbush. it was a portion of the estate belonging to john rapelje, which became forfeited by his allegiance to the tories, and was sold by the commissioners appointed to sell the property of all who adhered to the crown. francis lewis, the hero and patriot, spent his last days in comparative poverty; but his heart was cheered by the fact that he had given his fortune to his country, and spent his life in her service. on the th of december, , at the ripe age of ninety years, having witnessed the inauguration of three presidents, all of whom were his warm and personal friends, his life-work closed. ii dutch nomenclature in a letter written from holland to the brooklyn "eagle," henry c. murphy gave an interesting explanation of the chief characteristics of dutch nomenclature. in the course of this letter mr. murphy said:-- "in order to show what difficulties the peculiar system adopted in this country (holland), and continued by the settlers in our own home, throw in the way of tracing genealogies, it is to be observed that the first of these, in point of time, was the patronymic, as it is called, by which a child took, besides his own baptismal name, that of his father, with the addition of _zoon_, or _sen_, meaning son. to illustrate this: if a child were baptized hendrick, and the baptismal name of his father were jan, the child would be called hendrick jansen. his son, if baptized tunis, would be called tunis hendricksen; and the son of the latter might be willem, and would have the name willem tunisen. and so we might have the succeeding generations called successively garret willemsen, marten garretsen, adrien martensen, and so on, through the whole of the calendar of christian names; or, as more frequently happened, there would be repetition, in the second, third, or fourth generation, of the name of the first; and thus, as these names were common to the whole people, there were in every community different lineages of identically the same name. this custom, which had prevailed in holland for centuries, was in full vogue at the time of the settlement of new netherland. in writing the termination _sen_, it was frequently contracted into _se_, or _z_, or _s_. thus the name of william barretsen, who commanded in the first three arctic voyages of exploration, in , , and , is given in the old accounts of those voyages, barretsen, barentse, barentz, barents; sometimes in one way, sometimes in another, indifferently. or, to give an example nearer home, both of the patronymic custom and of the contraction of the name, the father of garret martense, the founder of a family of that name in flatbush, was martin adriense, and his father was adriæ ryerse, who came from amsterdam. the inconveniences of this practice, the confusion to which it gave rise, and the difficulty of tracing families, led ultimately to its abandonment, both in holland and in our own country. in doing so, the patronymic, which the person originating the name bore, was adopted as the surname. most of the family names thus formed and originating amongst us may be said to be of american origin, as they were first fixed in america, though the same names were adopted by others in holland. hence we have the names of such families of dutch descent amongst us as jansen (_anglice_, johnson), garretsen, cornelisen, williamsen or williamson, hendricksen or hendrickson, clasen, simonsen or simonson, tysen (son of mathias), arendsen (son of arend), hansen, lambertsen or lambertson, paulisen, remsen,[ ] ryersen, martense, adrience, rutgers, everts, phillips, lefferts, and others. to trace connection between these families and persons in this country, it is evident, would be impossible, for the reason stated, without a regular record. "another mode of nomenclature, intended to obviate the difficulty of an identity of names for the time being, but which rendered the confusion worse confounded for the future genealogist, was to add to the patronymic name the occupation or some other personal characteristic of the individual. thus, laurens jansen, the inventor of the art of printing, as the dutch claim, had affixed to his name that of coster--that is to say, _sexton_--an office of which he was in the possession of the emoluments. but the same addition was not transmitted to his son; and thus the son of hendrick jansen coster might be called tunis hendrickson brouwer (brewer), and his grandson might be william tunissen bleecker (bleacher).... "a third practice, evidently designed, like that referred to, to obviate the confusions of the first, was to append the name of the place where the person resided, not often of a large city, but of a particular, limited locality, and frequently of a particular form or natural object. this custom is denoted in all the family names which have the prefix of _van_, _vander_, _ver_ (which is a contraction of _vander_), and _ten_, meaning, respectively, _of_, _of the_ and _at the_.... the prefixes _vander_ or _ver_ and _ten_ were adopted where the name was derived from a particular spot, thus: vanderveer (of the ferry); vanderburg, of the hill; vanderbilt (of the bildt, that is, certain elevations of ground in guederhoff and new utrecht); vanderbeck (of the brook); vanderhoff (of the court); verplanck (of the plank); verhultz (of the holly); verkerk (of the church); ten eyck (at the oak); tenbroeck (at the marsh)." iii new york and brooklyn ferry rights new york city's exclusive claims to the ferry rights are almost as old as brooklyn itself. brooklyn was settled in , and in less than twenty years, and while there was but a handful of people on this side of the river, the ferry from peck slip to nassau island, at a point corresponding to the present foot of fulton street, had become a public question. in the natural course of things, new york had first started the ferry. when the english conquered new netherland, and peter stuyvesant stepped down (with his wooden leg) from the governorship of new amsterdam, the conquered province was patented by charles ii. of england to the duke of york, who afterwards became james ii., and in whose honor new amsterdam was re-named new york. the dutch governor was succeeded by an english governor, the duke's representative, nicolls; and dutch traditions and codes were succeeded by the famous "duke's laws." the new governor granted to the little hamlet of brooklyn a patent confirmatory of that received from the dutch governor, a measure that was in conformity with the general policy of the conquerors. this patent, after naming the patentees, and describing the bounds of the town, and bounding by the river, and not by high or low water mark, proceeded to say: "together with all havens, harbors, creeks, marshes, waters, rivers, lakes, and fisheries." the charter adds: "moreover, i do hereby give, ratify, and confirm unto the said patentees and their associates, and their heirs, successors, and assigns, all the rights and privileges belonging to a town within their government." under this patent the town of brooklyn first claimed the ownership of land between high and low water mark on the brooklyn side, and an equal right with new york to erect and maintain ferries. we find no adverse claim on the part of new york until nineteen years afterward, in , when the corporation of new york obtained from governor dongan a charter by which the ferries were granted to new york. but this charter says nothing about water rights, and expressly reserves the rights of all other persons and bodies corporate or politic. moreover, brooklyn in the same year secured from dongan a patent fully confirming that of nicolls. a similar confirmation was secured in . but new york was still running the ferry, and to fortify its claims bought land on the brooklyn side in . [illustration: chart showing east river soundings and pier lines] in the reign of queen anne the corporation of new york induced that infamous trickster and reprobate, governor cornbury, to give new york a charter, by which it was to be entitled to all "vacant and unappropriated land" below high water mark from the wallabout to red hook. the charter was really void, for there was no unappropriated land in the region named, previous patents and charters having given them to brooklyn as a town. in the colonial legislature confirmed brooklyn's rights, but new york's politicians bought for a specific sum ($ ) a new charter from governor montgomerie confirming the pretended right of new york to ownership in land to high-water mark on the brooklyn shore. new york secured a charter ownership in feet of land under water around the whole lower part of the city, and step by step, with money and unfaltering political trickery, the city set itself against the development and independence of brooklyn. by section of the montgomerie charter, the ferry franchise was confirmed "forever," with a provision that no other person or persons whomsoever should have the right to establish a ferry or ferries in the premises. legislative acts and legal decisions have been piled up around a pretense, the fallacy and injustice of which appear upon examination of the early records. new york was not satisfied with the crafty legislation by which it sought to overawe the village across the river. it began to question the right of brooklyn people to cross to new york in their own boats. the result was that a brooklyn man, hendrick remsen, sued the new york corporation. he won his case; the corporation appealed to the king, and the matter remained undecided in consequence of the revolution. although the constitution of the state confirms all grants of land within the state made by authority of the king of great britain or his predecessors, prior to august , , new york afterward adhered to its false claims to the river rights. however, by state rulings within the present century, brooklyn was permitted to exercise jurisdiction to low-water mark. a supreme court decision in declares that the city and county of new york includes the whole of the rivers and harbor adjoining to actual low-water mark on the opposite shores. it was only in that brooklyn was able to secure from the legislature concurrent jurisdiction with new york in the service of process, in actions civil and criminal, on board of vessels attached to its own wharves. when brooklyn sought to erect itself into a city, new york met the proposition with the same spirit of unwillingness to recognize in the sister town any right to individual existence. every step that brooklyn took toward securing municipal rights was hampered by the opposition of new york politicians. brooklyn became a city in , in spite of new york's opposition. new york retired from the fight with its fraudulent ownership of the river and the "ferry rights," by which it was and still is able to levy a continuous tax upon brooklyn. iv _statistics from the federal census of _ brooklyn manufactures[ ] federal census of the tabulated statements presented herewith include only establishments which reported a product of $ or more in value during the census year, and, so far as practicable, only those establishments operating works located within the corporate limits of the city. comparative statement of totals ================================================================ industries | industries | establishments | capital[ ] | reported | reporting | ---------------------+------------+----------------+------------ all industries { | | , | $ , , { | | , | , , ---------------------+------------+----------------+------------ ============================================================ industries | hands | wages paid | cost of | employed | | materials | | | used ---------------------+----------+-------------+------------- all industries { | , | $ , , | $ , , { | , | , , | , , ---------------------+----------+-------------+------------- ==================================================================== industries | miscellaneous | value of product | population | expenses[ ] | | ---------------------+---------------+------------------+----------- all industries { | | $ , , | , { | $ , , | , , | , ---------------------+---------------+------------------+----------- ========================================================= industries | city assessed | municipal debt[ ] | valuation | ---------------------+---------------+------------------- all industries { | $ , , | $ , , { | , , | , , ---------------------+---------------+------------------- detailed statement for by important industries in brooklyn eleventh census ================================================================= classification of | boots and | | coffee and inquiries[ ] | shoes-- | chemicals | spice-- | factory | | roasting and | products | | grinding _establishments_:-- | ( ) | ( ) | ( ) ------------------------+------------+-------------+------------- capital employed-- | | | aggregate | $ , , | $ , , | $ , , |============|=============|============= hired property-- | | | total | , | , | , +------------+-------------+------------- plant--total | , | , , | , +------------+-------------+------------- land | , | , , | , buildings | , | , , | , machinery, tools, | | | and implements | , | , , | , live assets--total | , | , , | , , +------------+-------------+------------- raw materials | , | , , | , stock in process and | | | finished product | , | , | , cash, bills, and | | | accounts | | | receivable, and | | | all sundries not | | | elsewhere reported | , | , , | , | | | wages paid--aggregate | $ , , | $ , , | $ , |============|=============|============= average number of | | | hands employed | , | , | +------------+-------------+------------- males above years | | , | females above years | | | children | | | pieceworkers | | | materials used-- | | | aggregate cost | $ , , | $ , , | $ , , +============+=============+============= principal materials | , , | , , | , , fuel | , | , | , mill supplies | | , | , all other materials | , | , | , expenses, miscellaneous | | | --ag'gate | $ , | $ , | $ , +============+=============+============= paid for contract work | , | | rent | , | , | , power and heat | , | | , taxes | , | , | , insurance | , | , | , repairs, ordinary, of | | | b'ld'gs and mach'y | , | , | , interest on cash used | | | in the business | , | , | all sundries not | | | elsewhere reported | , | , | , goods manufactured | | | --aggregate | $ , , | $ , , | $ , , +============+=============+============= principal product | , , | , , | , , all other products, | | | including custom | | | work and repairing | , | , | , ------------------------+------------+-------------+------------- =============================================================== classification of | | | foundry and inquiries[ ] | confec- | cordage | machine | tionery | and twine | shop | | | products _establishments_:-- | ( ) | ( ) | ( ) ------------------------+------------+------------+------------ capital employed-- | | | aggregate | $ , , | $ , , | $ , , |============|============|============ hired property-- | | | total | , , | | , , +------------+------------+------------ plant--total | , , | , , | , , +------------+------------+------------ land | , | , | , , buildings | , | , | , , machinery, tools, | | | and implements | , | , | , , live assets--total | , | , | , , +------------+------------+------------ raw materials | , | , | , , stock in process and | | | finished product | , | , | , , cash, bills, and | | | accounts | | | receivable, and | | | all sundries not | | | elsewhere reported | , | , | , , | | | wages paid--aggregate | $ , , | $ , | $ , , |============|============|============ average number of | | | hands employed | , | , | , +------------+------------+------------ males above years | , | , | , females above years | | | children | | | pieceworkers | | | materials used-- | | | aggregate cost | $ , , | $ , , | $ , , +============+============+============ principal materials | , , | , , | , , fuel | , | , | , mill supplies | , | , | , all other materials | , | , | , expenses, miscellaneous | | | --ag'gate | $ , | $ , | $ , +============+============+============ paid for contract work | | | , rent | , | | , power and heat | | | , taxes | , | , | , insurance | , | , | , repairs, ordinary, of | | | b'ld'gs and mach'y | , | , | , interest on cash used | | | in the business | , | | , all sundries not | | | elsewhere reported | , | , | , goods manufactured | | | --aggregate | $ , , | $ , , | $ , , +============+============+============ principal product | , , | , , | , , all other products, | | | including custom | | | work and repairing | , | , | , , ------------------------+------------+------------+------------ ================================================================ classification of | | | slaughtering inquiries[ ] | furnishing | paper | and meat | goods | hangings | packing | | | _establishments_:-- | ( ) | ( ) | ( ) ------------------------+------------+------------+------------- capital employed-- | | | aggregate | $ , , | $ , , | $ , , |============|============|============= hired property-- | | | total | , | , | , +------------+------------+------------- plant--total | , | , | , +------------+------------+------------- land | , | , | , buildings | , | , | , machinery, tools, | | | and implements | , | , | , live assets--total | , | , , | , +------------+------------+------------- raw materials | , | , | , stock in process and | | | finished product | , | , | , cash, bills, and | | | accounts | | | receivable, and | | | all sundries not | | | elsewhere reported | , | , | , | | | wages paid--aggregate | $ , , | $ , | $ , |============|============|============= average number of | | | hands employed | , | | +------------+------------+------------- males above years | | | females above years | | | children | | | pieceworkers | | | materials used-- | | | aggregate cost | $ , , | $ , , | $ , , +============+============+============= principal materials | , , | , , | , , fuel | , | , | , mill supplies | , | | all other materials | , | , | , expenses, miscellaneous | | | --ag'gate | $ , | $ , | $ , +============+============+============= paid for contract work | | | rent | , | , | , power and heat | | | taxes | , | , | , insurance | , | , | , repairs, ordinary, of | | | b'ld'gs and mach'y | , | , | , interest on cash used | | | in the business | , | , | , all sundries not | | | elsewhere reported | , | , | , goods manufactured | | | --aggregate | $ , , | $ , , | $ , , +============+============+============= principal product | , , | , , | , , all other products, | | | including custom | | | work and repairing | , | | , ------------------------+------------+------------+------------- ====================================== classification of | sugar and inquiries[ ] | molasses | refining | _establishments_:-- | ( ) ------------------------+------------- capital employed-- | aggregate | $ , , |============= hired property-- | total | , +------------- plant--total | , , +------------- land | , buildings | , machinery, tools, | and implements | , live assets--total | , , +------------- raw materials | , stock in process and | finished product | , cash, bills, and | accounts | receivable, and | all sundries not | elsewhere reported | , , | wages paid--aggregate | $ , |============= average number of | hands employed | +------------- males above years | females above years | children | pieceworkers | materials used-- | aggregate cost | $ , , +============== principal materials | , , fuel | , mill supplies | , all other materials | , expenses, miscellaneous | --ag'gate | $ , +============== paid for contract work | rent | , power and heat | taxes | , insurance | , repairs, ordinary, of | b'ld'gs and mach'y | , interest on cash used | in the business | , all sundries not | elsewhere reported | , goods manufactured | --aggregate | $ , , +============== principal product | , , all other products, | including custom | work and repairing | , ------------------------+-------------- statement of city debt, december , ======================================================================= title of loan | amount | amount | dec. , | dec. , --------------------------------------+----------------+--------------- permanent debt payable from taxation: | | prospect park | $ , , . | $ , , . new york bridge | , , . | , , . soldiers' aid fund | , . | , . arrearage fund | , , . | , , . local improvement | , . | certificates of indebtedness | , . | , . city bonds (arrearage of county | | taxes) | , . | , . main sewer relief and extension | | fund | , , . | , , . local improvement (laws of ) | , , . | , , . local improvement (laws of ) | , . | , . local improvement (laws of ) | , . | , . school improvement (laws of ) | , . | , . school improvement (laws of ) | , . | , . public site, purchase and | | construction | , . | , . municipal site | , . | , . fourth precinct station house | , . | , . soldiers' and sailors' monument | , . | , . park purchase | , . | , . new york and brooklyn bridge, § , | | laws of | , , . | , , . new york and brooklyn bridge, § , | | laws of | , , . | , , . public market | , . | , . school building fund | , . | , . certificate of indebtedness, | | ch. , laws of | , . | , . certificate of indebtedness, | | ch. , laws of | , . | , . certificate of indebtedness, | | ch. , laws of | , . | asphalt repavement fund | | , . museums of art and science | | , . +----------------+--------------- total | $ , , . | $ , , . |================|=============== water debt | $ , , . | $ , , . +================+=============== temporary debt payable from taxation, | | etc.: | | fourth avenue improvement | , . | , . eighth ward improvement | , . | , . twenty-sixth and adjacent ward | | sewers | , . | , . sewerage fund( ) | , . | , . north second street improvement | | , . tax certificate (contagious | | disease hospital) | | , . +----------------+--------------- total | $ , , . | $ , , . +================+=============== tax certificates | $ , , . | $ , , . --------------------------------------+----------------+--------------- ================================================================ title of loan | increase | decrease | | --------------------------------------+--------------+---------- permanent debt payable from taxation: | | prospect park | | new york bridge | | soldiers' aid fund | | $ , arrearage fund | | local improvement | | , certificates of indebtedness | | , city bonds (arrearage of county | | taxes) | | main sewer relief and extension | | fund | | local improvement (laws of ) | | local improvement (laws of ) | | local improvement (laws of ) | $ , . | school improvement (laws of ) | | school improvement (laws of ) | | public site, purchase and | | construction | | municipal site | | fourth precinct station house | | soldiers' and sailors' monument | | , park purchase | | new york and brooklyn bridge, § , | | laws of | | new york and brooklyn bridge, § , | | laws of | , . | public market | | school building fund | , . | certificate of indebtedness, | | ch. , laws of | | , certificate of indebtedness, | | ch. , laws of | , . | certificate of indebtedness, | | ch. , laws of | | , asphalt repavement fund | , . | museums of art and science | , . | +--------------+---------- total | $ , . | $ , |==============|========== water debt | $ , . | +==============+========== temporary debt payable from taxation, | | etc.: | | fourth avenue improvement | | $ , eighth ward improvement | | twenty-sixth and adjacent ward | | sewers | , . | sewerage fund( ) | , . | north second street improvement | , . | tax certificate (contagious | | disease hospital) | , . | +--------------+---------- total | $ , . | $ , +==============+========== tax certificates | $ , . | --------------------------------------+--------------+---------- recapitulation ======================================================================= title of loan | amount | amount | dec. , | dec. , --------------------------------------+----------------+--------------- permanent debt | $ , , . | $ , , . water debt | , , . | , , . temporary debt | , , . | , , . tax certificates | , , . | , , . +----------------+--------------- gross debt | , , . | , , . sinking fund | , , . | , , . +----------------+--------------- | $ , , . | $ , , . less and months' tax | | certificates | | , . +----------------+--------------- net city debt | $ , , . | $ , , . --------------------------------------+----------------+--------------- ================================================================ title of loan | increase | decrease | | --------------------------------------+--------------+---------- permanent debt | $ , . | water debt | , . | temporary debt | , . | tax certificates | , . | +--------------+---------- gross debt | , , . | sinking fund | , . | +--------------+---------- |$ , , . | less and months' tax | | certificates | | +--------------+---------- net city debt |$ , , . | --------------------------------------+--------------+---------- footnotes: [ ] stiles, i. p. . [ ] in the state legislature, at the request of the society of old brooklynites, passed a resolution urging congress to provide for the erection of a monument. a petition containing , names was sent to washington, and the matter was favorably reported from committee, but no act was passed. [ ] _historical sketch of fulton ferry_, . [ ] furman, p. . [ ] the state recognition of brooklyn as a town took place in . [ ] in , the legislature of new york enacted a law allowing the incorporation of a state and of county medical societies. under this act the state medical society was organized at once. the medical men of this county did not act in the matter, however, for several years, and it was not till march, , that the kings county medical society was organized. from the organization of the society to the present time the following gentlemen have been its presidents: cornelius low, - ; j. g. t. hunt, , till his death in ; thomas w. henry, - ; charles ball, - ; isaac i. rapelye, ; matthew wendell, ; adrian vanderveer, - ; john b. zabriskie, ; purcell cooke, - ; theodore l. mason, - ; bradley parker, ; purcell cooke, ; j. sullivan thorne, ; lucius hyde, ; chauncey l. mitchell, ; henry j. cullen, ; james h. henry, ; samuel j. osborne, ; george marvin, ; andrew otterson, - ; george i. bennet, ; t. anderson wade, ; samuel boyd, ; chauncey l. mitchell, - ; daniel brooks, ; c. r. mcclellan, ; samuel hart, ; dewitt c. enos, ; joseph c. hutchinson, ; john t. conkling, ; andrew otterson, ; william w. reese, ; r. cresson stiles, - ; j. h. hobart burge, - ; william henry thayer, - ; a. j. c. skene, - ; a. hutchins, - ; j. s. prout, ; charles jewett, - ; g. g. hopkins, . in there were thirty-six active members belonging to the society. in the code of ethics of the state society was adopted, and in the code of ethics of the american medical association. from its foundation in , till the repeal of that power by the legislature in , the kings county society conferred sixteen licenses to practice medicine.--s. m. o. [ ] the first post-office at gravesend was established in . [ ] j. c. vanderbilt's _social history of flatbush_ gives some exceedingly interesting glimpses of life in this region during and after the revolutionary period. [ ] the "public whipper" received a salary of $ a year. [ ] tunis g. bergen was born at new utrecht in . the cropsey family, prominent at new utrecht, is descended from geerte jans kasparse, who came from holland, with her two sons, joost and johannis, in . joost, third son of this joost, had one son, casper, who held office in new utrecht, and died in , leaving six sons and several daughters. other descendants were jerome ryersen cropsey, andrew g. cropsey, and william cropsey. the last named was for several terms supervisor of new utrecht. [ ] _history of kings county_, p. . [ ] this fine specimen of old dutch architecture is still standing on evergreen avenue. [ ] _historic and antiquarian scenes in brooklyn and its vicinity_, p. . [ ] the assumption that the dutch youth required to be taught "convivial customs" by the "arrogant anglo-american youngers" is scarcely supported by definite testimony. [ ] the ancestral farm and home of the wyckoffs is on the boundary line between brooklyn and newtown, beyond metropolitan avenue. [ ] "history of williamsburgh," in stiles's _history of kings county_. [ ] printed in the _long island star_, february , . [ ] furman's ms. [ ] fulton and livingston had obtained from the legislature the monopoly of steam navigation on all the waters of new york for thirty years from . [ ] _historical sketch of fulton ferry._ [ ] _corporation manual_, . [ ] the corporation of new york at one time even questioned the right of brooklyn's inhabitants to cross the river, ferriage free, in their own boats. [ ] see appendix iii. [ ] walt whitman was born at west hills, long island, in . during the time of his residence in brooklyn he did editorial writing for both the _times_ and the _eagle_. in the following letter to mr. charles m. skinner, of brooklyn, he describes his newspaper work in this city:-- mickle street, camden, new jersey, _january , ' _. dear sir,--in hasty answer to your request asking me to specify over my own signature what year i worked as an editorial writer in the brooklyn _times_ office, i would say that if i remember right it was along in , or just before. i recollect (doubtless i am now going to be egotistical about it) the question of the new water works (magnificently outlined by mcalpine, and duly carried out and improved by kirkwood, first-class engineers both) was still pending, and the works, though well under way, continued to be strongly opposed by many. with the consent of the proprietor, i bent the whole weight of the paper steadily in favor of the mcalpine plan, as against a flimsy, cheap, and temporary series of works that would have long since broken down, and disgraced the city. this, with my course on another matter,--the securing to public use of washington park (old fort greene), stoutly championed by me some thirty-five years ago, against heavy odds, during an editorship of the brooklyn _eagle_,--are "feathers in my wings" that i would wish to preserve. i heard lately with genuine sorrow of the death of george c. bennett. i remember him well as a good, generous, honorable man. i send best greetings to your staff, and, indeed, to all the brooklyn journalists. walt whitman. whitman's poem "crossing the williamsburgh ferry" is familiar to readers of his _leaves of grass_. [ ] _brooklyn compendium._ [ ] the young men's christian association of brooklyn was organized during the same year. [ ] up to the time of present writing morning journalism has never been successful in brooklyn, the metropolitan newspapers of new york having from the outset filled the field, and prevented a financial success for any but the evening papers. [ ] "yet, although brooklyn had thus, at a single bound, jumped from the seventh to the third position among the cities of the american union, it could by no means claim the same relative position in point of wealth, business, or commercial importance, being outranked in these respects by several cities of less population. nor had it risen to its eminence by virtue of its own inherent vigor and enterprise. candor certainly compels the acknowledgment that it was chiefly attributable to the overflowing prosperity and greatness of its giant neighbor, new york."--stiles's _history of kings county_, vol. i. p. . [ ] martin kalbfleisch was elected mayor on the democratic ticket, receiving a majority of , in a total vote of , , over his opponent, frederick scholes. [ ] the statue was unveiled in october, . a. a. low presided, and the presentation address was made by james p. wallace, on behalf of the war fund committee. the oration was by dr. storrs. [ ] mr. beecher was appointed chaplain of the thirteenth regiment in . dr. storrs had already occupied this post. [ ] colonel meserole was made brigadier-general in . [ ] the same name had been chosen by colonel roehr's father, edward franz roehr, for a newspaper first issued in , and running for one year. edward roehr's williamsburgh printing office and bookstore also sent forth a masonic journal called _der triangel_, which flourished for twenty-five years. [ ] in connection with the cupola of the city hall, a very interesting incident occurred in . it was noticed that this feature of the building swayed, and needed to be strengthened. the necessary steps were taken to render it firm and secure. at the time the men were engaged in the work the court of oyer and terminer was holding a session in the room known and distinguished as the governor's room, judge n. b. morse presiding. one day while the court was engaged in a criminal trial, a beam which was being raised slipped from the rope, and fell upon the roof above the court-room, causing the plaster and ceiling to give way. at once the court officers, jurors, and spectators became alarmed; some ran for the door, some for the windows, and others sought refuge under the tables. judge morse took a position by one of the windows, and, shaking his fist at the audience, exclaimed, "the wicked flee when no man pursueth." a few of the frightened ones got on their knees and fervently prayed. the prisoner at the bar was the only one unmoved.--s. m. o. [ ] manuscript history. [ ] _brooklyn eagle_, may , . [ ] the single exception to roebling's plan offered by the commission was that they demanded a central height of feet, instead of feet, in the central span. [ ] samuel t. powell had occupied the mayor's chair for two terms, closing in . he again entered the office in . [ ] mr. beecher came to brooklyn in , and died at his post forty years later, on march , . his relations to the city of brooklyn were exceptional, and in many respects marvelous. no other single personality in this city ever won a prominence so significant, so salutary, so momentous. one of brooklyn's most brilliant thinkers, writers, and speakers, the rev. john w. chadwick, d.d., has spoken of mr. beecher as 'the most unique and splendid personality of our civic history; one of the most unique and splendid in the history of the united states and their colonial beginnings.' the homage to beecher's genius as a teacher and leader of men has come from thinking men wherever the english language is spoken. the homage which belongs to him as a citizen, as a pastor, as a humanitarian, as a patriot, has been enthusiastically offered by his fellow-countrymen, and particularly by his neighbors in the city of brooklyn. the bronze monument to mr. beecher, designed by john q. a. ward, was placed in front of the city hall in . [ ] seth low on "municipal government," in bryce's _american commonwealth_, vol. i. p. . [ ] commenting on the brooklyn system, fiske says: "it insures unity of administration, it encourages promptness and economy, it locates and defines responsibility, and it is so simple that everybody can understand it. the people, having but few officers to elect, are more likely to know something about them. especially since everybody understands that the success of the government depends upon the character of the mayor, extraordinary pains are taken to secure good mayors; and the increased interest in city politics is shown by the fact that in brooklyn more people vote for mayor than for governor or for president." [ ] the increase in the bulk of the city vote since is shown by the fact that the vote for howell had been , , as against , for john f. henry. [ ] joseph c. hendrix was appointed postmaster of brooklyn in , and made a record in that office unequaled by any postmaster the city ever had. indeed, his reforms and innovations made for him a conspicuous reputation at washington. in , hendrix was elected to congress. he has rendered highly important service to the city in the board of education. [ ] see p. . [ ] the history of the institute is taken from the fifth _year book_, . [ ] the regents of the university of the state of new york, who had granted a provisional charter in . [ ] the present building of the young men's christian association, at fulton and bond streets, has been occupied since . it has a circulating library of over , volumes, a finely equipped gymnasium, running-track, bowling-alleys, and swimming-tank, two large lecture-halls, and evening classes registering men. the fine building of the young women's christian association, at the junction of schermerhorn street and flatbush avenue, has been occupied since . it has eighteen class-rooms for educational work, a library with about volumes, a lecture-hall seating , assembly-rooms seating , an excellent gymnasium and running-track, and medical department. [ ] see p. of this volume. [ ] the practice of establishing classes for chinamen in connection with sunday-schools has occasioned many and prolonged discussions in brooklyn, and has been strongly assailed, particularly in those instances where the teaching of mature chinamen was intrusted to young unmarried women. [ ] _eagle almanac_, . [ ] _corporation manual_, for , compiled by henry mccloskey, city clerk. [ ] see appendix. [ ] leffert lefferts was the first president of the long island bank. [ ] read by mr. ostrander before the long island historical society, february , . [ ] understood to have originated in the shortening of rembrandt into rem. [ ] from compilation in _eagle almanac_, . [ ] the value of hired property is not included for , because it was not reported in . [ ] no inquiry in relating to "miscellaneous expenses." [ ] the amount stated represents the "net debt," or the total amount of municipal debt less sinking fund. [ ] to avoid disclosure of operations of individual establishments, only such industries as have or more establishments engaged therein are included. index simple page numbers refer to vol. i.; page numbers preceded by "ii." refer to vol. ii. academy of music, ii. , . adams, john, . ---- julius a., ii. . ---- rev. john coleman, ii. . adelphi academy, ii. . aertsen, huyck, , . ---- ryniere, . ainslie, robert, ii. . american astronomical society, ii. . amersfoort (flatlands), . amphion musical society, ii. . amphion theatre, ii. . andros, maj. ed., , . apollo club, ii. . apprentices' library, ii. , . "arbitration rock," ii. . arion society, ii. . arnold, s. g., ii. . assembly, state, meets in brooklyn, ; patriotic resolutions, ; and colonial congress, . association for improving the condition of the poor, ii. . atkinson, john p., ii. . atlantic bank, ii. . atlantic basin, ii. . atlantic dock company, ii. . aycrigg, benjamin, ii. , . backhouse, e. t., . backus, dr. truman g., ii. . baker, john h., ii. . ball, charles, ii. . bank of williamsburgh, ii. . barbarin, captain, ii. . bardwell, w. a., ii. . barnes, demas, ii. . barnet, wm., . barnum, ed. b., . barre, daniel, ii. . battle of brooklyn, - . bayard, nich., , . bayles, rich. m., . bedford, settled, ; schoolhouse, , . bedford academy, ii. . bedford corners, ii. . bedford road, . beecher, henry ward, ii. , , , , . bellomont, governor, , , . bennett, george c, ii. , . ---- george i., ii. . ---- wm. adriaense, . benson, a. w., ii. , . bentyn, jacques, . bergen, hans hansen, , . ---- jacob, ii. . ---- jan hans, . ---- johannes, . ---- john t., ; ii. . ---- michael hans, . ---- tunis g., ; ii. , . bergen hill, . berri, wm., ii. . berrian, cornelius, . berry, abraham j., ii. . bibaut, john, . bill, charles e., ii. . billing, th., . bird, george l., ii. . ---- major, . birdsall, t. w., ii. . blanco, jn., . bloom, jacob, . board of health, first, ii. . boerum, isaac, . ---- simon, , , . ---- william, , . boerum house, ii. . bogert (bogaert), nich., . ---- teunis gysbert, . bokee & clem, ii. . boome, jacob, ii. . booth, samuel, ii. , , . boughton, samuel, ii. . bout, jan evertsen, , , . bowen, henry c., ii. . ---- h. e., ii. . ---- james, ii. . boyd, samuel, ii. . boys' high school, ii. . bradford, wm., . breuckelen, of holland, . brevoort, j. carson, ii. . broadhead, henry, . brodhead (quot.), . bronson, greene c., ii. . brooklyn, name, ; first sale ofland in region of, - ; early days, - ; beginning of official existence, ; first houses, ; first preacher, ; first schoolmaster, ; leads long island towns, ; state assembly meets in, ; battle of brooklyn, - ; first school, ; during revolution, - ; after the revolution, ii. - ; recognized as a town, ; during war of , - ; incorporated as a village, ; markets, ; incorporated as a city, - ; property valuations before , ; receives bushwick and williamsburgh, ; during civil war, - ; bridge, - ; "brooklyn system," ii. - . brooklyn academy of music, ii. , . brooklyn and long island fair, ii. - . brooklyn art association, ii. . brooklyn art club, ii. . brooklyn auxiliary of the u. s. sanitary commission, ii. . brooklyn bridge, ii. , - , , - . brooklyn choral society, ii. . brooklyn city hospital, ii. . brooklyn city railroad, ii. . brooklyn club, ii. . brooklyn college of pharmacy, ii. . brooklyn collegiate and polytechnic inst., ii. , . "brooklyn daily argus," ii. . "brooklyn daily citizen," ii. . "brooklyn daily eagle," ii. - , , . "brooklyn daily standard," ii. . "brooklyn daily times," ii. , , . "brooklyn daily union," ii. , . brooklyn entomological society, ii. . brooklyn eye and ear hospital, ii. . brooklyn female academy, ii. . brooklyn fire insurance co., ii. . "brooklyn freie presse," ii. , . brooklyn gaslight company, ii. . brooklyn heights seminary, ii. . brooklyn home for consumptives, ii. . brooklyn homoeopathic hospital, ii. . brooklyn hospital, ii. . brooklyn hospital for contagious diseases, ii. . brooklyn institute, ii. , , , - , , . brooklyn latin school, ii. . brooklyn library, ii. . "brooklyn life," ii. . brooklyn lyceum, ii. , . brooklyn maennerchor, ii. . brooklyn maternity, ii. . brooklyn microscopical society, ii. . brooklyn museum, ii. . "brooklyn phalanx," ii. . brooklyn philharmonic society, ii. . brooklyn saengerbund, ii. . brooklyn select academy, ii. . brooklyn sunday school union society, ii. , . "brooklyn system," ii. - . brooklyn theatre, ii. , . brooklyn throat hospital, ii. . brooks, daniel, ii. . ---- elbridge s., . brower, abraham, . ---- nich., . ---- wm., . brown, henry k., ii. . ---- laurence, ii. . brown's business college, ii. . brush, conklin, ii. . bryant, william c., ii. . bryant literary society, ii. . bryant & stratton's business college, ii. . buck, dudley, ii. . building department, ii. . bunce, postmaster, ii. . burch, robert, ii. . burge, j. h. hobart, ii. . burnet, wm., . bushwick, land purchase, ; town plot, ; first school, ; first schoolmaster, ; old church, ii. - ; patriots, ; after revolution, ; during war of , ; and williamsburgh, , ; consolidate with brooklyn, . bushwick creek, . bushwick democratic club, ii. . butler, wm. h., ii. . cæcilia ladies vocal society, ii. . calvary cemetery, ii. . campbell, douglass, , . ---- patrick, ii. . canaver, peter, ii. . carlyle, thomas, . carnaville, chas. a., ii. . carpenter, geo., . carroll park, ii. . cary fund, ii. . casper, andrew, . catholic cathedral, ii. . catholic historical society, ii. . cemetery of the evergreens, ii. , . central grammar school, ii. . chadbourne, zebulon, ii. . chadwick, rev. j. w., ii. , . chardavogne, wm., . charles ii., , . charter of , ii. . chester, mrs., ii. . chinese sunday-schools, ii. . chittenden, s. b., ii. . christian commission, ii. . church charity foundation, ii. , . churches, first in kings county, ; reformed dutch, ; first baptist, ii. ; in , ; in , . city bible society, ii. . city hall, ii. , , , . city park, ii. . clarke, governor, , . clausen, hendrick, . clinton, governor, . ---- jas., . ---- sir henry, , . clinton ave. congregational church, ii. . clove road, . clubs, ii. . cob dock, ii. . cobble hill, ; ii. . cochran, dr. david henry, ii. . coffee, peter, ii. . colden, governor, . cole, john, ii. . collard, geo. w., . college of nineteen, . collier, jurian, . colman's point, . columbia college, . columbia theatre, ii. . colve, governor, . committee of sixty, . common lands, . concordia maennerchor, ii. . coney island, , ; ii. . congregational church extension society, ii. . congregational club, ii. . congress of representatives, , . conkling, john t., ii. , . conselyea, wm., ii. . consolidation of brooklyn and n. y., ii. . continental congress, , , , . cook, purcell, ii. . coombs, john w., ii. . coope, ed., ii. . copeland, edward, ii. . ---- ed., . "corkscrew fort," . corlaer's hook ferry, ii. . corlies, e. w., ii. . cornbury, lord, - ; ii. . cornell, john, ii. . ---- t. b., ii. . cornell house, . cornwallis, earl, . cortelyou, isaac, . ---- jacques, . cortelyou, peter, . coudrey, samuel, ii. . council of twelve, . courts, - ; ii. , , , , , , , . cowenhoven, . ---- captain peter, ii. . ---- john, . ---- nicholas, , , , , . cozzens, issachar, ii. . crane, dr. jas., ii. . craven, a. w., ii. . crescent club, ii. . cripplebush, i. . crisper, casper, . crist, abraham, ii. . criterion, ii. . crittenden, dr. alonzo, ii. . crombie, john s., ii. . crook, abel, . cropsey, andrew, ii. . ---- andrew g., ii. . ---- casper, ii. . ---- geerte jans (kasparse), ii. . ---- jerome ryerson, ii. . ---- johannis (kasparse), ii. . ---- joost (kasparse), ii. . ---- william, ii. . cross, colonel, ii. . ---- john a., ii. . cullen, edgar m., . ---- henry j., ii. . cunningham, ; ii. . ---- robert, ii. . cutting, wm., ii. . cuyler, rev. theo. l., ii. . cypress hills cemetery, ii. , . dana, prof. james d., ii. . dankers, jasper, . darbee, levi, ii. . de bevoice, charles, . ---- johannes, . de hart, simon aertsen, . de heister, general, . de lancey, lieut.-governor, . de launcey, . de mille, richard m., . de sille, nicasius, , . de witt, benjamin, ii. . dean, capt. wm., . ---- john, . debevoise, james, ii. . ---- jost, . debtors' prison, ii. . declaration of independence, , . denice, denys, . denton, daniel, . deutscher liederkranz, ii. . dewyre, capt. wm., ii. . dickinson, p. p., ii. . dircksen, cornelis, . ---- joris, . dongan, governor, , , , , ; ii. . dorlant, john garretse, , . doughty, john, ii. . ---- john, ii. , , . ---- rev. jno., . draft riots, ii. . draper, . dress among the dutch, . driggs, daniel d., ii. . ---- edmund, ii. . "drum beat," ii. . duke of york, . "duke's laws," , . duness, count, . dunmore, governor, , . duryea, maria, . dutch, and american exploration, ; and puritans, ; manners and customs, - ; and education, - ; and english, ; nomenclature, ii. . dwight, rev. dr., . "eagle and brooklyn," vi. east new york, . eastern dist. industrial school, ii. . edson, franklin, ii. , . education under the dutch, , . elections in early brooklyn, (note). ely, smith, jr., ii. . embargo act, ii. . english, and dutch, ; take new york, . enos, de witt c., ii. . episcopalians, at jamaica, ; in brooklyn after the revolution, ii. . erie basin docks, ii. . erskine, sir wm., . etherington, sam., . euterpe chorus and orchestra, ii. . "evening star," ii. . everdell, colonel, ii. . everett, thomas, . ---- william, . everit, th., ii. . excelsior club, ii. . faith home for incurables, ii. . farmers' and citizens' bank, ii. . federal building, ii. . ferry, the, , , ; ii. , ; ferry and river rights, ; ii. . ffilkin, henry, , , . field, thos. w., ii. . field and marine club, ii. . fire department, early organization, ii. ; first legislation relating to, ; fire limits, ; reorganized, . fish, colonel, . fiske, john, ii. , , . flatbush, county court, ; erasmus hall, ; settled, ; establishes a church, ; population in , ; first mill, ii. . flatbush ave. and amersfoort road, . flatlands, called new amersfoort, ; settled, ; new church, ii. . fleet estate, ii. . fletcher, benj., . floyd, wm., . flushing bridge and road company, ii. . fly market, . foord, john, ii. . fort amsterdam, , . fort greene, ; ii. , . fort hamilton, , . fort james, . fort orange, . "four chimneys," . fowler, wm. a., ii. . foy, joseph d., ii. . franklin, benjamin, . franklin literary society, ii. . freeck's mill, ; ii. . fricke, geo., ii. . froebel academy, ii. . fulton, robert, ii. - . fulton ferry, ii. , , . fulton street, . furman, gabriel, , ; ii. , . ---- william, ii. . galbraithe, robert, . gardiner, lyon, . garrison, john, ii. , , . garritsen, wolfert, , . garritson, samuel, , , . "gazette," , . george iii., . gerbritse, jan, . german hospital, ii. . german young men's christian ass'n, ii. . germania club, ii. . germania savings bank, ii. . gibbons, john, ii. . girls' high school, ii. . golden hill, battle of, . good hope, prison ship, ii. . gowanus mill, , . graham, augustus, ii. , , . grand opera house, ii. . grant, general, . gravesend, settled, ; population in , ii. . graydon, colonel, . green, andrew h., ii. . greene, general, , , , . greenwood, john, ii. . greenwood cemetery, ii. . gunnison, herbert f., ii. . guy's picture of brooklyn in , ii. . hagerman, joseph, . hale, nathan, . half moon, . hall, george, ii. , , . ---- rev. chas. h., ii. . hall of records, ii. . hamilton, alexander, . ---- andrew, . ---- george, ii. . hamilton club, ii. . hamilton literary association, ii. . hammond, annie a., xiii. hanover club, ii. . hanssen, jacob, . hanssen, joris, , . ---- michael, . harper, james, ii. . harrison, gabriel, ii. . hart, samuel, ii. . hatton, john a., ii. . havens, thomas, ii. . hayward, john w., ii. . hazard, thomas, . hazzard, wm. h., ii. . hebrew orphan asylum, ii. . hegeman, adriaen, , , . ---- joseph, . heights, , . hell gate, ii. . hendrix, joseph c., ii. . henry, james h., ii. . ---- john f., ii. , . ---- thomas w., ii. . herman, george g., ii. . hessians, . hester, col. wm., ii. . ---- wm. van auden, ii. . hewell, a. s., ii. , . hicks, jacob, ii. . ---- john, - . ---- "milk," ii. . ---- "spetler," ii. . hildreth, john t., ii. . hobart, john silas, . hodgkinson, worthington, ii. . hoffman, john t., . hogan, capt. w. h., ii. . holland, and spain, ; education in, - . holland society, xii. hooley's opera house, ii. . hopkins, g. g., ii. . hotchkiss, maj. e. o., ii. . houston street ferry, ii. . howard, henry w. b., vi. ---- william, - . howard colored orphan asylum, ii. . howell, james, jr., ii. . hubbard, . hudde, andries, , , . hudson, henry, , , . hudson river, . hunt, j. g. t., ii. . hunter, john w., ii. . ---- robert, - . ---- william, jr., ii. , . husted, seymour l., ii. , . hutchins, a., ii. . ---- john, . hutchinson, anne, . ---- joseph c., ii. . huybertsen, lambert, . hyde, lucius, ii. . hyde & behman's theatre, ii. . indians, long island, - ; and the dutch, , - ; and hudson, ; and early settlers, - ; and puritans, . industrial school association, ii. . inebriates' home for kings county, ii. . ingersoll, wm. h., . "iphetanga," . ireland, rev. john, ii. . jackson, john, ii. , . jamaica, pres. church, . janssen, abraham, ; ii. . janvier, thomas a., ; ii. . jefferson, thomas, . jenks, g. t., ii. , . jervis, arthur n., vi. jewett, charles, ii. . johnson, barent, , . ---- barnet, ii. . ---- david, ii. . ---- gen. jeremiah, ii. , , , , , . ---- hornbeck, , . ---- samuel e., . ---- rev. dr. s. r., . ---- william, . johnson estate, . jong, lodewyck, . joralemon, teunis, ii. . joralemon's lane, ii. . jourdan, maj.-gen. jas., ii. . "journal," . kalbfleisch, martin, ii. , , , , , , . kemper, jacob, . kennedy, platt, ii. . kenney, james f., . kershaw, martin, . kidd, captain, - . kieft, william, . "kiekout," . king, gamaliel, ii. . ---- john s., ii. . kings county, settled, ; first church, ; organized, ; during revolution, - ; during war of , ii. - ; during the civil war, ii. - ; churches in, . kings county court house, ii. - . ---- _see_ courts. kings county hospital, ii. . kings county medical society, ii. , , . kings county sunday-school ass'n, ii. . king's highway, , - . kingsley, harry s., ii. . ---- william c., ii. , , . kingsley & keeney, ii. . kinsella, thomas, ii. , . kirk, thomas, ii. . kissam, daniel, . kissick's business college, ii. . knowles, edwin, ii. . knyphausen, general, . labadists, . lafayette, . lambertson, thomas, . lamb, capt. john, . lambert, edward c., ii. . ---- john, ii. , . laughlin, rt. rev. john, ii. . law library, ii. . lawrence, john, . lee, general, , . lefferts, barent, . ---- john, , , ; ii. . ---- leffert, , ; ii. , , . leisler, jacob, - . leislerian party, . leonard, john, ii. . levermore, chas. h., ii. . lewis, francis, , ; ii. - . ---- francis, jr., ii. . ---- john w., ii. . ---- morgan, ii. . lincoln club, ii. . lincoln statue, ii. , . linden camera club, ii. . littlejohn, bishop, ii. , . livingston, col. h. b., . ---- philip, , , ; ii. rev. dr. john h., ii. . ---- robert, , , . livingston, robert r., ii. . locke, richard adams, ii. . lockwood, john, . ---- john, ii. . loisian academy, ii. . long island, geology, - ; trees, ; indians, ; discovery, - ; land, ; first houses, ; under english rule, ; named nassau, ; slavery on, ; during revolution, - ; travel on, ii. ; first post route, . "long island anzeiger," ii. . long island bank, ii. , . long island baptist ass'n, ii. . long island business college, ii. . long island college hospital, ii. , . long island free library, ii. . long island historical society, xii. , . long island insurance co., ii. . long island railroad, ii. . "long island star," ii. , , , , . long island throat and lung hospital, ii. . "long island weekly intelligencer," ii. . lott, abraham, , , . ---- engelbert, . ---- jeremiah, ii. . ---- johannis, , . ---- john a., ii. , . ---- petrus, . lovelace, governor, . low, a. a., ii. . ---- cornelius, ii. . ---- seth, ii. , . ---- seth, ; ii. , - , , , . lowe, doctor, ii. . ---- john, . lubbertsen, frederick, , . luqueer's mill, ii. . lutheran hospital, ii. . macloy, rev. dr. archibald, ii. . mahon, john, ii. . manhattan beach r. r., ii. . manhattan island, . manning, captain, . manufacturers' national bank, ii. . mapes, general, ii. . marriage among the dutch, . marsh, william b., ii. . marshall, wm., ii. , . martense, roetiff, . martin, geo. h., . martyn, jan, . mason, theodore l., ii. . maspeth, . mauje, jan, . maxwell, james h., ii. . ---- william h., ii. , . mcclellan, c. r., ii. . mccloskey, henry, ii. . mccue, alexander, ; ii. , , . mcdonnell, rt. rev. charles e., ii. . mclaughlin, hugh, ii. . mclean, andrew, ii. , . ---- samuel, ii. , . mcdougall, alexander, . mckelway, st. clair, ii. . meeker, benjamin, ii. . ---- rev. stephen h., . ---- s. m., ii. . megapolensis, johannes, . memorial hospital for women and children, ii. . mercerin, andrew, ii. . meserole, abraham, . ---- jean, . ---- jeremiah v., ; ii. , . ---- john a., ii. . ---- john i., ii. . methodist episcopal hospital, ii. . metropolitan police, ii. . metropolitan sanitary district, ii. . meyers, t. bailey, ii. . michaelius, jonas, . middagh, mrs., ii. . midwood club, ii. . midwout, . milburne, , . military, in civil war, ii. - . military garden, ii. , . mill, first on l. i., ii. . miller, david, ii. . ---- eleazar, . ---- peter, . mills, e. s., ii. . minuit, peter, . miss rounds's school for girls, ii. . mitchell, chauncey l., ii. , . monitor, ii. . montauk club, ii. . montgomerie, governor, . moody, lady deborah, , . moore, thomas, ii. . morrell, th., ii. . morris, lewis, . morse, judge n. b., ii. . morton, brig.-general, ii. . ---- john, ii. . moser, joseph, ii. . mudie, a. e., ii. . municipal building, ii. . municipal union society, ii. . murphy, george i., . ---- henry c., , , ; ii. , , , , , , , , , , . ---- henry c., jr., . ---- john g., ii. . nagel, philip, . nanfan, governor, - . nassau ferry-boat, ii. . nassau island, , . nassau water company, ii. , . national guard, in civil war, - ; in , . naval hospital, ii. . neilson, judge, ii. . nelson, chief justice, ii. . new amersfoort, . new amsterdam, . new netherland, , . new orange, . new utrecht, ; ii. , . new york, taken by english, ; new charter, ; retaken by dutch, ; named new orange, ; restored to english, ; during revolution, - . new york and brooklyn ferry co., ii. . newspapers, . newtown creek, . nicholas the frenchman, . nicholson, francis, . nicoll, william, . nicolls, governor, . north dutch church, ii. . northrup, daniel w., . nostrand, john, . noyes, stephen b., ii. . nyack (najack), . nye, james w., ii. . ocean parkway, ii. , . odeon, ii. . old brooklynites, society of, xii.; ii. , . old jersey, prison ship, ii. , . olympia, ii. . onderdonk, right rev. henry ustick, . osborn, albert h., ii. , . ---- sir danvers, . ---- william j., . osborne, samuel j., ii. . ostrander, abraham duryea, ix. ---- geertje, vii. ---- george a., ix. ---- hendrick, viii. ---- peter wilson, ix. ---- pieter, vii. ---- pieter pieterszen, vii. ---- stephen, viii. ---- stephen m., vii.-xiii. ---- tryutje, vii. otterson, andrew, ii. . oxford club, ii. . packer, mrs. w. s., ii. , . packer collegiate institute, ii. , . paine, colonel, ii. . palmer, lorin, ii. . parade ground, ii. , . park theatre, ii. . patchen, jacob, ii. . payne, elijah freeman, . ---- john howard, ii. . ---- thomas, . penitentiary, ii. , . percy, earl, . perkins, albert c., ii. . perry, colonel, ii. . peters, bernard, ii. . ---- leffert, . pierrepont, h. b., ii. , , . ---- h. e., ii. . pierrepont mansion, , ; ii. . pierson, joseph b., ii. . pirates, . plymouth church, ii. . polhemus, rev. johannes theodoras, - . ---- theodorus, , , , . police department, ii. . polytechnic institute, ii. . pope, thomas, ii. . powell, samuel s., ii. . ---- samuel t., ii. . powers, george, , . pratt, chas., ii. , . pratt institute, , , . prentice, john h., ii. , . presbyterians at jamaica, . prime, nathaniel s., , , . prince, l. bradford, . prison ships of the wallabout, ii. - . prospect park, ii. . prout, j. s., ii. . provincial congress, , , , , . provost, john, ii. . public school no. , ii. . public schools, ii. , - . puritans, , . putnam, fort, , . putnam, general, , , . queens county, organized, . "rain-water doctor," ii. . rapalje, daniel, . ---- diana, ii. . ---- john, , , . ---- joramus, . ---- joris jansen, - , . ---- mrs., - . ---- sarah, - . rapelye, isaac i., . raymond, dr. john h., ii. . reade, john, . reese, w. w., ii. . religion, under the dutch, - ; under english, , . religious societies, ii. . remsen, abraham, ii. . ---- col. jeromus, . ---- derick, . ---- hendrick, ii. . ---- jacob, ii. . ---- jan, . ---- jeremiah, , . ---- peter, ii. . ---- rem, , ; ii. . remsen house, ii. . remsen's mill, ii. . revolution, - . riding and driving club, ii. . rising sun tavern, . roach, john, ii. . robertson & little, ii. . roebling, john a., ii. , , . ---- washington a., ii. , , . roehr, col. henry e., ii. . ---- edward franz, ii. . romaine, benjamin, ii. . roman catholic orphan asylum society, ii. . ruggles, edward, ii. . rushmore, merwin, . ---- w. c., ii. . rycken, abraham, . ryerse, adriaen, . ryersen, john, . sands, comfort, , , , . ---- joshua, ; ii. , . sanford, lewis, ii. . schenck, abraham, , . ---- gilliam, ii. . ---- martin, . schenck property, . schepens, . schoonmaker, dominie, ii. . schouts, . schroeder, frederick a., ii. , . schuyler, general, . ---- peter, , . scorpion, ii. . sea beach r. r., ii. . seaman, benjamin, . ---- henry l., ii. . ---- john, ii. . ---- zebulon, . sebring, isaac, . ---- jacob, . selyns, rev. henricus, . seymour, rt. rev. george f., . sharpe, jacob, ii. . sheltering arms nursery, ii. . sherman, roger, . sickels, garret, ii. . "single head" bill, ii. . skene, a. j. c., ii. . skillman, john, ii. . skinner, chas. m., ; ii. . slavery, , , , . slocum, hy. w., ii. , . sloughter, henry, . sluyter, peter, . smallpox, . smith, abel, ii. . ---- capt. john, . ---- col. william, . ---- cyrus p., ii. . ---- george, ii. . ---- hugh, ii. . ---- isaac a., ii. . ---- joseph, . ---- samuel, ii. . ---- selah, ii. . snedeker, isaac, . snedicor, john, . snow, dr. henry sanger, ii. . society for improving the condition of the poor, ii. . society for prevention of cruelty to animals, ii. . society of st. vincent de paul, ii. . soldiers' and sailors' memorial arch, ii. . sons of liberty, . south brooklyn, . south ferry, ii. . southampton, . southold, . spooner, alden, ii. , . sprague, homer b., ii. . ---- joseph, ii. , , , . st. francis college, ii. . st. catherine's hospital, ii. . st. mary's hospital, ii. . st. peter's hospital, ii. . st. john's college, ii. . st. john's hospital, ii. . st. joseph's institute, ii. . staats, john, . stagg, peter, ii. . stamp act, , . standard oil company, ii. . stanton, henry, ii. . stearns, john m., ii. , . stebbins, h. g., ii. . steddiford, brig.-general, ii. . stellenwerth, jacob, . stevens, alfred c., ii. . stiles, henry r., v., . ---- r. cresson, ii. , . stillman, capt. francis, ii. . stillwell, nicholaus, . stillwell, rich., , , . stirling, lord, . stoffelsen, jacob, . stoothoof, abraham, ii. . ---- wihls, . storrs, rev. r. s., ii. , , , , , , . stowe, harriet beecher, ii. . stranahan, j. s. t., ii. , , , , , , , . ---- mrs. j. s. t., ii. . stryker, burdett, ii. , . ---- john, . stuyvesant, peter, , . sugar refineries, ii. . sullivan, general, . suydam, bernardus, , . ---- evert, . ---- ferdinand, . ---- hendrick, ; ii. . ---- jacob, , . ---- lambert, , . ---- roger, . sweeny, peter b., ii. . swift, general, ii. . talbot, charles a., ii. . talmage, rev. t. dewitt, ii. . tammany society, ii. - . taylor, chas. g., ii. , . ---- stephen g., ii. . "tea party," . teckritz, henry, ii. . terhune, roelof, . terry, d. d., . thayer, william h., ii. . theatres, ii. - . thomasen, william, . thompson, george, ii. . thoms, major richard, . thorne, j. sullivan, ii. . tienpont, adrien jorissen, . tilton, theodore, ii. . titus, abiel, ii. . ---- "charlum," ii. . ---- daniel, . ---- francis j., ii. , . ---- johannes, . ---- john, . tonneman, sheriff, . townsend, charles a., ii. . ---- robert, ii. . tracy, benj. f., ii. . traphagen, wm. janssen, viii. trial for treason, - . trinity church, . trotter, jonathan, ii. . trumbull, colonel, . ---- governor, . tryon, governor, , . tweed, wm. m., . twenty-eighth regiment armory, ii. . union for christian work, ii. . union ferry co., ii. . union league club, ii. . union missionary training institute, ii. . unitarian club, ii. . universalist club, ii. . university of leyden, . usselinx, wm., . utrecht, treaty of, . van auden, isaac, ii. , , , , . van bommel, elizabeth, viii. van brunt, adrian, . ---- albert c., ii. . ---- rutgert, , , . ---- william, . van cott, j., ii. , . van corlaer, jacob, . van eckkellen, johannes, . van dam, nicholas, . ---- rip, . van naerden, claes jansen, . van northwyck, joostje willems, viii. van nostrand, losee, ii. . van pelt, petrus, . van ruyven, . van schaick, alex., . van vaas, jansen, . van wagner, henry w., ii. . vande water, benjamin, . ---- jacob, , . vanderbilt, jeremiah, , , , . ---- john, , , , . ---- j. c., ii. . vanderveer, adrian, ii. . ---- d., . ---- john, , . ---- john c., ii. . vandervoort, jacob, ii. . ---- peter, . vanderwick, cornelis baren, . vandewenter, jacobus, . vanduyk, cornelius, . vanzuren, casparus, . vecht, hendrick, , . voorhies, abram, . ---- adrian, . ---- stephen, . wade, t. anderson, ii. . waertman, janse, . walden, d. t., ii. . waldron, adolf, , . wall, wm., ii. . wallabout, , ; ii. . wallabout and brooklyn toll bridge company, ii. . wallabout road, . wallace, james p., ii. . walloons, - . war fund committee, ii. . war of , ii. - . ward, colonel, . ---- john q. a., ii. . ---- f. a., . wartman, homestead, ii. . washington, george, , , , , , , , - , , , , ; ii. . washington engine co. no. , ii. . washington park, ; ii. . water and sewerage commissioners, ii. . water rights, ii. . water supply, ii. . waterbury, noah, ii. , . watson, benjamin, ii. . wendell, matthew, ii. . west india company, , , . west riding, . whaley, alexander, ii. . "whig-hog-rum party," ii. . whiting, w. leggett, . whitman, walt, ii. . whittaker, prof. j. b., ii. . williams, colonel, ii. . ---- francis, ii. . ---- henry, . williamsburgh, ii. - , - . williamsburgh city bank, ii. . williamsburgh city fire insurance co., ii. . "williamsburgh democrat," ii. . "williamsburgh gazette," ii. . williamsburgh lyceum, ii. . williamsburgh medical society, ii. . "williamsburgh morning post," ii. . williamsburgh savings bank, ii. , , . "williamsburgh times," ii. - . williamson, rem, . wilson, capt. john, ii. . ---- margaret t., ix. ---- peter, ix. ---- p. l., . wit, peter janse, . wolckertsen, dirck, . wolfertsen, gerrit, . woman's relief association, ii. . wood, colonel a. m., ii. , , . ---- silas, . ---- wm. w. w., ii. . woodford, stewart l., , . woodhull, nathaniel, , , , , , . ---- richard m., ii. . woodward, john b., ii. . ---- martin, ii. . wyckoff, cornelius, . ---- garret, . ---- hendrick, . ---- nicholas, ii. . ---- nicholas, ii. , . ---- peter, . ---- van brunt, . wyckoff farm, ii. . yellow fever, . yorkton, ii. . young men's christian ass'n of brooklyn, ii. , . young men's christian ass'n of williamsburgh, ii. . young women's christian ass'n, ii. . zabriskie, john b., ii. . zenger, jn. peter, - . zoellner maennerchor, ii. . transcriber's notes: volume i of this ebook is available at project gutenberg as etext # . simple typographical errors were corrected, including some index references to volume i. no attempt was made to ensure the accuracy of the index. punctuation and spelling were made consistent when a predominant preference was found in this book; otherwise they were not changed. the table of contents listed the appendix as beginning on page ; it begins on page and is shown that way in this ebook. tables on pages - have been segmented to fit within project gutenberg's width requirements. the first column of the original tables has been duplicated in each of the segments to make them easier to read. [illustration: (signed) stephen m ostrander] a history of the city of brooklyn and kings county by stephen m. ostrander, m.a. late member of the holland society, the long island historical society, and the society of old brooklynites _edited, with introduction and notes, by_ alexander black author of "the story of ohio," etc. in two volumes volume i. brooklyn published by subscription copyright, , by annie a. ostrander. _all rights reserved._ this edition is limited to five hundred copies, of which this is no. . preface at the time of his death, in , mr. ostrander had completed considerable ms. for a history of the city of brooklyn and kings county; had prepared many chronological notes with a view to fuller writing, and had accumulated a mass of material in the form of transcripts, references, newspaper and other reports. it was his own understanding that a first volume of a proposed two-volume history might be regarded as well in hand, and that the wherewithal for the remaining chapters was advanced toward completion. at the outset of his undertaking the editor met the embarrassment of not finding any outline which might reveal the precise form in which the author intended to cast his work. mr. ostrander worked with a definite idea, but did not formulate this idea in writing, and only the completed expressions of this idea remained for the guidance of the editor. it became apparent that the author intended to rearrange and extend the matter for the earlier chapters. this matter was preserved in the form of a series of articles published in the brooklyn "eagle," during - , covering the period from the discovery by hudson to the beginning of the revolution. the degree of attention which these articles attracted induced mr. ostrander to extend the series far beyond the range he originally intended to give to them. as a result these articles were not precisely consecutive, nor was the matter so ordered as to adapt itself to book chapters without material changes. without knowing the author's design in detail, it was exceedingly difficult to effect these changes save upon lines which the natural symmetry of such a work seemed to suggest, and the editor has had no hesitation in so rearranging the material, and in changing such features of the narrative as had been temporarily essential to serial publication. for the middle period, extending from the opening of the revolution to the time of the consolidation of brooklyn, williamsburgh, and bushwick, the author left a full narrative, and considerable collateral material. beyond this point the chapters were in an unfinished sketch. in putting together the elements of this part of the work, the editor has been actuated by a wish to follow, so far as it might be apparent, the author's aim and plan. possibly there is no occasion to offer apology for those passages in the body of the work, and particularly in the last chapter on modern brooklyn, in which the editor has carried the narrative beyond the date of mr. ostrander's death. the few instances in which this occurs are obviously justified by the exigencies of the work. nor should there be need for any defense on the part of the editor for the proportions of different elements of the work as now presented. no two historical writers would agree as to essential proportions in such a matter, and, without consultation with the author, no editor could hope to do more than compromise between such intent as appeared in unfinished work before him, and such ideal as to himself seemed wise. both author and editor have incurred obligations to stiles's histories of brooklyn and kings county; to the "notes" of furman; field's "historic scenes"; the collections of the long island historical society; the histories of thompson and prime, and to other authorities to whom acknowledgment is offered in the notes and in the body of the work. the editor is indebted to the excellent almanacs of the "eagle" and of the "citizen"; to the "brooklyn compendium," compiled by john dykeman, jr., and published by order of the common council in ; to the recent compilation, "the eagle and brooklyn," edited by henry w. b. howard and arthur n. jervis; and to various local reports and publications which do not call for enumeration here. a. b. brooklyn, n. y., _march , _. contents page stephen m. ostrander xi chapter i the region of brooklyn at the time of the discovery geology and conformation of long island. evidences of the glacial period. theory of the glacial action. "back-bone" of the island. earliest historical description. trees. animal life. indian tribes: their subjugation by the iroquois; habits and habitations chapter ii discovery and first settlements early voyagers. henry hudson. attitude of holland and spain. motives of holland. hudson's reports. west india company. dutch on manhattan island. the walloons and the wallabout. derivation of the name wallabout. first authentically recorded settlements on long island. the van corlaer purchase. bennett and bentyn's purchase. joris jansen de rapalje. van twiller. west india company's purchases on long island. east river lands chapter iii the indians and the early settlers the dutch policy toward the indians. puritan and dutch policy contrasted. long island indians: their relations with the whites. kieft's attacks on pavonia and corlaer's hook. uprising on long island. overtures for peace. mission to rockaway of de vries and olfertsen. restoration of friendly relations chapter iv the beginnings of breuckelen - the ferry and the ferry road. settlement of flatlands. flatbush. lady deborah moody and the settlement of gravesend. early settlements. the name of breuckelen. henry c. murphy's comments. first schepens and schout. commission from the colonial council. the removal of kieft. arrival of stuyvesant chapter v domestic and social life under the dutch - beginning of stuyvesant's administration. condition of the colony. character of the early dutch houses. household arrangement. dress. funerals. marriages. the mixture of races. slavery. religion. attitude of stuyvesant toward sects other than dutch reformed. triumph of liberal ideas. first churches in kings county. troubles over the church tax. first schools. the dutch and popular education. end of dutch rule chapter vi kings county after the english conquest - assembly at hempstead. the "duke's laws." lovelace. new york retaken by the dutch. colve becomes governor. return of english rule under the treaty of . dongan and the popular assembly. de sille. journal of dankers and sluyter. the ferry. a dutch dinner. the schoolmaster and the constable. william and mary and the leisler revolution. sloughter appointed governor. execution of leisler, and subsequent honors of a public reinterment. long island receives the name of nassau. development of privateering. captain kidd visits and buries treasure on long island. bellomont and the suppression of piracy. first trial for treason chapter vii brooklyn before the revolution - brooklyn becomes the largest long island settlement. division of the common lands. regulations as to the cutting of lumber. the king's highway laid out. brooklyn officials at the opening of the century. lord cornbury's proclamation to long island justices. slavery. encroachments on the common highway. the trial of zenger. population in . fortifying long island. newspaper glimpses of pre-revolutionary life. ferries. kings county in the assembly and the provincial convention. philip livingston. general town meeting in brooklyn chapter viii kings county during the revolution - kings county at the opening of the revolution. participation in events leading to the crisis. military officers. long island tories. the continental and provincial congresses. fortifying. declaration of independence. general greene on long island. draft in kings county. landing of the british at gravesend. the battle of brooklyn. the night retreat. british occupation of the county. temptations to disloyalty toward the american cause, and action of the people under british pressure. the county in congress. losses in the battle. incidents. prisoners billeted on the inhabitants of kings county. long island refugees. conspicuous figures of the period. peace list of illustrations volume i portrait of stephen m. ostrander _frontispiece_ the first brooklyn ferry _facing page_ the ferry in brooklyn church and duffield house in . (drawn from illustrations in stiles's history of brooklyn) first fire engine used in brooklyn. (drawn from lithographic illustration in manual of the common council, ) brooklyn during the revolutionary war. (from the map by gen. jeremiah johnson) stephen m. ostrander the name of stephen m. ostrander has been honored in the city of brooklyn as that of a man whose career exemplified a stainless citizenship. the honors have been not those of public favor offered in a citizen's lifetime, nor of memorials after he has passed away, but the monuments of a cherished memory, the recognition of a generous and wholesome personality. stephen m. ostrander was born february , , in the city of brooklyn. he was of dutch stock, his earliest ancestor in this country being pieter ostrander, who came to america in . when pieter ostrander reached america with his wife and three children--a son, pieter pieterszen,[ ] and two daughters, tryutje and geertje--peter stuyvesant was governor of new amsterdam, and the settlement on manhattan island occupied a small patch of land on the southern point of the land now occupied by the vast metropolis of new york. settlers had been living on the brooklyn side of the east river for a little more than twenty years, and the indians were still a formidable obstacle to the peace of the struggling young communities. dutch immigration had not yet been checked by that bloodless conquest of the british, which five years later transformed new amsterdam from a dutch to an english colony, and changed its name to new york. we afterward find pieter pieterszen living at kingston. this second pieter among the american ostranders was born at amsterdam, holland, in , and before coming to this country with his father had been enrolled as a cadet in the army of the dutch king. in he married rebecca, daughter of william janszen traphagen and joostje willems van northwyck. among the children from this marriage was hendrick ostrander, born at new hurley, n. y., in . hendrick acquired the ownership of two thousand acres of land at plattskill, which were evenly divided among his ten children. he was "a staunch adherent of the reformed dutch church,"[ ] and served in the army previous to the revolution. his marriage to elizabeth van bommel, of kingston, took place in . his son christoffer, born and died at plattskill, was the father of stephen ostrander, born at poughkeepsie in , and afterwards of pompton plains and brunswick, n. j., who was an eloquent minister of the dutch church. an illustration of the conditions prevailing at this period is offered by the fact that stephen ostrander preached in both english and dutch. the clerical ostrander, who made an interesting reputation as a preacher in the early part of the present century, married maria duryea in . his son, abraham duryea ostrander, born at pompton plains in the following year, came to new york in his twelfth year, and began an energetic business career. from his earliest years he was of a studious tendency, and his self-acquired learning gave him an excellent mental equipment. he became a ripe scholar and influential citizen. for many years he led the first sunday school in the reformed dutch church of brooklyn (corner of william and fulton streets), walking to the meeting-place from his home at flatbush. in , he married margaret t. wilson, daughter of peter wilson, ll. d., of columbia college, the tutor of charles anthon and other well-known scholars, and distinguished for having drawn up the constitution of the state of new jersey. abraham duryea ostrander's three sons were peter wilson, george a., and stephen m. ostrander. george a. ostrander, a graduate of columbia college and of the college of physicians and surgeons, was the first house surgeon of the long island college hospital. the other two brothers became lawyers, and it is among the interesting traditions of the kings county bar that they were frequently in opposition in the same case. under such circumstances their professional steel clashed brilliantly, but the firm affection between the brothers had no hint of strife or rivalry. stephen m. ostrander, born , was educated in this city and at columbia college. he was admitted to the bar and began the practice of law while a decidedly young man, but soon made his personality felt in the life of the city. if his tastes led him to a studious life at home, his gifts and ambitions drew him into those features of political activity which demand voice as well as counsel. he championed the democratic party, and until the close of his life he spoke his loyalty in no uncertain tones. he became one of the "war horses" of the party in campaign times, and was a respected adviser in those political times of peace when parties prepare for war. he would have made an admirable public servant, but party conditions did not bring him to the front as a candidate, though they welcomed his voice on the platform. he wished to be surrogate, but the nomination he sought was given to jacob i. bergen. he was not an insistent candidate within his party, and the rewards which might reasonably be considered to have belonged to him had not been bestowed at the time of his death. as a lawyer, mr. ostrander was conscientious, painstaking, forcible. his genial personality made him popular wherever he appeared. his strong figure fitted his character, which was staunch and equable. by temperament he was inclined to see the whimsical side of things, while quick to exclude any element of this sort from matters commanding his serious thought. stories concerning him reveal his quick humor. one day a witty but not especially well-versed irish lawyer called upon him for assistance in preparing a case. one point of perplexity with the inquirer was as to the motive power on the ferries before the use of steam. knowing ostrander's familiarity with early brooklyn history, the inquiring lawyer demanded information as to this point. "before the days of steam," said ostrander, "they used to have horse boats." "horse boats?" queried the lawyer, with a look of continued perplexity. "yes." "did the horses swim ahead of them?" "no," solemnly returned ostrander, "they had four holes cut in the bottom of the boat; the horse's legs passed through these holes, permitting him to walk on the bottom, and thus propel the boat." "good!" said the listener, "i'll win the case." and he did. mr. ostrander's interest in american history was perhaps a natural result of his ancestry and his tendencies as a student. he early began the accumulation of historical material, and finally formed a definite plan for writing a history of the city of brooklyn and kings county. he was an active member of the society of old brooklynites, frequently addressing that body, and as a member of the long island historical society,--in whose handsome hall, on pierrepont street, he was the first to lecture under the auspices of the society,--he found many opportunities to further his hobby of historical investigation. he also entered that fraternity of descendants of dutch stock, the holland society of new york. during the later years of his life he was a frequent contributor to the newspapers and local magazines, generally upon topics directly related to local history. debated questions as to historical matters always interested him, and his pen was ever ready with a casual comment. he was a good debater, though not pugnacious, and never an ungenerous opponent. in his profession, in his political associations, in his relations with his fellow-citizens and with fellow-members of the different societies to which he was attracted, he was always well poised, highly respected, uniformly welcomed. his catholic tastes and sympathies gave him many interests, as they gave him many friends. it was as natural that he should be prominent in the presbyterian church, which he attended, as that he should be a leading figure in the masonic fraternity, to which he was proud to own allegiance. his commanding figure, good voice, and easy manner made him a popular speaker on social as well as public occasions. mr. ostrander married annie a. hammond on august , . his domestic relations were in keeping with the fine symmetry of his character. no marriage could have been happier. in the preparation of the historical work which was incomplete when his short illness closed his life, he had the loyal appreciation and assistance of his wife. he died on november , . the extent of his practice and income might have indicated the probability of a considerable fortune, but he was too open-handed to have become a rich man. he died worth a good name. history of brooklyn chapter i the region of brooklyn at the time of the discovery geology and conformation of long island. evidences of the glacial period. theory of the glacial action. "back-bone" of the island. earliest historical description. trees. animal life. indian tribes: their subjugation by the iroquois; habits and habitations. the geology of long island has always been regarded as a particularly interesting theme for those concerned in the study of such matters, since the examination of its phases brings into view so many and such various points of speculative interest. prime in his "history of long island"[ ] remarks that "when we consider the retired situation of long island, and how little it has excited the notice of travelers, it is not surprising that its geological character as well as other peculiarities should have remained so long unexplored. until quite recently very few scientific men have even deigned to give it a passing notice, though the assertion may be safely hazarded that scarcely any other tract of land of equal extent on the american continent furnishes more abundant room for the _imagination_ of geologists to play upon, or that imposes a stronger necessity for _conjecturing_ the operation of some tremendous agency, which in its freaks had invaded the domains of both the land and the ocean, and after completing its sport had silently retired without leaving a track to determine its origin or identify its form." the geologist of the present day does not seem to regard the field as one calling in the same degree for the exercise of the imagination, though the more definite knowledge acquired and made familiar since the time of the publication just quoted has in one sense vastly extended the opportunity for speculation. certainly it no longer can be said that scientific men have neglected the investigation of the subject. commenting on the investigations of dr. dwight, prime says:-- "from all these considerations, the inference has been regarded as legitimate that long island was once through its whole extent attached to the main; and some powerful agency, the form of which is now left entirely to conjecture, forced the separation which is now marked by the intervening sound. one of the most plausible suppositions is that the separation has been effected by some resistless torrent of water, which, under peculiar circumstances that it is impossible now to determine, has swept out the intervening land, and left its channel to be occupied by the waters of the ocean." thus vaguely were the early speculations set forth. with a well developed glacial theory to aid him the modern geologist is able to present a fairly circumstantial picture of probable conditions in the past. we now know with reasonable certainty that brooklyn rests on soil that is a monument to a vast force quite different from any that were included in the hesitating speculations of the early writers. in an admirable review of the subject written by charles m. skinner we are presented with a picturesque outline of the glacial theory. we are reminded that brooklyn stands on rubble that was rolled down from the new england mountains to the northward by a glacier larger than the combined areas of all the glaciers now existing on the earth. how many thousands of years ago this great glacier began its work we may only guess within somewhat liberal margins. this continent of ice covered the whole of the northern part of north america, burying mountains beneath its bulk and hollowing the beds of the great fresh-water seas that chicago and its sister cities front upon to-day, burying, too, for aught we know, the remains of civilizations, though nothing at present has been taken out of the glacial drift, except rude stone implements, to show what the probable condition of man was at that time. this ice lay so deep that not even mount washington barred its advance, and to-day geologists find the summit of this mountain heaped with blocks of stone that were dragged from other points and left there when the ice melted; for glaciers are not stationary, like ice on ponds and marshes, but have an onward movement toward their point of melting that varies, with the slope of their beds, from six to thirty-six inches a day. in greenland the whole interior is covered with ice thousands of feet thick, the movement of which is hindered by a wall of mountains that nearly surrounds that island, but wherever a valley opens a way for it the ice sends down a tongue to the sea, and from these tongues the ocean currents break off the icebergs that float down the atlantic. in their descent these glaciers act as plows, wearing off so much earth and rock from the hills that the icebergs are freighted with them, and where they melt their stony burdens sink to the bottom of the sea, forming the grand banks of newfoundland. the ice that buried upper north america acted in the same manner as the greenland ice to-day: it eroded the mountains, it sent off bergs, and the rocks and gravel that it tore from the hills by a pressure of a thousand tons to the square yard were dropped at its foot, where they formed a moraine, as it is called. these moraines, which may be seen at the feet of the glaciers in switzerland and british columbia, and that sometimes make heaps and hills of rock, like rude forts, forty and fifty feet high, are trifling affairs to the shoals left by the great glacier of the ice age, for that can be traced from the atlantic coast nearly to the mississippi river. long island, measuring approximately miles in length, is a small part of the dump of this glacier, and it is sometimes possible to tell where the stones came from that are found on the surface. for example, there are in brooklyn anthophyllite from westchester county, feldspar and green mica from fort george, basalt from the palisades of the hudson, and a block of labradorite was found on myrtle avenue that had been carried down from the adirondacks, three hundred miles. the members of the united states geological survey, supported by the new york and other state surveys, have studied into the course and volume of the glacier and mapped its moraine from montauk point westward nearly half across the continent. by this survey we learn that the gneiss that crosses under the east river and approaches the surface at astoria, is the only bed rock to be found on long island, brooklyn resting on a cushion of glacial drift that in some places is three hundred feet deep. originally there were cliffs of gneiss edging the atlantic, but the great glacier shaved these down to mere ledges. central park, new york, preserves a number of these ledges, rounded off into "sheep backs" and scratched by the pieces of stone that formed a grinding surface to the under side of the ice, while every now and then a boulder comes to the top of the ground in brooklyn that is scored and almost polished by rubbing against those ledges. pieces from that very outcrop in hell gate are found in brooklyn streets. we are also reminded in mr. skinner's review that manufacturers of brick, tile, terra cotta, pottery, and porcelain in other states have to rely in part on the clay beds that environ brooklyn for their material, and, in fact, that clay and sand are the only economic mineral products of long island. the explanation of this is that brooklyn clays are rich in silica, which is apt to be deficient in the clays of new jersey. without silica the clays are weak, and bricks and utensils made from them readily crack and crumble; but by mixing properly the best results are obtained. excellent sand for glass-making is also found in and near brooklyn. there are many evidences in support of the theory that since the completion of the great glacier's work the surface of long island has subsided considerably. a recent writer[ ] on the geology of long island says: "the shore at the west end of the island has also undergone decided changes--even within the memory of persons now living. personal witnesses have testified that about the first of this century coney island was composed of high and extensive sand hills, which have since been flattened down to a low beach, sometimes covered by the tides. about the same time salt meadow-grass was annually cut on a part of the beach now far out into the ocean. we are also informed that cedar-trees were cut for fence-posts, and other timber for firewood, about years ago, on land which is now submerged by the ocean a mile and a half or two miles from the shore. there was also a house standing upon what was known as pine island, the site of which is now beneath the breakers, at a considerable distance from the present shore." within the range of kings county a stratum of salt meadow has been found at a depth of one hundred and twenty feet, and at other points within the county shells have been found fifty and sixty feet below the surface. what is generally called the "back-bone of long island" is a ridge of low hills beginning at the western end within the limits of kings county and running almost the whole length of the island. of the boulders or erratic blocks found on the island in this central range of hills and between them and the north shore, mr. bayles writes:-- "the boulders or erratic blocks found upon the island are mostly met with on the central range of hills and between them and the north shore. they are often contained in a stratum which is interstratified with deposits of sand, clay, and gravel, and is often exposed along the coast. some of the blocks, when first disinterred, exhibit scratches upon one or more of their sides. rocks of the same constituent formation are found in rhode island, connecticut, and along the hudson river. and those of the island, in their variations, correspond so accurately with the rocks of the localities mentioned that it seems probable that they came from those localities. for example, the boulders on the east end are like the granite, gneiss, mica slate, green-stone, and sienite of rhode island and the east part of connecticut; opposite new london and the mouth of the connecticut river are boulders like the granites, gneiss, and hornblende rock of those localities; opposite new haven, are found the red sandstone and conglomerate, fissile and micaceous red sandstone, trap conglomerate, compact trap, amygdaloid and verd antique; opposite black rock are the granites, gneiss, hornblende, quartz, and white lime-stone, like those in fairfield county; and from huntington to brooklyn, hornblende, crystalline lime-stone, trap, red sandstone, gneiss, and granite, are the same in appearance as those found in the vicinity of the hudson river." the earliest historical description of long island, in daniel denton's "a brief description of new york, formerly called new amsterdam," published in london in , remarks that "the greatest part of the island is very full of timber, as oaks, white and red, walnut-trees, chestnut-trees, which yield stores of mast, etc." the same record says: "for wild beast there is deer, bear, wolves, foxes, raccoons, otters, musquashes, and skunks. wild fowl there is a great store of, as turkeys, heath-hens, quails, partridges, pigeons, cranes, geese of several sorts, brants, widgeons, teal, and divers others. upon the south side of long island in the winter lie store of whales and grampusses, which the inhabitants begin with small boats to make a trade, catching to their no small benefit. also, an innumerable multitude of seals, which make an excellent oyle; they lie all the winter upon some broken marshes and beaches or bars of sand before mentioned, and might be easily got were there some skilful men would undertake it." prime ( ) mentions the "remarkable fact in the natural history of this small territory, that of all the _land-birds_ belonging to the united states, either as resident or migratory, two thirds of them are to be found on long island; of the _water-birds_ a still larger proportion." it is estimated that at the time of its discovery representatives of thirteen different indian tribes occupied long island. the region of kings county was occupied by the canarsie tribe, which included the nyacks at new utrecht, the marechawicks at brooklyn, and the jamecos at jamaica. the headquarters of the tribe was in the vicinity of modern canarsie. from the names of the other tribes scattered over the island--the rockaways, montauks, merricks, manhassets, patchogues, shinnecocks, etc.--many of the town and village names of the island are drawn. the names paumanacke and seawanhacka have been applied both to the grand sachems elected by all the indian tribes and to the island itself, which has also been given the title of wamponomon. the last mentioned name was evidently suggested by the fact that the chief business of the tribes in this region was the making of _wampum_, the shell-money of the indians, and an article of manufacture for ornamental purposes also. the island was rich in shells, and these were ground, polished, pierced for stringing. in the earlier tradings for land the red men were eager to get _runxes_, a brad awl with which they pierced the shell. they made various forms of earthenware for domestic purposes; their war implements were often of admirable workmanship; and their canoes were of a size and strength demanded by the hazards of the journeys they undertook upon sea and sound. "in regard to their religion," says prime, "the long island indians were polytheists and idolaters. besides the good and the evil spirit, to each of which they seemed to ascribe supreme power, they had a god for each of the four corners of the earth, the four seasons of the year, the others of the elements of nature, the productions of the earth, the vicissitudes of day and night, besides a number of domestic deities. the good deity they called _cauhlantoowut_, and the evil spirit was named _mutcheshesumetook_; to both of which they paid homage and offered sacrifices. they had small idols or images which, they supposed, were acquainted with the will of the gods, and made it known to the _pawwaws_, or priests. these possessed unbounded influence, from their supposed intercourse with the gods and knowledge of their will. their religious festivals were attended with the most violent gesticulations and horrible yells, as well as other disorders. they firmly believed in a future state of existence, in a far distant country to the west, where the brave and good would enjoy themselves eternally in singing, feasting, hunting, and dancing; while the coward and traitor, the thief and liar, would be eternally condemned to servile labor--so much despised by the indian--which in its results should be attended with endless disappointment. the dead were buried in all their personal attire, and, if warriors, in their arms. the body was placed in a sitting posture, and after being covered up, a bowl of _scaump_ (pounded corn) was placed on the grave to support the occupant on his imagined journey. the period of mourning continued a full year, the close of which was celebrated with a feast, accompanied with dancing that continued from the setting to the rising of the sun. it was a peculiar custom of this singular people never to mention the names of their departed friends after their remains were deposited in tombs, and it was regarded as an insult if repeated by others. every wigwam in which death occurred was immediately demolished, and a new one, if needed, erected in its stead." the wigwams of the indians were designed each to accommodate a number of families, the bark-covered frame being of eighteen to twenty feet in width, and a length of one hundred and fifty feet or more, as might be required by the number of the families that were to occupy it. an opening at the ridge gave escape to the smoke from the family fires. the long island indians, notwithstanding the strength which might be presumed to have resulted from their insular position, were under the rule of the masters on the continent. the tribes to the east yielded to the new england pequods. the canarsies bowed to the majestic despotism of the iroquois.[ ] under the species of "protection" enforced by the iroquois, the canarsies were obliged to pay regular tribute for the privilege of being unmolested, and much of this tax was doubtless paid in wampum. the collection of this tax seems at the time of the first white settlements to have been intrusted to the mohawks, who were members of the confederacy. when the tax was due it had to be delivered, or the debtors were likely to hear from headquarters. samuel jones, writing in , says[ ] that there is no evidence that the indians on long island, eastward of about thirty miles from new york, were tributary to the five nations; and adds that "we have no reason to believe that the five nations had any war with the indians on long island after it was settled by europeans." furman[ ] regards this statement as extraordinary, and offers evidence of the fact that farmers coming to new york city in the fall of the year from the east end of long island, during the early period of settlement, brought with them quantities of wampum to be forwarded as tribute to the iroquois masters at albany. it has frequently been claimed by historical writers that the consistory of the dutch church at albany were for many years the agents for the receipt of tribute from the montauks and other indians on the eastern end of long island, which, if a fact, was, as we shall see, entirely consistent with the conservative attitude of the dutch pioneers. chapter ii discovery and first settlements early voyagers. henry hudson. attitude of holland and spain. motives of holland. hudson's reports. west india company. dutch on manhattan island. the walloons and the wallabout. derivation of the name wallabout. first authentically recorded settlements on long island. the van corlaer purchase. bennett and bentyn's purchase. joris jansen de rapalje. van twiller. west india company's purchases on long island. east river lands. it is possible that in the voyages of the cabots, long island was sighted if not touched; and the voyage of esteben gomez in , "to find a way to cathay," may leave the same possibility. there is every probability that the spaniard, giovanni da verrazano, who in made a voyage to this country in the interest of france,--the first official french exploration in this direction,--entered new york harbor. from the account of this mariner it appears likely that he skirted the coast of long island, saw block island, giving to it the name of louisa, mother of francis i., and anchored in the harbor of newport. those who care to speculate as to possible visitors early in the sixteenth century, may take account also of the voyage of lucas vasquez de aillon and matienzo, made in . that one at least of the early spanish voyagers, all of whom were looking for a passage to india, had seen the region of the coast on which long island lies, is indicated by the presence in england of a map which was in existence before henry hudson made his first voyage. in this map the name rio de san antonio is given to the river afterward named after hudson. this being the case it is not to be considered as certain, if it is to be considered as likely, that henry hudson really sailed across the atlantic with any idea of finding either a northwest passage to india, or in hope of finding somewhere under ° north latitude any passage to the western ocean. why henry hudson should formally have pretended to seek such a passage will appear from a glance at the political situation at the time of his voyage. when hudson left europe, holland and spain were at swords' points. carlyle has pithily summed up the case: "those dutch are a stirring people. they raised their land out of a marsh, and went on for a long period of time herding cows and making cheese, and might have gone on with their cows and cheese till doomsday. but spain comes and says, 'we want you to believe in st. ignatius.' 'very sorry,' replied the dutch, 'but we can't.' 'god! but you _must_,' says spain; and they went about with guns and swords to make the dutch believe in st. ignatius. never made them believe in him, but did succeed in breaking their own vertebral column forever, and raising the dutch into a great nation." the dutch were well acquainted with the work of the spanish explorers, and the idea of contesting with spain for a share in the profits and advantages of transatlantic discovery grew out of the war with spain. at this time international law gave to a sovereign any new land discovered in his name, and not already laid hold upon by any christian prince. if holland was to fight spain in america it would be useful to have at least the shadow of a tenable international claim; and so hudson ignored the earlier spanish voyages in assuming to discover the river to which his name was given, and the land thereabouts which the dutch, with beautiful political audacity, first claimed to own by right of discovery, and afterward claimed to own through spain as "first discoverer and founder of that new world." the first proposition to make a dutch expedition to america came from an englishman, a sea captain named beets. the states-general refused this offer, but jealousy of spain's resources in the new world kept alive the ambitions of the dutch and finally resulted in the formation of the west india company. the theory of this company was both commercial and political. the scheme was first broached by an exiled antwerp merchant, william usselinx, in . before it came to completion a greenland company came into existence, and, while feigning to hunt up a northwest passage, its ships are said to have sailed into the north river, and to have landed on these shores in . it was not until that usselinx's ideas were formulated in a working plan. the company might then have been fully formed had not talk of a peace with spain made it politically unwise to risk the adventure. when in henry hudson, the english sailor, who already had made several voyages across the atlantic, offered his services to the west india company, it was ostensibly to seek a passage to india. the amsterdam chamber of the company fitted out hudson in the "half moon," which sailed out of the texel on april , . whatever may have been hudson's intentions as to any search for a northwest passage, he abandoned such a search in favor of one for a more southerly passage, having, it is said, been told by captain john smith "that there was a sea leading into the western ocean by the north of virginia." after landing at newfoundland, at penobscot bay, and at cape cod, hudson found delaware bay; but a week later, realizing that he was too far south, he steered the half moon into the "great north river of new netherland." it is the tradition that during the exploration of the great bay and river a boat's crew from the half moon made its first landing on long island, at the sandy shore of coney island; but there might seem to be a likelihood that a landing would be made further to the north. the long island indians whom hudson met were representatives of the canarsie tribe. these indians visited the half moon without fear, and gladly welcomed the strangers, doubtless looking upon them with much awe. hudson says "they brought with them green tobacco to exchange for knives and other implements. they were clad in deerskins and expressed a wish to obtain a supply of european clothing." some of them were decked in gay feathers and others in furs. hudson refers to the stock of maize or indian corn, "whereof they make good bread." it thus would appear that the island had a good reputation two hundred and seventy years ago for corn, which it still maintains. they also had a good supply of hemp which they offered in trade, and must have understood its manufacture in a rude way.[ ] hudson remarks, "that upon landing he saw a great store of men, women, and children, who gave them tobacco." in his account he describes the country "as being full of great tall oaks." he says "the lands were as pleasant with grass and flowers and goodly trees as ever they had seen, and very sweet smells came from them." the pleasant relations between hudson and the indians did not continue very long. hudson does not state how the difficulty arose, but one of his men was killed with an arrow and two others wounded. the unfortunate man was buried on the point of coney island, which hudson named colman's point, in honor of the dead seaman. hudson remained for a month, pursuing his explorations of the river which has since carried his name, and then set sail for holland. the news which the explorer brought home was of a sort to arouse the interest of the dutch people. hudson told of a rich region alive with fur-bearing animals,--an important circumstance to speculators in a cold country like that of holland, where the question of warm clothing was always to the fore. the immediate result of hudson's reports was the launching of many private ventures and an urgent movement to complete the organization of the west india company. it was not until that the states-general at last signed the charter, and meanwhile traders had established themselves on manhattan island. although the english in virginia were beginning to express their theories of claim to the hudson region, the west india company went into possession in , sending as director, adrien jorissen tienpont, who made stronger the fortification at manhattan island, and built a new fortification near that placed by the advance guard of dutch traders (in ) near albany. this post was called fort orange. tienpont was succeeded in by peter minuit, who was not long in making a bargain with the indians for the whole of manhattan island. the price paid was about twenty-four dollars. in making this significant purchase minuit and those whom he represented had in mind to make the manhattan island settlement the principal centre of trade and colonization, if anything like colonization may be said to have occupied the attention of the dutch at the time. there was, indeed, a passage in the charter of , by which the company was required "to advance the peopling of these fruitful and unsettled parts," but actual colonization was not a matter of much thought until the later exigencies of trade made the subject important. followed as it was by the organization under a charter of a council with supreme executive, legislative, and judicial authority, the movement under minuit is to be regarded as the foundation of the present state of new york. it was shortly before the appointment of minuit as director of new netherland that a number of walloons applied to sir dudley carleton, principal secretary of state to king charles i., for permission to settle in virginia. "these walloons," says brodhead, "whose name was derived from their original 'waalsche' or french extraction, had passed through the fire of persecution. they inhabited the southern belgic provinces of hainault, namur, luxemburg, limburg, and part of the ancient bishopric of liège, and spoke the old french language. when the northern provinces of the netherlands formed their political union at utrecht, in , the southern provinces, which were generally attached to the romish church, declined joining the confederation. many of their inhabitants, nevertheless, professed the principles of the reformation. against these protestant walloons the spanish government exercised the most rigid measures of inquisitorial vengeance, and the subjects of an unrelenting persecution emigrated by thousands into holland, where they knew that strangers of every race and creed were sure of an asylum and a welcome. carrying with them a knowledge of the arts, in which they were great proficients, they were distinguished in their new home for their tasteful and persevering industry. to the walloons the dutch were probably indebted for much of the repute which they gained as a nation in many branches of manufactures. finding in holland a free scope for their religious opinions, the walloons soon introduced the public use of their church service, which to this day bears witness to the characteristic toleration and liberality of the fatherland." the virginia company, whether for want of cordiality or other reason, did not attract the colonizing ardor of the walloons, who turned to new netherland, and a party of them came over with minuit. the lands first allotted to the walloons were on staten island. it is possible that this situation seemed to the french exiles too remote from the protection of the manhattan island fort. however they may have been influenced, certain of the new-comers chose rather to settle at fort orange and others at that bend in the east river which has since been known as the wallabout. various explanations of the name wallabout have been offered. that of a derivation from _wahlebocht_, bay of the foreigners, has been favorably received; but stiles[ ] quotes samuel alofsen [from the "literary world," no. , may , ] as maintaining that the locality was named by the early dutch settlers prior to the arrival of the walloons; that the name is derived from _een waal_, basin of a harbor or inner harbor, and _een bogt_, a bend, and that, like its european namesake in the city of amsterdam, it signifies "the bend of the inner harbor." notwithstanding the indications which several writers have assumed to find of settlement at the wallabout during or shortly after the year , there is an absence of definite evidence of any actual settlement at any date so early, and probabilities are entirely against a settlement at that time so far from the fort. there were early hunting-lodges and temporary trading-houses incidental to the shooting and trading trips of those occupying the manhattan island settlement, and there is the possibility that unrecorded residence by the walloons or others may have been established at the wallabout before the recorded grants. but for definite evidence of a first settlement in the shape of an authoritative taking of land we must turn to the purchase by jacob van corlaer in . van corlaer was an official under the administration of the new director of new amsterdam, van twiller. the director himself, who had been a clerk in the west india company's office, had great eagerness for acquiring territory. he bought from the indians a part of connecticut, and planted near the present site of hartford a fort, which he could not but understand would be a thorn in the side of the english. not only did he freely spend the government's money in buying land and strengthening fortifications on a most ambitious plan, but he granted to himself and favored officials associated with him choice pieces of land on manhattan island, and across the river on long island. the year following the van corlaer grant, van twiller's conduct, which all but ruined the company, resulted in his recall, and the appointment of william kieft as his successor. at this time the settlement on manhattan island occupied only a very small region below the present battery place. its main feature was the fort, whose protecting presence was one of the inducements which the company extended to colonists. a decree issued in declared that any member of the west india company who, under certain easy conditions, should form a settlement of not less than fifty persons, none of whom should be under fifteen years of age, should be granted a tract of land fronting sixteen miles upon the sea or upon any navigable river (or eight miles when both shores of the river were occupied), and extending thence inland indefinitely; and that the _patroons_ to whom such grants of land should be made should exercise manorial rights over their estates. the provisions were sufficiently liberal to assure the making of many minor settlements, and it was natural that many eyes should be turned toward the softly undulating country on the southeast of the east river. the official land-grabbing under van twiller retarded rather than advanced colonization. indeed, the company scarcely fulfilled the obligations of the charter in sending colonists to the new region. the grant to van corlaer appears as a purchase from the indians of a "flat" of land called "casteteeuw, on sewan-hackey, or long island." the same date is given to grants to andries hudde and wolfert gerritsen of flats to the west of van corlaer's, van twiller himself getting the desirable land to the east. these purchases, amounting to , acres, were in a level region, reported already to have been cultivated to some extent by the indians, and appealing to men brought up in a flat country, and unaccustomed to wood-clearing, as superior to the regions having a heavy tree growth. plows were soon at work, and from the settlement thus begun grew the village of "new amersfoort," now the town of flatlands. in the same year ( ) the indians sold to william adriaense bennett and jacques bentyn a tract of acres at gowanus, a region so named by the indians. the tract extended from the vicinity of twenty-eighth street, along gowanus cove and the bay, to the new utrecht line. the transaction is described in the following record:-- "on this th day of april (english style), , appeared before me michil hainelle, acknowledged as duly installed clerk and secretary, certain persons, to wit: zeuw kamingh, otherwise known in his walks (or travels) as kaus hansen, and keurom, both indians, who, in presence of the undersigned witnesses, deposed and declared, that the limits or widest bounds of the land of mr. paulus vanderbeeck, in the rear, has been or is a certain tree or stump on the long hill, on the one side, and on the other the end of the indian foot-path, and that it extends to the creek of the third meadows, which land and ground, they further depose and declare, previous to the present time, was sold by a certain indian, known as chief or sachem ka, to jacques bentyn and william adriaense (bennett), the latter formerly the husband of marie thomas, now the wife of mr. paulus vanderbeeck; which account they both maintain to be the truth, and truly set forth in this deposition. "in witness of the truth is the original of this with the said indians' own hands subscribed, to wit: by zeuw kamingh or kaus hansen, with this mark ( ) and by keurom with this mark ( ) in the presence of lambert dorlant, who by request signed his name hereto as a witness. took place at brookland on the day and date above written. "compared with the original and attested to be correct. "michil hainelle, _clerk_." three years afterward bentyn sold to bennett all or nearly all of his share of the land acquired in this early sale. the purchase by bentyn and bennett is to be regarded as the first exchange of property looking to a settlement within the limits of the present city of brooklyn. it was in the following year that a second purchase was made by joris jansen de rapalje, who was one of the walloon emigrants who came over with minuit in . rapalje's first residence after reaching this country was at fort orange (albany). in he removed to new amsterdam. in june, , he bought a tract adjoining the rennegackonk, a little long island stream entering the east river at "the bend of marechkawieck," at the wahlebocht or the present wallabout. there were about acres in the purchase, part of the land now being represented by the grounds of the marine hospital. at this time rapalje lived on the north side of the river road, now pearl street, and on the south side of the fort. writing of this period thomas a. janvier says:-- "actually, only two roads were established when the town of new amsterdam was founded, and these so obviously were necessary that, practically, they established themselves. one of them, on the line of the present stone and pearl streets,--the latter then the waterfront,--led from the fort to the brooklyn ferry at about the present peck slip. the other, on the line of the present broadway, led northward from the fort, past farms and gardens falling away toward the north river, as far as the present park row; and along the line of that street, and of chatham street, and of the bowery, went on into the wilderness. after the palisade was erected, this road was known as far as the city gate (at wall street) as the heere straat, or high street; and beyond the wall as the heere wegh--for more than a century the only highway that traversed the island from end to end." rapalje followed the example of the colonists in general in snuggling close to the fort. the writer just quoted remarks:-- "upon the town rested continually the dread of an indian assault. at any moment the hot-headed act of some angry colonist might easily bring on a war. in the early autumn of , when peaches were ripe, an assault actually was made: being a vengeance against the whites because hendrick van dyke had shot to death an indian woman whom he found stealing peaches in his orchard (lying just south of the present rector street) on the north river shore. fortunately, warning came to the townsfolk, and, crowding their women and children into the fort, they were able to beat off the savages; whereupon the savages, being the more eager for revenge, fell upon the settlements about pavonia and on staten island: where the price paid for hendrick van dyke's peaches was the wasting of twenty-eight farms, the bearing away of one hundred and fifty christians into captivity, and one hundred christians outright slain." during a part of the time that he lived in new amsterdam rapalje was an innkeeper. he appears to have been a man of the people, for in august, , he was one of twelve men to represent manhattan, breuckelen, and pavonia in considering measures necessary in dealing with the indians. it was at about that he began living at the wallabout. certainly he lived on long island in , for in that year he began serving as a magistrate in breuckelen. it once was customary to assert that rapalje's daughter sarah was the first white child born on long island. the fact is that sarah rapalje was born during the residence of her parents at fort orange. the error arose from the supposition that rapalje settled at the wallabout upon his arrival in this country in . of sarah rapalje, who may probably be said to have been the first white female child born in the new netherland colony, one of her descendants, the author of the history of the bergen family, says: "the early historians of this state and locality, led astray by a petition presented by her, april th, , (when she resided at the walle-boght,) to the governor and council, for some meadows, in which she states that she is the 'first-born christian child in new netherlands,' assert that she was born at the walle-boght. judge benson, in his writings, even ventures to describe the house where this took place. he says: 'on the point of land formed by the cove in brooklyn, known as the walle-boght, lying on its westerly side (it should have been _easterly_), was built the first house on long island, and inhabited by joris jansen de rapalje, one of the first white settlers on the island, and in which was born sarah rapalje, the first white child of european parentage born in the state.' in this, if there is any truth in the depositions of catalyn or catalyntie trico (daughter of jeremiah trico of paris), sarah's mother, ... they are clearly mistaken. according to these depositions, she and her husband, joris jansen de rapalje, came to this country in ; settled at fort orange, now albany; lived there three years; came, in , to new amsterdam, 'where she lived afterward for many years; and then came to long island, where she now ( ) lives.' sarah, therefore, was undoubtedly born at albany, instead of the walle-boght, and was probably married before she removed to long island, there being no reason to suppose that she resided there when a single woman without her husband." the family record gives the time of her marriage as between her fourteenth and fifteenth year. mr. stiles remarks: "while, therefore, albany claims the honor of being her birthplace, and new amsterdam of having seen her childhood, brooklyn surely received most profit from her; for here in the wallabout, she was twice married, and gave birth to fourteen children, from whom are descended the polhemuses, the bergens, the bogarts, and many other of the most notable families of kings county." at the time of rapalje's purchase at the wallabout it began to appear to the land speculators that long island was a desirable field. the director[ ] himself made haste to secure the island called "pagganck," lying close to the long island shore south of fort amsterdam. the island was thickly covered with nut-trees, which brought it the title of "nooten" or nutten island. in due time this became known as "the governor's island," and this name has become permanent. van twiller's successor was not less appreciative of the value of land on long island, but his purchases seem to have been made in the interest of the company. in august, , he bought for the west india company land adjoining rapalje's farm and extending between rennegackonck creek (at the wallabout) to newtown creek, and inland to "the swamps of mespaetches" (maspeth). this important sale to kieft, representing approximately the area of the present eastern district of brooklyn, was made by "kakapoteyuo, manquenw, and suwvian, chiefs of keskaechquerem," who received "eight fathoms of duffels, eight fathoms of wampum, twelve kettles, eight adzes, and eight axes, with some knives, beads, and awl blades." by other purchases, at jersey city and elsewhere, the west india company sought to extend its dominions and increase the population of the colony. the states-general gave some attention to the colony, and by a proclamation in september, , the amsterdam chamber threw open new netherland to trade by all inhabitants of the united provinces and of friendly nations, "in the company's ships," with an import duty of fifteen per cent., and an export duty of ten per cent. every immigrant was to receive from the director and council "according to his condition and means, with as much land as he and his family can properly cultivate," the company reserving a quit-rent of a tenth. to these inducements was added that of free passage over the atlantic. the favorable result of these offers soon appeared in the increased rate of immigration and in demand for land. the director and council soon found it to be desirable to buy more long island land, which they did in january, . by this purchase the company secured the tract extending from rockaway eastward to "sicktew-hackey," or fire island bay; thence northward to martin gerritsen's, or cow bay, and westward along the east river to "vlaack's kill"--in other words nearly all the land comprised in the present county of queens. in august of the same year ( ) antony jansen van vaas of saleé received two hundred acres resting within the present towns of new utrecht and gravesend. in november a patent was granted for "a tobacco plantation" on the beach, "hard by saphorakan" (presumably at gowanus) adjoining the land of bennett. another neighbor to bennett came in the person of frederick lubbertsen, who, in may of the following year ( ), received a patent for land extending northerly from gowanus cove, and representing a large part of what is now known as south brooklyn. lubbertsen, who had been chief boatswain to kieft in , was an ambitious and politically disposed man. two years after this big purchase he was one of twelve men chosen by the commonalty of new amsterdam. he did not remove to long island until , in which year he was chosen to represent the young town of breuckelen at the new amsterdam convention. he became a local magistrate in , served several terms thereafter, and filled other political posts. [illustration: the first brooklyn ferry] as the lands of western long island represented by the present area of kings county began to increase in value by increase of settlement and competition in purchase, persons who had merely availed themselves of "squatter" privileges began to see the advisability of taking out formal patents. there had been particularly numerous instances of "squatting" in the region of the eastern district in a radius from the wallabout inlet. among the patents issued in was one to abraham rycken, for a plantation of considerable extent in this region, and in a piece of land on the east river legally passed into the possession of lambert huybertsen. adjoining the land of joris rapalje at the wallabout was an extensive piece of farm land occupied by rapalje's son-in-law, hans hansen bergen. on wallabout bay lay the tobacco plantations of jan and peter montfort, peter cæsar, and other farmers. between the bay and the east river end of the lubbertsen purchase came the land sold to claes jansen van naerden (ruyter), jan mauje, and andries hudde, all of which was afterward sold to dirck janse waertman, who held it until the sale to his son-in-law, joris remsen, in . meanwhile (in ) the first permanent english settlement on eastern long island had been made by lyon gardiner on the island which afterward received his name. this settlement, and others which followed it, were distasteful to the west india company, which, having secured control of the entire western end of the island, from cow bay on the sound to canarsie bay on the ocean side, began to regard itself as entitled to claim jurisdiction over the entire area. when in emigrants from lynn, mass., undertook to settle at schout's bay, within queens county, they were driven off by soldiers who had been sent out by kieft for the purpose. the english colonists did not leave the island, but settled at southampton, in suffolk county. the fact that other new england settlers, who planted southold, were not attacked seems to show either that kieft scarcely regarded the territory beyond the queens county line as worth fighting for at this time, or that he came to regard the new-comers as accepting his authority. the settlement at southold by emigrants from new haven was indicative of conditions within new england to which later settlements on long island may be attributed. the extreme severity of the puritan religious temper found expression in distressing exactions and persecutions. driven from england by intolerance, the puritans, when placed in control of social and political conditions, exhibited a degree of paternalism not less despotic than that from which they themselves had suffered. and as the puritans of england had found shelter and liberty in holland, the victims of puritanical intolerance in america fled to the friendly support of dutch authority within the new netherland jurisdiction. in fact, shortly after the dutch government granted favoring patents to emigrants from new england. the rev. john doughty and his followers were welcomed at maspeth, and provision for other comers (among them anne hutchinson and her family) was made at throg's neck and new rochelle. chapter iii the indians and the early settlers the dutch policy toward the indians. puritan and dutch policy contrasted. long island indians: their relations with the whites. kieft's attacks on pavonia and corlaer's hook. uprising on long island. overtures for peace. mission to rockaway of de vries and olfertsen. restoration of friendly relations. these numerous settlements had not been accomplished without the encountering of indian difficulties. in general the dutch policy toward the indians was business-like and reasonable, contrasting favorably with policies prevailing elsewhere among american new-comers. the dutch were not so social as the french, but their attitude was more fraternal than that usually observed among the english colonists. douglass campbell, who is to be regarded as a strong partisan of the dutch as opposed to the puritan system, but whose exhaustive studies both of the puritan and of the dutch people gave him an unusual grasp of the situation, thus contrasts the policy of the two peoples:-- "why the puritans were involved in ceaseless wars can be read in every line of their history. as they could not make of the indian a red puritan, he was a spiritual outcast, whom it was their duty to exterminate. three years after the landing of the mayflower miles standish and seven of his companions murdered three native chiefs in cold blood. it was this event which led the devout john robinson to say, 'how happy a thing it would have been if you had converted some before you killed any.' in the white settlers of connecticut put a red captive to death by dragging him limb from limb by ropes fastened to his arms and legs. bancroft tells us that the puritans bought the indians' land, except that of the pequots. look at their laws and see. in massachusetts passed a statute in relation to land titles. it confirmed to the indians the little patches around their wigwams on which they raised their corn, but declared that the rest belonged to the whites on the authority of the first chapter of genesis 'and the invitation of the indians.' but murder and robbery of their land all pale before the crowning infamy which drove the red man to despair. above all things he prized personal liberty; slavery to him was a thousand fold worse than death. and yet to this fate the settlers consigned thousands of the natives, sending them to the west indies to work on the sugar plantations. among these victims was the little grandson of the good king massasoit, who had welcomed the pilgrims and been their life-long friend. look at the records of massachusetts, and there you will find statute after statute offering bounties for indian scalps, the prices fixed being from twenty-five to one hundred pounds for males, from twenty to sixty for women, and from ten to twenty for children under ten years of age. these same statutes provided that females and children taken prisoners should belong to the captors, 'to be sold out of the province.' i mention these facts in no invidious spirit, but in justice to the red man, who has been called treacherous and cruel. he resented such conduct; and can you wonder at it? he had no redress except by arms, and he has written the story of his vengeance all over the face of new england. what could the indians think of the gospel of jesus christ and the white man's god? what was true of the new england colonies was true of the southern colonies as well. the course pursued by penn can hardly be taken as a criterion, for he dealt with the delaware indians, who had been conquered by the iroquois, deprived of the use of arms, and forced to accept the opprobrious epithet of 'women;' and penn, in purchasing their lands, only followed out the example which had been set by the dutch. "turn now to new york, and see what the indian was under different conditions. the upper hudson and the valley of the mohawk were first settled by the dutch. they simply treated the indian as a man. tolerant in religion, they respected his rude faith; truthful among themselves, to him they never broke their word; honest in all their dealings with him, they kept good faith. they suffered from no thefts, because they took nothing except by purchase. their land titles were respected, because for every tract they had an indian deed. they were scourged by no massacres, save from the enemy across the border, because they committed no robbery or murder. this was the whole secret of their policy. it is easy to belittle it, as historians have done, by saying that upon no other conditions could they have lived among the natives. of course it was politic, but the world has discovered that honesty is the best policy, without concluding that it is any the less a christian virtue. these early settlers in new york were traders, offshoots from what was the greatest commercial nation of the world. they made no pretense of doing missionary work. they were simply in pursuit of gain. but they had learned that the only permanent success in life rests on honesty and justice. this is the lesson that commerce teaches, and because it does so it has been the civilizer of the world. after the english conquest in the same policy was continued, thanks to the presence of the dutch, who still formed the majority of the population. the six nations then placed their lands under protection of the crown and were recognized as appendant to new york. the burden thus cast upon the province was very heavy. for more than a century new york kept their alliance by heavy subsidies and by contributions of men and money for their defense against the french."[ ] the indian policy of the dutch has, indeed, been credited with a most important influence upon american history. but sagacious as it may have been as a broad plan of action, there was no way of obviating the difficulties arising from local and individual blunders. considering the number of special provocations to revolt, it is remarkable that indian troubles were not more frequent and more serious, and that the storm did not break sooner and more fiercely than it did. prime remarks that the conduct of the long island indians toward the whites is "without a parallel in the history of the country." "the indians on long island," says silas wood, "seem to have been less troublesome to the whites than those north of the sound.... [they] sometimes committed depredations on the property of the whites.... it does not appear that they ever formed any combination against the first settlers, or materially interrupted the progress of their improvements.... the security of the whites must be ascribed to the means they employed to preserve peace with the indians." when the storm of indian anger and revenge broke over new england in , new netherland did not escape a similar if not equally terrible visitation. if the settlers in new amsterdam began to experience anxiety, something like a panic seized upon the settlers of outlying regions. the long island settlers were perhaps less ill at ease than others at an equal distance from the fort, so friendly had been their relations with the indians; but individual offenses of the settlers and individual offenses by the indians produced a strained relation in certain quarters, and when the excuse came the hot-heads among the long island settlers made trouble. at new amsterdam the trouble began when the mohawks descended upon the river tribes in retaliation for local offenses, and the river indians flocked to the vicinity of the fort for protection. at "corlaer's bouwery," on manhattan island, a group of long island indians, under the chief, nainde nummerius, had encamped. an ill-advised appeal to kieft resulted in an impulsive decision on the part of the governor, who, in spite of wiser counsel, sent out two secret expeditions on the night of february , , one against the refugees at pavonia, the other against the encampment at corlaer's hook. the attacks were merciless. eighty indians were slaughtered at pavonia, and forty at the hook. this unfortunate blunder resulted in acts which still further excited the anger of the indians. long island settlers asked kieft for permission to attack the marechawieck tribe; but kieft, possibly because he had already begun to realize the influence of the outrage he had committed, denied permission on the ground that the long island red men had given no sufficient cause for offensive action. nevertheless, the governor did not deny to the long island settlers any retaliatory steps that might at any time seem necessary. shortly after this communication, two wagon-loads of corn in charge of a party of indians were seized, and when the indians resisted the act of plundering, three of them were killed. if the massacre on manhattan island had caused among the long island indians a general resentment against the white men, the murders on the island itself made their hostility specific and local; and it is not surprising that many of the long island tribes joined hands with the river indians. the tragedies which followed belong to the annals of a "year of blood." terror seized the long island settlers in common with all outlying colonists, many of whom lost no time in seeking the shelter of the fort. kieft was bewildered by the consequences of his act. realizing that the chief offenses had been against long island tribes, he sent to these a propitiatory message, which was met by shouts of "corn thieves!" by the indians. those settlers who held their posts on long island were forced to adopt measures of fortifying their homes, which they did after the methods of inclosure peculiar to the time, and to preserve the utmost vigilance to save their lives. from a number of families women and children were sent to the fort, the men remaining to guard the property. the advent of spring, bringing to the home-staying indians of this region, as well as to the white men, the necessity for planting corn, suggested an effort toward permanent peace. brodhead's narrative says:-- "three delegates from the wigwam of penhawity, their 'great chief,' approached fort amsterdam, bearing a white flag. 'who will go to meet them?' demanded kieft. none were willing but de vries and jacob olfertsen. 'our chief has sent us,' said the savages, 'to know why you have killed his people, who have never laid a straw in your way, when none has done you aught but good? come and speak to our chief upon the sea-coast,' setting out with the indian messengers, de vries and olfertsen, in the evening, came to 'rechquaaike,' or rockaway, where they found about three hundred savages and about thirty wigwams. the chief, 'who had but one eye,' invited them to pass the night in his cabin, and regaled them with oysters and fish. at break of day the envoys from manhattan were conducted into the woods about four hundred yards off, where they found sixteen chiefs of long island waiting for their coming. placing the two europeans in the centre, the chiefs seated themselves around in a ring, and their 'best speaker' arose, holding in his hand a bundle of small sticks. 'when you first came to our coasts,' slowly began the orator, 'you sometimes had no food; we gave you our beans and corn, and relieved you with our oysters and fish; and now, for recompense, you murder our people;' and he laid down a little stick. 'in the beginning of your voyages, you left your people here with their goods; we traded with them while your ships were away, and cherished them as the apple of our eye; we gave them our daughters for companions, who have borne children, and many indians have sprung from the swannekens; and now you villainously massacre your own blood.' the chief laid down another stick; many more remained in his hand; but de vries, cutting short the reproachful catalogue, invited the chiefs to accompany him to fort amsterdam, where the director 'would give them presents to make a peace.' "the chiefs, assenting, ended their orations, and presenting de vries and his colleague each with ten fathoms of wampum, the party set out for their canoes, to shorten the return of the dutch envoys. while waiting for the tide to rise, an armed indian, who had been dispatched by a sachem twenty miles off, came running to warn the chiefs against going to manhattan. 'are you all crazy, to go to the fort,' said he, 'where that scoundrel lives who has so often murdered your friends?' but de vries assured them that 'they would find it otherwise, and come home again with large presents.' one of the chiefs replied at once: 'upon your words we will go; for the indians have never heard lies from you, as they have other swannekens.' embarking in a large canoe the dutch envoys, accompanied by eighteen indian delegates, set out from rockaway, and reached fort amsterdam about three o'clock in the afternoon." the result of this conference was the reëstablishment of peaceful relations, the long island red men aiding in the making of terms with the river indians. when, in the following september, trouble broke out again, kieft sought to keep the long island tribes as allies, but, before terms could be made, attacks were made at maspeth and gravesend, as well as at westchester; and the ensuing winter was full of distress, most of the settlements becoming almost wholly deserted. the government, at its wits' end, appealed to new haven, and finally to the states-general in holland itself. in the spring (of ) the long island indians were placated; but with the remainder of the hostiles kieft showed no ability to treat, and the wars lasted until the following year, when the long strain upon fort amsterdam was agreeably broken. chapter iv the beginnings of breuckelen - the ferry and the ferry road. settlement of flatlands. flatbush. lady deborah moody and the settlement of gravesend. early settlements. the name of breuckelen. henry c. murphy's comments. first schepens and schout. commission from the colonial council. the removal of kieft. arrival of stuyvesant. near the site of the present peck slip, new york, there lay, in , a farm owned by cornelis dircksen, who kept an inn, and conducted a ferry between a point of land at peck slip and a point on the long island shore represented by the present location of fulton ferry. dircksen owned land on the long island side also, close to the ferry. when he sold this tract in to william thomasen, he sold with it the right to run the ferry. clustered about the ferry on the long island shore were a number of cabins, and the little settlement which grew up there became known in popular parlance as "the ferry." crossing the river in the small and rudely built boats of the period was no easy matter, particularly when the tide was in full motion; and the place of crossing was naturally chosen, as at a later time in the building of the great bridge, at the narrowest part. the irregular road, which wound its way from the ferry on the long island side, straggled to the east of the rising ground called by the indians "iphetanga," and now known as the heights, and reached the little settlement of breuckelen lying at a point closely corresponding to the present city hall. in fact, the old road followed the general direction of busy fulton street of later days. before the indian war of there were only one or two cabins in this region. to the south lay the first settlement within the limits of kings county--amersfoort, or flatlands. the first recorded purchase of land in this region was by andries hudde and wolphert gerretsen in . the first plantation here was called achtervelt, and the house which marked the first settlement is described by teunis g. bergen as being twenty-six feet long, twenty-two feet wide, and forty feet high, with a roof "covered above and around with plank; two lofts, one above another, and a small chamber on their side;" while adjoining was "one barn forty feet long, eighteen feet wide, and twenty-four feet deep; and one _bergh_ with five posts, forty feet long," the whole surrounded with "long, round palisades." the road running to amersfoort turned off at an angle corresponding to the present line of flatbush avenue. the road made another turn a short time later, and reached the settlement of midwout or flatbush (called by the dutch _'t vlaacke bos_). the actual first settlement of flatbush, as of the other towns within kings county, is frequently estimated to have been as early as ; but as in the other cases we are obliged to depend for definite knowledge upon records of purchase, which, although they undoubtedly follow, sometimes by a period of several years, the planting of the first habitation, give indication of the time when permanent settlement had begun to be a fact. the town patent from the director was not secured until . the ferry road ultimately found its way to the then far town of jamaica. meanwhile, upon that part of long island first trodden by the feet of white men had begun the town of gravesend. the region of gravesend, including coney island (called by the dutch _'t conijnen eylant_) and much of the bay coast, differed from other regions of the county in being first settled by english people. among those who were driven from connecticut by puritan intolerance was lady deborah moody. lady moody was a daughter of walter dunch, a member of the english parliament in the time of elizabeth, and widow of sir henry moody of garsden, in wiltshire, who had been knighted by king james in . she emigrated to america in , and settled at swampscott, near lynn. in her expectation of religious liberty she was disappointed, for the authorities were not long in discovering that she did not regard infant baptism as an ordinance of divine origin. in those days children a few days old were baptized at church fonts in which the ice had sometimes to be broken before the function could proceed, and the ceremony was regarded as absolutely essential to salvation. lady moody was first "admonished," and afterward "presented" to the quarterly court for sinfully doubting the wisdom of infant baptism. excommunicated from the church, and thereby placed in an ostracized position, the distressed english gentlewoman, accompanied by her son, sir henry, john tilton and his wife, and by a few other friends, came to new amsterdam.[ ] here she was agreeably surprised to find a few english people who had been living some distance above the fort, opposite the lower end of blackwell's island, but who were at the time of her coming huddled under the walls of the fort under the terror of the prevailing indian wars. a consultation between the moody party and the manhattan island wanderers from new england resulted in the appointment of a committee to select a new site for a settlement. the choice fell upon the gravesend region, for which kieft gave a patent in the summer of . the circumstances under which gravesend was settled were thus of a promising character, for the party was made up of people who, like lady moody, were seeking permanent homes, and were likely to make temperate and energetic citizens. the leader in this band of pioneers was a woman of exceptional force and refinement. "for sixteen years," says stiles, "she went in and out among the people, prominent in their councils, and often intrusted with important public responsibilities, which prove the respect and confidence of her associates. she seems also to have enjoyed the friendship of governor stuyvesant, who several times sought her advice in matters of great public importance. even the nomination of the three town magistrates was, on one or two occasions, intrusted by the director-general to her good judgment. he also availed himself of her kind offices, on another occasion, in quelling an incipient rebellion, raised by some of her english associates against the dutch authority." whether the name gravesend was derived from the town of the same name on the thames, or from the dutch town gravensande, is not known, but the stronger reasons are offered for the latter supposition. thus, at the close of the indian wars the meagre settlement of breuckelen had for company within the area of the present county the hamlets at flatlands and gravesend, the farms at the wallabout, possibly a habitation at flatbush, and some trading quarters and modest houses at the ferry. new utrecht, bushwick, williamsburgh, and new lots had yet to be settled formally, though squatters, the date of whose coming is impossible to set, began, as soon as the indian hostilities ceased, to enter upon desirable pieces of land wherever this could be done without local opposition. the settlement which received the name of breuckelen was made in the maize region lying between the wallabout and gowanus--the latter the place of the first purchase (by bennett and bentyn) within the present limits of the city. portions of this tract were taken by settlers under the dutch patents from the west india company. in july, , jan evertsen bout settled here. he was followed a few months later by huyck aertsen, jacob stoffelsen, peter cornielessen, joris dircksen, gerritt wolfertsen, cowenhoven, and many others. they located themselves on the road leading from the ferry to flatbush, which was then the most important place. a village was formed, which had for its central point the present location of smith street and fulton avenue. henry c. murphy, writing from holland at the time of his sojourn as american minister to that country, describes the breukelen of holland as a very old place, containing about , inhabitants. the houses were old fashioned, and the streets irregular. the people seem to lack thrift and enterprise. the dutch church was an imposing edifice. mr. murphy's impression of the place was not pleasing. outside of the village he found comfortable dwellings, surrounded with flowers and duck ponds, and everything in perfect neatness and order. on one side of the village was the park, a place laid out with walks and shrubbery, and containing about half an acre of land. he crossed the bridge which spans the vecht, which connects the two communities, breukelen nijenrodes and breukelen st. pieters. he speaks of the view as charming. the vecht is about yards wide, and its waters flow lazily along. "the name breuckelin," he says, "means marshland." this is the meaning given by the dutch authorities. mr. murphy quotes from one author who says the name has the same origin "as _maarssen_, merely from its marshy and watery turf lands;" and although the name is spelled on ancient documents and letters bracola, broecke, broeckede, broicklede, and broeklundia, they all indicate the same origin. mr. murphy draws a striking comparison between the character and situation of the two places, showing a wonderful similarity and appropriateness of name, arriving at the conclusion that it was selected on account of the corresponding conditions of the two places. as the holland brooklyn was spelled in a variety of ways, so, too, mr. murphy says, it has been with our own fair city. he states that the record shows it to have been called breucklyn, breuckland, brucklyn, broucklyn, brookland, and brookline. it was during the close of the last century that its orthography became fixed as brooklyn. the circumstances attending the settlement of breuckelen as a town were associated with a critical turn in the affairs of kieft's administration. kieft's tyrannical methods of government, a form of self-willed procedure absolutely grotesque in many respects, had been sufficiently recognized before the indian war. after his infamous blunder at corlaer's hook his unpopularity increased. before the war began, kieft had been compelled to call a council of twelve[ ] from the people. the twelve, being chosen by the people, constituted the first illustration offered in new netherland of representative government. this board, soon after the war began, was abolished in a peremptory way; and not long afterward kieft undertook once more to call upon its advisory aid. when the board objected to certain taxes (on wine, beer, brandy, and beaver skins), he remarked that he still was master, and published his proclamation levying the tax, with the statement that this was done by advice of the council chosen by the commonalty. to these elected representatives of the people such acts naturally were intolerable, and it was not surprising that they should set themselves to secure the removal of kieft. a memorial sent to the west india company asked for his recall and for the introduction of the system of government prevailing in holland. the college of nineteen made a report upon the case to the states-general, mentioning incidentally that the colony, started as a commercial enterprise, had cost the west india company, over all profits, more than , guilders. the resulting reform considerably modified the theory if not the practice of government in new netherland. the college of nineteen decreed a "supreme council" for new netherland. government was placed in the hands of a council consisting of the director, a vice-director, and a fiscal. the people were to have a right to representation in the council, such being desirable "for mutual good understanding, and the common advancement and welfare of the inhabitants." in the code of general instructions which the west india company had sent for the guidance of the provincial council, those in authority were urged "to do all in their power to induce the colonists to establish themselves in some of the most suitable places, with a certain number of inhabitants, in the manner of towns, villages, and hamlets, as the english are in the habit of doing." it was pursuant to the policy of this code that bout and his associates declared their intention to "found a town at their own expense." it fell to the people who were to organize the town of brooklyn to choose _schepens_;[ ] and at this first election they selected as their representatives jan evertsen bout and huyck aertsen. bout was a well-to-do farmer and one of the original settlers. in , he was chosen a schepen to decide questions which might arise in breuckelen. he took a patent from governor kieft "of land at marechkaweick, on the kill of the gowanus, as well the maize land as the wood land, bounded by the land of huyck aertsen." it adjoined the land of van cowenhoven, and embraced within its limits the mills which were designated as frecke's and denton's. those mills, situated near each other, are vividly remembered by many brooklyn citizens. they were reached by a bridge from butler street. crossing over the bridge and passing the first mill the road wound around the water's edge. the commission from the colonial council read, as follows:-- "we, william kieft, director general, and the council residing in new netherland, on behalf of the high and mighty lords, states-general of the united netherlands, his highness of orange, and the honourable directors of the general incorporated west india company. to all those who shall see these presents or hear them read, greeting:-- "whereas, jan evertsen bout and huyck aertsen, from rossum, were on the st may last unanimously chosen by those interested of breuckelen, situate on long island, as schepens to decide all questions which may arise, as they shall deem proper, according to the exemptions of new netherland granted to particular colonies, which election is subscribed by them, with express stipulation that if any one refuse to submit in the premises aforesaid to the above mentioned jan evertsen [bout] and huyck aertsen, he shall forfeit the right he claims to land in the allotment of breuckelen, and in order that everything may be done with more authority, we, the director and council aforesaid, have therefore authorized and appointed and do hereby authorize the said jan evertsen and huyck aertsen to be schepens of breuckelen; and in case jan evertsen and huyck aertsen do hereafter find the labor too onerous, they shall be at liberty to select two more from among the inhabitants of breuckelen to adjoin them to themselves. we charge and command every inhabitant of breuckelen to acknowledge and respect the above mentioned jan evertsen and huyck aertsen as their schepens, and if any one shall be found to exhibit contumaciousness toward them, he shall forfeit his share as above stated. this done in council in fort amsterdam in new netherland." before the ensuing winter had passed, the schepens found their labors sufficiently arduous to justify an appeal to the director, which resulted in the appointment of a _schout_, or constable. the new commission said:-- "having seen the petition of the schepens of breuckelen, that it is impossible for them to tell cases occurring there, especially criminal assaults, impounding of cattle, and other incidents which frequently attend agriculture; and in order to prevent all disorder, it would be necessary to appoint a schout there, for which office they propose the person of jan teunissen. therefore we grant their request therein, and authorize, as we do hereby authorize, jan teunissen to act as schout, to imprison delinquents by advice of the schepens, to establish the pound, to impound cattle, to collect fines, and to perform all things that a trusty schout is bound to perform. whereupon he has taken his oath at the hands of us and the fiscal, on whom he shall especially depend, as in holland substitutes are bound to be dependent on the upper schouts or the bailiff or marshal. we command and charge all who are included under the jurisdiction of breuckelen to acknowledge him, jan teunissen, for schout. thus done in our council in fort amsterdam, in new netherland, the first december, anno, ."[ ] thus began the official existence of breuckelen, which at this time was distinct from the hamlets of gowanus, the ferry, and the wallabout. governor kieft saw on the breuckelen shore signs of agricultural activity at various points from gravesend to beyond the wallabout. in march, , hans hansen bergen bought a large tract of land adjoining the farm of his father-in-law, joris jansen de rapalje. the water frontage of this tract was from the wallabout creek to the line of the present division avenue. other purchases on the shore probably completed the chain of private ownership along the river and bay fronts between the points above named. a second tier of patents represented land back of the river parcels, and sometimes running in very eccentric lines. although these patents antedated in many instances by several years the actual settlement by the owners,[ ] the increasing number gave indication of the stimulus that came with the end of organized indian hostilities. the cessation of these hostilities brought new life to the people of new netherland, and induced them to look more critically at the urgencies of their political as well as their domestic situation. the movement looking to the removal of kieft, which first resulted in modifications in the form of government, and which had never slumbered, at last succeeded, and in may, , kieft was succeeded by peter stuyvesant. chapter v domestic and social life under the dutch - beginning of stuyvesant's administration. condition of the colony. character of the early dutch houses. household arrangement. dress. funerals. marriages. the mixture of races. slavery. religion. attitude of stuyvesant toward sects other than dutch reformed. triumph of liberal ideas. first churches in kings county. troubles over the church tax. first schools. the dutch and popular education. end of dutch rule. when stuyvesant, followed by the principal burghers, made his first public appearance in new amsterdam, the people saw that the new director had but one leg, the other, which he had lost in the wars, having been replaced by a wooden affair, laced with silver bands. his manner was soldierly, and excited from those who looked askance at him the remark that his stride was "like a peacock's, with great pomp and state." moreover he was accused of keeping the burghers bareheaded for several hours, though he was covered, "as if he were the czar of muscovy." peter stuyvesant[ ] was the son of a clergyman of the reformed church. he was a "self-made" man, having had a hard struggle from his boyhood. he had fought in the service of the west india company against the spaniards and portuguese in south america. for a time he was governor of the island of curaçoa, and it was while making an attack, during this command, on the island of st. thomas that he lost his leg. he had married, at amsterdam, judith, the daughter of balthazzar bayard, a french protestant who, like so many others who came to america, had fled to holland to escape persecution. when stuyvesant declared in his first speech at the fort that he would govern the colony "as a father does his children," he gave some hint of the view of the situation which he was inclined to take. however fatherly and generous were his feelings toward the people whom he was to preside over, he intended to be master of the situation. the people who greeted the new director with much cordiality, and who in this demonstration were influenced as greatly by the feeling that any change must be for the better as by any definite expectation that stuyvesant would be better than kieft, had suffered from so many influences that tended to disorganize and disconcert them that the new director found them in no very promising state. indeed, he found new netherland in a "low condition." breuckelen and her sister settlements were as yet merely farming communities. new amsterdam itself had begun to present some of the characteristics of a town. extending as far as the present line of wall street (from which fact the street gets its name), it was thickly settled within a narrow area toward the point. the houses were rough, the streets unkempt. "pig-pens and out-houses were set directly on the street, diffusing unpleasant odors. the hogs ran at will, kept out of the vegetable gardens only by rough stockades."[ ] if the physical condition of the town offended stuyvesant, so, also, did the moral condition. the new director called for a "thorough reformation." there must be an end of drunkenness, sabbath-breaking, and the selling of liquors to the indians. stuyvesant saw the necessity of conciliating the indians, and the efforts which he made to this end were gratifying to the long island settlers. to protect the outlying settlements from the incursions of the savages, and to provide means for the payment of the annual presents and perquisites to the indians, stuyvesant consented to give the various towns representation in the government. the grand old democratic principle of taxation and representation going hand in hand was thus recognized. it was these sentiments, which early took root in breuckelen, that resulted in the revolutionary war, and established the fact that taxation without representation was unjustifiable. as a result of this consent, an election was held in breuckelen and the other towns, and eighteen of the most respectable and honored men in the community were chosen, from whom nine were selected by the director and council as an advisory board. they were to confer with the director and council and to promote the welfare of the people. they were also to consult upon all measures proposed by the director and council, and to give their advice. the director was empowered to preside at all meetings of this board. the members held seats in the council, taking turns weekly, three sitting at a time; on court days acting in a judicial capacity to try cases and render judgment. the administration, at least in its earlier years, saw an increase in the rate of immigration. during stuyvesant's administration many stone houses appeared in new amsterdam, and on long island came an improved class of habitations. the houses of the dutch period, and of the later period that imitated the primitive architecture of that time, are among the most interesting objects of study that remain on long island. the first long island houses had resembled those of the indians. very soon afterward the character of the dwellings became more solid and permanent, and after the indian war came comfortable one-story houses, thatched with straw, and with big stone chimneys. most of the dutch houses on long island, even in later times, were of wood. a brickyard was established at new amsterdam in ; but in those days it was thought that the baking of brick of greater thickness than two inches could not be effectual, and building with such small brick as then came from the maker was very expensive. the one-story dutch houses generally had an "overshoot" roof, which formed now one and now two piazzas. very often a seat was placed at each end of the porch; and when the weather permitted, this sheltered place was generally occupied by the family and visitors of an evening. there are a number of these fine old dutch houses still standing within the limits of the county and city. the interior of the dutch houses was generally as solid and simple as the exterior. the big fireplace was one of the most important features of the house. those who could afford it often had the mantel front set about with glazed holland tiles. these tiles had pictures moulded on them, and very often the whole series of pictures around the fireplace opening would tell stories from the bible. "the children grew to know these pictures, and the stories they told, by heart; and when they gathered about the hearth of an evening, and the tile pictures glimmered faintly in the light of the big wood fire, grandfather would open the great family bible on his knees and read some of the stories over again for the hundredth time." in the best room of the house stood the mountainous bedstead, as grand as the owner could afford to make it. underneath was the trundle-bed, which was pulled out at night for the children to sleep on. "the pillow-cases were generally of check patterns; and the curtains and valance were of as expensive materials as their owner could afford; while in front of the bed a rug was laid, for carpets were not then in common use. among the dutch the only article of that sort, even up to the time of the revolution, was a drugget of cloth, which was spread under the table during meal-time when, upon 'extra occasions,' the table was set in the parlor. but even these were unknown among the inhabitants of breuckelen and the neighboring towns. the uniform practice, after scrubbing the floor well on certain days, was to place upon the damp boards the fine white beach sand (of which every family kept a supply on hand, renewing it by trips to the seashore twice a year), arranged in small heaps, which the members of the family were careful not to disturb by treading upon; and on the following day, when it had become dry, it was swept, by the light and skillful touch of the housewife's broom, into waves or other more fanciful figures. rag carpets did not make their appearance in this country until about the beginning of the present century."[ ] the dutch did not use tables save for the kitchen or for the service of meals. the table dishes were of wood and pewter, though a few people kept some china on the sideboard for "company." as tea was a luxury which very few had much of, the tea cups were very small. for display, silver tankards, beakers, porringers, spoons, snuffers, and candlesticks were in favor. clocks were extremely rare, the primitive hour-glass doing service in most houses. "of books," says stiles, "our ancestors had but few, and these were mostly bibles, testaments, and psalm-books. the former, many of which still exist among the old families, were quaint specimens of early dutch printing, with thick covers, and massive brass, and sometimes silver, corner-pieces and clasps. the psalm-books were also adorned with silver edgings and clasps, and, when hung by chains of the same material to the girdle of matrons and maidens fair, were undoubtedly valued by their owners quite as much for the display which they made as for their intrinsic value." in every family was a spinning-wheel,--sometimes four or five. the dress of the people, like so many other dutch things, closely resembled that of hollanders at home. the ordinary dress for men was a blouse or jacket, and wide, baggy trousers. justices and other officials wore black gowns. the sunday clothes of men as well as women were often gorgeous in color and effect. the ladies frizzed and powdered their hair, wore silk hoods in place of hats, and squeezed their feet into very high-heeled shoes. the dandies of the day wore long coats with silver lace and silver buttons, bright vests or waistcoats, velvet knee-breeches, black silk stockings, and low shoes with silver buckles. on holidays the people made a gay-looking company. christmas was a happy festival with them always. in those early days people had to depend upon such family festivities even more than do later generations having many sources of amusement away from home. it was from the dutch that american children learned to say santa claus, and it was from them that americans learned that fashion, which has still not entirely died out, of making calls on new year's day. one of the prudent customs of the dutch settlers was to begin, so soon as they came of age, to lay by money for their funeral expenses. no dutchman wanted to be a burden upon any one if he could help it, even when he died, and this practice of laying by gold or silver pieces to pay the expenses of proper burial became very general. a dutch funeral was one of the most singular features of life among the people. after the minister had seated himself beside the coffin and the company was duly assembled, the sexton or servants would appear with glasses and decanters, and wine would be given to such of the guests as cared to drink. funeral cakes and other victuals were handed about in the same way, and then pipes and tobacco were brought in. the eating, drinking, and smoking being finished, the minister would rise and make his address and prayer, and then the sexton and minister would lead the procession to the burying-ground.[ ] a people so prudent about matters of funeral expenses were likely to be prudent about other affairs of life coming earlier in the list. young men were generally careful about saving money with which to get married, and the young women spun and sewed for many months getting ready the linen which they were in the habit of providing for the housekeeping. furman instances this inventory of the goods a breuckelen bride brought to her husband: "a half-worn bed, two cushions of ticking with feathers, one rug, four sheets, four cushion covers, two iron pots, three pewter dishes, one pewter basin, one iron roaster, one schuyrn spoon, two cowes about five years old, one case or cupboard, one table." that the course of true love, as it is observed after marriage, did not always run smooth, is shown by the early appointment in new amsterdam of a "first commissary of marriage affairs." in this era marriage was surrounded with many difficulties, and required both time and patience to secure its accomplishment. the following curious document is the form which was used in to secure a marriage license:-- _to the right honourable the lordships the magistrates of gravesend:_ dear friends--whereas, on the date of this th day of february, , a peticion is presented to the cort hereby, johannes van beeck, that the banns (of matrimonie) between him and maria varleth, may bee hear registered and bee properly proclaimed, and wee hav understoode that the same johannes van beeck ande maria varleth had prevusly too this maide procklemation of thare banns throgh youre cort att gravesende wich (under koncison) is contrarie too the stile and customes of oure faderland. itt is oure requeste to youre honourable cort in case such an ockacion should ockur in futur, that wee mai bee inn formed kincerneing the same, inn order on ether sydde to preventee all impropriertys, which allso wee engaige too doo on our parte spechally iz the praktize and custome off our faderland that any one shal maike three procklamations inn the plaice ware his domercile is, ande then he maye bee maryed werever hee pleases, wherein wee ar ande remaine your right honourable lordships' affectionate friend. arent van hattan. bye order of thee burgomasters and shepens of new amsterdam. attest jacob kipp, sec'ty. amsterdam in niew netherlands, this th day of february, . the next step taken by the candidates for matrimony was their appearance before the court. this event in the old manuscripts is recorded as follows:-- "casper varleth and johannes van beeck appeared inn cort and praed most ernestly thatt onn thee perticion and remonstrance konserning the marriage between johannes van beeck and maria varleth presented too the burgomasters and schepens may be disposed off, and in konsequence of the bench note being kompleate itt iz posponed untill thursda next, soe az inn thee meantime too notifie the other lordships. "johannes van beeck appeared in cort and requested az before thatt acion maye bee had onn his peticion, offering furthermore iff thort nesary att thee time ande the okeacion too bee readie to affirme under oathe whatt he stated inn his peticion, repeating especially three conversacions hadd with his excellencie petrus stuyvesant." the subject-matter of the petition was important, and could not be hastily passed upon. the burgomasters deliberated for three days, and doubtless viewed the subject in every phase and light imaginable. at last they reached a conclusion which cannot be better presented than in the precise language of the decision rendered:-- "bye the burgomasters and shepens of niew amsterdam--having been seen and examined the peticion as presentede too our cort, onn the th ande th days of this month, tochinge the bonds off matrimonie between joh van beeck and maria varleth. tharefore wee inquire into, "first--who frome the beginning was the institutor of marriage, ande also whot the apostels off thee gentiles teaches thareon. "secondly--the proper and attaned age of johannes van beeck ande maria varleth. "thirdlie--thee consente off the fathure ande mothure off the dauter. "forthly--the distance and remoutnes beetweene this and oure faderland, together withe thee calamiters relacion betweene holland and england. "fifthly--thee danegur in such case arisienge ffrom long retardacion, betweene these too younge persons beecominge publick blame being attachede to the fammelys onn either sidde. "our shurlogans ande wise jurists doo saye korectly onn such mattus, that wee must nott commit any lesser sinns too avoyde grater ones; tharefore wee thinke (with due submission) thatt bye suteable marrage (the apostel inn his epistel to the heebrues calls the bedd undefiled honurable) both thee lesser ande thee grater crimes are preevented. tharefor thee burgomasters and shepens off the city of niew amsterdam doe judge thatt thee afforeseyde younge persons haveing mayde thare proper ecklisiastical proclamations with the earlyst opportunitie, and that they folloe it upp with thee bonds of matrimonie immediatelie tharafter. "done at the stadt house inn niew amsterdam in niew netherlands this th feberary, . "arent van hattan, p. l. vandugrist, pieter wolferson, martin krigier, wilh. beeckman, josh. p. r. ruyter, oloff stevensen." the social life of the new netherlands was in many respects characteristic of the hard conditions of life in any new country, but in many respects it was peculiarly different from that of new england. "the sharp and strong contrasts in social position," says mr. roosevelt,[ ] "the great differences in moral and material well-being, and the variety in race, language, and religion, all combined to make a deep chasm between life in new amsterdam and life in the cities of new england, with their orderly uniformity of condition and their theocratic democracy." in fact, democratic as the dutch theory was, the actual condition of the dutch colony was aristocratic in its characteristics. "the highest rank was composed of the great patroons, with their feudal privileges and vast landed estates; next in order came the well-to-do merchant burghers of the town, whose ships went to europe and africa, carrying in their holds now furs or rum, now ivory or slaves; then came the great bulk of the population,--thrifty souls of small means, who worked hard, and strove more or less successfully to live up to the law; while last of all came the shifting and intermingled strata of the evil and the weak,--the men of incurably immoral propensities, and the poor whose poverty was chronic." the picturesqueness of the population was accentuated by the presence of a growing number of negro slaves which a dutch vessel had been the first to bring to america.[ ] but, as we shall see later, slavery never was welcomed as an institution in this region, and never gained a firm foothold. tobacco culture and other causes, which operated to the encouragement of slavery in virginia and maryland, did not appear in the northern colonies; where, moreover, the temper and taste of the people were not such as to make easy the development of slavery. as in early new england, the domestic and social affairs of the dutch colony were always intimately associated with religious traditions, and, as in new england, the theory of religious liberty found a varying and often a grotesque application. the early theory of the colony was that of complete religious liberty, and at no time was there an intolerance comparable to that which prevailed among the puritans, who sought liberty but yielded little; but the laws of the colony favored the protestant reformed church, and it alone. to be sure, the west india company commended freedom of belief, and the early governors, partly, doubtless, because they were too busy with other matters, and partly because occasion had not yet arisen, caused little trouble by any attitude toward questions of faith or worship. but when the colony grew to considerable proportions, and the mixture of races brought about by the advertised liberality of the dutch settlements began to bring up the social and religious questions inevitable in such a community, there were many clashings and disputes and bitternesses. stuyvesant was as definite and immovable in his ideas about church-going as about everything else. he believed in established authority, and personally resented the impertinence of people who saw fit to take a position at variance with what seemed to be set forth and settled by the established power. when the lutherans, in , sought to hold meetings of their own, stuyvesant reminded them of the duty of attending the good dutch church, and refused them premises for their meetings. appeal to holland, whose position stuyvesant's mental methods certainly did not represent in this instance, forced the director to let the lutherans alone; and possibly the rebuke was responsible for the fact that the anabaptists on long island escaped serious trouble shortly afterward. but stuyvesant hated the "cursed quakers," with whom he had many bitter differences, going so far as to hang up one preacher by the arms and lash him for defying his authority. of catholics stuyvesant had an even greater horror. in , he passed an ordinance forbidding the keeping of ash wednesday and all other holy days, as "heathenish and popish institutions, and as dangerous to the public peace." to the intermittent religious squabbles brought on by the determination of stuyvesant to stick to the letter of the law rather than to take the popular dutch view of moderate leniency, the west india company finally put a stop by ordering stuyvesant to "let every one remain free so long as he is modest, moderate, his political conduct irreproachable, and as long as he does not offend others or oppose the government." these terms, rather than any ever offered by stuyvesant, represent the real sentiment prevalent among the dutch people. in the ship which brought over governor minuit, in , came two _ziekentroosters_, or "comforters of the sick," who were frequently found filling positions as assistants to ordained clergymen. by these two men the early religious services of the new amsterdam colony were conducted until , when another ship from holland brought out jonas michaelius, who was sent by the north synod of the netherlands. it was michaelius who "first established the form of a church" at manhattan. he was succeeded five years later by everardus bogardus, whose congregation left the upper loft of the horse-mill for a small building dedicated to church service. in , a new stone church was built within the fort, and in the year of stuyvesant's coming bogardus was succeeded by dominie johannes megapolensis, who led the church for twenty-two years. meanwhile the long island settlers who wished to attend divine service were obliged to cross the river to new amsterdam. in , however, midwout (flatbush), which had begun to assume an importance as a settlement that promised to give it the position that breuckelen afterward assumed, established a church. an order was issued in february, , requiring the inhabitants of breuckelen and amersfoort (flatlands) to assist midwout "in cutting and hauling wood" for the church. the breuckelen people objected to working on the minister's house, but were forced, under the governor's order, to assist throughout the work. this first church in kings county, built under the supervision of dominie megapolensis, john snedicor, and john stryker, occupied several years in the building; but that it was used before its completion is indicated by the fact that in august, , stuyvesant convened the inhabitants to give their opinion as to the qualifications of the rev. johannes theodorus polhemus as a "provisional minister," and to decide what salary they would pay him. the report of the schout was that the people approved of mr. polhemus, and that they would pay him , guilders (about $ ) a year. polhemus belonged to "an ancient and highly respectable family" in the netherlands, had been a missionary in brazil, and had come from that country to new amsterdam. he was a devout christian, and his faithfulness does not seem to have been questioned, but when, in , the magistracy of midwout and amersfoort sought permission to request voluntary contributions from the three dutch towns, breuckelen protested, declaring that "as the rev. john polhemus only acts as a minister of the gospel in the village of midwout, therefore the inhabitants of the village of breuckelen and adjacent districts are disinclined to subscribe or promise anything for the maintenance of a gospel minister who is of no use to them." by way of showing their good will to mr. polhemus personally, they urged that the minister might be permitted to preach alternately in breuckelen and midwout. if this were done they were "very willing to contribute cheerfully to his support, agreeable to their abilities." the director and council replied that they had "no objection that the reverend polhemus, when the weather permits, shall preach alternately in both places;" but although midwout consented, gravesend and amersfoort objected, these villages having contributed to the support of the midwout church, and breuckelen being "quite two hours' walking from amersfoort and gravesend, whereas the village of midwout is not half so far and the road much better." to this was added: "so they considered it a hardship to choose either to hear the gospel but once a day, or to be compelled to travel four hours, in going and returning, all for one single sermon, which would be to some very troublesome, and to some utterly impossible." as a way out of this difficulty the director and council decided that the morning sermon should be at midwout, which was about the same distance from each of the three other towns, and that the afternoon service should be changed to an evening service to be held alternately in breuckelen and amersfoort. in recognition of the situation of midwout, that village was to give annually guilders, and breuckelen and amersfoort each guilders for the support of the minister. this seemed like an amicable settlement, and might have remained such had not breuckelen been dissatisfied with the preaching of mr. polhemus. the dissatisfaction expressed itself in a protest sent to the director and council, in which the people of breuckelen reminded the director that they had never called the reverend polhemus, and had never accepted him as their minister. "he intruded himself upon us against our will," said the protest, "and voluntarily preached in the open street, under the blue sky; when to avoid offense, the house of joris dircksen was temporarily offered him." moreover, mr. polhemus was accused of offering "a poor and meagre service," giving, every fortnight, "a prayer in lieu of a sermon," by which they could receive "very little instruction." often, when they supposed this prayer was beginning, it was "actually at an end." this they experienced on the sunday preceding christmas, when, expecting an appropriate sermon, they heard "nothing but a prayer." "wherefore," continues the protest, "it is our opinion that we shall enjoy as much and more edification by appointing one among ourselves, who may read to us on sundays, a sermon from the 'apostles' book,' as we ever have until now from any of the prayers or sermons of the reverend polhemus." all this, the protest hastened to say, was intended in no offense to the preacher, whose inabilities were recognized as resulting naturally from the fact that in his advanced years "his talents did not accompany him as steadily as in the days of yore." to this protest stuyvesant responded merely by directing the sheriff to "remind those of breuckelen, once more, to fulfil their engagement, and to execute their promise relative to the salary of mr. polhemus." amid their discontent, and in consequence also of the poverty of many of his parishioners, the poor preacher suffered not a little for want of the ordinary necessities of life. in the winter of , his house being not yet completed, he and wife and children were forced to sleep on the floor. when sheriff tonneman complained to the council of having been abused while attempting to collect the odious tax, lodewyck jong, jan martyn, "nicholas the frenchman, abraham janesen the mulatto, and gerrit the wheelwright," were each fined twelve guilders ($ . ); and when jan martyn sought to hire the public bellman to defame tonneman, he was "obliged to beg pardon, on bended knees, of the lord and of the court, and was fined twenty-five guilders ($ ) and costs." wearied of his efforts to coax and threaten the breuckelen opposition into paying the tax, stuyvesant at last (in july, ) forbade all inhabitants of the three towns to remove grain from their fields until all tithes were taken or commuted. there was no escape from this, and the tax was paid. two years later breuckelen secured a preacher of her own in the person of the rev. henricus selyns,[ ] a preacher whose ancestors had been prominent in the earliest days of the dutch reformed church, and who had been reared in the traditions of this flourishing denomination. he engaged to serve breuckelen for four years. when, in september, , dominie selyns preached his first sermon in the breuckelen barn which served as a house of worship, the population of the village was one hundred and thirty-four persons, representing thirty-one families. the preacher had been promised a salary of one hundred florins, but when an effort was made to raise funds the magistrates found themselves under the necessity of appealing to the director for aid. stuyvesant offered to pay one hundred and fifty guilders, provided mr. selyns would also preach every afternoon at his "bouwery" on manhattan island. this arrangement was duly made. in , when breuckelen received from the west india company, by request of dominie selyns, a bell for the church, there were fifty-two communicants. meanwhile, mr. selyns was living at new amsterdam, and in an effort was made to induce the preacher to live in breuckelen, on the theory of the schepens that, if he did so bring himself among them, "the community would be more willing and ready to bring in their respective quotas." it does not appear that the dominie found it convenient to live in breuckelen, but there is no doubt of his zeal nor of his popularity. when, in , the dominie returned to holland, it was with the regrets and good wishes of the little band of breuckelen parishioners. the dutch attitude toward education was in many respects very different from that which prevailed among the english. at the time of the settlement of new england and new amsterdam, holland was far in advance of other european states in ideas of popular education. mr. campbell[ ] places holland two hundred years in advance of any other country in europe at the time of the puritan emigration. there was, indeed, an extraordinary contrast between "the free cities" of the netherlands and their neighbors at this time. "the whole population," says may,[ ] "was educated. the higher classes were singularly accomplished. the university of leyden was founded for the learned education of the rich, and free schools were established for the general education." common schools had, indeed, been founded in the sixteenth century, and in the seventeenth the children of all classes were taught at the public expense. such ideas of educational democracy had not appeared in england at the time when education first began to be considered in this country. mr. draper[ ] notes that there was no school but the latin school in boston for thirty-five years after the passage of the so-called compulsory education law of . nor did the early massachusetts schools receive all the children of the people. "no boys were received under seven years of age till . no girls of any age were admitted prior to . it was one hundred and forty-two years after the passage of the so-called compulsory school law of before boston admitted one girl to her so-called 'free schools,' and it was one hundred and eighty-one years thereafter before girls had facilities equal to those enjoyed by their brothers." on the other hand, new amsterdam had a professional schoolmaster as early as , and with him popular common school education began in this country. prior to , there were as many as ten persons licensed to keep private schools or to teach on their own account, and furman states that young men from both the new england and the virginia colonies came to new amsterdam to be educated. speaking of the movement of , looking to the establishment of a latin school at new amsterdam, and of the comment thereon by mr. george h. martin, representing the state board of education of massachusetts, mr. draper says:-- "mr. martin seems to make much of the fact that the petition for the sending over of a latin master stated that there was no latin school nearer than boston, but overlooks the fact that there had previously been a latin school at new amsterdam, and also the other fact that there was no school at plymouth, and none but a latin school at boston, and that it received only a few of the brighter boys of the wealthier families, to prepare them for college and the ministry." the earliest laws of the colony show that for the support of schools "each householder and inhabitant should bear such tax and public charge as should be considered proper for their maintenance."[ ] the first schoolmaster in breuckelen made his appearance in , on the th day of july, in which year the following petition was presented:-- _to the right hon. director-general and council of new netherland:--_ the schout and schepens of the court of breuckelin respectfully represent: that they found it necessary, that a court messenger was required for the schepens chamber, to be occasionally employed in the village of breuckelin, and all around, where he may be needed, as well to serve summons, as also to conduct the service of the church, and to sing on sunday; to take charge of the school, dig graves, etc.; ring the bell and perform what ever else may be required. therefore, the petitioners, with your honours' approbation, have thought proper to accept for so highly necessary office a suitable person who is now come before them, one carel van beauvois, to whom they have appropriated the sum of fl. , beside a fine dwelling; and whereas the petitioners are apprehensive that the aforesaid c. v. beauvois would not and cannot do the work for the sum aforesaid, and the petitioners are not able to promise him any more; therefore the petitioners, with all humble and proper reverence, request your honours to be pleased to lend them a helping hand, in order thus to receive the needful assistance. herewith awaiting your honours' kind and favorable answer, and commending ourselves, honorable, wise, prudent and most discreet gentlemen, to your favor, we pray for your honours god's protection, together with a happy and prosperous administration, unto salvation. your honors' servants and subjects, the schout and schepens of the village aforesaid. by order of the same, [signed] adriaen hegeman, secretary. the directors granted the petition and agreed to pay fifty guilders annually in wampum for the support of the precentor and schoolmaster. the first school was set up in the little church, which stood near the present junction of fulton and bridge streets. the second public school within the county was opened in the new village of bushwick. the area of the county represented by the town of bushwick had, as we have seen, been purchased by the west india company in . in the wallabout residents had built a block-house on the high point of land overlooking the east river, known as the "kiekout,"[ ] or "lookout." at about the same time (in the month of february), "fourteen frenchmen, with a dutchman named peter janse wit" and an interpreter, called upon the director to lay out a town plot east of the wallabout settlement. on february the director, with the fiscal, nicasius de sille, secretary van ruyven, and the sworn surveyor, jaques corteleau, came to a spot between "mispat (maspeth) kill," newtown creek, and "norman's kill,"[ ] bushwick creek, to "establish a village." here a survey was made, and twenty house lots laid out. the first house was at once erected by evert hedeman, and others soon appeared. in march of the following year "the director-general visited the new village, when the inhabitants requested his honour to give the place a name; whereupon he named the town boswijck," the town of the woods. the people of the new village then selected six of their men, from which the governor chose three, to be magistrates, the town remaining subject to the schout of breuckelen, amersfoort, and midwout. thus when the first public school was opened in bushwick, the hamlet scarcely contained twenty houses, a fact which may illustrate the attitude of the dutch and french in this part of the country toward the question of popular education. the first schoolmaster in bushwick was boudwyn manout, who took charge on december , . the setting up of the third school within the county was effected in a new village called bedford, lying southeast of the wallabout and east of breuckelen. the settlement of this village dates from , in which year, in the month of march, joris jan. rapalje, teunis gysbert (bogaert), cornelis jacobsen, hendrick sweers, michael hans (bergen), and jan hans (bergen) asked the director for a grant of unoccupied woodland "situated in the rear of joris rapalje, next to the old bay road." the director made the grant, with the stipulation that the petitioners should not make "a new hamlet." the little settlement thus formed was adjacent on the south to another known as cripplebush[ ] (variously spelt in the dutch orthography of the early days), and lay at the intersection of the jamaica highway, the clove road running to flatbush, and the cripplebush road running to newtown. the bedford school-house was placed in the heart of the village, at the cross-roads. this school, beginning in the year , afterward, according to the records of teunis g. bergen, became the present public school no. , and had an interesting history. [illustration: the ferry in ] throughout the whole of stuyvesant's directorship, the quarrels between him and the people were of frequent occurrence, and gained rather than diminished in violence. as we have seen, the tendency observable in the colony was aristocratic, and stuyvesant fostered such a tendency to the utmost. at one time he sought to institute a division of the burghers into two classes, major and minor, the rights of the major burghers to be hereditary, and to include the sole right to hold office. he had an honorable sense of justice; but his method of exercising justice was eminently paternal. he regarded complaint against a magistrate as nothing less than treason. with his council, the "nine men," he had one wrangle after another. both the nine men and himself repeatedly sent protests to holland, and the west india company chose to let the pugnacious director and his people fight the thing out among themselves. this indifference on the part of holland, which plainly took nothing more than a commercial interest in the colony, naturally inspired little loyalty toward the home government. the nation that ignored their protests, let their fortifications crumble from lack of repair, and refused to guard them by proper numbers of soldiery, could expect no ardor of patriotism from those who were so treated. meanwhile trouble began to show itself between the dutch and the connecticut colony. the latter claimed authority over the english towns on long island, and threatened also to take possession of the dutch settlements. the english were jealous of the rich territory of the dutch. they beheld the valuable trade which had sprung up through the instrumentality of the dutch west india company. they were inclined to consider the hollanders intruders. the english claimed the entire continent as their domain by virtue of the discovery made by their navigator, cabot. efforts were made to settle the disputes and differences, without success. all negotiations proved futile. with the indians on one side and the english on the other the situation for the new netherlands was perilous indeed. at last the long island towns, with haarlem, new amsterdam, and bergen, assembled in convention and prepared a remonstrance to the home government, charging all their disasters to the lack of interest manifested by the mother country in their welfare. the colonists divided into two parties, one favoring adherence to holland, the other favoring the acceptance of english rule. in charles ii. granted to his brother james, the duke of york and albany, a patent of all the territory lying between the connecticut river and delaware bay, in which was included the whole of the dutch possessions. the duke immediately dispatched four ships, with soldiers, under command of his deputy governor, colonel richard nicolls, to take possession of the territory. the squadron anchored at nyack bay, between new utrecht and coney island, in august, . the block house on staten island was captured, and all communication between manhattan and the neighboring colonies was effectually intercepted. the people were not prepared for this invasion. the very liberality the dutch loyalists had exercised toward other nations was to seal their doom. the english settlers whom they had welcomed with open arms were anxious for a change of government, and the arbitrary conduct of the dutch officials induced many of the hollanders to coincide with the wishes of the english. stuyvesant was powerless; the fates were against him, and resistance was useless. yet he would have refused to surrender, and was for making the best possible fight. but the people refused to rally under his leadership, and without the striking of a blow the dutch colony fell under english rule. chapter vi kings county after the english conquest - assembly at hempstead. the "duke's laws." lovelace. new york retaken by the dutch. colve becomes governor. return of english rule under the treaty of . dongan and the popular assembly. de sille. journal of dankers and sluyter. the ferry. a dutch dinner. the schoolmaster and the constable. william and mary and the leisler revolution. sloughter appointed governor. execution of leisler, and subsequent honors of a public reinterment. long island receives the name of nassau. development of privateering. captain kidd visits and buries treasure on long island. bellomont and the suppression of piracy. first trial for treason. when nicolls assumed control as governor of new amsterdam, under the patent to the duke of york, he considered it best to act in a liberal spirit toward the dutch, and endeavored to gain their good will and esteem. indeed, this was the wise english policy which he represented. so conciliatory was his administration that the dutch element did not appear to be affected by the change. the trade with holland was continued without interruption. the dutch were permitted to elect all minor officials and to observe the customs of the fatherland. new york received a new charter, and the government was placed in the hands of a mayor, aldermen, and sheriff, appointed by the governor. the legislative power was vested in the governor and council, who alone possessed the power to impose taxes. the titles to property in the province were not in any way disturbed. the council was careful to confirm and declare legal all grants, patents, and other evidences of title which had been derived through the dutch government. new grants in confirmation were given, and additional expense in consequence was imposed upon the owners. large sums were also expended in repairing the forts in and about the harbor to resist any attempt which might be made to retake the city. measures were also adopted to provide a more perfect and uniform system for the government of the towns on long island. in order to reconcile differences, and establish laws which should control in each town, nicolls organized an assembly of delegates, composed of representatives from each town. the assembly thus formed, met in hempstead in . breuckelen was represented in that body by two of her well-known citizens, in the persons of frederick lubbertsen and evertsen bout. the assembly adopted a code of laws which were called the "duke's laws." considering the state of the times and the varied conditions of the people, the code thus adopted was reasonable and just to all. these laws continued in operation with slight amendments until , when governor dongan convened his provincial assembly. the actions of governor nicolls gave the delegates satisfaction and pleasure, and they became his fast friends. they expressed their admiration of his actions by an address of congratulation to the duke of york, which was characterized by an exceedingly deferential tone toward the new authority. many of the people objected to the tone of this address, and gave vent to their feelings in outspoken language against the delegates. so fearless and indiscreet was the language used, and so imminent did the violence threatened by the anti-english element appear, that the government was constrained to take notice of the same. at a court held in , a stringent act was passed to prevent a repetition of the slanders against the delegates. in , long island, with staten island, was created a shire, and called yorkshire, as a token of respect to the proprietor, the duke of york. the shire thus formed was divided into districts, which were denominated ridings. the towns included in kings county, staten island, and newtown, were called the west riding. nicolls displayed much wisdom in the management of the colony, and thereby won the respect of the people. he did not, however, remain long in service. being anxious to return to europe, in he bade farewell to the new world, and set his face eastward. upon his return to his native land he engaged in his country's service in the war with holland, and gave his life in defending the flag in a naval engagement in . nicolls was succeeded by governor francis lovelace, whose administration was a striking contrast to that of his predecessor. despotic, arrogant, and self-willed, lovelace was born to be a "paternal" ruler, and ever manifested a domineering spirit. the inhabitants had always claimed the right to levy and impose their own taxes, and protested against taxation without representation. to all protests he paid no attention except to "pronounce their complaints as scandalous and seditious." his frequent remark was, "the people should have liberty for no thought but how to pay their taxes." in order to carry out his views, and to display his power, he imposed a duty of ten per cent. upon all imports and exports arriving at or going from the province. in , charles ii., instigated by the french, proclaimed war against holland. this rupture led the dutch to conceive the idea of regaining their lost possessions. a squadron consisting of five vessels was fitted out, and placed under the command of admirals beuckes and evertson. the fleet thus prepared sailed from holland and appeared off sandy hook on the th of july, . the news of the expedition reached the city long before the arrival of the fleet. governor lovelace had no adequate idea of the importance and necessity of preparation to resist the attack. he left the city and proceeded to albany to regulate the difficulties with the indians, and placed the fort in charge of captain manning. when the news reached the city that the dutch fleet was approaching, manning sent messengers to governor lovelace, requesting him to return speedily. he came, and at once commenced active defensive preparations. the fort was manned, and soldiers were mustered into service and drilled. the enemy not appearing, the governor disbanded his forces and went to connecticut. when the fleet reached sandy hook, manning again informed the governor and requested him to return, and in the mean time employed himself in collecting recruits. he was not successful. the love of fatherland could not be obliterated from the hearts of dutchmen. they refused to volunteer against their own flesh and blood, and instead spiked the guns of the fort to prevent any resistance to the fleet. the soldiers in the fort were but amateurs, and having had no experience were of but little service. the fleet anchored in new york bay, july , . manning lacked courage, and did not possess any attribute fitting him to properly defend the city. in his dilemma, and not having the aid and assistance of the governor, he found himself powerless to act as the occasion demanded. he sent a messenger to the fleet to inquire their object in disturbing the peace of the colony. in the morning, the admirals dispatched an officer to demand the immediate surrender of the fort. manning, anxious to gain time, requested that he might have until the following day to give his answer. this was refused, and he was notified that unless the city was surrendered in half an hour the fort would be bombarded. to this notification no reply was received. the dutch, true to their word, commenced a cannonade which resulted in killing and wounding a number of men. the salute of hot shot was not returned. captain colve, with a band of six hundred men, landed, and the attacking force was ranged in line of battle in front of the fort, and prepared to make a triumphal march through the city. manning became agitated and frightened. he commenced negotiations, but, as he had no power to enter into any agreement, he was compelled to surrender. the city, again in the possession of its original settlers, was called new orange, and the fort was named fort hendrick. some of the english soldiers taken as hostages of war were sent to holland. it may well be supposed that this successful capture produced a deep sense of mortification to the english government and the new england colonies. manning was subsequently court-martialed and tried for cowardice and treachery. his defense was mainly that he had no time to put the fort in a proper condition of defense--that the enemy were eight hundred strong, while he had but eighty men in the fort, and that he sought to delay capitulation, hoping that help might arrive. he was found guilty by the court. through the influence of friends his life was spared, but he was compelled to suffer the ignominy of having his sword broken over his head by the executioner in front of the city hall, and he was declared incapable of ever holding any office, either civil or military, in the gift of the crown. governor lovelace also was severely reprimanded, and all his property was confiscated to the duke of york. it would appear that the conduct of the governor was more reprehensible than that of manning. manning was merely a subaltern, and lovelace being governor, it was his duty to exercise proper care in defending the territory committed to his control. he was twice notified by manning of the intended attack, and seemed by his actions either to manifest but little interest, or not to realize the importance of defensive measures. captain colve now assumed control of public affairs. fearing that the english might endeavor to regain the territory, he repaired and strengthened the fort, and put the city under military protection. a new charter was given to the city, and the old forms of government readopted. courts were established at various points, and all the magistrates were required to appear at new orange, and swear allegiance to the dutch government. colve received his commission as governor of the new netherlands from the admiral of the fleet. he was very energetic, fortifying weak points, and asserting the claim of the dutch to all the territory which governor stuyvesant had controlled. the fort was repaired in a substantial manner, and every precaution taken to effectually resist any attack which might be made. colve directed that the provisions of the city should be securely kept, and prohibited the exportation of wheat and grain. in order to prepare the people for active service, he organized companies and had them drilled daily by competent officers in the manual of arms. the city under his administration assumed a military appearance. parades and drills were of daily occurrence. the city was carefully guarded by watchmen ever on the alert. while governor colve exercised authority in the province, he took occasion to visit flatbush with his officials, where by his direction the magistrates of the various towns on long island had assembled. he conveyed to them the intelligence that troops were on the way from new england to assail the town, and that it was necessary to make preparations for resistance. he commanded them to hold themselves in readiness to proceed to the city whenever he should require their presence. many of the people considering it prudent to move to the city for safety, obtained permission to do so, and the governor appointed a committee to secure proper accommodations for them. a general exodus from breuckelen and the other towns was the result. the inhabitants of the west end of the island were eager to move, and in order to prevent depopulation, governor colve issued another order, stating that it was necessary for a portion of the males to remain in the towns to protect property and prevent invasion, and he directed that one third of the military force should remain. the dutch during their control of new york won for themselves the respect of all onlookers. in their management of the colony, notwithstanding many defects, they were more liberal than any of their neighbors. they were a hard-working, painstaking, thrifty class of people, whose sterling virtues have left upon the character of new york an impress that can never be obliterated. the character and principles of the dutch, handed down from one generation to another, have done much to mould the great western commercial centre into the cosmopolitan metropolis it is to-day. the knickerbocker patience and perseverance under trials, the honesty and integrity of the dutch, their love of education and independence have been of incalculable value to the state and nation. the dutch were not to be surprised by any english force. the difficulty was settled by the treaty of peace between the states-general and england, signed at westminster on the th of february, . the terms of the treaty provided for the restoration of new york to the english. this was accomplished on the th of november, , when the fort was surrendered to major edward andros, the governor appointed by the duke of york. thus new york again passed from the control of the original settlers into the hands of their conquerors. the fort again assumed the name of fort james, and the city resumed the name of new york. the inhabitants were required to swear allegiance to the king of england, and the form of government established by the english was restored. governor andros also restored the titles, grants, and privileges which the towns had enjoyed under the english government, and furthermore declared all legal proceedings which had been taken during the reoccupation by the dutch to be legal and valid. andros was arbitrary and oppressive in his conduct, and did all in his power to prevent efforts on the part of the inhabitants to obtain representation in the councils of the government. in , charges were preferred against him in which he was accused of interfering with the privileges of new jersey, and he was summoned to england to answer. he was acquitted, and returned to be still more oppressive. in , he was removed, and colonel thomas dongan was appointed his successor, with directions to convene a popular assembly. this assembly was composed of the governor, council, and seventeen members elected by the people, and held a session commencing october , , which lasted seventeen days. the assembly adopted wise measures, which were called "the charter of liberties." this charter provided that the supreme authority should be vested in the governor, council, and legislature elected triennially by the people. the right of trial by a jury of twelve men was guaranteed, and the liberty of the citizens was secured. protection and freedom of religious belief were also assured. the county of kings was organized, and comprised the five towns of breuckelen, bushwick, flatlands, flatbush, and new utrecht. queens county was also organized. the province was divided into counties. these counties were: new york, kings, queens, suffolk, richmond, westchester, dutchess, orange, ulster, and albany. in each county a court of sessions was to meet twice a year, and the court of oyer and terminer annually. the offices of assessor and supervisor were also created. the first town clarke (as it was then spelt) of which there is any record was heer nicasius de sille.[ ] he was appointed in , and acted in that capacity for four years. michil hainelle succeeded him in , and held office until . during the administration of de sille, frederick lubbertsen and peter perniedeau were trustees and overseers. in we find teunis g. bergen and thomas lambertsen filling the offices of trustee and overseer. of new york and brooklyn immediately after the establishment of english rule we find some interesting glimpses in the journal of jasper dankers and peter sluyter, published in the collections of the long island historical society.[ ] these two dutch travelers were members of the sect founded by jean de labadie, and known as labadists. the labadists had found shelter in tolerant and enlightened amsterdam when persecuted in france. the new faith was embraced by many of the walloons at rotterdam and elsewhere. a community, resembling in many respects those of the quakers, was established at wiewerd, and the promoters resolving upon colonization in america, dankers and sluyter were sent to new york on a tour of investigation. after their first tour, of which their journal speaks, they were again sent to new york in , to establish a colony. the labadists give a detailed account of their experiences in new york and on long island. they make a natural comment on the name "river" for the strait separating long island and manhattan island. "there is a ferry, ... for the purpose of crossing over it, which is farmed out by the year, and yields a good income, as it is a considerable thoroughfare, this island being one of the most populous places in this vicinity." the ferry at this time was patronized by both white men and indians, though the indians usually economized by using their own boats in carrying to new york their fish, fowl, or furs. the fare on the ferry was "three stuivers in zeewan for each person." a "stuiver in zeewan" was equivalent to less than half a cent of our money. going up the hill from the ferry the travelers passed through the "first village called breuckelen," in which they saw "a small and ugly little church standing in the middle of the road." here they turned off to the right and reached gowanus, where they were entertained by simon aertsen de hart. after speaking of the large and remarkable oysters, "fully as good as those in england, and better than those we eat at falmouth," the travelers give this description of the dutch dinner: "we had for supper a roasted haunch of venison, which he had bought of the indians for three guilders and a half of seewant, that is, fifteen stuivers of dutch money [fifteen cents], and which weighed thirty pounds. the meat was exceedingly tender and good, and also quite fat. it had a slight spicy flavor. we were also served with wild turkey, which was also fat and of a good flavor; and a wild goose that was rather dry. everything we had was the natural production of the country." the guest adds: "we saw here, lying in a heap, a whole hill of watermelons, which were as large as pumpkins, and which symon was going to take to the city to sell.... it was very late at night when we went to rest in a kermis bed, as it is called, in the corner of the hearth, alongside of a good fire." these visitors did not entertain a very warm appreciation for what the journal describes as "a miserable rum or brandy which had been brought from barbadoes and other islands, and which is called by the dutch _kill-devil_. all these people," continues the same narrator, "are very fond of it, and most of them extravagantly so, although it is very dear and has a bad taste." at new utrecht, however, they drank "some good beer a year old." the writers comment upon coney island in these words: "it is oblong in shape, and is grown over with bushes. nobody lives upon it, but it is used in winter for keeping cattle, horses, oxen, hogs, and others, which are able to obtain there sufficient to eat the whole winter, and to shelter themselves from the cold in the thickets." the fort hamilton region, called najack (nyack), after the indian tribe of this name living in the vicinity, is spoken of as an island, it being surrounded by a marsh. these and other records of the period indicate how little the early influence of the english rule affected the dutch manners and customs, particularly on long island. the new rulers might introduce the english system of weights and measures, and adopt a new nomenclature for officials and civic systems, but for a long time, and far into the eighteenth century, dutch life on long island remained singularly like all that it had been in the fatherland and in the pioneer homes. an annual fair was established in breuckelen in . it was provided that there shall be kept "a ffayre and market at breucklin, near the ffery, for all grain, cattle, or other products of the country, too be held on the ffirst munday, tusday, and wenesday inn november, and in the city off new york the thursday, ffriday, and saturday following." to meet the necessary expenses of possible war, it was ordered that in case there should happen a war with the indians, for the better carrying on of the same, one or more rates should be levied as there shall be occasion, an account whereof to be given to the following court of assizes. at the same time it was ordered "that in all cases the magistrates through the whole government are required to do justice to the indians as well as to the christians." in , by reason of the fact that long island and staten island were separated by water, it was provided that staten island should have jurisdiction of itself, and be no longer dependent on the courts of long island, nor on the "milishay." the overseers and trustees were required to take an oath to administer the laws, without favor, affection or partiality to any person or cause, and, when required, to attend to the private differences of neighbors and endeavor to effect a reconciliation. slight allusion has heretofore been made to the schoolmaster. he was an important element in the community. as his labors were various, and much more irksome than at the present time, the following agreement, executed by the schoolmaster at flatbush, in , will be read with interest: article . the school shall begin at o'clock, and goe out att ; shall begin again att o'clock and ende at . the bell shall be rung before the school begins. . when school opens one of the children shall reade the morning prayer as it stands in the catachism, and close with the prayer before dinner; and in the afternoon the same. the evening school shall begin with the lord's prayer, and close by singing a psalm. . he shall instruct the children inn the common prayers, and the questions and answers off the catachism, on wednesdays and saturdays, too enable them to saye them better on sunday in the church. . he shall be bound to keepe his school nine months in succession from september to june, one year with another, and shall always be present himself. . hee shall bee chorister of the church, ring the bell three times before service, and reade a chapter of the bible in the church, between the second and third ringinge of the bell; after the third ringinge, hee shall reade the ten commandments, and the twelve articles of ffaith, and then sett the psalm. in the afternoon, after the third ringinge of the bell, hee shall reade a short chapter or one of the psalms of david, as the congregation are assemblinge; afterward he shall again sett the psalm. . when the minister shall preach at broockland or utrecht, hee shall bee bounde to reade from the booke used for the purpose. he shall heare the children recite the questions and answers off the catachism on sunday and instruct them. . he shall provide a basin of water for the baptisme, ffor which he shall receive stuyvers in wampum for every baptisme ffrom parents or sponsors. hee shall furnish bread and wine ffor the communion att the charge of the church. he shall also serve as messenger for the consistorie. . hee shall give the funerale invitations and toll the bell, and ffor which he shall receive ffor persons of years of age and upwards, guilders, and ffor persons under , guilders; and iff he shall cross the river to new york, he shall have four guilders more. the school money was paid as follows: . hee shall receive ffor a speller or reader guilders a quarter, and ffor a writer guilders ffor the daye school. in the evening, guilders ffor a speller and reader, and guilders ffor a writer per quarter. . the residue of his salary shall bee guilders in wheat (off wampum value), deliverable at brookland ffery, with the dwellinge, pasturage, and meadowe appertaining to the school. done and agreede on inn consistorie inn the presence of the honourable constable and overseers this th day of october, . constable and the consistorie. overseers. cornelius berrian, casparus vanzuren, ryniere aertsen, minister, jan remsen, adriaen ryerse, cornelis baren vanerwyck. i agree to the above articles and promise to observe them. johannes van eckkellen. in those days the duties of a constable in brooklyn were not confined to the present requirements. in , a law was enacted, whereby his duties were defined. as the order is peculiar, it is here inserted:-- "ordered that the constable of the towne of breucklyne doe admonish the inhabitants too instruct theire children and servants, in matters of religione and the laws of the country. "ordered that the constable doe appoynte a suytable person too recorde every man's particular marke, and see such man's horse and colt branded. "ordered that the overseers and the constable doe paye the value off an indyan coat ffor each woolf killed, and they cause the woolf's heade to be nayled over the doore of the constable, theire to remayne, and alsoe to pull off both eayres inn token that the heade is boughte and payed ffor." in the court of sessions of kings county "ordered that the constables of this towne shall on sundaye or sabbath daye tayke lawe ffor the apprehending off all sabbath breakers, searche all ale houses, taverns, and other suspectede places ffor all prophaners and breakers off the sabbath daye, and bringe them before the justice too bee dealt with accordinge to lawe." as a penalty for refusing so to do, it was further "ordered thatt ffor every neglect or deefault the constable shall paye a fine of six shillings." at the same session it was "ordered that mad james bee kepte by kings county in general and thatt the deacons of each towne within the sayde county doe fforthwith meete together and consider about theire proportions ffor the maintenance of sayde james." disputes having occurring between brooklyn and flatbush relative to their boundary or town lines, reference was had to the court of sessions and action was had thereon, as will appear by the record of its proceedings: "att a cort of sessions held ffor the west riddinge of yorkshire, uppon long island, the th day of december, , the following order was mayde: there being some difference between the towns of fflackbush and brucklyne conserninge theire boundes, the which they are both willing to reffer to captain jacques cortelyou and captain richard stilwell too decyde, the cort doe approve thereoff, and order theire report too bee determinative." these commissioners took five years and a half to perform their labors, and then reported the result of their deliberations, as follows:-- _to the worshippful cort of sessions nowe sitting at gravesende, june , _: these maye certiffie thatt inn obedience too an order ffrom sayde cort and bye consente of bothe townes of breucklyn and ffackbush, too run the lyne twixt the sayde townes, which are wee underwritten, have done and markt the trees twixt towne and towne, as witness our hands the daye and yeare above written. jacques cortelyou, richard stillwell. the surveyor, philip wells, gave his certificate that he found the line run by the commissioners to be just and right. these certificates were recorded by order of the court. in one thomas lambertsen and wife sued john lowe for defamation of character. the defendant confessed that he was drunk, "and was verry sorry for defaminge the plaintiff's wife," and begged his pardon in open court. they "ordered him to paye the costs off the plaintiff's attendance, and keepe a civill tongue in his heade." some of the orders made by the court of sessions, as contained in the ancient records, are very interesting at this period, and express in a great measure the character of the early settlers:-- "at a court of sessions held at gravesend the th day of june by his majesty's authority in the twenty-first year of the reign of our sovereign lord charles the second, by the grace of god of great britaine, ffrance and ireland, king, defender of the ffaith, in the year of our lord, . present: mathias nichols, esquire, president; mr. cornelis van ruyter, captain; john manning, mr. james huddard, and mr. richard betts, justices. "weras during this court of sessions their have been several misdemeanors committed in contempt of authority in the towne of gravesende, by one throwing down the stocks, pulling down of fences and such like crimes; the court also find that there was noe watch in the town which might have prevented itt, and being the offenders cannot be discovered, itt is ordered that the towne stand fined five pounds till they have made discovery of the offenders." the penalty in slander cases was very light, as appears by a verdict rendered in an action for defamation in . the verdict was as follows: "at a cort of general sessions, held att gravesende, december , , john ffurman, plf., vs. adraiaen ffrost, def't. the plaintiff declared in an action of defamacon, how that the defendant reported him to be a purjured person, and common lyer, which was sufficiently proved, and also confessed by the defendant. the jury brought in the verdict for the plaintiff, with five pounds damages and costs." among the measures marking the progress of the county was a provision by which all the highways in the region were to be laid out four rods wide. when, in , the duke of york succeeded to the throne of england under the title of james ii., he instructed governor dongan to assert the prerogative of the crown as a natural right, to impose taxes, and also prohibited the establishment of printing presses in the colony. he was opposed to the diffusion of information, and evidently thought that education and knowledge would weaken and destroy his power over the people. thus, selfishness marked his whole course. in august, , the provincial council was dissolved by order of the governor, and no other was chosen or summoned. this course was adopted to lessen the influence of the people, and concentrate the entire management and control in the hands of the governor. on the d of may, , an important event occurred for brooklyn. it was the issuance of a patent whereby all the rights and privileges granted by governor nichols in were fully confirmed and ratified. dongan, in the same year, also granted a charter to the city of new york, confirming the franchises previously granted to the corporation, and placed the government upon a solid foundation. the governor, however, still retained the appointment of mayor, under-sheriff, clerk, and all other important officials, merely giving the people the right to choose their aldermen, assistant aldermen, and minor officials, at an annual election to be held on st. michael's day. this patent of was a very important document for new york city. upon this document new york based its claims to ownership in the brooklyn shore. it was this charter which made sailors on board of united states vessels at the brooklyn navy yard citizens of new york city, and gave them the right to vote in the seventh ward of new york. dongan was a fast friend of the indians, and during his administration secured their good will by counsel and assistance. he had their confidence, and in various ways they manifested gratitude. they called him the "white father," and he was long held in remembrance by the savage tribes, who appreciated his many kind acts to them. he succeeded better with the indians than he did with the whites. the king was anxious to introduce the catholic religion, in opposition to the wishes of the colonists. the feeling between the two parties formed as a result of this threat became very bitter. dongan quickly saw that the policy of intolerance would jeopardize the perpetuity and peace of the english possessions, and opposed the measure. the crown officers appointed by the home government were all catholics, and in order to appease popular prejudices, dongan selected his councilors from among the best known and foremost protestants. this judicious policy was not approved by the king, and in dongan was recalled, and francis nicholson assumed the management of affairs. in the mean time, sir edward andros had been appointed royal governor of new england and new york. nicholson, as his deputy, acted during his absence. the troubles which assailed the people in consequence of the arbitrary acts of the king were not to last long. the hour of deliverance was at hand. the dismal forebodings of the people were removed when the intelligence was received that the king had abdicated his throne, and that the reign of william and mary had begun. this was in . the citizens of new york thereupon assumed the power to remove and depose all the officials who had been appointed through the instrumentality of the late king. the authority of deputy nicholson was questioned. each sovereign had adherents. parties were formed among the people. one sustained the late sovereign, while another supported the new potentates. political and religious discussion waxed warm, and the two parties became known as the democratic and aristocratic classes. some maintained that the change of sovereigns in no way affected the colonial government, and that the commissions granted by james were valid until set aside and declared illegal by the new power. others considered the change in england as a complete revolution, which extended to every province belonging to the kingdom. they held that all things were in a state of anarchy, and that no one possessed the power to control; that all officials were _functus officio_, and consequently the power rested with the people, and that they alone could devise measures or means of government, until the sovereign will should be expressed. as a result of this condition of affairs the inhabitants of long island deposed their magistrates and elected others to fill the places of those they had removed. they also took occasion to send a large body of militia to new york to aid the popular party in that city, which was led by jacob leisler. he held the position of captain, was an old, wealthy, and respected citizen, a firm protestant, and an opponent of the catholics. the public money was deposited in the fort, and the people were anxious to secure its control. a detachment of forty-seven men repaired to the fort, obtained possession without resistance, and captain leisler became the acknowledged and recognized leader of the revolutionary movement. he assumed control in behalf of the new sovereigns, and at once took measures to protect the public property. the defenses were strengthened, and a battery of six guns erected. the erection of this battery was the beginning of the public park long known as the battery. as everything was in a chaotic state, it was deemed advisable to organize a committee of safety, whose first act was to place the city under the command of leisler. subsequently the authority of leisler was confirmed by a dispatch directed to the late governor, or to such other persons as might be in command, requiring such person to assume the entire control of governmental affairs. thereupon leisler took the title of lieutenant-governor, and appointed his advisory council, consisting of eight well-known citizens, to aid him in the discharge of his trust. having entire and complete supremacy, he resolved to place the city in an orderly condition, and to accomplish this purpose took active measures. his conduct did not please the people. some were jealous of his power, and began to stir the people into rebellion. this was accomplished with but little effort, and resulted in a street riot, from which the governor barely escaped with his life. the services of the militia were called in requisition, and for a short time the result was uncertain. the riot, however, was subdued. several of the ringleaders were captured, thrown into prison, and a court summoned to try them for treason. the chief leader, nicholas bayard, was kept in the cells of the city hall for a period of fourteen months, until released by governor sloughter. in , general henry sloughter was appointed governor by the sovereign authority. upon his arrival he demanded the surrender of the fort, which at first was refused. major ingolsby, who had been appointed by him lieutenant-governor, at once landed his forces and blockaded the fort. in this work ingolsby was aided and urged on by the enemies of leisler. for seven weeks the city was kept in this state. leisler refused to surrender his authority until the commission of the new governor was produced. at the same time, however, he declared himself willing to surrender possession to any one duly authorized and deputed to take his place. ingolsby, still urged on by leisler's foes, did all he could to irritate and annoy him. on the th of march, , sloughter was met by a delegation consisting of philipse van courtland and others, representing the anti-leislerian party, which expressed to him a cordial greeting and loyalty. with his escort from the city he proceeded to the city hall, exhibited his commission, and took the oath of office. it was late at night when he reached the hall, and although it was near midnight he dispatched ingolsby and a party of soldiers, at the instigation of van courtland and his friends, to demand a surrender of the fort. leisler was suspicious, and thinking that all was not right, refused to surrender, and sent a letter by one of his men who had known sloughter, with directions to ascertain if he was really present and had issued the order, or whether it had been prepared by some one who had assumed the rôle of authority. this act angered sloughter, and he at once told the messenger that he intended to make himself known in new york. major ingolsby was again directed to return and take possession of the fort, and to release bayard and the other prisoners who had been committed by leisler for treason. upon their release and restoration to freedom they were elevated to the position of members of the council. this augured ill for leisler. the new governor summoned leisler and his son-in-law, milburne, to appear before him without delay. leisler refused to give up possession and still held the fort. he, however, sent milburne and delanoy to the governor to obtain the assurance that his life would be spared. the messengers sent to make terms were imprisoned, and another demand was made to surrender. leisler became frightened; matters were becoming exceedingly hot and disagreeable. resistance could not be kept up much longer, and he feared his life would be forfeited in consequence of his disobedience to the lawfully constituted authority. he deeply felt the necessity of reconciliation, and sent a letter of apology to the governor for holding the fort. he admitted that his action had been unwise, and excused himself on the ground that he feared the people would take his life if he gave up control to ingolsby. this letter was treated with contempt, receiving no consideration at the hands of the governor or his council. sloughter convened his council at the city hall. all of its members were enemies of leisler. leisler, deserted by the soldiers of the fort, was brought a prisoner before sloughter, and imprisoned with several others in the guard-house. at this meeting of the council the governor appointed john lawrence mayor of new york. leisler with his fellow prisoners remained in the guard-house four days, when the governor and council again met to consider the propriety of his removal to prison. on the following day a court was organized to try the prisoners for murder and rebellion. the court met on the th day of march. leisler refused to put in any plea, maintaining that the court had no jurisdiction of the case; that the sovereigns alone had the right to decide whether he had acted without legal authority. the judges were unwilling to assume the power to decide the question, and submitted it to the governor and council, who held that the point was not well taken. thereupon leisler was found guilty on the th day of april, declared to be a usurper, and with milburne was condemned to death. the governor did not at once sign the death warrant. he was not satisfied with the situation, and feared to incur the displeasure of the king. the enemies of leisler urged him to the act, without success. at last, after a month had passed away, they adopted a new method to gain their desire. a feast was prepared, to which the governor was invited. they again urged upon him his duty in the matter, and at last by the use of flattery, and while the governor was under the influence of the good wine which had been provided for the occasion, succeeded in their endeavor. the anti-leislerian party, having accomplished the desire of their hearts, could not rest until the warrant was put into execution. they feared that the governor might relent and revoke his order. nicolls, van courtland, bayard, and those of their adherents who had been imprisoned by the direction of leisler, were burning for vengeance, and nothing but his ignominious death would allay their fury. the warrant having been signed, the festal board lost its attractions. an officer took possession of the document and carried it to the city hall. orders were issued to lead out the prisoners to instant execution. in order to keep the matter from the ears of sloughter, some remained at the entertainment and kept the governor in good humor and forgetfulness with wine. the day of execution was cold and dismal. in the drizzling rain the prisoners were led out to meet their fate. the scaffold was erected in the park opposite the city hall. friends of leisler gathered round him in the trying hour, bewailing the doom of their leader, and in bitter words execrated those who had sought and obtained the death warrant. leisler lamented the fate of his son-in-law, and with his dying breath addressed his son and friend in words of tenderness. turning to milburne he said: "why must you die? you have been but a servant doing my will. what i have done has been in the service of my king and queen, for the protestant cause and for the good of my country; for this i must die. some errors i have committed; for these i ask forgiveness, and i entreat my children to do the same." thus perished the last dutch governor of new york.[ ] his remains were interred in his own ground near the location of old tammany hall. the treatment he received was unjust. he had assumed the reins of government at the behest of the people, when they had no ruler, and continued to act in that capacity, considering the open letter of the new sovereigns as a sufficient authorization. he was condemned unheard, receiving the treatment of a common malefactor. it is but just to say of him that he resigned his authority to the new government as soon as the council had been sworn in, and as soon as he was properly apprised of his supersedure. he was prejudged by a court composed of his enemies, some of whom, on account of malice, were not qualified to try him. in his estate, which had been confiscated, was restored to his family. subsequently parliament declared that leisler had held under proper authority, set aside all acts of attainder and judgments which had been passed against him and his associates, and the bodies of leisler and milburne received the honor of a public reinterment. it was but tardy justice. during sloughter's administration many important changes were made. the government was placed upon a firm basis, and various courts were organized. courts of common pleas and general pleas were organized in every county, and the town governments assumed in a measure their present form. the number of supervisors was reduced to one from each town, with three surveyors of highways. in may, , the general assembly confirmed all previous grants and patents. the grants to breuckelen were thus again confirmed. governor sloughter died suddenly july , . some supposed that he was poisoned by the friends of leisler, whose bitterness was ever manifested toward him. the theory of poisoning, however, was not supported by the _post mortem_ examination. if religious questions had been at the bottom of the democratic revolt led by leisler, the triumph of the aristocratic class did not close the religious differences.[ ] benjamin fletcher, who succeeded sloughter as governor, was a man of limited education, narrow views, self-opinionated obstinacy, and always questionable personal sincerity. it was a darling project with him to introduce the english language and the episcopalian forms of worship. to accomplish this purpose he made strenuous efforts, bringing to bear every influence within his power. the hollanders were wedded to their own peculiar forms of church government, and regarded their church as best entitled to be considered the established form of religious worship. vigorous efforts were consequently made to retain its supremacy, and great opposition was manifested toward the proposed change. the dutch language was long successfully retained in the dutch churches. it was not until that the english language was introduced, causing great dissatisfaction among the old knickerbocker stock. the tenacity displayed in retaining the language of the fatherland, and the refusal to provide english services, drove many young people into the episcopalian fold. to this circumstance may be ascribed the reason why to-day so many dutch families are found connected with that denomination. had the fathers gratified the wishes of their children by providing services in the english language, the reformed dutch church would have retained many families that found their way into the episcopalian church. william bradford, of philadelphia, in , established the first printing-press in new york city, and had the exclusive contract from the city government to print the laws, ordinances, and corporation advertising. he had no competitor, and must have enjoyed a rich harvest. to bradford belongs the credit of establishing the first newspaper ever printed in the province. his effort in this direction proved eminently successful. the paper was first given to the public in , and was called the "new york gazette." at first it was merely a weekly paper, printed on a small half sheet, containing only two pages. as his business increased it was enlarged to four pages. in long island received a new name, being designated as nassau island. the change met with but little favor, and although the name nassau is intimately associated with the history of the island and with local institutions, it failed to become permanent. during this period a system of privateering came into vogue, which in a great measure received encouragement from the authorities. the entire coast was infested by daring buccaneers and pirates, who plundered the shipping, making serious depredations upon the commerce of the country. the province suffered greatly from these freebooters, and, although complaint was made from time to time to the constituted authorities, no redress or protection was received. the officials themselves were corrupt, and participated in the profits derived from the nefarious and infamous business. governor fletcher fell under strong suspicion of complicity. legitimate trade was destroyed, and many embarked in the new calling who under other circumstances could not have been induced to pollute themselves by engaging in so vile a traffic. the english government at last became alarmed. trade was suspended and merchants were afraid to send their vessels and wares over the ocean. they were unwilling to risk their property in so dangerous and hazardous an enterprise. it became necessary to adopt active means to suppress piracy. the governor could not be trusted, and, in order to break up this evil, governor fletcher was recalled in , and lord bellomont appointed in his stead. lord bellomont did not enter upon the discharge of his duties until . he was a man of quick perception, and was convinced that active measures were necessary. to carry out his views he urged the government to equip an armed naval force to cruise in the western waters and capture the human sharks who were pillaging vessels and destroying the commerce of the nation. england at that time was engaged in a war with france, and had not the means or equipments to respond to the appeal. she required all her naval vessels to defend herself against her neighbor. bellomont was determined to accomplish his laudable undertaking to destroy piracy in american waters, and, as he could receive no aid from the crown, resolved to organize a stock company for the purpose. he was encouraged in his effort by the king, who approved the plan, and, with the duke of shrewsbury and others of the nobility, became a shareholder in the company thus formed. the object of the company was to build and man vessels to capture the pirates. a sum of money amounting to about $ , was raised. a fine and strong vessel called the adventure galley was placed in commission. she carried sixty sailors and mounted thirty guns. captain william kidd, a bold and adventurous officer, was placed in command of the ship thus equipped. in order to encourage him in his labor, it was provided that his share in the enterprise should be one fifth of the proceeds. he was a man of large experience, having been engaged in the west indian and new york trade for many years, and having at various times been employed as captain of packet ships. his experience and knowledge of the coast preëminently fitted him for the undertaking. he had lived in new york a long time, owned considerable property, and was looked upon as a man in every way worthy to discharge the duties assigned him. bellomont and robert livingston had the utmost confidence in him, and gave him a warm recommendation for the position. he married a lady of high social rank in new york, and was privileged to move in the best circles of the city. the vessel sailed under flattering auspices in april, , from plymouth, england, for new york. arriving at the latter port, captain kidd shipped ninety additional men, and proceeded to the indian seas in search of pirates. kidd soon found that his own seamen sympathized with the buccaneers, and were far from unwilling to assume the rôle of pirates. it will never be known what arguments induced him to turn aside from the path of duty, and join the band of pirates he was sent to destroy. the fact is that he was led to abandon his enterprise, and became the most daring and bold robber on the sea that ever trod the quarter deck. reckless and energetic, he soon enriched himself with booty taken from merchantmen upon the high seas. it is said that he would often return to the shores of new york and long island, and bury his ill-gotten gains for future use. kidd not only buried treasure on long island, but, if romantic traditions are to be believed, visited the island under certain sentimental conditions. he is credited with having made early visits to bushwick in attendance upon a pretty young woman whose family resided in that region, and with having sought hospitality at the "kiekout," on the way to and from the home of the lady. even after the character of his undertakings became known, kidd ventured to return to long island. after capturing a large frigate he landed at gardiner's island, and buried a quantity of treasure. after dividing some of the ill-gotten gains with his crew, he discharged them, and went to boston to reside, under an assumed name, hoping that he would not be discovered. in this expectation he made a great mistake. a man like him could not pass long unnoticed. his past career rendered his detection sure. bellomont was in boston attending to certain affairs of state, and, meeting kidd in the street, at once recognized him, and speedily caused his arrest. it was a proud and happy day for bellomont, and proved to be a crowning effort in his life. his wish was accomplished! he had found and with his own hand arrested the notorious pirate. the prisoner was at once sent to england on a charge of murder and piracy, was tried, found guilty, and sentenced to death, and executed on the th of may, . kidd's family continued to reside in new york, feeling keenly the disgrace which had been brought upon them.[ ] diligent search was now made for his buried treasures. a large quantity of valuable jewels and gold and silver was found at gardiner's island. the excitement on the subject became intense. bellomont and livingston, having recommended kidd for appointment as commander of the expedition against the pirates, and in consequence of their former friendliness for kidd, were accused unjustly of having connived at and participated in his spoils. had this charge been true, bellomont would hardly have been so ungrateful or imprudent as to arrest him in the streets of boston and transport him to england for trial and execution. bellomont, in the administration of the affairs of state, allied himself with the democratic faction. bayard, van courtlandt, and the other members of the council who had opposed leisler, were removed, and their places filled by the former adherents of leisler. a new assembly was called in may, . bellomont opened it with a speech calculated to please and encourage the people. he told them that he came with a firm determination to be just to all interests; that the public money should not be squandered by any one, and that all officials should be held to a strict accountability. the address gave satisfaction to the assembly. acts were passed for the suppression of piracy, regulating elections, and for the indemnification of those who had been excluded from the general pardon which had been previously granted. bellomont instituted and initiated many reforms. markets were erected at coenties slip, and at the foot of broad street. streets were opened and paved, and provision was made for keeping them clean. a house was secured and used as a hospital for the sick poor of the city. the ferry between breuckelen and new york was leased for a period of seven years, and the rates of fare fixed. the fare for a single person was eight stuyvers in wampum, or a silver twopence; a shilling for a horse, twopence for a hog, and a penny for a sheep. by the terms of the lease the city of new york was to build a commodious ferry-house on the breuckelen side, which was to be kept in repair by the ferryman. the jurisdiction of bellomont was enlarged by his appointment as governor of massachusetts as well as of new york. he was greatly interested in the navigation acts; but his efforts to enforce them were resisted by the residents and merchants of new england, and met with opposition in new york. the merchants of new york were incensed at his conduct, and made a vigorous complaint to the board of trade and parliament. the matter, however, was never investigated, as he was released from trial, by the hand of death, in . in , a mob of kings county people, who resented the spirit of the english government, assembled, "armed, at the court house of kings county, where they destroyed and defaced the king's arms which were hanging up there." among those who so convened were the familiar names of john rapalje, jacob ryerse, garrett cowenhoven, jacob bennett, and john meserole, jr. in november, , negroes were not allowed to be brought from new york on the sabbath unless they were provided with passes. during the succeeding years similar legislation was enacted, and the liberty and freedom of the negro were still more restricted. he was "forbidden to run about on the sabbath." the regulations with regard to the observance of the sabbath were very stringent. one of the legislative enactments provided "that no people should pass on the sabbath day unless it be to go to or from church, or other urgent and lawful occasions according to act of assembly upon penalty of fine and imprisonment." in one of the first trials for treason in the new world was held in kings county. in those days petit magistrates, clothed with a little brief authority, became arbitrary, and often imagined that criticism and words uttered concerning the way they discharged their duties had a tendency to exasperate the people against the constituted authorities. they would often cause the arrest and confinement of citizens on frivolous and baseless charges, and denounce them as guilty of treason. such a case was the trial of john bibaut for "treason." the action taken by the justices clearly shows that it was a matter of but little moment, and fraught with no danger to the community. the following order shows the nature of the case:-- "october , . att a meeting of the justices off kings county, held att the county hall. "present, roetiff martense, nicholaus stillwell, joseph hagerman, and henry ffilkin, esquires, justices. "john bibaut, off brookland, inn the county aforesayde, wee aver being committed bye the said justices too the common jail of kings county, ffor divers scandalous and abusive words spoken by the sayde john against theire majesties authority, and breache of the peace; the said john having now humbly submitted himself and craves pardon and mercy off the sayde justices ffor his misdemeanor, is discharged, paying the officers ffees, and being on his good behaviour, till the next cort of sessions inn november next ensuing the dayte thereoff." several others were arrested and imprisoned on similar charges made by the justices. although the fines imposed were heavy, it is not to be presumed that the offenses committed were of a serious nature, as the accused were all discharged on payment of the fine exacted. chapter vii brooklyn before the revolution - brooklyn becomes the largest long island settlement. division of the common lands. regulations as to the cutting of lumber. the king's highway laid out. brooklyn officials at the opening of the century. lord cornbury's proclamation to long island justices. slavery. encroachments on the common highway. the trial of zenger. population in . fortifying long island. newspaper glimpses of pre-revolutionary life. ferries. kings county in the assembly and the provincial convention. philip livingston. general town meeting in brooklyn. before the close of the seventeenth century brooklyn had assumed a leading place among the long island towns. indeed, in the number of assessed persons the village with the "ugly little church" began to exceed midwout as early as ,[ ] when it had sixty property owners who paid taxes. at the beginning of the new century we find breuckelen, if not growing rapidly as we now understand the term, at least treading steadily forward and assuming the traits of an organized community. at a town meeting held in , the common lands of brooklyn had been divided as follows: "all lands and woods, after bedford and cripplebush over the hills to the path of new lotts, shall belong to the inhabitants of the gowanis, beginning from jacob brower and soe to the uttermost bounds of the limitts of new utrecht. "and all the lands and woods that lyes betwixt the aforesaid path and the highway from the ferry toward flattbush shall belong to the ffreeholders and inhabitants of bedfford and cripplebush. "and all the lands that lyes in common after the gowanis betwixt the limitts and bounds of flattbush and new utrecht shall belong to the ffreeholders and inhabitants of breucklin, fred neck, the ferry and the wallabout." among the commissioners appointed to lay out the common lands was captain henry ffilkin, an influential resident of the town and an elder in the reformed church. the ordinance provided specifically as follows: "it is likewise ordered and agreed that capt. henry falkin shall have a full share with any or all the ffreeholders aforesaid, in all the common lands or woods, in the whole patent of the town of broockland aforesaid beside a half share for his home lott. to have and to hold to him, his heirs and assigns forever. it is likewise ordered that no person whatsoever within the common woods, of the jurisdiction of broockland aforesaid, shall cutt or fall any oak or chesnut saplings, for firewood during the space of four years from the date hereof, upon any of the said common lands or woods within the jurisdiction of broockland patent, upon the penaltie of six shillings in money for every waggon load abovesaid soe cutt, beside the forfeiture of the wood soe cutt as abovesaid, the one half thereof to the informer, and the other half for the use of the poor of the towne of broockland aforesaid." at a later town meeting[ ] trustees were appointed for the common lands, and regulations adopted respecting the cutting of timber in the public woods. these rules were adopted to prevent the unnecessary cutting of timber and consequent waste. among other things it was ordered "that no shoemaker or others shall cutt or ffall any trees to barke in the common woods, upon the penaltie of the payment of ffive pounds ffor every tree so cutt." it will be noticed that the orthography of that period was quite different from that in use in the present age. the common woodlands, amounting to about acres,[ ] were surveyed and apportioned, each house in town receiving an interest in the wood, and being provided with means of ingress and egress from the region so apportioned. a conveyance dated in gives "alsoe all the rights and privileges of the common woodlands of the town of broockland aforesaid to said house belonging as per record of said town may appear." when, in , the improved fenced lands of breuckelin were surveyed, it was found that simon aertson was the largest real estate owner, being the happy possessor of acres. on the th of march, , fulton street, then called the king's highway, was laid out by commissioners appointed by the general assembly of the province of new york. the commissioners to whom this duty was assigned were joseph hegeman, peter cortelyou, and benjamin vande water. the original plan or description of the road, being interesting and peculiar, is here inserted. it was as follows:-- "one publique, common and general highway, to begin from low water marke at the ferry in the township of broockland, in kings county, and from thence to run ffour rod wide up between the houses and land of john aerson, john coe and george jacobs, and soe all along broockland towne aforesaid, through the lane that now is, and ffrom thence straight along a certain lane to the southward corner of john van couwenhoven's land, and ffrom thence straight to bedfford as it is now staked out, to the lane where the house of benjamin vandewater stands, and ffrom thence straight along through bedfford towne to bedfford lane, running between the lands of john garretse dorlant and claes burnse to the rear of the lands of the said cloyse, and ffrom thence southerly to the old path now in use, and soe along said path to philip volkertses land, taking in a little slip of said philip's land on the south corner, soe all along said road by isaac greg's house to the fflackbush new lotts ffence, and soe all along said ffence to the eastward, to the northeast corner of eldert lucas's land, lying within the new lotts of fflackbush aforesaid, being ffour rod wide, all along, to be and continue forever." jacob vande water, who became town clerk of breuckelen in , held the position until , when he was succeeded by henry ffilkin. ffilkin held office until . from to , joris hanssen, hendrick clausen, and jan gerbritse acted as trustees and commissioners of the town. in , the trustees and commissioners were benjamin vande water, joris hanssen, and john garretse dorlant. from to , the trustees were hendrick vechte, jacob hanssen, and cornelius vanduyk. the first supervisor of the town was joris hanssen, and he held the position from until . jacob vande water, the clerk, owned property in the neighborhood of tillary and raymond streets. his tract was mentioned in the patent issued by governor dongan in , ratifying previous grants. he took the oath of allegiance to the government at the time his patent was ratified, having then resided in the colony twenty-nine years. in , he was appointed one of the freeholders to lay out and divide the common lands, and acted in that capacity with joris hanssen and jan garretse dorlant, heretofore referred to as trustees. vande water was a man of great importance in the little hamlet, and enjoyed the confidence of the community. the officials of brooklyn[ ] who acted from were as follows:-- hendrick vechte was trustee from to . jacob hanssen was trustee from to . cornelius vanduyk was trustee from to . john staats was trustee from to . samuel garritson (or gerritse) was town clerk in and . adrian hegeman became town clerk in , and served in that capacity until . joramus rapelye (rapalje), jacobus leffertse, and rem remsen, acted as trustees from to , a continuous and unbroken board. adrian hegeman came from an old family, and was doubtless a son of adriaen hegeman, who, as schepen or schout in , signed the petition to the director-general of the council of the new netherlands, praying that assistance might be given to pay carol van beauvois for teaching school, digging graves, running on errands as messenger, etc., referred to in a previous chapter. his salary as clerk was thirty-three and one third pounds per annum, or about $ in our money. on the death of bellomont (in ) the administration devolved upon lieutenant-governor nanfan, until the appointment of a new governor. nanfan at the time was temporarily absent in barbadoes, and in consequence a sharp and bitter contest took place as to the management and control of the province. the anti-leislerian party claimed that colonel william smith, being senior member of the council, should exercise authority. the leislerian or democratic party asserted that the same course should be pursued as at the time sloughter died, which consisted in the election of a temporary chairman. the discussion waxed warm, and would have led to disastrous results, had not lieutenant-governor nanfan opportunely arrived to quell the disturbance. nanfan was a strong exponent of the leislerian policy, and warmly espoused that party's cause. the assembly convened by him possessed his spirit, was actuated by the same motives, and enjoyed the confidence and support of leisler's friends. during the absence of nanfan and while the government was without a head, peter schuyler and robert livingston supported and sustained the pretensions of colonel smith, senior councillor, to be considered the temporary ruler of affairs. livingston was one of leisler's most determined enemies, and had been execrated as such by milburne in his dying words. at this time livingston held the very important office of secretary of indian affairs and collector of customs. the new assembly caused his removal, and required him to furnish his accounts for examination. not being able to produce them, he was denounced and charged with being a defaulter. his expulsion from the council followed, together with confiscation of his property and effects for the benefit of the province. it seemed as if the enemies of leisler were to be brought quickly to punishment, and that the martyr's friends were to enjoy the sweets of revenge. the feuds which existed between the two parties in the affairs of the colony produced the same confusion in the municipal affairs of the city. in the board of aldermen each party had its adherents, and the contentions between the two equaled in intensity of hate the feeling manifested between the contending parties in the war of the rebellion. some of the aldermen refused to take the oath of office at the hands of mayor noell, and he appointed others in their place. the friends of leisler refused to act or to recognize the power of the mayor to make new appointments. to enable an appeal to be taken to decide the question, the aldermen took a recess, and the city was virtually without a government for a month. the court to whom the matter was referred held that the mayor possessed the authority to act in the premises by filling vacancies, and thereupon the new officials took their seats. the board thus became equally divided between the two parties. the mayor belonged to the aristocratic or anti-leislerian party, and had the casting vote. this proceeding on the part of the mayor created intense excitement, and threatened the peace of the city. lord cornbury, a nephew of queen anne, who had just ascended the throne, was appointed to succeed lord bellomont. bayard, who had labored to secure the conviction and execution of leisler and milburne, having prepared the act under which they were executed, upon hearing of the appointment of cornbury, transmitted papers to him and to parliament, strongly condemning the leislerians and abusing nanfan and his administration. nanfan, learning of the action of bayard, immediately arrested him and his associate, john hutchins, for treasonable acts in vilifying the administration. bayard had the misfortune to be tried under the same act which he had prepared for the benefit of leisler. the act provided "that any person who should endeavor by any manner or way, or upon any pretense, by force of arms or otherwise, to disturb the peace, good, and quiet, of the province, should be esteemed rebels and traitors, and should incur the pains and penalties which the laws of england had provided for such offenses." bayard had enforced this law without semblance of pity, but with rancor and hatred in his heart toward leisler and milburne. his own hour had come! as he had meted out to others, so he himself was to receive. he could expect no clemency. bayard was indicted for treason and rebellion, for inciting the soldiers in the fort against the constituted authorities, and for inducing his friends to sign libelous petitions and addresses. great exertions were made to secure his acquittal, without avail. he was tried, found guilty of the offense, and sentenced to death. hutchins met with a similar fate. leisler was not allowed opportunity to appeal for a reprieve, but bayard and hutchins received more merciful treatment. governor nanfan gave them a reprieve until the matter could be presented to the king and his wishes ascertained. in the mean time lord cornbury arrived, and exercised executive clemency by their release. bayard was again taken in favor by cornbury, who denounced the leislerians and identified himself with the party in opposition. the judge who passed sentence on bayard was obliged to leave the country, having by his conduct incurred the displeasure of the governor and council. cornbury's administration was intolerant toward every religious and educational advancement. he embraced every opportunity which presented itself to rob and plunder the treasury, and enrich himself thereby. although his opportunities for enrichment were great, yet he possessed no capacity for saving that which he secured. his recklessness and licentiousness caused him to become deeply involved in debt, and rendered him unpopular with the people; public sentiment was, indeed, strongly against him. this fact, in connection with his general and reckless disobedience of orders, caused his recall in . his creditors, who had looked upon his advancement to the position of governor as a golden opportunity to secure their claims, feeling keenly the disappointment of not receiving their just dues, and becoming greatly incensed against him, on his return to england had him arrested and cast into prison, where he remained until the death of his father, whom he succeeded in the peerage. the condition of the negro slave at this time was one of degradation. the negro's privileges were circumscribed, and strict laws were enforced concerning his habits and movements. in order to pass the gates the slaves were obliged to obtain permission of their masters, and were not allowed to meet together. they could not own property, and there were no means provided whereby they could obtain their freedom. if an owner desired to give his slave his freedom, he was liable to pay a heavy fine for transgressing the law. these burdens daily increased. the traffic in slaves became more and more popular as a business. in order to supply the demand, a public market for slaves was opened in new york in . it was located at the foot of wall street, and it was the practice to bring all the slaves who were to be sold or hired to this market, where they could be inspected as so many cattle by parties desiring to bid. so strict were the ordinances passed concerning negroes that they were not allowed to appear in the streets at night unless they had a lighted lantern. all who violated this regulation were committed to jail, and kept in confinement until a fine of eight shillings was paid. the master or owner of the slave on paying this fine enjoyed the privilege of requiring the authorities to give the offending slave thirty-nine lashes at the public whipping-post. it was not unnatural that these regulations should breed among the negroes at times a spirit of rebellion. they committed many murders in retaliation for injuries received. at newtown, in , an entire family was murdered by the slaves. on being apprehended, the murderers acknowledged their offense, and gave as a reason for committing the crime that they had been prevented from going out on sunday. the punishment instituted for the murderous acts of slaves was calculated to fill them with fear and dread. they were even "tied to stakes and burned alive, broken on wheels, or suspended to the limbs of trees and left to perish." seldom in the world's history has so much inhumanity been manifested towards slaves as in the early days of the colonies. in , lord cornbury issued the following proclamation to the justices of the peace in kings county:-- by his excellency, edward, lord viscount cornbury, captain general and governor in chief of the provinces of new york and new jersey, and the territories depending thereon in america, and vice admiral of the same, etc.: whereas, i am informed that several negroes in kings county have assembled themselves in a riotous manner, which if not prevented may prove of ill consequence; you and every one of you are therefore hereby required and commanded to take all proper methods for seizing and apprehending all such negroes in the said county, as shall be found to be assembled in such manner as aforesaid, or have run away or absconded from their masters or owners, whereby there may be reason to suspect them of ill practices or designs, and to secure them in safe custody, that their crimes and actions may be inquired into; and if any of them refuse to submit themselves, then to fire on them, kill, or destroy them, if they cannot otherwise be taken; and for so doing this shall be your sufficient warrant. given under my hand at fort anne, in new york, the d day of july, . cornbury. furman, in his "antiquities," refers to the condition of slaves on long island, and bears testimony that as a general rule they were peaceable and well behaved. he says that they were much attached to the families to which they belonged. many now living can bear testimony to this fact. when slavery was abolished in new york it was provided that all who had reached a certain age should remain with their owners and be provided during life with proper support and care. the writer can now call to mind many old negroes who never obtained their freedom. they loved to talk of "massa" and the boys. they considered themselves a part of the family, and often idolized their owners. the master had in them true, warm friends, ever ready to fight his battles and take his part. the aged negroes loved to sit in the chimney corner and tell to the children the history of the family. they would narrate in glowing language the incidents of the past, and always had eager listeners. they were rarely sold or separated from the family. when a son or daughter was married, a slave became a portion of the dowry or outfit. at times when estates were divided it became necessary to dispose of them. furman says "that in an inventory taken on the th of december, , in kings county, of the estate of a deceased person, a negro wench and child were valued at £ , while five milk cows, five calves, three young bulls, and two heifers were collectively valued at £ ." new york was visited during the time of lord cornbury with that terrible scourge of the human race, yellow fever. it was brought from st. thomas and spread rapidly. physicians seemed powerless to prevent its ravages. it was an epidemic long remembered and dreaded by the citizens of new york. all who could get away fled either to jersey or long island. lord cornbury, with his retinue, took up his residence in jamaica, long island. in order to afford suitable accommodations for so high a dignitary as the governor, the presbyterian minister of the village cheerfully gave up his parsonage to his use, removing himself to a smaller and less pretentious house. [illustration: brooklyn church and duffield house, ] in return for this act of kindness, cornbury was guilty of a very contemptible trick toward the presbyterian minister and church. the governor was an uncompromising supporter of the established church of england, and was ready at all times to advance her interests. the presbyterian church of jamaica was strong and prosperous. its popularity made the few episcopalians in the village jealous and anxious to secure the property. the presence of cornbury induced them to take possession of the building on a sunday afternoon between services. this act resulted in violence between the parties, each of which claimed title. the pews were torn out, and the turmoil was only quelled by the appearance of the governor, who decided that the episcopalians were entitled to possession. a law suit followed, and the episcopalians kept possession until . the sheriff also seized the parsonage and land, and leased it for the benefit of the episcopal church. cornbury, having been kindly treated by the minister, rewarded the act of courtesy by surrendering the house into the hands of the episcopal rector, who took possession and occupied the house when cornbury returned to new york. cornbury was succeeded in by robert hunter, who was a man of fine abilities, good character, possessed of excellent business qualities, and of a varied experience. he was one who in our day would pass for a very good yankee. he was born of humble scotch parents, who had not the means to supply him with an education. he was in a great measure a "self-made" man. when very young he was apprenticed to an apothecary. this employment not suiting his taste, he ran away and enlisted in the army as a private. possessing honesty and perseverance, and withal having a desire to please his superior officers, he soon gained their affection and good will, and was placed in the line of promotion. his manliness gained him friends everywhere, and in a short time the poor scotch lad rose to the rank of a brigadier general. he was now thrown into the society of the cultivated and refined. hunter married an heiress, through whose instrumentality he was appointed lieutenant-governor of virginia. he started for his new field of labor in , was captured by a french cruiser and taken back to europe as a prisoner. he was exchanged after having been a prisoner only a short time. what at first seemed to be a hardship in his case proved a blessing, and the precursor of higher honors. upon being released the queen removed the gall from the bitterness he had endured by bestowing upon him the position of governor of the provinces of new york and new jersey. hunter considered it a paramount duty on his part to enforce the requirements of the crown. in acting in accordance with their wishes he was compelled to oppose every manifestation of republican feeling on the part of the people, and to ally himself with the aristocratic party. he chose his councillors from this party, but was careful to select men of intelligence and power. among his first advisers might be mentioned gerardus beekman, rip van dam, an honest and successful dutch merchant; killian van rensselaer, whose family were patroons on the hudson. the huguenots were represented in his cabinet by john barbarie and frederic philipse. hunter was deeply interested in the huguenot element of the population. governor hunter had a fixed desire to acquire additional territory for his queen. he projected an expedition to conquer canada, and used his influence to induce new england to join in the enterprise. this was in . it was a measure which met with hearty acquiescence in new york. the attention of the assembly was brought to the subject, and at once an appropriation of ten thousand pounds was made to defray the necessary expenses. the assembly issued bills of credit, and they may be said to be the beginnings of paper money in our country, as such notes had never before been used in the colony. in , after the failure of the expedition for conquest, rumors of an intended negro rebellion were heard on every side. it was noticed that the movements of the slaves were mysterious, and the general opinion was that the slaves intended to cause a riot; and a natural alarm spread through the communities on manhattan island and on the brooklyn side of the river. these fears were not unfounded. the smouldering fire burst out into a flame. property was destroyed, one house was burned, and several white men were killed. it was resolved to make a general arrest of the negroes. nineteen were taken, tried, and executed for their connection with the disturbance. in , the war between england and france terminated by the treaty of utrecht, which put an end to the effort to conquer canada. hunter's health failing, in , after a term of nine years, he was obliged to seek a change of climate, and returned to england, leaving the administration of affairs in the hands of his trusty friend, peter schuyler. he bade adieu to new york in july, , bearing with him the good wishes of the people. schuyler's official career was short, lasting but one year. his long residence and connection with public matters proved of service to himself and the people he governed, and rendered his short administration eminently successful. he exercised great influence with the indians, having ever shown himself to be their friend and protector, and having on many occasions interceded with them, and thereby saved the settlement from invasion and destruction. one of his principal and most worthy acts was the restoration of friendship between the whites and iroquois indians, which gave him deserved popularity. the next governor was william burnet, a son of the celebrated bishop burnet. he arrived on the th of september, , immediately assumed control and entered upon his duties as governor of the combined provinces of new york and new jersey. he was a man of education and ability, and above all things else was thoroughly honest. he readily saw that the wisdom and prudence of hunter had been beneficial to the colony, and he resolved to follow the same course his predecessor had pursued. one of his first acts was to continue the assembly which had been convened by hunter, and he kept it in existence for eleven years. the assembly manifested its confidence and gratification by voting him a revenue for the succeeding five years. it was soon after the opening of burnet's administration that the people of brooklyn and kings county began to give signs of annoyance and agitation over encroachments made by private owners upon the king's highway leading from the ferry, and now represented by fulton street. this highway, as we have seen, had been laid out in , by the duly constituted commissioners, and it was provided "that it was to be ffour rod wide and to continue forever." in april, , the general sessions of the peace for kings county held its term, and, after a due consideration of the question, indictments for encroaching on the "common highway of the king leading from the ferry to the church," were found against john rapalje, hans bergen, and others. it appears very singular that these indictments were obtained at the instance and upon the complaint of two of the indicted parties. the complaint on which this indictment was obtained was as follows:-- flatbush, april , . john rapalje and hans bergen of the fferry desires of the grand jury that the commissioners own being should be presented for not doing there duty in laying the king's highway according to ye law, being the king's highway is too narrow from the ferry to one nicolus cowenhoven living at brooklyn, and if all our neighbours will make ye road according to law, then ye said john rapalje and hans bergen is willing to do the same as aforesaid, being they are not willing to suffer more than their neighbors. as witness our hands the day and year first above written. jan rapalje. hans bergen. these men were governed by a desire that all should fare alike, demanding that the law should be enforced without fear, favor, or partiality. some of the persons indicted, in connection with others who felt aggrieved and feared that they also might be placed in a similar unpleasant position, applied to the colonial legislature, and secured the passage of a law on the th of july, , "to continue the common road or king's highway from the ferry toward the town of breuckland, on the island of nassau, in the province of new york." the preamble was as follows: "whereas, several of the inhabitants on the ferry on the island of nassau, by their petition, preferred to the general assembly, by setting forth that they have been molested by persecutions, occasioned by the contrivance and instigations of ill and disaffected persons, to the neighborhood, who would encroach upon the buildings and fences that have been made many years, alledging the road was not wide enough, to the great damage of several of the old inhabitants, on the said ferry, the said road as it now is, has been so for sixty years past without any complaint either of the inhabitants or travellers." the remaining sections of the law established the road "forever," as it then existed, from the ferry upward to the town of breuckland, as far as the swinging gate of john rapalje, just above the property belonging to james harding. the unwillingness of the early settlers to part with their land, when land was so cheap, accounts in a great measure for our present narrow and crooked street. these early settlers, in their opposition to the widening of the street, might have desired to preserve some favorite fruit or shade tree. it has been given as a reason why broadway, new york, makes a turn or diverges at grace church, that a dutchman had a favorite cherry tree on the line of the thoroughfare as proposed, and, if the street was continued in a direct line, the tree would have felt the woodman's axe. another provision of this enactment was the privilege it gave that, if a majority of the inhabitants of the town should "adjudge that part of the road near to the ferry to be too narrow and inconvenient," they could take proceedings to have it widened. in order to secure this improvement, "they might cause the sheriff to summon a jury of twelve men to appraise the value of land to be taken, and the amount of value so ascertained should be levied upon the towne, and collected and paid to the owners of the land so appropriated to street purpose." this provision of the law was never enforced. the people seemed to rest content with their narrow, winding, crooked lane, which in those days resembled a cow-path. the "swinging gate" referred to, is said to have been located on the rise of the hill at or near the junction of sands and fulton streets. the commissioners of highways laid out another important highway or road on the th of march, . it led to the public landing place at the mills of nehemiah denton at gowanus. the record of this road is as follows:-- "one common highway to gowanus mill, to begin from the northeast corner of leffert peterses ffence, and soe along the road westerly as it is now in use, to the lane yt parts the lands of hendrick vechte, and abraham brower and nicholas brower, and soe all along said lane, as it is now in ffence to the house of jurian collier, and from thence all along the roade, now in use to the said gowanus mill, being in all four rod wide to the said lane, and that there be a convenient landing place for all persons whatsoever, to begin ffrom said southermost side of said gowanus mill house, and ffrom said house to run ffour rod to the southward, for the transportation of goods, and the commodious passage of travellers; and that said highway to the said gowanus mill ffrom said house of said jurian collier, shall be but two rod only, and where it is now in use said common highway to be and continue forever; and ffurther that the ffence and gate that now stands upon the entrance into said mill neck, shall soe remain and be alwayes kept soe enclosed with a ffence and hanging gate; and the way to said mill to be thorou that gate only, and to be alwayes shutt or put to, by all persons that passes thorou." in another road[ ] and landing place had been laid out at or near the mill of john c. friecke. brooklyn's political fortunes were at this period so intimately connected with those of new york city that the political history of one is, in general, the political history of the other; yet brooklyn and kings county held sufficiently aloof to justify the omission of any particular chronicle of the administration of burnet and its quarrels with the french, or the circumstances attending the governor's transfer to massachusetts by george ii. the next governor, john montgomerie, was instructed to continue the policy of hunter, but he had not the firmness to do so. the principal event in montgomerie's administration, and one which is held in lasting remembrance in new york, was the grant of an amended charter to the city in . this charter, as well as the dongan charter, of which it was an amendment, is one which has always been of interest to brooklyn, as it claimed to fix the limits of the city of new york. the limits thus embraced in the charter extended to low-water mark on the long island shore.[ ] on the death of montgomerie, in , the governorship passed temporarily to rip van dam, senior member of the council, in whose accession the dutch elements in new york and kings county rejoiced greatly. colonel william crosby, who became governor in , was guilty of infamous tyrannies and usurpations, as in the van dam trial, and later in the persecution of john peter zenger, publisher of the "weekly journal," a newspaper started in opposition to the administration "gazette" and to voice the popular opposition. under crosby's instigation the council promulgated an order directing that the papers containing the obnoxious articles should be burnt by the hangman at the pillory. when this order was presented to the quarter sessions the aldermen protested strongly against it, and the court thereupon refused to allow it to be entered on the records. the recorder, francis harrison, was the only one who attempted to defend it, and he based its regularity upon former english precedents. the court also refused to allow the hangman to execute the order, and it was carried into effect by a negro slave, hired for the purpose. the negro did his work in the presence of the recorder and other partisans of the government. the magistrates, with great and commendable unanimity, refused to attend, and evidently considered that the whole proceeding was but on a par with the former actions of the adherents of the crown. the burning of the papers did not satisfy the aristocratic party. they desired to be avenged, and, thirsting for a victim, shortly after caused the arrest of zenger on the charge that he had been guilty of publishing treasonable and seditious libels against the government and her representatives. he was imprisoned on this complaint, and, while in jail awaiting the action of the grand jury, was treated in a cruel and inhuman manner by his jailers. the ordinary courtesies usually granted to unconvicted men were denied him. he was even refused the use of pen, ink, and paper. the jail of the city at that time was in the city hall, in wall street. here zenger was imprisoned. application was made by his friends to have him submitted to bail, and for the purpose of having the amount fixed, he was brought before the court on a writ of _habeas corpus_. the court required him to give bail in the sum of £ , with two additional sureties in the sum of £ each. this was virtually a denial of bail, as he could not procure the requisite amount. in his endeavor to get his bail reduced, he swore that he was not worth, exclusive of his trade tools, the sum of £ . on this affidavit he was remanded to his place of confinement. the trial of zenger occasioned great excitement on both sides of the east river. the acquittal brought immense enthusiasm and lavish honors on andrew hamilton, who brilliantly defended the popular publisher. in the assembly called in , under governor clarke, kings county was represented by samuel garretson, abraham lott, and johannis lott. brooklyn's population in was . in the same year the population of the other settlements was as follows: flatbush, ; bushwick, ; new utrecht, ; flatlands, ; gravesend, . the breaking out of virulent smallpox in new york brought the assembly of - to brooklyn, a matter of momentous interest to the little hamlet. the house of "widow sickle" was honored by the assembly as a place of meeting, and its great room was so occupied for several months. during governor clinton's term smallpox appeared a second time in new york (in ), and the colonial assembly again sought quarters in brooklyn in which to hold their deliberations. the legislature chose a house on fulton street near nassau. it was at this important session that, on the th of june, , the colonial commissioners canceled bills of credit, issued by the colony of new york, amounting to the sum of £ , s. d. the assembly manifested no little acrimony toward the governor and displayed a growing feeling of independence. this independence of the representatives of the people appeared with increasing frequency, and signs of it so preyed upon gloomy sir danvers osborne, who succeeded clinton, that he hanged himself with a handkerchief in his garden, shortly after his inauguration, leaving lieutenant-governor delancey[ ] to assume control of the government. meanwhile one phase of long island's relations to new york should not escape notice. the position of long island made it natural that new york should look to it as in a measure a bulwark against attack from the sea, and various governors displayed an interest in repairing those harbor fortifications which rested on the island. governor clarke addressed the legislature, in , in the following terms: "there is great reason to apprehend a speedy rupture with france; your situation ought therefore to awaken you to a speedy provision against that event, in fortifying the town in a better manner than it is at present by erecting batteries in proper places upon some of the wharves facing the harbor, others upon the side of the hudson river adjoining the town, and one at red hook, upon long island, to prevent the enemy from landing at nutten island." governor clinton, on april , , assured the legislature in a special message that "it was absolutely necessary there should be a battery of six guns at red hook, on nassau island, which would effectually prevent the enemy's lying there, to bombard the city, or their landing any force or artillery on nutten island. in case of any such attack upon us, this battery might be easily supplied and maintained by the force of the country." of life on long island and throughout the colony during the period immediately preceding the revolution we find many interesting glimpses through the medium of newspapers of the time. the "weekly post boy" of june , , contained an advertisement which was of interest to the citizens of long island:-- notice is hereby given that the ferry house from long island to staten island, commonly known by the name of the upper ferry, otherwise stillwell's ferry, is now kept by nicholas stillwell, who formerly occupy'd the same; he has two good boats well accommodated for the safe conveyance of man or horse across the narrows. he also proposes to carry, if required, travellers either to staten island, elizabethtown point, amboy, or new york, and that at the most reasonable terms. he continues to keep good entertainment for travellers. nicholas stillwell. john lane advertised in the "mercury" june , , as follows:-- this is to inform the publick that john lane now keeps the ferry at yellow hook, miles below new york ferry on long island, and has provided good boats, well fitted, with proper hands, and will be ready at all times (wind and weather permitting) to go to smith's ferry on staten island, with a single man only. there will be good entertainment at said house, where all gentlemen travellers and others may expect the best of usage, for themselves and horses, from their very humble servant, john lane. n. b. travellers are desired to observe in going from flat bush to said ferry to keep the mark'd trees on the right hand. the free and accepted masons are referred to by the "mercury" as having observed in due form the anniversary of st. john. its account of the proceedings is as follows: "sunday the th ult., being the anniversary of the festival of st. john the baptist, the ancient and right worshipful society of free and accepted masons, of this city, assembled at spring garden, the next day, and being properly cloathed, made a regular procession in due form, to the kings arms tavern in broad street, near the long bridge, where an elegant entertainment was provided; and after drinking his majesty's and several other loyal healths, the day was concluded in the most social manner, and to the entire satisfaction of all the company." the following peculiar advertisement appeared in the "post boy" in :-- "by a person lately arrived in this town, painting upon glass (commonly call'd burning upon glass) is performed in a neat and curious manner so as to never change its colour; perspective views neatly colour'd for the camera obscura. "n. b. young gentlemen and ladies are instructed in either of the above, so as to be capable to perform it themselves in a little time, at a reasonable rate. by the same person, land surveyed, designs for buildings, plans and maps neatly drawn. enquire at mr. john ditcher's tallow chandler and soap boiler in the sloat." it would appear that bedloe's island at that time was private property, and was considered by the owner to be very valuable. he advertised:-- "to be let, bedloe's island, alias love island, together with the dwelling house and light house, being finely situated for a tavern where all kinds of garden stuff, poultry, &c., may be easily raised for the shipping outward bound, and from where any quantity of pickled oysters may be transported; it abounds with english rabbits." the "new york gazette" of july , , made an announcement, of interest to presbyterians, that-- "inasmuch as it was yesterday the declared intention of the presbyterian church in this city to make use of the version of psalms known by the name of mr. watt's in their publick worship, this may serve to acquaint all concerned, that an impression of these psalms was done here in the year , in order to supply two or three neighboring congregations, which are now almost all sold off, and a new impression begun, which would have been finished as leisure time permitted; but as there is likely to be a small demand quickly for them, the impression will be now proceeded in immediately, and finished with all dispatch; so that in a very few weeks they will be ready. and all such families of this city, as shall take three or more of them at once, shall at any time before the st of november next, have them at the wholesale price of s. per book, and singly s. d., plain bound, and others who incline to have them neatly bound will have them at the difference for the binding. on notification some time ago, that the new version of psalms by tate and brady was to be introduced into that church, an impression was immediately made of them, which fell upon the printer's hands; he presumes, therefore, that all such as occasioned his damage in these, will prefer the purchasing of these of him to any other. n. b.--the above impression of tate and brady's psalms is a pretty good one, and to be sold bound very cheap." in these days the scottish settlers kept alive the remembrance of home. their quarterly meeting received the following notice:-- "the members of the scots society, in this city, are desired to take notice, that their quarterly meeting is on wednesday evening, the st of august next, at the house of mr. malcolm mcewen, near the city hall." on the th of june, , we have seen that notice was given of the drawing of a lottery for the benefit of the presbyterians. on the d of july following, notice was published that, "by a law passed the last sessions, a publick lottery is directed for a further provision toward founding a college for the advancement of learning within this colony, to consist of , tickets at thirty shillings each, , of which are to be fortunate." there was to be one prize of £ , and the lowest was £ . the notice continued: "fifteen per cent. to be deducted from the prizes: as such a laudable design will greatly tend to the welfare and reputation of this colony, it is expected the inhabitants will readily be excited to become adventurers. publick notice will be given of the precise time of putting the tickets in the boxes, that such adventurers as shall be minded to see the same done, may be present at the doing thereof. the drawing to commence on the first tuesday in november next, or sooner if full, at the city hall of new york under the inspection of the corporation, who are impowered to appoint two or more of their body to inspect all and every transaction of the said lottery; and two justices of the peace, or other reputable freeholders of every county in this colony, if they see cause to dispute the same at their next general sessions of the peace. publick notice will be given fourteen days before the drawing. the managers are sworn faithfully to execute the trust reposed in them, and have given security for the faithful discharge of the same. such as forge or counterfeit any ticket or alter the number, and are thereof convicted, are by the acts to suffer death as in the cases of felony. the prizes will be published in this paper, and the money will be paid to the possessors of the benefit tickets as soon as the drawing is finished. tickets are to be had at the dwelling house of messieurs jacobus roosevelt and peter van burgh livingston, who are appointed managers. the managers would acquaint the publick, that upwards of one thousand tickets are already engaged to the hand in hand and american fire companies in this city, to whom the tickets are already delivered. the prosperity of the community greatly depending upon the regular education of youth, it is not doubted but that the lottery will soon fill; those therefore that design to become adventurers are desired speedily to apply for tickets or they may be disappointed." an advertisement announces the sale of "joyce's great wound balsam," a "corrector for coughs and colds," and other things, at edward joyce's shop "near the brooklyn ferry." israel horsfield offers "two negro men, one of which has served with a ship carpenter, and is a good caulker, and has lately served with a brewer and maltster, and is very handy." the widow rapalje at the brooklyn ferry was robbed, in , of "a gold ring, seven silver spoons, one pair of gold sleeve-buttons, two johannesses, two doubloons, two new york £ bills, and about £ in jersey bills and dollars." a negro named cæsar was the thief, and, being found guilty, he was executed. in august, , ares remsen, at the wallabout, offered shillings reward for a "negro man, newport, guinea-born, and branded on the breast with three letters." on sunday, february , , "the coldest day for more than half a century," the harbor and river were so full of ice "that many people walked over to brooklyn and back again." by a notice in the "mercury" of february , , it appears that a ferry was established from coenties market, new york, to the landing-place of p. livingston, esq., and henry remsen, on long island, and another from fly market, and a third from peck slip "to the present ferry-house at brooklyn." the livingston landing was near the foot of the present joralemon street. "st. george's ferry," as this was called, was operated for not more than two years. speaking of brooklyn affairs "rivington's gazette" (march , ), says: "many persons have been misled by an opinion that the church proposed to be erected by lottery, at brooklyn, is to be under the ministry of the rev. mr. bernard page. it will be a truly orthodox church, strictly conformable to the doctrine and discipline of the constitutional church of england as by law established, and under the patronage of the rev. rector and vestry of trinity church." it was at tower hill, on the heights, near st. george's ferry, that a tavern was opened in may, , and according to an advertisement, in august following, there was to be "a bull baited on tower hill, at three o'clock in the afternoon, every thursday during the season." meanwhile the relations of the american colonists with great britain had begun to show more than a slight strain. george iii. ascended the throne in . in grenville became the prime minister of england. grenville held that england had a right to impose taxes and regulate the affairs of the colonies without consulting their wishes in the premises. as a result of his efforts in this direction, an act was passed providing for a tax on articles which had previously been entered free of duty. to enforce the same the powers and jurisdiction of the courts in admiralty were enlarged. these acts were looked upon by the colonists as tyrannical. at first, the people could not believe the report. when they came to realize the facts, their indignation knew no bounds. meetings were held nightly, and the measures were denounced in severe terms as unjust and tyrannical. this feeling was not confined to the city of new york alone, but was manifest in all the settlements of the colony. protests were prepared and freely signed against the proposed stamp act, and urging the immediate repeal of the sugar act, which had recently become a law. the assembly in its session in march, , passed stringent resolutions in opposition to the invasion of their vested rights, and forwarded a forcible memorial to the ministry in opposition to the enforcement of the obnoxious acts. it should be borne in mind that the assembly was composed of delegates or members from the twelve counties included in the province of new york, three of which counties were on long island.[ ] the county of kings was represented by simon boerum and abraham schenck. at this time abraham lott, jr., of kings county, was clerk of the assembly. the members from kings county received seventy-five cents per diem, and were paid by their constituents, and the same sum per day for the time consumed in their journey to new york, also paid by their constituents. the language used in the remonstrance of the assembly was bold and decided. it did not beg the question, but was spirited, severe, and just in its condemnation of the overt acts of parliament. the assembly and the citizens were destined to be severely punished for the bravery they displayed in the defense of their rights. the action of the assembly resulted in the total suspension of legislative prerogatives, and deprived the people of their representation in the government of the colony. the neighboring colonies also sent petitions on the subject to parliament. these were received because they were couched in feebler language, and after consideration were rejected. to the credit of new york it must be said that she presented her objections in a bold and fearless manner. her assembly spoke in trumpet tones that gave no uncertain sound. the import and meaning of her protest could not be misunderstood, and showed her people to possess something of roman fortitude and firmness. had the sister colonies at the outset manifested the same vigorous spirit as was displayed by the descendants of the defenders of leyden, parliament would not have dared to pass the reprehensible acts. the inhabitants of new amsterdam kindled the fire which was to produce a revolutionary flame of glory. it was well for the country that the citizens of new york so early manifested patriotic feeling, and the spirit which was inwrought in them furnished the leaven which was destined to infuse itself into the new england and other colonies, and to ultimately bear fruit in independence. in march, , parliament set further torch to the colonial spirit by passing the celebrated stamp act. when the time came for the enforcement of this act the country gave unmistakable signs of its resentment, and new york was conspicuously rebellious in mood. at last the eyes of parliament were opened. they saw that it was useless to attempt to force the colonists to submit to the outrageous measure, and reluctantly repealed the act on february , . the news of the repeal was received in new york may , ,--three months after the action of parliament. its reception filled the community with joy. the bells of the city rang forth joyful peals of praise and thanksgiving. in honor of the event, bonfires were kindled in prominent places, and a public dinner was given by the corporation. again, on june , , being the anniversary of the king's birthday, another celebration was had by the patriots on the commons, near where the city hall now stands. a barbecue was held, whereat roast ox, beer, and punch were provided in sufficient quantities to supply the wants of all. the greatest enthusiasm prevailed. a liberty pole was erected, amid the cheers of the people, which bore the inscription, "the king, pitt, and liberty." every citizen felt proud that he had asserted his manhood, and had secured a recognition of his rights. this standard of liberty was destined to have an eventful history and to figure conspicuously at a later day. during these trying times the kings county officials were: jeremiah vanderbilt, sheriff, who held office from to ; samuel garritson, common pleas judge, who served in that capacity from to ; abraham lott, jr., of kings county, who was clerk of the assembly from to ; william nicoll, of suffolk county, who was speaker of the assembly, holding that office from to . kings county was represented in the assembly by the following sterling men:-- abraham lott, from to . d. vanderveer, from to . abraham schenck, from to . simon boerum, from to . simon boerum was also clerk of kings county from to . governor moore, having failed to control the assembly, manifested his spite toward that body by formally dissolving them on the th of february, , and directing a new election for members. his instructions were to secure the return of more pliable men than those composing the previous legislature. the people were not subservient to dictation, and, daring to maintain their principles, took good care to assert their manhood by electing men of firmness and decision. in the new body kings county was represented by simon boerum, john rapalje, and abraham schenck. queens county sent daniel kissam and zebulon seaman. suffolk county elected eleazor miller and william nicoll, second. of these members so returned, all but john rapalje were members of the recently dissolved assembly. it may be supposed that such material would not readily submit to the exactions of the crown. philip livingston, of new york, was chosen speaker. the new assembly met in october, , and at once proclaimed its independence and its contempt for royal dictation by opening a correspondence with the assembly of massachusetts. this was a direct and open violation of the commands which had been issued by his majesty the king, which was that the colony should hold no correspondence with other provinces. a circular had been sent to the assembly in new york from massachusetts, in which the aid and assistance of new york was earnestly besought for coöperation in securing the removal of grievances which were common to all the colonies. in the next assembly the tone was so different as to excite the resentment of the patriots. shortly afterward the soldiery and the people came into collision in trifling but significant ways. the so-called battle of golden hill was prophetic of the approaching revolution. when dunmore apprised the english government of the events which had taken place, he was careful to attribute them to party violence, encouraged by factious opposition to the crown and the established church of england. he endeavored to make it appear that the contentions arose from the objections of the popular leaders to the enforcement of the laws passed by parliament. judging from the tenor of his report, one would be led to suppose that the soldiers were actuated solely by a desire to maintain and uphold the dignity of the government. they were specially commended for their exertions in subduing the rebellion. lord dunmore, after a brief term in office, was succeeded in the office of governor by william tryon. the "tea party" of april , , illustrated the temper of the people. other incidents of a less picturesque kind indicated not less clearly the determination to shake off the yoke of foreign control. [illustration: first fire engine used in brooklyn _built in _] the general assembly of new york, having at the time of its adjournment refused to comply with the recommendation of the colonial congress to elect delegates to attend another meeting of that body, to be held in the city of philadelphia, may , , a call was issued by the committee of sixty, in march, addressed to the several counties throughout the colony, directing them to elect deputies to a provincial convention, to be held in the city of new york, on the th of april, for the purpose of choosing delegates to represent the colony in the continental congress. this convention, on the day appointed, met at the exchange, in new york. philip livingston, one of the committee of sixty, was chosen president. livingston, at this time, owned a very large tract of land in the neighborhood of hicks and joralemon streets, on which he had erected a handsome residence. in that body kings county was represented by simon boerum, denys denice, theodorus polhemus, richard stillwell, and j. vanderbilt. all of these men were well known, and enjoyed the confidence of their constituents. at a meeting held on the th of may, a committee of one hundred of the first and foremost citizens of new york and kings county was chosen to administer affairs during the political crisis. this committee was composed of such men as john jay, the brave welshman francis lewis, whose bold signature was appended to the declaration of independence, and who for many years resided and owned property in brooklyn; philip livingston, the fearless; james duane and john alsop, who were members of the colonial congress of september, , which met in philadelphia; william walton, whose house in pearl street was rendered famous as an ancient landmark; augustus van horne, a stalwart dutchman; abraham duryea, samuel verplanck, abraham brasher, leonard lispenard, nicholas hoffman, lewis pintard, nicholas bogart, isaac roosevelt, gabriel h. ludlow, abraham brinkerhoff, henry remsen, benjamin kissam, jacob lefferts, james beekman, john berrien, john lamb, the daring and intrepid richard sharp, jacob van voorhis, comfort sands, who afterward lived in brooklyn; peter goelet, and james desbrosses. just previous to the assembling of the provincial congress in new york, a general town meeting was held in brooklyn. the official record of that meeting is as follows:-- at a general town meeting, regularly warned at brooklyn, may , ' , the magistrates and freeholders met and voted jer. remsen, esq., into the chair, and leffert lefferts, esq., clerk. taking into our serious consideration the expediency and propriety of concurring with the freeholders and freemen of the city and county of new york, and the other colonies, townships and precincts within this province, for holding a provincial congress to advise, consult, watch over and defend, at this very alarming crisis, all our civil and religious rights, liberties and privileges, according to their collective prudence: after duly considering the unjust plunder and inhuman carnage committed on the property and persons of our brethren in the massachusetts colony, who, with the other new england colonies, are now deemed by the mother country to be in a state of actual rebellion, by which declaration england hath put it beyond her own power to treat with new england, or to propose or receive any terms of reconciliation until those colonies shall submit as a conquered country--the first effort to effect which was by military and naval force; the next attempt is, to bring a famine among them by depriving them both of their natural and acquired right of fishing. further, contemplating the very unhappy situation to which the powers at home, by oppressive measures, have driven all the other provinces, we have all evils in their power to fear, as they have already declared all the provinces aiders and abettors of rebellion; therefore, first, _resolved_, that henry williams and jer. remsen, esq., be now elected deputies for this township, to meet, may , with other deputies in provincial convention in new york, and there to consider, determine and do, all prudential and necessary business. second, _resolved_, that we, confiding in the wisdom and equity of said convention, do agree to observe all warrantable acts, associations and orders, as said congress shall direct. signed, by order of the town meeting. leffert lefferts, clerk. lieutenant-governor colden, who occupied the post of governor during tryon's absence in england, died in september, , at his home at spring hill, flushing, long island, aged years. chapter viii kings county during the revolution - kings county at the opening of the revolution. participation in events leading to the crisis. military officers. long island tories. the continental and provincial congresses. fortifying. declaration of independence. general greene on long island. draft in kings county. landing of the british at gravesend. the battle of brooklyn. the night retreat. british occupation of the county. temptations to disloyalty toward the american cause, and action of the people under british pressure. the county in congress. losses in the battle. incidents. prisoners billeted on the inhabitants of kings county. long island refugees. conspicuous figures of the period. peace. the position of kings county, while actually close to the rapidly growing city on manhattan island, was relatively so much aloof in many of its interests from that storm centre of colonial activity in the middle colonies, that it was natural, perhaps, that there should be less enthusiasm over the independent cause than in new york itself, or than in certain other regions less sequestered geographically and by local condition. but the quiet dutch towns, if slow to anger under british rule, nevertheless acquired a definite patriotic energy as time advanced, in spite of peculiarly discouraging conditions introduced by british occupations. there may have been the appearance of lethargy, but kings county's quietude in the face of excitement elsewhere did not mean a want of sympathy, but resulted from a special strain of suppression. "many fowling-pieces," writes stiles, "were cut down and fitted with bayonets, and those who had two guns loaned to those who had none."[ ] the ms. of general jeremiah johnson, whose name is indelibly associated with the history of the wallabout, tells us that elijah freeman payne, the teacher of the wallabout school, left his pupils to join the american forces at boston.[ ] the incident was typical. kings county watched, and also, as we have seen, participated in the events which led up to the crisis of active war. when movements on the part of the british troops led the continental congress to consider the raising of men for common defense, the quota of the colony of new york was fixed at , which number the continental congress directed them to raise. in obedience to this direction four regiments were raised, the provincial congress placing them under the command of colonels alexander mcdougall, gozen van schaick, james clinton, and holmes. the veteran lamb received an appointment to command a company of artillery. in brooklyn an association was formed for mutual protection, and meetings were held weekly for the purpose of drilling, under the supervision of competent officers. enthusiasm began to manifest itself. every gun and bayonet was brought into requisition, and put in order and burnished for the coming fray. the meetings for drilling and instruction in the manual of arms, which were held at the wallabout and other parts of brooklyn, created much interest among the young men who opposed the tory party, and prepared them for the service which they were soon after called upon to render. in march, , the following brooklyn officers had taken commissions:--half of brooklyn: barent johnson, captain; barent lefferts, first lieutenant; jost debevoise, second lieutenant; martin schenck, ensign. half of brooklyn: fer'd suydam, captain; john t. bergen, first lieutenant; william brower, second lieutenant; jacob stellenwerth, ensign. kings county was further represented by rutgert van brunt, colonel; nich. cowenhoven, lieutenant-colonel; johannes titus, first major; john vanderbilt, second major; geo. carpenter, adjutant.[ ] the names of the military officers of this period were and have remained familiar in the history of brooklyn. the johnson estate was in the present seventh and nineteenth wards, being in the neighborhood of kent avenue, hewes street, and bedford avenue, a narrow strip also extending along graham street to myrtle avenue. the lefferts property was in flatbush and bedford. the schenck farm was situated on the site of the wallabout bay, and a portion of it is now occupied as the site of the united states marine hospital. the suydam tract was situated in what was then known as bushwick, and the debevoise estate was also in the same section of the city. the cowenhoven property was situated in what is now the heart of the city. the old house stood in a hollow near where the atlantic avenue railroad depot now stands. it was an old-fashioned dutch house, whose massive beams and quaint mantelpieces attracted considerable attention some twenty years ago when it was taken down. the history of this mansion and its occupants would form a very interesting chapter in the history of brooklyn. the bergen property was situated at gowanus. the vanderbilt farm was in the twentieth ward, between clermont avenue and hamilton street. in consequence of the requisition made for troops, the colony of new york presented the appearance of military activity. steps were taken to erect fortifications. the colony at this time had two governments, each of which was antagonistic to the other, and each one proclaimed the acts and resolutions of the other void and of no effect. tryon represented the crown as colonial governor, and the brave general nathaniel woodhull, of long island, as president _pro tem._ of the provincial congress, also acted as governor, and was so recognized by the party of patriots. between these claimants for power, a collision soon occurred. the provincial congress desired to obtain the removal of the guns on the battery to the fortifications on the highlands. captain john lamb, the invincible, was directed by the provincial congress to secure their removal, and on the d of august proceeded, with some of his faithful liberty boys and other citizens, to execute the order. with his band was alexander hamilton, then a lad of eighteen, whose life was dedicated to the sacred cause of freedom. during the early part of the campaign the tory party had many friends on long island. when the british evacuated boston through the instrumentality of washington, who succeeded in compelling them to leave, and occupied their deserted quarters, it was supposed that the defeated royalists would endeavor to retrieve their fortunes by an effort to gain possession of new york. the policy and actions of the troops were closely watched by washington, who readily saw that the object was to make new york the seat of government, to surround it with a large force, and thereby cut off all communication with the southern colonies. thus they expected to divide the country and prevent assistance being sent from one section to another. had this plan been successfully accomplished a continual fire could have been kept up both north and south. scouts and rangers would have been used to prey upon the people, doing great damage, and intercourse between the different colonies would have been effectually prevented. in order to avoid this calamity, washington accepted the offer made by general lee, who proposed to raise a force for the defense of new york. general lee immediately collected efficient men, and proceeded to new york, where he arrived in january, , to the great gratification of the patriots, who did not expect to receive so valuable an addition to their population. lee was no novice. a man of executive ability and military skill, he saw at once that energetic measures were necessary in order to tread under foot the existing latent love of royalty, which only needed a little encouragement to burst forth into living activity. it is a singular coincidence that on the very day general lee entered new york with his forces, the british fleet which had been expected arrived at sandy hook, under command of sir henry clinton. the british officer did not seem to like the appearance of things in new york, and for some inexplicable reason changed his course somewhat toward the coast of virginia. general lee had realized the height of his ambition in being in command of so important a station. at once steps were taken to garrison and fortify the city and its suburbs. long island and staten island were justly looked upon as the natural protectors of the harbor of new york, and prudence dictated the advisability of erecting fortifications and posting troops in these localities to watch the approach of belligerent vessels. the patriots were actuated by one spirit, and widely rendered aid and assistance to the heroic commander. scouts were placed at prominent points at the narrows, and fortifications erected at red hook point and elsewhere. some troops were sent to brooklyn, and performed patrol duty from the settlement at the wallabout to gowanus. lee was not permitted to remain very long in command in new york, being transferred, march , , to the command of the department of the south. the transfer did not please him. he was possessed of the egotistical idea that the people of new york desired his presence, and believed him to be the only man who could successfully cope with the forces of the enemy. in this he was greatly mistaken. the people were ready to follow any leader who would inspire confidence. lee was succeeded by general lord stirling, who vigilantly carried on the work initiated by his predecessor. he, too, saw and appreciated the fact that, if new york was to be successfully defended, the approaches on long island should be properly garrisoned. to accomplish this desirable end, he appointed colonel ward to erect suitable fortifications on long island, and placed him in command of a regiment of men. the second provincial congress, which at this time was holding its second session, with nathaniel woodhull as president, issued an order to the authorities in kings county, directing them to give colonel ward assistance in the work, and "to turn out for service at least one half the males (negroes included) every day, with spades, hoes, and pickaxes." the inhabitants of kings county were also required to furnish all the necessary lumber and wood for the barricades and fortifications. the directions given to colonel ward were full and explicit. beside erecting fortifications and providing defenses, he was also required to detail men for the particular duty of preventing communications between the british ships in the harbor and the shore. to make this effectual they either destroyed the small rowboats or rendered them unseaworthy, and seized all suspected pilots who were supposed to be identified with the royalists by sentiment or self-interest. kings county horsemen were honored with the important office of a corps of observation. it became their duty to observe the approach of the british fleet at sandy hook from prominent points on long island, and to give information of the appearance of suspicious vessels. the kings county horsemen occupied the west end of the county, and the brooklyn light horse, under the command of captain waldron, were employed on the southern coast of the county, in which service they were employed about a month, when they were relieved by colonel hand, april , , with a regiment of riflemen. these riflemen took their station at new utrecht. a battery of eight guns was also erected on brooklyn heights. onderdonk, referring to captain waldron's company, gives the following names of members as being connected with it: adolph waldron, captain; william boerum, first lieutenant; thomas everitt, second lieutenant; jacob sebring, jr., cornet; isaac sebring, quartermaster; samuel etherington, john reade, rob. galbraithe, rem. a. remsen, daniel titus, jos. smith, jacob kempor, nich. van dam, geo. powers, william everitt, john hicks, william chardavogne, and thomas hazard. waldron, the captain of the little company, was a very popular man, and for a long time kept a famous hostelry at the brooklyn ferry. during many years he was the proprietor of the ferry between brooklyn and new york. william boerum was a well-known citizen, and has left behind him a host of descendants. after the war he served in the legislature. george powers was a butcher, and had a stand at one time in the famous old fly market. he owned considerable property in the neighborhood of state and powers streets. the latter street was named in his honor. the name of george powers appears as secretary of the first independent meeting-house erected in brooklyn in . he was a warm-hearted, generous man, donating large sums to the cause of religion and charity. he retired from business in , and thereafter devoted his time to raising stock on his lands in brooklyn. it is reported in one of the old journals that in the month of february, , "a calf was brought to the oswego market (on broadway and maiden lane), yesterday, raised by mr. george powers, of brooklyn, but twenty-two months old, the four quarters of which weighed pounds; hide, pounds; tallow (rough fat), pounds; total, pounds." in march, , the following notice appeared: "fat beef for st. patrick's day. the three year old steer exhibited at the coffee house (corner of wall and pearl streets), this day, supposed to be one of the best ever seen of his age, and fatted by george powers, at brooklyn, will be offered for sale by (one of his apprentices) david marsh, at no. fly market, on saturday next." powers, who was a warm friend of george hall, the first mayor of brooklyn, died full of years, honored and respected by all who knew him. the estate he left behind him was estimated to be worth half a million. john hicks lived near the ferry, on fulton street. he was a large landed proprietor. hicks street derives its name from his family. he subsequently was one of the proprietors of the old ferry to new york. the remsen family were well known in the community. it is a remarkable fact that during the entire time from to , the board of trustees of kings county had a rem remsen for one of its members. a period of fifty years presents a remarkable instance of family succession in one office. waldron's troop was first enlisted in the service of general greene, who ordered them to seize and take possession of all the fat stock of the disaffected inhabitants who sympathized with the tories, and to deliver the stock so taken to commissary brown, on long island. the troop was subsequently employed under general woodhull in the same capacity. early in january, , the continental congress had passed a resolution, "that it be recommended to the committee of safety of the province of new york to appoint proper persons to inquire into the propriety and practicability of obstructing or lessening the depth of the water in the narrows, or at any other place at the entrance of new york, or of any way of fortifying that pass so as to prevent the entrance of the enemy." on the th january, , a committee was appointed by the continental congress to consult with general lee and the committee of safety in reference to the immediate defense of the province. the importance of defending and protecting the approaches to the harbor of new york was fully attested by congress on march , , when men were voted for its defense. on the following day the governors of connecticut and new jersey were requested to hold their militia in readiness for that service, to be paid, when on duty, as continental troops. congress went still further, and on the th of april directed $ , to be sent to new york for the use of the continental troops in the province. previous to its dissolution the second provincial congress made provision for the election of delegates to serve in the third congress of the colony, to meet in the city of new york, may , . this election was held in april. at the election so held, nicholas cowenhoven, john lefferts, lefferts lefferts, theodorus polhemus, jeremiah remsen, rutger van brunt, john vanderbilt, and jeremiah vanderbilt were chosen to represent kings county. nearly all of these men represented the county in previous assemblies, and were able and experienced legislators. prior to the election, and on the th of march, a regiment of continental troops numbering men took possession of and occupied governor's island. they at once constructed a redoubt on the west side of the island, and erected fortifications with a view to holding in check any vessel which might seek an entrance into the harbor. another regiment was stationed on the shores of brooklyn, and rendered red hook point, on the north shore of gowanus bay, famous as a revolutionary landmark. at this place a redoubt was also constructed, on which were placed several guns of eighteen-pound calibre. thus was the entrance to the harbor at two important points effectually protected. this latter fort was appropriately named fort defiance. the regiment which was placed here was in command of captain foster. the location was not as good as the one on governor's island, as vessels were able to make a detour and escape injury from the former, whilst the latter, being so much nearer the city and in the direct sailing course, could more effectually prevent approach. shortly afterward (on april ), washington, as commander-in-chief of the continental army, arrived in new york and made his headquarters at richmond hill, in the neighborhood of varick street. his appearance in the city encouraged the patriots to new efforts, quickened their zeal, and led to the completion of the plans so ably instituted by generals lee and stirling. washington inspired the confidence of the masses, increasing their faith by his earnestness and determination. the strong and confident were rendered more fearless, and the weak and faint-hearted were encouraged to activity. the people, from a lukewarm and indifferent state, rapidly changed their opinions and became enthusiastic in the cause of independence. these feelings were intensified by numerous newspaper articles and pamphlets which appeared from time to time, denouncing great britain and demanding recognition as an independent confederacy. among these was a paper entitled "common sense," by thomas paine, then a citizen of philadelphia. its author was at the time unknown, but the sentiments of the pamphlet met an approving response in every patriotic heart. forcible and pointed in expression, its truths left a lasting impression, sending a thrill of pleasure through the community, who heartily approved of its bold and daring utterances. so popular did it become that several of the colonies adopted it as their watchword, and recognizing the force of its reasoning, petitioned the continental congress to take immediate steps to secure its ratification by at once declaring themselves free and independent. it was a suitable precursor of the declaration of independence, paving the way for the indorsement of that document. the third provincial congress, elected in april, was directed to meet in new york on the th of may, but, in consequence of a quorum not being in attendance, the members present adjourned from day to day until the th of may, when a quorum having been secured, the body organized and proceeded to business. the session was a short one, continuing only until june , when it adjourned by reason of a fear which was entertained that the city would be attacked. nathaniel woodhull was elected president of the congress. while this body was in session the continental congress at philadelphia was considering important subjects. in the latter body the keynote of independence was struck on the th of june, , when general richard henry lee rose in his seat and introduced a resolution declaring "that the united colonies are and ought to be free and independent states, that they are absolved from all allegiance to the british crown, and that their political connection with great britain is and ought to be totally dissolved." the resolution was a surprise to many of the members, and led to an earnest debate which lasted for several weeks. at that time some of the delegates supposed that they were merely banded together for mutual protection, and were not authorized to take so advanced a step without having received instructions from their constituents. in the existing state of affairs many lacked the courage to act, thinking that if they voted in favor of the resolution their action might not meet with the approval of those they represented. they feared also that if the measure were adopted, and in the end proved a failure, they would be called upon to meet a traitor's doom. they were but human. such men are always to be found in political life. when the prospect of accomplishment looks bright, they are fearless and bold, but when a shadow of disappointment falls, and success is not certain, their courage is weakened, and they are unwilling to lend their aid to what they consider a forlorn hope. the resolution passed by a bare majority. the congress contained representatives from thirteen colonies, and the vote stood seven in favor to six opposed. this vote, however, did not indicate the exact feeling which existed amongst the members, as those who voted in opposition did so in most if not in all cases because they had received no instructions or directions from their constituents. the resolution having been passed, a committee, consisting of thomas jefferson, john adams, benjamin franklin, roger sherman, and robert r. livingston, was appointed to prepare and draft a declaration of independence. washington was in command in new york about a month, and in the early part of may, , left for philadelphia. general putnam was placed in command at new york, and general greene was assigned to brooklyn to take charge of the fortifications. washington was led to visit philadelphia to consult with the continental congress upon the necessary measures to be adopted in order to carry on the campaign. this conference led to the issuance of an order authorizing the commander-in-chief to direct the building of as many fire rafts, galleys, boats, and batteries as might be required for the immediate defense of the port of new york, the hudson river, and the sound. the provincial congress of new york, at its session in may, declared the province to be independent of great britain, but did not adopt a formal constitution until the following year. meanwhile the continental congress was not inactive. the committee to which was referred the important duty of drafting the declaration of independence worked faithfully, and on the th of june, , the paper prepared by thomas jefferson was presented for the consideration of the body. the document was finally adopted on the th of july. it was not signed, however, until august. the representatives from new york who signed it were william floyd of suffolk county, philip livingston of new york, francis lewis, who, as we have seen, at one time lived in brooklyn and owned a large estate there, and lewis morris of westchester. robert r. livingston's name should have been appended, but he was called to new york to attend the provincial congress before it was engrossed and ready to receive the signatures of the members, and thus his name does not appear on the immortal document. however, as one of its framers he will be forever identified with this glorious manifesto. just prior to the adoption of the declaration, new york was placed in a critical position. on the d of june, general howe with a large fleet appeared before the city, and on the d of july took possession of a portion of staten island, where he found many adherents of the cause of royalty. soon after he was joined by his brother, admiral lord howe, with a large fleet from england, and also by sir henry clinton, with the troops under his command. he was thus placed in command of an army consisting of , well-disciplined men from england. this was not all. the tory inhabitants flocked to his standard, and although not in many respects as efficient soldiers as the troops from england, still their knowledge of the country rendered them invaluable as aids in prospecting and giving information. washington had no such force. to cope with this army he had only , volunteer recruits, whose knowledge of military tactics was but limited, and many of whom were incapacitated for service. moreover, had they been disciplined, he had neither the arms nor the ammunition necessary to properly equip them. meanwhile provision had been made for the election of delegates to the fourth provincial congress of new york. as new york was in a state of siege, it was deemed best to assemble at the court house in white plains, twenty-six miles from new york. the body met on the th of july. kings county was represented by theodorus polhemus. on the first day of the session the declaration of independence was read and unanimously adopted. on the following day the title of the body was changed from that of the provincial congress of the colony of new york to that of the convention of the representatives of the state of new york. it continued to sit at white plains until the th day of july, when it adjourned to meet at harlem on the th. it is needless to say that the news of the adoption of the declaration of independence occasioned much excitement and enthusiasm in new york and brooklyn. steps were taken to fortify new york and prevent the entry of the enemy. guns were placed on the battery, and barricades erected at prominent points on the east and north rivers. the authorities were not content with erecting and planting guns on the water sides, but also appropriated the various hillocks for fortifications. one of these was known as rutger's, and stood at the brow of the new bowery, at or near its present junction with chatham street. fortifications and barricades were also constructed at jersey city and on brooklyn heights. the site of fort greene, now a beautiful park, was considered a very important position, and a line of works was hastily constructed which extended from the wallabout to gowanus bay, thereby securing a complete chain of defense to the rest of the island. within these fortifications , men were encamped ready to obstruct the approach and forward movements of the english troops. the fortifications on long island were erected under the direction of general greene, who had been assigned to the command of the american forces in this section. general sullivan, his assistant in the work, rendered valuable aid to his superior officer. at this time, general woodhull, who was president of the representative convention of new york, feeling that his place was in the saddle, and that he could render better service in the field at the head of troops than in the legislature, donned his military equipments, and repaired to long island to engage in the service. while the convention of representatives was in session at white plains, a resolution was passed on the th of july, requiring that every fourth man in kings county should be drafted into service. thereupon the militia of the county sent a letter to the convention urging that body to excuse a draft, and stating that the entire militia would turn out to drive stock into the interior, and also guard the coast line. the letter was signed by the following well-known citizens: john vanderbilt, lambert suydam, barnet johnson, john titus, john vanderveer, rem williamson, bernardus suydam, and adrian van brunt, captains. this request was not granted. the refusal was based upon the fact that, while many of the leading men in the county warmly espoused the patriotic cause, many were disaffected and inclined to the side of royalty. these latter looked upon the war as calculated to unsettle the country and injure their prospects. they thought that under the dominion of the crown they would have peace, and be enabled to pursue the even tenor of their way undisturbed. the object of the militia in offering their services was to prevent a conscription. it will be noticed that they proposed simply to act as a home guard, and made no pretense of willingness to render general service for the good of the infant nation. though at the commencement of the war they manifested great lukewarmness, yet this state of feeling was not destined to last very long. the scales were to drop from their eyes, they were to be impressed with a sense of duty, and in the near future make ample amends by courage and fearlessness for the lack of spirit manifested at the commencement. among those connected with the kings county troop of horse, on duty in august, were: daniel rapalje, first lieutenant; jacob bloom, second lieutenant; peter vandervoort, ensign; honbeck johnson, sergeant; john blanco, trumpeter; roger suydam and john vanderveer, privates. these men went over from long island and performed duty in the neighborhood of harlem. a portion of the troop of horse were stationed on long island, being officered as follows: lambert suydam, captain; peter wyckoff, quartermaster; hendrick suydam, clerk; with john nostrand, jacob suydam, isaac snedeker, isaac boerum, john ryerson, rutgert van brunt, charles de bevoise, benjamin seaman, roelof terhune, andrew casper, thomas billing, martin kershaw, peter miller, and hendrick wyckoff, privates. amongst these names will be recognized the ancestors of many of the prominent wallabout, bushwick, and brooklyn families. the rapaljes, vandervoorts, nostrands, boerums, and ryersons resided at the wallabout, and early manifested an interest in the cause of liberty. the feeling of disaffection on the part of many of the citizens of long island was so apparent to the convention of representatives that, in refusing the request to exempt them from a draft, that body considered it necessary to appoint a committee to visit kings county for the purpose of ascertaining the true state of public feeling in the county, with power to take from all disaffected citizens such arms as they might possess, to secure their persons, and, if deemed necessary, "to destroy the crops and lay the whole country waste," and thus prevent them from affording aid and comfort to the enemy. the committee entered upon their labors with energy and dispatch. they ascertained that the reports were in a great measure true. by their direction tories were arrested and disarmed. the action of the committee produced a beneficial effect amongst the people, and, had they not taken the forcible measures they did, the first battle of the revolution after the declaration of independence, which was fought on long island soon after, to wit, on the th day of august, would in its results have proved still more disastrous. general greene made ample provision to protect and defend long island against the enemy. as we have already seen, he caused a line of fortifications to be constructed through the centre of the present city of brooklyn, extending from wallabout bay on the north to gowanus bay on the south. conspicuous among the fortifications so constructed was the redoubt on fort greene, which was called fort putnam in honor of that brave officer general israel putnam, who figured with distinction not only in brooklyn but elsewhere, and subsequently gained for himself the name of breakneck putnam for his daring exploit in connecticut when he dashed down the celebrated defile, and thereby escaped capture. at this time fort putnam, now washington park (fort greene), was covered with large trees, and belonged to the cowenhoven estate. the old bedford road skirted its northeasterly line, and its prominence was a valuable position for placing guns. it is worthy of note in this connection that edward t. backhouse, a descendant by marriage of the original owner, when representing the old eleventh ward of brooklyn in the common council, in the middle of the present century, took an active interest in securing the preservation of this historic spot and its conversion into a place of public resort. he aided materially, with francis b. stryker, late mayor, silas ludlow, john w. hunter, john h. baker, and others, in having it set apart for a park, and properly embellished. another means of protection was the construction of intrenchments extending from fort putnam to the old wallabout road, at a point about where hampden street intersects the present line of flushing avenue. before flushing avenue was opened, at this point, the easterly end of the navy yard property, the old wallabout road diverged from its course, describing a half circle. general greene was not content with providing against invasion from the northeast, but also turned his attention to the section lying to the south of fort greene. he saw the necessity of erecting intrenchments along the high land extending from fulton avenue southerly to the old gowanus road, at the creek which made up from the bay where freeck's mill stood. this spot can be easily fixed. many remember the old mill pond and the bridge across the creek at butler street, near where bond street has been extended. another small redoubt, which stood like a warning sentinel, was erected a short distance west of the fort, about where dekalb avenue now intersects hudson avenue. south brooklyn was not forgotten. at that time the section bounded by smith and clinton streets on the east, and degraw and third place on the north, was high ground, and from its owner's name was called bergen hill. this prominence commanded a view of the east river and gowanus bay. here greene erected a redoubt, on which he mounted several guns. in later times, when the hill was removed, to give place to streets and palatial residences, the remains of soldiers buried during the revolutionary war were taken up. a fort was also built on cobble hill, which was nick-named "corkscrew fort." this hill was on the spot where since has been erected the athenæum, corner of clinton and atlantic streets. all these works were effectively built and evinced great military and engineering skill. english officers at the time of the evacuation referred to their strength of material and advantageous location. it would appear that greene and his assistants thoroughly familiarized themselves with the topography of the country, and made military provision accordingly. a british officer, in his experiences published during the war, expressed in strong terms his surprise that the americans should retreat from bastions so impregnable. hitherto all had been preparation. the storm clouds had been gathering, and were soon to break with unwonted fury. a great revolutionary battle was to be fought on the virgin soil of long island, and was to result disastrously. at the outset, great britain, having complications on the european continent, was very anxious to conciliate and secure peace. when admiral howe was sent with his fleet to new york he was directed by his government to treat for peace with the rebellious subjects. acting upon his instructions, after landing at staten island, and placing his fleet in close proximity to the city, he opened negotiations to this end. at the start he made a great blunder, by mistaking the character of the general-in-chief with whom he had to deal. an autocrat in temper and disposition, and infused with the traditional pride of a british commander, he neglected to address washington by his military title. he looked upon the people as rebels, and not as an independent nation, and addressed the commander of the american forces as george washington, esq. the letter was returned unanswered. another missive directed to george washington, esq., met the same fate. the spirit thus manifested by washington in refusing to receive or reply to any letters, unless addressed to him as the head of an independent army, representing a nation seeking to throw off the yoke of despotism and break its chains, proved to admiral howe that his mission of peace was too late, and that if england desired to retain her possessions in the new world she would have to do so at the point of the bayonet. howe made his last effort to secure peace on the th day of august. failing, he at once commenced warlike preparations. washington realized the necessity of careful and energetic action. he anticipated that the rebuff he had administered to the admiral's overtures would lead to an immediate attack upon new york. in order to circumvent the attack, and prevent aid and assistance to the enemy from the tories in the city, he at once caused the removal of the adherents of the crown to connecticut, where they were placed under the surveillance of that sturdy patriot, governor trumbull. measures were adopted to weaken and destroy existing tory sentiments in new jersey and long island. the legislative committee, assisted by a committee from the continental congress, went to work to disarm all suspected persons on long island, and to suppress every exhibition of tory spirit. the public records were placed in the care of congress, then in session in philadelphia; and women and children, and all persons not needed for the defense of the city, were quickly removed to safe quarters. a corps of riflemen was stationed at fort hamilton to prevent the landing of the enemy in that quarter, to watch the approach of their fleet, and to give information as to their movements. washington, however, was mistaken as to the intentions of the enemy. howe, instead of making a bold attack upon new york, resolved upon another course. he well knew that long island was filled with tory sympathizers, and he thought that he might reach new york across long island, and be able to take with him many recruits gathered on his way from among the disloyal inhabitants. within five days after the refusal of washington to reply to his insulting letter, howe prepared his fleet for action, and with it set sail for gravesend bay, where he landed on august . the fleet arrived early in the morning. general sir william howe led an army of , well-disciplined soldiers. the landing was effected without opposition. a part of the forces was under the command of earls cornwallis and percy, sir william erskine, count duness, and generals grant, de heister, and knyphausen, and was composed of many hessians who had been hired at a set price per head to do military service against the american rebels. howe held possession of the southwestern part of the island. his presence caused consternation among the patriots, who sought the american lines for protection, while those who were weak in the faith, or favored the cause of royalty, joined his standard. the small body of riflemen who had been stationed at fort hamilton could not prevent the landing of the invaders. they, however, destroyed the growing crops so that the enemy would derive no benefit from the cereals, and, having done this, sought safe quarters between brooklyn and flatbush. meanwhile howe was not idle. establishing his headquarters at new utrecht, he employed his men in reconnoitring. skirmishers were sent out from time to time, who succeeded in capturing many straggling soldiers, and withal securing much plunder. general sullivan, who was in command of the american forces, had but men. these lacked the ability to contend against the numbers opposed to them. most of sullivan's men were volunteers, unused to the hardships of camp life, and without experience in military tactics. notwithstanding the disparity of numbers, sullivan made diligent preparation to resist the onward progress of the enemy should they attempt to press forward to new york. washington at this time was with the main body in new york, laboring earnestly to defend the lines of that city, and obstruct the progress of the enemy should they attempt to lay siege to the town. on the th of august washington sent large reinforcements to brooklyn. at the same time general sullivan was removed from the command of the army, and general putnam dispatched to take his place. washington supposed that the enemy would attack long island and new york at the same time. putnam on assuming command received strict injunctions to guard all the passes, and thereby prevent advance movements on the part of howe. sullivan had planned the intrenchments, and having studied the ground in conjunction with general greene, he knew where to station his sentinels. the country was thickly covered with wood from the narrows to jamaica. the american camp could be reached only by three accessible passes. one of these wound round the western edge of the narrows; another crossed the range to flatbush; and the other passed through flatlands, crossing the bedford and jamaica roads. sullivan had erected breastworks near these passes, and at each stationed several regiments. scouts were also employed to watch the roads leading to the passes, and give the alarm in case the enemy approached. putnam did not manifest much ability upon taking command of the army. instead of strengthening the outposts, which were a sure protection against the progress of the enemy and the annihilation of his camp, and which had been wisely chosen by his predecessor, he saw fit to remove the patrol, and thereby weakened his own position, gave the enemy an unobstructed road to the american camp, and insured the disaster which attended the battle that followed, causing demoralization not only in his own ranks, but also throughout the entire army, which in a great measure became disheartened by the terrible defeat on long island. had general greene, who had served as the superior officer to sullivan, not been prostrated by sickness, and been enabled to remain in command, instead of being replaced by putnam, no such disaster would have occurred. he knew the character of the country, and the importance of holding the passes, and would not have readily yielded up their possession. meanwhile general howe, the commander of the british forces, issued a proclamation, wherein he gave notice, on behalf of his majesty's government, to all persons who had been forced into rebellion, that, on delivering themselves up at the headquarters of the army, they would be received as faithful subjects, and be given permission to return to their dwellings, and be protected in person and property. and further, that "all those who choose to take up arms for the restoration of order and good government within this island shall be disposed of in the best manner, and have every encouragement that can be expected." this offer was accepted by some lukewarm people; but to the honor of the majority be it said, its terms and conditions were, in general, indignantly refused. general clinton, whose forces had joined those of howe, soon saw the unprotected state of the passes. the information he acquired as to their unguarded condition he at once communicated to howe, who thereupon held a consultation with him, and planned measures to entrap the patriots. they arranged a plan of attack. on the th the hessian troops, under command of general de heister, took the road leading to flatbush through the hills, while general grant, with another division, took the shore road. these movements were intended to deceive putnam, and enable general clinton, with the main body, to direct his efforts to gain possession of the pass at bedford, and thereby flank the american lines. the manoeuvre was successful. putnam, learning of the advance of generals de heister and grant, dispatched a strong force under lord stirling to guard the river road, and another under general sullivan to impede the progress of de heister at flatbush. putnam did not comprehend the movements of the enemy, and did not learn the advantage they had gained by their military skill until general clinton had accomplished his purpose, by gaining the position he desired, and had opened a heavy fire upon sullivan's rear. sullivan saw that he was surrounded. after vainly attempting to break through the lines of the enemy and secure the lost ground, his troops became confused and broke ranks, taking refuge in the neighboring hills. they could not escape, and the greater part, with their faithful officer, were soon discovered and secured as prisoners of war. the contest with general grant on the shore road was far more animated and vigorous. lord stirling, who had command of the american troops, was posted on the slope of the hills just north of greenwood cemetery, and firmly maintained his ground against grant, until the latter received reinforcements. early on the morning of the th, general grant reached the lower pass, and encountering a regiment under command of major bird, was compelled to retreat. general putnam, who had been apprised of the retreat, directed lord stirling to hold the invaders in check. stirling, in obedience to the order, started with two regiments for the narrows. a connecticut regiment was also placed under marching orders, and followed to render him support and assistance. stirling soon met major bird retreating before the fire of the enemy. he formed his brigade in line of battle, judiciously placing some of his men on the brow of the hills in order to rake the enemy with hot shot. another body was stationed near "battle hill," now a portion of greenwood. it is said that some riflemen were stationed on this eminence, and, when earl cornwallis approached with his command, these riflemen commenced a deadly fire, each shot proving the death-blow of an officer. their aim was so effective and disastrous that they could not long escape. the bravery manifested by these men cost each one his life, as the hill was quickly surrounded, and the sure marksmen dispatched. furman has graphically pictured this event. he says: "in this battle part of the british army marched down a lane or road, leading from the british tavern (at valley forge) to gowanus, pursuing the americans. several of the american riflemen, in order to be more secure, and at the same time more effectually to succeed in their designs, had posted themselves in the high trees near the road; one of them, whose name is now partially forgotten, shot the english major grant; in this he passed unobserved. again he leveled his deadly rifle and fired; another english officer fell. he was then marked, and a platoon ordered to advance and fire into the tree, which order was immediately carried into execution, and the rifleman fell to the ground dead. after the battle was over, the two british officers were buried in a field near where they fell, and their graves fenced in with some posts and rails, where their remains still rest. but 'for an example to the rebels,' they refused to the american rifleman the rites of sepulchre; and his remains were exposed on the ground till the flesh was rotted and torn off his bones by the fowls of the air. after a considerable length of time, in a heavy gale of wind, a large tree was uprooted; in the cavity formed by which some friends to the americans, notwithstanding the prohibition of the english, placed the brave soldier's bones to mingle in peace with their kindred earth." before the beginning of this attack, general stirling addressed his men, urging them to be courageous, and told them: "grant may have his men with him now;--we are not so many; but i think we are enough to prevent his advance further on his march than that mill-pond." the battle soon started in earnest. as the golden sun on that august day slowly uplifted itself above the horizon, and began its movement towards the west, the armies were engaged in deadly conflict. skirmishing continued for two hours. the fire from kichline's riflemen, who were stationed behind a hedge, proved disastrous to the british, who were compelled in consequence to relinquish their position. no sooner did they retire than a pennsylvania regiment under atlee retook the lost ground. stirling was now closely pressed by general grant, whose brigade had formed in two lines opposite stirling's right. stirling soon saw that grant had been reinforced, and felt that further resistance would be in vain. he had but two courses to adopt: one was to surrender at once, or attempt to escape across the creek, which was spanned by the remains of a burnt mill-dam. preferring to make an effort to escape, he selected a portion of the maryland brigade to cover his flight, and directed the balance to retreat. with great courage he then charged with fixed bayonets upon the regiments commanded by cornwallis. the charge was repeated four times. again they charged, and as the enemy was on the point of yielding, general de heister came up, flushed with his victory over sullivan, and commenced an assault on his rear. with such a force against him stirling was compelled to surrender. some attempted to escape by cutting their way through the ranks of the enemy, and perished in the effort. the americans lost in this battle men, of whom, including lord stirling and general sullivan, were taken prisoners. about of the british were killed, wounded, and taken prisoners. historians have always differed as to the loss of the americans in the battle of brooklyn. colonel trumbull was commissary-general during the engagement, and was employed, when the retreat was determined upon, in procuring vessels in which to remove the army. by virtue of his position he possessed peculiar facilities for knowing the true state of affairs. two days after the retreat he wrote the following letter to his father, giving an account of washington's masterly effort: new york, september , . honored sir,--we have been obliged to retreat from long island and governor's island, from both of which we got off without loss of men. we left a great part of our heavy artillery behind. the field train is off. we are in hourly expectation that the town will be bombarded and cannonaded, and the enemy are drawing their men to the eastward of long island, as if they intended to throw a strong party over on this island, near hell gate, so as to get on the back of the city. we are preparing to meet them. matters appear to be drawing near a decisive engagement. general sullivan is allowed to come on shore, upon his parole, and go to congress, on the subject of exchange of himself, lord stirling, and a large number who are prisoners; by the best accounts we yet have, we have lost in last week's defeat about men killed and missing; how many of each is not yet known. i rather expect that they will push in a body of troops between the town and our party at and near kingsbridge. if they do, we shall have them between two fires, and must push them to the last extremity, or be killed or taken prisoners. the result is in the hands of the almighty disposer of all events. i am, honored sir, your dutiful son, joseph trumbull. while the battle was raging with so much fury, washington was in new york, watching the movements of the british fleet. he was filled with anxiety and alarm, as he considered that an important crisis had arrived. becoming satisfied during the day that there was no intention on the part of the fleet to attack the city, he passed over to brooklyn and took his station at fort putnam. here he witnessed the terrible rout and slaughter which befell sullivan, with no means at his command to send succor or assistance. he also beheld the heroic conduct of the men under stirling, and was convinced that resistance on their part was in vain. as washington noticed the bravery of the maryland troops in the bayonet charge, he exclaimed, "good god, what brave fellows i must this day lose." thus terminated the battle on the th. the slaughter had been terrible on both sides. the flower of the american army was destroyed, and many valuable and efficient officers were taken prisoners. general howe felt jubilant over his success, and made preparations to advance upon the american lines. within those lines were brave men who were encouraged by the presence of washington. had an attempt been made to take their fortifications, they would not have been yielded without the destruction of hosts of the invaders. as howe did not know the strength of the americans, he deemed it prudent not to make the attempt, and encamped for the night. it was not singular, under the circumstances, that washington should feel alarmed. he was satisfied that resistance would be useless, and that something must be done to save the remnant of his army. the hessians, who had been hired by the british government, were trained soldiers. of the men so procured the landgrave of hesse cassel furnished , infantry, the duke of brunswick , and the count of hanau . war was their profession, and in its destructive work they seemed to take great delight. in the engagements on long island they took an active part, and manifested their disposition by showing no quarter. the sight of blood served to madden them, and led them on to renewed acts of diabolism and ferocity. nothing satisfied their rapacity. after the retreat of the americans from long island, and its occupation by the british, many of these hessians took possession of and were quartered in the large old-fashioned dutch houses, and made themselves free with everything on which they could lay their hands. the morning of the th of august arrived. a thick mist enshrouded the earth with gloom. washington did not manifest any despondency, and as he inspected the works and defenses had a cheerful word of encouragement for the men. early in the morning several regiments of massachusetts soldiers crossed to the island, and were received with manifestations of joy by the weary toilers of the day and night past. with this addition the force of the americans numbered men. the battle was now renewed by the british, who commenced a heavy cannonade on the american works. providence seemed to smile upon the american cause. the clouds poured forth rain in torrents, which, while it produced much physical discomfort to the patriots, who were compelled to stand knee deep in water, served also to restrain and prevent the enemy from engaging in the conflict. washington realized the necessity of immediate action. a council of officers was summoned, and by his advice the conclusion was reached to evacuate the island. the council convened by washington to deliberate upon this important subject was composed of the commander-in-chief, general washington; major generals putnam and spencer, brigadier generals mifflin, mcdougall, parsons, scott, wadsworth, and fellows. in stiles's account of the battle of long island, he says that "the old cornell house, afterwards known as the pierrepont mansion, which formerly stood on the line of the present montague street, near the little iron footbridge which spans the carriageway, was the headquarters of washington during this important contest. it was a spacious and costly house having large chimneys, from which it was known as the 'four chimneys;' and upon its roof a telegraph was arranged by which communication was held with new york." stiles maintains that both lossing and onderdonk erred in stating that the council met in the dutch church on fulton street, but that they met in this old house. in supporting his opinion he quotes the authority of colonel fish, the father of governor hamilton fish, and one of washington's military family, who in , during lafayette's visit to brooklyn, called the attention of the distinguished visitor to the fact, and designated the very positions in the room occupied by the members of that council. the business brought before the council was very important, and the execution of the scheme adopted required military skill and strategy to insure success. it would not have answered to retreat during the day, as their movements would have been noticed and checkmated by the enemy. it was resolved to effect the withdrawal of the troops that night. every move required the utmost caution and secrecy. as boats were needed to transport the troops, and the collecting together of them might excite the suspicion of the british, it was reported that the americans intended to attack the enemy in the rear, and to accomplish this end had determined to transport troops to the line of queens county at hell gate. this plan was adopted to deceive the enemy. in pursuance of the resolution of the council, orders were issued to move every available boat to brooklyn, and have them in readiness for embarkation at midnight. so cautious were the officers conducting this retreat that all orders were given in whispers, and communicated to the men in the same manner. the state of the weather favored the movements of washington. during the day rain had fallen in copious showers. as the mantle of night covered the earth, a heavy fog appeared, which, with the drizzling mist, served to deceive the enemy, and render them less vigilant. in order to mislead the british officers and soldiers, washington kept several companies marching to and from the ferry landing, while their associates were embarking. washington himself superintended the embarkation of the troops, who began to move about ten o'clock. the darkness of the night aided materially in the accomplishment of the work. to add to the deception, fires were kept burning until the last moment. all the troops were safely embarked. the boatmen labored cheerfully during the night watches, and when at last the fog passed away, and they beheld the clear cerulean sky above them, they also rejoiced that a kind providence had directed their boats to a safe harbor on the shores of the upper part of the city of new york. the elements, time, and circumstances, favored washington in his masterly retreat. on one side he had to fear the forces of howe, who might pursue and cut off his retreat, and on the other hand, if he succeeded in putting off from the land, he stood in imminent danger from the british fleet, which, if his movements were discovered, would soon send him and his faithful band to a watery grave. again, he was liable to be exposed by some stray british soldier or spy. a woman tory, mrs. rapalje, living near the ferry, noticing the collection of boats and the movements of the troops, suspected that a retreat had been determined. anxious to apprise her friends, the tories, of the undertaking, she at once sent her negro slave to give general clinton the information. fortunately for washington, the slave was captured by a hessian soldier, who, not understanding the english language, could not comprehend the importance of the message, and kept the slave in the guard-house until morning, when he sent him to clinton's headquarters. when clinton received the message the birds had flown. the story was communicated to howe, who received it with blank astonishment. at first he could not accept it as true. the scouts reported that a dead silence rested upon the american camp. howe now feared that the story might be too true, and that, "while he slumbered and slept," washington had escaped. at last one of the guard crept close to the works, and found that they had been abandoned. the alarm was given, the crestfallen british took possession, and, like pharaoh of old, pursued, to find that those they sought had landed safely on the other side.[ ] [illustration: brooklyn during the revolutionary war _from the map by gen. jeremiah johnson_] howe now took possession of the deserted works. all the towns of kings county were in possession of the army, who had strong garrisons in each. meantime howe made his headquarters at newtown. during the continuance of the war thereafter, and for a period of over seven years, kings county remained under the absolute control and domination of the british. howe now made another effort to restore the colonies to the mother country. the disaster and repulse which the americans received in brooklyn led him to suppose it a favorable opportunity to accomplish his mission of peace. he communicated with the continental congress, and opened negotiations with a promise of pardon to all who would lay down their arms. he also added a promise that the obnoxious laws which had led to the struggle should be repealed. the proposition came too late. no concession but acknowledgment of independence would satisfy the people. a conference was held at staten island, whereat benjamin franklin, john adams, and francis rutledge, the commissioners appointed by congress to attend the negotiations, refused to listen to any terms of peace, except such as should recognize the full and complete independence of the colonies. howe, having failed in his effort, issued another proclamation to the people, and resolved to proceed and take the city of new york. the battle of brooklyn cost the americans the loss of that brave general, nathaniel woodhull, who for nearly a year had acted as the president of the provincial congress of new york. he was in command of a part of the forces, and was captured on the th of august by a party of tories under command of captain de lancey, near the village of jamaica. notwithstanding the fact that he was a prisoner, and entitled to respectful treatment, he suffered great indignities at the hands of his captors, who inflicted numerous sabre wounds, which resulted in his death. he was at first taken to the presbyterian church in jamaica, where for the night he was confined with other patriots. in the morning he was placed on a hay-boat, and taken down jamaica bay to new york bay, and landed at new utrecht. reaching the latter place he began to fail very rapidly, and the officers, seeing his days were numbered, allowed him to be carried to the house of nicasius de sille, where he died as a true soldier, breathing blessings on his countrymen, and willingly giving his life in the cause he loved so well. woodhull was the hero of long island. he rendered important service in the formation of the state government, and was always a leader who secured and retained the respect and confidence of his constituents. the occupation of long island by the british did not accomplish the results anticipated. the victory gained was barren. the authorities at home did not see in it anything to commend. in the light of present knowledge it was passing strange that generals howe and clinton and admiral howe should have committed so fatal a blunder as to attempt the subjugation of the city of new york by a passage of the army across long island. the situation of manhattan island, extending into the bay, with a wide expanse of water on each side, presented an inviting field for an attack upon the city. admiral howe, with his large and well-equipped fleet, could have readily besieged new york, and forced washington with his little band of patriots to evacuate the place. as it was he weakened his force, and enabled washington to concentrate his army. long island being isolated from the main land was of but little consequence to either side. had howe with his fleet besieged the city, and landed the military forces, their success would have been complete, as the americans were not prepared to resist the invasion. such a policy would have resulted disastrously to the patriotic cause. as we have already stated, the battle of brooklyn was never looked upon by british authorities as at all creditable. whatever glory gathers round the engagement centres in the exhibition of military skill displayed by washington in the management of the masterly retreat of the american army from long island, and its safe arrival in the city of new york. yet washington was greatly distressed and disheartened by the defeat at brooklyn. in referring to the battle in one of his letters written shortly after the disaster, he expressed his feelings in unmistakable terms. he says: "the check our detachment sustained on the th has disappointed too great a proportion of our troops and filled their minds with apprehension and despair. the militia, instead of calling forth their utmost efforts to a brave and manly opposition, in order to repair our losses, are dismayed, intractable, and impatient to return. great numbers of them have gone off! in some instances by whole regiments, by half ones, and by companies, at a time." washington was well-nigh discouraged by the state of affairs. he had enlisted with the purest motives, and ever manifested a spirit of self-sacrifice. he regretted that the same spirit did not abide with those who had with him enlisted in the service. howe, having full possession of the american fortifications on long island, determined to use the fleet under command of his brother, admiral howe. the vessels were brought within gunshot of the city. the rose, carrying forty guns, passed through buttermilk channel and anchored in turtle bay, in the neighborhood of forty-second street and east river, to aid the other vessels then in the sound by a concert of action against the city. washington, noticing the movements of the ships of war, and foreseeing that the condition of his army would not permit a defense, resolved to leave the city. before doing so he summoned a council of his officers, who coincided with him in his views of the situation. this was on the th of september. an order was issued at once for the removal of the military stores across the harlem river, and a force was stationed at kingsbridge. general putnam was left in command of the city with about men. the main body under washington was stationed at harlem heights. washington was now surrounded with difficulties which required great ability to overcome. the enemy had the men and means to move on his works, and against their attack he could offer but feeble resistance. it was a dark and doleful hour in our history. in order to make no mistake it became necessary to adopt a decisive policy, and to arrange plans whereby the advance movements of the enemy might be circumvented. he considered it of the utmost importance to ascertain the intentions of howe and clinton. a council of war was called, and it was resolved to send a man who could be trusted into the enemy's ranks to gain the desired information. in this emergency nathan hale, a young and brilliant officer, volunteered his services. procuring the necessary disguise, hale started on the mission fraught with so much danger. passing over to long island, he entered unnoticed and unobserved the enemy's line, succeeded in making drawings of their works, and gained full and complete information as to all their intended movements. as he was returning, he was recognized as belonging to the rebel army, and was arrested, and conveyed to the beekman house, on the corner of fifty-first street and first avenue, where general howe had his headquarters. he was at once tried, convicted as a spy, and sentenced to be hung on the following day at daybreak. it was a mercy to him that his execution was fixed so speedily, as in the mean time he was placed in the keeping of that heartless scoundrel, cunningham, whose after deeds as provost marshal of new york have rendered his name forever infamous. hale was kept in confinement during the night by the marshal, who refused to give him a light and writing materials to enable him to send a last message of love to his aged parents and friends. a kindly disposed lieutenant afterwards furnished him with pen and paper. cunningham, however, in the morning manifested the natural atrocity of his disposition by rudely tearing into pieces before his eyes the letters which he had written, and at the same time declaring "that the rebels should never know that they had a man in their army who could die with so much firmness." on the morning of september , , cunningham ordered the execution to proceed, and at the same time required hale to make a dying confession. in the nobility of his liberty-loving nature, hale said: "i only regret that i have but one life to lose for my country." these brave words were his last. he was suspended on an apple-tree, and his remains were committed to the grave without any ceremony. he did not perish; his name will live as that of one of the heroes of the revolution. in the american army he was universally beloved, and his untimely end filled the hearts of his friends with deep-seated hatred to their foes, and a renewed determination to be avenged. in this connection the following may not be uninteresting. it is an extract from a letter from new york, dated september , :[ ] "last monday we went over to long island, and about midnight we were alarmed by the return of some of our scouting parties, who advised us that the _english_ were in motion, and coming up the island with several field pieces; it was generally thought not to be the main body, but only a detachment, with a view to possess themselves of some advantageous heights, upon which near three thousand men were ordered out, consisting chiefly of the pennsylvania and maryland troops, to attack them on their march. the delaware and maryland battalions made one party. colonel atlee with his battalion, a little before us, had taken post in an orchard, and behind a barn, and on the approach of the enemy he gave them a very severe fire, which he bravely kept up for a considerable time, until they were near surrounding him, when he retreated to the woods. the enemy then advanced towards us, upon which _lord stirling_, who commanded, immediately drew us up in line, and offered them battle in the true _english_ taste. the british army then advanced within three hundred yards of us, and began a heavy fire from their cannon and mortars, for both the balls and shells flew very fast, now and then taking off a head. our men stood it amazing well; not even one of them showed a disposition to shrink. "our orders were not to fire until the enemy came within fifty yards of us; but when they perceived we stood their fire so coolly and resolutely, they declined coming any nearer, though treble our number. in this situation we stood from sunrise to twelve o'clock, the enemy firing upon us the chief part of the time, when the main body of their army, by a route we never dreamed of, had utterly surrounded us, and drove within the lines or scattered in the woods all our men except the _delaware_ and maryland battalions, who were standing at bay with double their number. thus situated, we were ordered to attempt a retreat by fighting our way through the enemy, who had posted themselves and nearly filled every field and road between us and our lines. we had not retreated a quarter of a mile before we were fired upon by an advanced party of the enemy, and those upon our rear were playing upon us with their artillery. our men fought with more than _roman_ courage, and i am convinced would have stood until they were shot down to a man. we forced the advanced party which first attacked us to give way, through which opening we got a passage down to the side of a marsh, seldom before waded over, which we passed, and then swam a narrow river, all the time exposed to the fire of the enemy. the companies commanded by captains ramsey and scott were in the front, and sustained the first fire of the enemy, when hardly a man fell. "the whole right wing of our battalion, thinking it impossible to pass through the marsh, attempted to force their way through the woods, where they were almost to a man killed or taken. the maryland battalion has lost two hundred and fifty-nine men, amongst whom are twelve officers: captains veazey and bowie, the first certainly killed; lieutenants butler, sterritt, dent, coursey, muse, prawl; ensigns coates and fernandez; who of them killed or who prisoners is yet uncertain. many of the officers lost their swords and guns. we have since abandoned long island, bringing off all our military stores. "generals sullivan and stirling are both prisoners. colonels atlee, miles, and piper are also taken. there are about one thousand men missing in all. we took a few prisoners. by a lieutenant we took, we understand they had about twenty-three thousand men on the island that morning. most of our generals were upon a high hill, in our lines, viewing us with glasses. when we began our retreat, they could see the enemy we had to pass through, though we could not. many of them thought we would surrender in a body without firing. when we begun the attack, general _washington_ wrung his hands and cried out, _good god! what brave fellows i must this day lose_. major guest commanded the _maryland_ battalion, the colonel and lieutenant colonel being both at york. captains adams and lucas were sick. the major, captain ramsey and lieutenant plunkett were foremost and within forty yards of the enemy's muzzles, when they were fired upon by the enemy, who were chiefly under cover of an orchard, save a force that showed themselves, and pretended to give up, clubbing their firelocks until we came within that distance, when they immediately presented, and blazed in our faces; they entirely overshot us, and killed some men away behind in our rear. i had the satisfaction of dropping one of them the first fire i made. i was so near i could not miss. i discharged my rifle seven times that day, as deliberately as i ever did at a mark, and with as little perturbation." washington, in a letter dated september , , addressed to general schuyler, fixes the number in killed, wounded, and prisoners on the american side in the long island battle at from seven hundred to one thousand men.[ ] in writing to the massachusetts assembly, under date of september , , washington states that the number in killed and wounded of the enemy could not be ascertained, "but that it was pretty considerable and exceeded ours a good deal." he also says that the americans lost eight hundred men, three fourths of whom were taken prisoners, thereby leaving only two hundred killed.[ ] english writers upon this subject place the loss on the american side at between three and four thousand. these figures greatly overstep the mark, and were doubtless gathered from the reports of those commanding generals who desired to make it appear to the home authorities that a substantial victory had been secured. the loss in the battle of brooklyn is fixed by the best authorities at not over a thousand men. this, as we have seen, is the number fixed by washington himself, both in his letters and official reports. johnson, in his admirable and exhaustive narrative of the campaign of , concurs in this view. these figures appear to be a correct estimate of the loss sustained. certainly if as many had been killed as reported by british officials, some tradition or evidence would exist as to the vast number requiring burial after the battle, and subsequent to the evacuation. the neutral inhabitants remaining on the island would have found abundant occupation in consigning so many to mother earth. this alone would have rendered the occasion memorable. the loss on the tory side appears from the returns made by general howe to have been:--commissioned officers: three generals, three colonels, four lieutenant-colonels, three majors, eighteen captains, forty-three lieutenants, and eleven ensigns; staff officers: one adjutant, three surgeons, two volunteers; privates: one thousand and six. this includes nine wounded officers and fifty-six wounded privates.[ ] in the annals of the revolutionary period in brooklyn, a conspicuous place is occupied by the famous rising sun tavern. it stood (and still stands) at the junction of the bedford and jamaica turnpikes in east new york, and was an old-fashioned farm-house of the dutch type. this famous tavern, from its prominent position on the king's highway, was a resort for the burghers and farmers of the island. the host, william howard, was very popular amongst the people, and the old landmark, so prominent in the early history of kings county, has long been an object of interest. at this house, the day before the battle of brooklyn, an important meeting in reference to the war was held. the house was situated within five miles of the american intrenchments, which were in the neighborhood of bridge and fulton streets. the american army rested quietly, not dreaming of the impending danger. meanwhile the british army was not inactive. it was encamped at flatbush. just after midnight it occupied the roads leading to east new york, and pushed forward to that suburban spot. the guides who had been employed lost their way, and general howe found it absolutely necessary to obtain more trustworthy leaders. in consulting upon the subject, it was determined that william howard, the keeper of the tavern, being familiar with the different passes, was the best man to secure in the emergency. the approach of the army had not been observed by the occupants of the wayside hotel. suddenly the bar-room door was forced open, and the terrified family were aroused from their slumbers. the guard sought and found the astonished innkeeper, and quickly brought him before the august generals howe, cornwallis, and sir henry clinton. it was their desire to use this man to guide them over the hills and through the woods to the little hamlet at bedford, where it was supposed a large body of americans were encamped, whom the invaders desired to outflank, and by a circuitous route, if possible, gain the plain beyond, and thus cut off their rear. howard was perfectly familiar with the intricate pathways. the interview between howard and the british officers was brief and to the point. william howard had a son then only fourteen years of age. the events of the evening left a vivid impression on the lad's mind. in after years, in referring to the adventures of that night, he said: "it was about two o'clock in the morning of the th of august that i was awakened by seeing a soldier by the side of my bed. i got up and dressed, and went down into the bar-room, where i saw my father standing in one corner, with three british soldiers before him, with muskets and bayonets fixed. the army (numbering about sixteen thousand men) was then lying in the fields in front of the house. general howe asked for a glass of liquor, and, after receiving it, entered into conversation with william howard, and said: 'i must have some one to show me the rockaway path around the pass.'" to this remark howard replied: "we belong to the other side, general, and can't serve you against our duty." general howe then said: "that is all right, stick to your country, or stick to your principles; but, howard, you are my prisoner, and must guide my men over the hill." howard, in the nobility of his nature, objected to being a party to the betrayal of his countrymen, but was silenced by the general, who finally said: "you have no alternative. if you refuse, i shall have you shot through the head."[ ] it was a painful task for howard to thus pave the way for the destruction of the american army. he was led out under a guard, which was directed to shoot him should he attempt to make his escape. the entire march was conducted in a cautious, noiseless manner, and every precaution taken to be in readiness for an attack. they succeeded in reaching the road below the bedford pass, and flanked the position supposed to be occupied by the american troops. young howard, who accompanied his father, in giving an account of the march, says: "on reaching the turn in the jamaica road, my father and myself were released and sent back to the tavern, which we found surrounded by the guard." it may be well to state here that the rockaway path was a narrow pass across the hill, forming now a portion of evergreen cemetery, and led from the jamaica road to bushwick lane, now the main entrance to the cemetery. in the legal documents of the time, the roads were called the king's highways. the brooklyn and jamaica road, which passed through the hills near east new york, was known as the king's highway. general howe named it, "the pass through the hills." the name of the clove road originated from the fact that it passed through the clove or cleft of the hills. by the british army it was distinguished as the bedford pass. the valley through which the flatbush road passed, being densely covered with wood, was called valley grove. the enemy, having crossed over from long island and effected a landing in new york city on the th of september, immediately pushed forward to meet and drive before them the forces of washington, which movement on their part culminated in the battle of harlem heights. in that engagement, which was short and fierce, the americans lost, in killed, privates, whilst the damage done to the enemy was killed and wounded. governor clinton, who witnessed the battle, wrote of it: "it has animated our troops, given them new spirits, and erased every bad impression the retreat from long island had left in their minds. they find that they are able with inferior numbers to drive their enemy, and think of nothing now but conquest." shortly after the occupation of new york by the british, and on the st of september, the city was visited by a great fire, which quickly reduced a large part of it to ashes. it is estimated that houses were obliterated. trinity church was destroyed, and the lutheran chapel, situated on the corner of rector street, met the same fate. st. paul's church, the oldest religious edifice now standing in new york city, was saved by the energy and superhuman exertions of the citizens. long may this old landmark resist the vandalism of the age. the fire was looked upon as the act of an incendiary. the tory element of the community, believing that it was caused by the sons of liberty, accused them of the act. several citizens were arrested as accessories, but were subsequently discharged, as no evidence could be produced on which to hold them. during this time the continental congress continued to hold its sessions in the city of philadelphia. on the st of august, washington sent a letter to congress wherein he gave an explicit statement of the result of the council of war held on long island, and the reasons which led him to withdraw the troops from that locality. by reason of this decision new york city, and all its fortifications, was ultimately given up to the british fleet and army. the new occupants, upon taking possession, adopted measures to fortify and strengthen it against invasion from the american forces. after the occupation of new york by the british army, large numbers of tories, who had been compelled to forsake the place by reason of the stringent measures adopted by the committee of safety against all who sided with royalty, again returned to the city and were warmly welcomed by the new authorities. amongst the number who returned to their old haunts was rivington the printer, whose vituperations against the sons of liberty had in former times called down upon him the wrath and enmity of the patriots. the returning tories held high carnival in the city. they seemed to think that the cause of the americans was lost, and that soon they would have undisputed control of public affairs. kings county, which never had manifested a strong patriotism, contained many who did not greatly lament the triumph of the british. the retreat of the american army from long island served to strengthen the convictions of the tory adherents, and induced them to embrace the opportunity afforded of forsaking what they conceived to be the "lost cause," and give in their adhesion to the crown of england. moreover, as we shall see by later explanation, there was a peculiarly heavy pressure placed on the loyalty of kings county. it was under this pressure that in november some of the largest freeholders in the county of kings met together and resolved to accept the terms offered by howe in his proclamations. in order to gain favor with the british authorities, an address was prepared in the uriah heep style, in which it was stated:-- "we, therefore, whose names are hereto subscribed, freeholders and inhabitants of kings county, in the province of new york, reflecting with the tenderest emotions of gratitude on this instance of his majesty's paternal goodness and encouraged by the affectionate manner in which his majesty's gracious purpose hath been conveyed to us by your excellencies, who have thereby evinced that humanity is inseparable from that true magnanimity and those enlarged sentiments which form the most shining characters, they beg leave to represent to your excellencies, that we bear true allegiance to our rightful sovereign george the third, as well as warm affection to his sacred person, crown, and dignity, to testify which we and each of us have voluntarily taken an oath (in the church at flatbush) before wm. axtell, esq., one of his majesty's council for this province, in the following words: '_i do solemnly promise and swear that i will be faithful and bear true allegiance to his majesty king george the third, and that i will defend his crown and dignity against all persons whomsoever. so help me god._' and that we esteem the constitutional supremacy of great britain over these colonies, and other depending parts of his majesty's dominions, as essential to the union, security, and welfare of the whole empire; and sincerely lament the interruption of that harmony which formerly subsisted between the parent state and these her colonies. we therefore hereby pray that your excellencies would be pleased to restore this country to his majesty's protection and peace."[ ] this was certainly a model epistle, and clearly demonstrated the character of the men who endorsed its sentiments, or pretended to endorse them, by appending to it their names. as the common people had expressed themselves so freely, the leaders, not to be outdone in giving evidence of submission to royalty, a short time afterwards presented to governor tryon an address couched in terms of detestation of the rebellion, and of warm admiration for the crown. it was a craven document, evincing cowardice and lack of true manliness. it ran as follows:-- "we, the members of the provincial congress, the county committee, and the committees of the different townships, elected by the inhabitants of kings county, feel the highest satisfaction in having it in our power to dissolve ourselves without danger of the county being dissoluted, as it was by repeated threats some short time ago. we do hereby accordingly dissolve ourselves, rejecting and disclaiming all power of congress and committees, totally refusing obedience thereto, and revoking all proceedings under them whatsoever, as being repugnant to the laws and constitution of the british empire, and undutiful to our sovereign, and ruinous to the welfare and prosperity of this county. we beg leave to assure your excellency we shall be exceeding happy in obeying the legal authority of government, whenever your excellency shall be pleased to call us forth, being of long experience well assured of your excellency's mild and upright administration." this paper was signed on december and . amongst the parties who appended their signatures to this obsequious missive are the following, many of whom will be recognized as prominent in the annals of the community:-- philip nagel w^m johnson evert suydam richard stillwell johannes e. lott rem cowenhoven nich cowenhoven joost duryea jeremiah vanderbilt stephen voorhies denyse denyce engelbert lott i. hubbard garret wyckoff richard stillwell, jr. rutgers van brunt adrien hegeman abram laguare derick remsen abram voorhies adrian voorhies petrus van pelt leffert lefferts wilh^s stoothoof casper crisper isaac cortelyou petrus lott johannes de bevoice isaac denyce johannes bergen john vanderbilt theodorus polhemus w^m van brunt jacobus vanderwenter cor^s wyckoff jeremias remsen[ ] that these men, who had served in official stations in councils of the state, and who had witnessed for a dozen years the aggressions of the crown, should so far submit to british authority, and be willing to resume the yoke when an opportunity was presented by concerted action to throw off the shackles which bound them to the mother country, is perhaps sufficient evidence of the strain produced by the peculiar situation in kings county. the militia, who had rendered but little service to the patriots, now followed the example set them by their leaders, and, to gain favor with the british officers, voluntarily raised and contributed the munificent sum of £ s towards defraying the expenses of raising and equipping a new battalion to be employed in the service of the tories. howe and tryon rejoiced greatly over these manifestations on the part of the people of kings county. such acts encouraged them greatly in their labors, and led them to suppose that the war was being carried on by a few zealous but hot-headed fanatics, who desired to enrich themselves by a continuance of the rebellion. they believed that they could control the rich, who did not wish to part with their property to be used in a prolonged campaign, and the poor, who did not desire to be separated from their families by compulsory service in the army. general howe and governor tryon, whose position of late years had become merely nominal, gladly accepted these evidences of obedience to their mandates, and were careful to scatter amongst them the assurance that "his majesty has observed with great satisfaction the effusions of loyalty and affection which break forth in the address of his faithful subjects, upon their deliverance from the tyranny and oppression of the rebel committees; and the proof given by the inhabitants of kings county of their zeal for the success of his majesty's measures by so generously contributing towards the expense of raising colonel fanning's battalion cannot fail of recommending them to his majesty's favor."[ ] no one, upon hearing of these manifestations on the part of the people of kings county, would for a moment wonder that the leaders of the rebellion against kingly authority should at times feel discouraged and disheartened. however, with so many who were faithless, there were some who still were true to the honored cause. the name of major barent johnson, father of the late general jeremiah johnson, stands conspicuously amongst those who were not ashamed to acknowledge allegiance to the infant republic. johnson was ever distinguished as a patriot, and attested his love of liberty, not only by words but also by actions. on every occasion he fearlessly and boldly advocated the revolutionary movement, and was one of the officers of the kings county militia who would not truckle to power, and who refused "to sell his heritage for a mess of pottage." when the american army retreated from brooklyn he followed their fortunes, and was encamped with them at harlem in , and ever testified his love of country by his willingness to serve her in her hour of danger and trial. in the early part of he was taken prisoner while accompanying the american army to new jersey. subsequently he obtained a parole from general howe through assistance of a brother mason, and returned to his home in kings county. he resided on the old farm in the present nineteenth ward of the city, so long known as the residence of general jeremiah johnson. he did all he could to aid the american cause. "in order to help on the cause to which he was devoted, he shrank not from personal and pecuniary risks, but suggested loans from friends in his county to the american government, and himself set the example by loaning, first, £ , and afterwards sums amounting to $ ; all the security for which was a simple private receipt, given, too, in times of exceeding peril and discouragement,--a noble and memorable deed."[ ] there were many signs during that kings county's disaffection was recognized. at the session of the provincial congress held june , the subject of preventing kings county from giving aid to the enemy was discussed, and resulted in the passage of the following resolution:-- _resolved_, that it be recommended to the general committee of kings county, immediately to take effectual measures that all boats and craft in the bay, on the south and southwest sides of said county, be drawn up or on the upland, to such a distance from the water as to prevent as much as possible the disaffected persons in that county from keeping up a communication with the enemy; and that the oars and sails belonging to the said boats and craft be secured in the most effectual manner. at this session kings county was represented by mr. lefferts and mr. polhemus. on the th of august the provincial convention (to which name that of the former congress had been changed), directed that one half of the militia of kings county and queens county be "immediately ordered to march and put themselves under the command of the officer commanding the continental troops on nassau island, to be continued in service until the first day of september next, unless sooner discharged by order of this convention." the convention, having received information that the inhabitants of kings county had determined not to oppose the enemy, thereupon adopted the following resolution:-- _resolved_, that a committee be appointed to repair forthwith to said county, and enquire concerning the authenticity of such report, and in case they find it well founded, that they be empowered to disarm and secure the disaffected inhabitants; to remove or destroy the stock of grain; and if they shall judge necessary, _to lay the whole country waste_. and for the execution of these purposes, they are directed to apply to general greene, or the commander of the continental troops in that county, for such assistance as they shall want. the committee appointed in accordance with this resolution consisted of mr. duer, colonel remsen, mr. hebert, and colonel dewit.[ ] on the th of august the convention, in pursuance of the resolution passed on the th of august, relative to the kings county militia, appointed colonel jeromus remsen of queens county, lieutenant-colonel nich^s cowenhoven of kings county, and major richard thorne of queens county, as officers of the militia ordered to be drafted from kings and queens counties, and placed them under the command of the officer commanding the continental troops on nassau island. the convention of representatives of the state of new york met again on the st of august. the first subject which engaged its attention was the character of the credentials presented by the delegates from kings county. the convention, upon examination and due deliberation, came to the conclusion that the same were defective, in that they did not state "whether any, or what power was given to the representatives therein named." considering that the representatives so elected should be expressly authorized to assist in framing and establishing a new form of government, and thereby give in their adhesion to the independence of america, the convention ordered that the said committee of kings county be immediately informed of said defect, to the end that a new election might be held, whereat delegates clothed with full power in the premises might be returned. the convention of representatives on the th of august passed a resolution recommending to the inhabitants of long island "to move as many of their women, children, and slaves, and as much of their live stock and grain, to the mainland, as they can," at the same time "assuring them that convention would pay the expense of moving the same." there is much significance in the letter of john sloss hobart to the committee of safety, dated october , , fairly stating the causes which led to the apparent submission of the citizens of long island to the british crown. he shows that the measures adopted were from necessity and not from choice. he says:-- "upon the retreat of the army from the island they viewed themselves as abandoned by the convention, and expecting the enemy hourly amongst them, a general removal appeared impracticable; besides, to quit their pleasant habitations, and throw themselves, with their tender connections, upon the charity of an unknown world, was a degree of apathy to which they had not yet arrived. in a fit of despair they laid down their arms, and made an unconditional submission to what they supposed the inquiring army;[ ] the people at large being thus brought to terms, they found it less difficult by threats to induce the individuals who had formerly held commissions under the crown of great britain to resume the execution of their offices; being well led into the snare, every measure tended to draw the _net_ closer about them. notwithstanding which, i am, from the best authority, informed that they are accused by mr. tryon and his minions of having submitted only the better to cover their intention of removing, and that, unless the young men do voluntarily take up arms against their country, an inveterate and disappointed soldiery will be let loose upon them. these considerations induce me earnestly to wish that some measure may be taken to induce the people to quit the island, by offering a support to those who cannot maintain themselves--the aged and infirm must be maintained at public expense." this letter reveals the true condition of affairs, and forcibly states the motives which led the inhabitants of long island to submit to the aggressions of the british. at the session of the committee of safety, held on the th of november, some of the inhabitants of the state of connecticut presented claims for expenses incurred in removing stock and the poor inhabitants from long island. a committee was therefore appointed to collect and state these accounts, together with the names of the persons bought of, the quantity of stock, and the names of the persons to whom they belonged, together with the place of their present residence, and report the same to the convention of this state as soon as possible. this subject was again brought to the attention of the committee of safety on the d of december, . at that meeting the following letter was prepared and signed by the vice-president and transmitted to colonel h. b. livingston:-- "sir,--the committee of safety have received accounts from different towns in connecticutt, with their demands for transporting stock and effects from long island. some are sent in by private persons, as employed by you for that purpose. i am directed to desire you to send me as particular an account as you can of the stock and other effects you have brought off long island, with the number of cattle, sheep, and other stock, the names of the persons to whom they belonged, and in what manner the same was disposed of, and to whom; with such vouchers for the same as you have taken. you will likewise inform us of the number of families brought off by your order, with the names of the heads of each family, as far as in your power, with any other particulars you may think necessary respecting the transportation and disposing of the same." "to colonel h. b. livingston." in january, , the american prisoners in new york were paroled and billeted on the inhabitants of kings county, congress agreeing to pay a weekly stipend of two dollars for each for board.[ ] colonel graydon, in his memoirs, presents a very vivid picture of the scenes and incidents connected with the sojourn of the prisoners amongst the island farmers. he says that "the officers of colonel mayan's and colonel sher's regiments were quartered at flatbush. he, with another officer, was placed in the house of jacob suydam." it was a large house, with many additions erected at different times, with doubtless a strange and weird appearance. he states that "they were civilly received, but that their presence was not welcome to the low dutch, who did not like to have their regular habits interfered with. had they been sure of receiving the two dollars a week, it might have reconciled them. they were, however, a people who seemed thoroughly disposed to submit to any power that might be imposed on them; and whatever might have been their propensities at an earlier stage of the contest, they were now the dutiful and loyal subjects of his majesty george iii. their houses and beds were clean, but their living was extremely poor. a sorry wash, made up of a sprinkling of bohea and the darkest sugar on the verge of fluidity, with half-baked bread (fuel being amongst the scarcest articles in flatbush), and a little stale butter constituted our breakfast. at our first coming a small piece of pickled beef was occasionally boiled for dinner, but to the beef, which was soon consumed, there succeeded _clippers_ or clams; and our unvaried supper was supan or mush, sometimes with skimmed milk, but more generally buttermilk blended with molasses, which was kept for weeks in a churn, as swill is saved for hogs. i found it, however, after a little use, very eatable, and supper soon became my best meal. the table company consisted of the master of the house, mr. jacob suydam, an old bachelor; a young man, a shoemaker of the name of rem hegeman, married to jacob's niece, who with a mewling infant in her arms never failed to appear. a black boy, too, was generally in the room; not as a waiter, but as a sort of _enfant de maison_, who walked about and took post in the chimney corner with his hat on, and occasionally joined in the conversation. rem hegeman and yonichy, his wife, gave themselves no airs, nor was harmony with uncle jacob ever interrupted but once, when soured a little he made a show of knocking down lieutenant forrest with a pair of yarn stockings he had just drawn from his legs, as he sat in the chimney corner one evening preparing for bed; but moments of peevishness were allowable to our host, for we had been consuming his provisions while he had never seen a penny of our money. the religion of the dutch, like their other habits, was unostentatious and plain; a simple silent grace before meat prevailed at the table of jacob suydam. when we were all seated, he suddenly clapped his hands together, threw his head on one side, closed his eyes, and remained mute and motionless for about a minute. his niece and nephew followed his example, but with such an eager solicitude that the copied attitude should be prompt and simultaneous as to give an air of absurdity to what otherwise might have been very decent."[ ] graydon refers to the peculiarities of the dutch in their habits, customs, and manners. one which seemed to strike him with considerable force was the custom of never asking people to "sit down to the table, but to sit 'by.'" judging from the colonel's narrative, the american prisoners must have had a good time at flatbush. although at times the enforced inactivity was irksome, the prisoners were favored with the presence of many estimable ladies who did much to render their forced stay agreeable. meanwhile, the convention of representatives held short sessions on the th and th of december, , and again on the th of february, , when they resolved to adjourn to kingston, which at once became the capital of the state. on the th of march, a state constitution was framed, and provision made for a temporary form of government by electing a council of safety. abraham ten broeck, of albany, was president of the convention at the time of the passage of these important measures. theodorus polhemus was the only member from kings county at this convention. in accordance with the resolution passed april , , providing for an _ad interim_ government, a council of safety was appointed, and the convention of representatives was dissolved on the th of may, . owing doubtless to the disturbed condition of affairs in kings county, that county was not represented in the committee. the council of safety, at its session on the th of june, in response to the petition of obadiah jones and other refugees from long island, reported the following resolutions:-- _resolved_, thereby provided his excellency governor trumbull shall approve thereof, obadiah jones, john hulbart, and thomas dearing, or any two of them, do give permits to such refugees from long island as reside in connecticut as they shall think proper, and at such times and under such restrictions as they may judge prudent, to pass to long island to get off their effects. _resolved_, that obadiah jones, john hulbart, and thomas dearing, or any two of them, be, and they are hereby authorized and directed to remove, at the expense of this state, to the county of dutchess, within the same, all such refugees from long island, now in connecticut, as are unable to maintain themselves, and are willing so to be removed. _resolved_, that one hundred pounds be advanced to the said gentlemen to enable them to execute the above resolutions; and that they account with the auditor-general of this state for the expenditure thereof. _ordered_, that the treasurer of this state pay the said sum of one hundred pounds unto mr. paul reeve, to be by him conveyed and delivered to said gentlemen or one of them. _resolved_, that the persons so to be removed shall, on their arrival in dutchess county, be under the care of and supplied with the necessaries by mess. abraham schenck and gerlim van veelon, commissioners for superintending and providing for such of the inhabitants of this state in the said county as have been driven from their habitations by the enemy. kings county was not represented at the first meeting of the new senate at kingston in september. in the assembly which met and organized, william boerum and henry williams represented kings county. these gentlemen, owing to the peculiar condition of affairs in kings county, and the impossibility of holding an election, were appointed by the convention, on may th, to represent the county. the members of the senate and assembly for the counties of new york, queens, suffolk, and richmond, were appointed in like manner. the provincial convention having instituted the office of auditor-general, for the purpose of settling certain accounts, the appointment to this office was given to comfort sands, july , , who held the place until march , , when he resigned. in the office was abolished, and that of comptroller was instituted in its place. comfort sands, who filled the important position of auditor, deserves more than a passing notice. during his life he took a deep interest in brooklyn affairs, and owned considerable property in the village. he purchased a part of the property belonging to john rapalje, whose wife, we have seen, sent her negro servant to apprise general howe of the premeditated retreat from brooklyn on the th of august, . rapalje's property extended along the water front from the ferry to the navy yard. he was an influential man, and during colonial times had frequently been a member of the assembly. when the war commenced in earnest, his family became identified with the tory element. a bill of attainder was passed against him october , , and he was banished. when the british occupied long island, he returned to his home, remaining until , when, with his family, he removed to england. his estates having been confiscated, comfort and joshua sands, on the th of july, , purchased acres of them, bordering on the east river, for, £ , , paid in state scrip. it might be well to state here that john rapalje was clerk of kings county in , and continued in that office during the british control. his successor, jacob sharp, jr., did not assume the office until . when rapalje removed to england, he carried with him the town records. these documents were very valuable. a few years after the declaration of peace rapalje's granddaughter visited america, hoping to regain possession of her father's land, upon the technical point that the confiscation had taken place subsequent to the treaty of peace. the advice of counsel was taken, whose opinions were adverse to her claim, and she abandoned the effort and returned to europe. when mrs. weldon, the granddaughter, came to america, she brought with her the missing records, and sought to sell and dispose of them for $ , . the inhabitants looked upon the price as fabulous, and refused to accept the offer. had they been wise, they would have asserted their rights, and by legal proceedings secured the property, which belonged to the town. by reason of the abstraction of these documents a hiatus has been created in the history, and much valuable information lost. the documents were taken back to england. even at this late date they probably might be secured from the descendants of the family. comfort sands, who by this purchase became interested in brooklyn, was born at sands point, l. i., in . after serving a clerkship he went into business on his own account in . when he resigned his position as auditor, he resumed business in new york. having served in the provincial congress, at the close of the war he was again called into service. he was a member of the assembly in - , , and . egbert benson, of queens county, was appointed attorney-general by an ordinance of the constitutional convention, may , . the council of appointment afterwards ratified the act, and on the th of january, , granted and issued to him a commission. he filled this responsible trust until may , . egbert benson was a man of culture. he graduated at columbia college in . he was a classmate of robert r. livingston, with whom he was ever on intimate terms. they served together in the different conventions for the common cause. he was subsequently judge of the new york supreme court, and justice of the united states circuit court, new york. the treaty of peace between the american and british commissioners was signed on september , . on november , following, the british troops formally evacuated new york and brooklyn, and the flagstaff of the pierrepont mansion on the heights, which had been used for signaling during the battle of brooklyn, once more floated the american flag. footnotes: [ ] see appendix in second volume for explanation of system of dutch family names. [ ] _american ancestry_, vol. v., . [ ] _a history of long island, from its first settlement by europeans, to the year , with special reference to its ecclesiastical concerns._ by nathaniel s. prime. . [ ] richard m. bayles, in _long island magazine_, september, . [ ] at the time of the discovery the iroquois, or league of the five nations, claimed to have subdued and mastered all the indian tribes from the atlantic to the mississippi. the iroquois occupied in particular the middle and upper region of new york state. the earliest of the general histories of this remarkable confederacy was written by cadwallader colden, who died on long island in . [ ] _new york historical society's collections_, vol. iii. p. . [ ] _antiquities of long island_, p. . [ ] among brooklyn's manufactures in recent years rope-making has taken a prominent place. [ ] _a history of the city of brooklyn, including the old town and village of brooklyn, the town of bushwick, and the village and city of williamsburgh._ by henry r. stiles. . [ ] van twiller. [ ] _address before long island historical society_, . [ ] "the ladye moodye, a wise and anciently religious woman, being taken with the error of denying baptism to infants, was dealt with by many of the elders and others, and admonished by the church of salem (whereof she was a member); but persisting still, and to avoid further trouble, etc., she removed to the dutch against the advice of her friends."--_governor winthrop's journal._ [ ] also described as a council of eight. [ ] the function of the schepen resembled that of the squire or petty justice, particularly in communities so small as not to have a burgomaster. [ ] by the wording of contracts dated november , (new york col. mss. ii. ), it appears that teunissen was called "schout of breuckelen" before this date. [ ] as we have seen, rapalje, who made one of the earliest purchases ( ), did not begin living on his wallabout farm until probably . [ ] "no other figure of dutch, nor indeed of colonial days is so well remembered; none other has left so deep an impress on manhattan history and tradition as this whimsical and obstinate, but brave and gallant old fellow, the kindly tyrant of the little colony. to this day he stands in a certain sense as the typical father of the city."--theodore roosevelt, _new york_, p. . [ ] bayard tuckerman, _peter stuyvesant_, p. . [ ] stiles, _history of brooklyn_, vol. i. p. . [ ] "among the dutch settlers the art of stone-cutting does not appear to have been used until within comparatively a few years, with but few exceptions, and their old burying-grounds are strewn with rough head-stones which bear no inscriptions; whereas the english people, immediately on their settlement, introduced the practice of perpetuating the memories of their friends by inscribed stones. another reason for not finding any very old tombstones in the dutch settlements is that they early adopted the practice of having family burying-places on their farms, without monuments, and not unfrequently private burials, both of which the governor and colonial legislature, in and , deemed of sufficient importance to merit legislative interference, and declared that all persons should be publicly buried in some parish burial-place."--furman, _antiquities of long island_, p. . [ ] _new york_, p. . [ ] a dutch war-ship sold twenty negroes into the colony of virginia in august, . [ ] the call of the breuckelen church to dominie selyns was by him accepted, and approved by the classis of amsterdam, february , (- ).--_brooklyn church records._ [ ] mr. campbell and other recent writers, actuated doubtless by some resentment toward the complacency of new england, have unquestionably exaggerated in certain respects the essential position of holland in educational advancement, and offered a somewhat stronger plea for the leadership of the dutch in popular education on this continent than a strictly judicial examination of the case seems to justify; but there can be no reasonable doubt in the minds of impartial students that serious misconceptions have existed, and that these justify the championship of the dutch, of which mr. campbell's _the puritan in holland, england, and america_ is so brilliant an example. the early claims for english and for puritan educational traditions not only ignored but excluded the dutch, and it was inevitable that the effort to do justice to holland's remarkable services for popular education should result in occasional overstatement. [ ] _democracy in europe_, vol. ii. pp. - . [ ] _public school pioneering in new york and massachusetts._ [ ] _new york colonial documents_, vol. i. p. . [ ] the river farm, which included the "kiekout" bluff, is first found in the possession of jean meserole, who came from picardy, france, in , and from whom is descended gen. jeremiah v. meserole, president of the williamsburgh savings bank, first colonel of the forty-seventh regiment, n. g. s. n. y. [ ] so named from dirck volckertsen, surnamed "the norman," to whom was granted in land on the east river between bushwick creek and newtown creek, now within the seventeenth ward of the city of brooklyn, and still known as greenpoint. volckertsen lived in a stone house on the northerly side of bushwick creek near the east river. the house was standing until after the middle of the present century. [ ] early section names within the township of breuckelen were gowanus, red hook (lying west of the ferry), the ferry, wallabout, bedford, cripplebush. all of these, save the last, have survived as designations of regions in the present city. [ ] when, in , it was deemed necessary to prepare defenses for breuckelen and new utrecht against attacks from the indians, de sille was directed to make the necessary surveys. under stuyvesant de sille held the important position of attorney-general. he was a man of ability and influence. the position he held under stuyvesant demonstrated the fact that his attainments were appreciated. he was born in arnheim. his ancestors were natives of belgium, who fled to holland to escape religious persecution, and whose devotion to the interests of their adopted country was manifested on many occasions in the noble stand taken by the dutch republic to maintain its independence against the spanish invasion. he came to new netherland in , commissioned by the west india company to reside at new amsterdam, and by his counsel aid and assist the governor in his duties. he was directed to give his advice on all subjects relating to the interests of the colony. it is said that he built the first house in new utrecht. it was at his house that the brave general woodhull, the hero of long island, who gave his life for his country, breathed his last.--s. m. o. [ ] _journal of a voyage to new york and a tour in several of the american colonies in - ._ by jasper dankers and peter sluyter of wiewerd, in friesland. translated from the original manuscript in dutch for the long island historical society, and edited by henry c. murphy, foreign corresponding secretary of the society. brooklyn, . [ ] "no man has been more maligned or misunderstood than jacob leisler. historians have deliberately misjudged him, drawing their conclusions from the biased reports of the few aristocrats who hated or the english officials who despised him. jacob leisler was one of the earliest of american patriots. his brief and stormy career as provincial governor of new york was marked by mistakes of judgment, but his mistakes were more than overbalanced by his foresight and statesmanship. he acted as one of the people for the people. he summoned a popular convention, arranged the first mayoralty election by the people, attempted the first step toward colonial union by endeavoring to interest the several provinces in a continental congress, and sought to cripple the chief adversary of the english in america, france, by the masterly stroke of an invasion of canada. that he failed is due to the jealousy, the timidity, and the short-sightedness of his fellow colonists. but he builded wiser than he knew; for, though he died a martyr to colonial jealousy and english injustice, his bold and patriotic measures awoke the people to a knowledge of their real power, and prepared them for that spirit of resistance to tyranny which a century later made them a free republic."--elbridge s. brooks, _the story of new york_, p. . [ ] "the government of the colony was at once put on the basis on which it stood until the outbreak of the revolution. there was a governor appointed by the king, and a council likewise appointed; while the assembly was elected by the freeholders. the suffrage was thus limited by a strict property qualification. liberty of conscience was granted to all protestant sects, but not to catholics; and the church of england was practically made the state church, though the dutch and french congregations were secured in the rights guaranteed them by treaty. it was, then, essentially a class or aristocratic government,--none the less so because to european eyes the little american colony seemed both poor and rude."--theodore roosevelt, _new york_, p. . [ ] there are varying views of kidd's character and career. thus berthold fernow writes in the _narrative and critical history of america_ (vol. v. p. ): "to-day that which was meted out to kidd might hardly be called justice; for it seems questionable if he had ever been guilty of piracy." [ ] the assessment rolls of the five dutch towns in showed the following proportions in the number of persons assessed: breuckelen, ; midwout, ; boswyck (bushwick) ; amersfoort, ; new utrecht, . [ ] the peculiar methods employed by the citizens of brooklyn at that time in electing their officials cannot be better illustrated than by the presentation of a report of one of those town meetings as follows:-- att a towne meeting held this th day of april, , at breucklyn, by order of justice michael hanssen ffor to chose town officers ffor to order all townes business and to deffend theire limits and bounds, and to lay out some part thereoff in lotts, to make lawes and orders ffor the best off the inhabitants, and to raise a small tax ffor to defray the towne charges, now being or hereafter to come, to receive the townes revenues, and to pay the townes debts, and that with the advice off the justices off the said towne standing the space or time off two years. chosen ffor that purpose by pluralitie of votes. benjamin vande water, joras hanssen, jan garritse dorlant. by order off inhabitants aforesaid, j. vande water, _clarke_. [ ] furman's _notes_, p. . [ ] the total assessment value of real and personal estate in brooklyn in was £ , d, or about $ , , and the tax on the same was £ s - / d, or about $ . the tax levied in the county of kings was £ s - / d, or about $ , . [ ] the description of this road in the records is as follows: "one common highway to begin ffrom the house of jurian collier to the new mill of nicholas brower, now sett upon gowanus mill neck soe called, as the way is now in use, along said neck to said mill to be of two rods wide, and that there shall be a landing place by said mill in the most convenient place ffor the transportation of goods, and the commodious passing of travellers; and said highway and landing place to be, remaine and continue forever." [ ] for comment on brooklyn's claims, see appendix. [ ] to delancey belongs the honor of signing the charter of columbia college in new york, first known as kings college, an institution in which brooklynites have always taken a deep interest. among her graduates from brooklyn may be mentioned the ex-mayor, ex-senator, and ex-minister to the hague, henry c. murphy, who graduated in . the hon. alexander mccue, of the city court, was the valedictorian of the class of . ex-supervisor william j. osborne, henry c. murphy, jr., george i. murphy, richard m. de mille, john lockwood, of lockwood's academy; george w. collard, the erudite professor of languages in the polytechnic; stewart l. woodford, and edgar m. cullen all graduated from columbia. beside these might be mentioned john l. lefferts, van brunt wyckoff, ex-mayor edward copeland, who graduated in ; the late samuel e. johnson, ex-county judge, who graduated in , and the late rev. stephen h. meeker, who for fifty years was pastor of the old bushwick church. among the clergy who enjoyed her academic shades might be mentioned the late rev. dr. dwight, who for many years was pastor of the joralemon street dutch church; the right rev. henry ustick onderdonk, at one time rector of st. ann's church and subsequently bishop of pennsylvania; rev. dr. samuel roosevelt johnson, formerly rector of st. john's church; the right rev. dr. george f. seymour, formerly rector of st. john's church and now bishop of springfield. of the legal profession who have graduated from her law school might be mentioned william h. ingersoll, edward b. barnum, henry broadhead, abel crook, william leggett whiting, philip l. wilson, henry s. bellows, merwin rushmore, f. a. ward, d. d. terry, l. bradford prince, daniel w. northup, and a host of other well known members of the bar. of the medical profession the number from brooklyn is legion.--s. m. o. we may now add to the roll a conspicuous name, that of ex-mayor seth low, now president of columbia. [ ] kings, queens, and part of suffolk. [ ] _history of the city of brooklyn_, vol. i. p. . [ ] the school remained closed until . [ ] onderdonk, _kings county_, p. . [ ] the wife of john rapalje was a well-known tory. so far did she manifest her predilections in favor of the tory cause as at all times to boldly proclaim her sympathies for the king. at the time the act was passed prohibiting the use of tea, she, with her proverbial pertinacity and obstinacy, persisted in its use, and so continued while the american army was in the occupation of brooklyn. on this account she became a marked woman. her conduct caused much discussion, and drew down upon her the umbrage of the whig militia, who fired a cannon ball into her home while she was drinking her favorite beverage. the ball passed close to her head and lodged in the wall. this action not only seriously annoyed the lady, but served to stir within her bosom the spirit of revenge, and she eagerly awaited an opportunity to gratify her spite. when she saw the preparations for the retreat of the army her heart rejoiced, for she fancied that the moment had arrived when she could mete out punishment to her enemies.--s. m. o. [ ] force's th series, vol. ii. p. . [ ] force, th series, vol. ii. p. . [ ] force, th series, vol. ii. p. . [ ] force, th series, vol. iii. p. . [ ] _corporation manual of brooklyn_, . [ ] onderdonk, _kings county_, sec. . [ ] onderdonk, _kings county_, sec. . [ ] onderdonk, _kings county_, sec. . [ ] rev. dr. s. r. johnson's _memorial discourse on general jeremiah johnson_. [ ] _journal of provincial convention_, p. . [ ] so in the original _journal of committee of safety_, p. . [ ] onderdonk's _revolutionary incidents_, sec. . [ ] onderdonk's _incidents of kings county_, p. . * * * * * transcriber's notes: simple typographical errors were corrected. punctuation and spelling were made consistent when a predominant preference was found in this book; otherwise they were not changed. the "appendix" to which reference occasionally is made appears in volume ii. "[illustration]" used by transcribers to represent actual illustrations in source book; other words in [square brackets] were printed that way in source book. contractions originally printed as superscripts are represented here by preceding them with the caret symbol, e.g., w^m (william). burning of the brooklyn theatre. [illustration] a thrilling personal experience! brooklyn's horror. wholesale holocaust at the brooklyn, new york, theatre, on the night of december th, . three hundred men, women and children buried in the blazing ruins! origin, progress and devastation of the fire. the tragedy in the galleries--a wedge of death--into a pit of fire--harrowing scenes and incidents--affecting and exciting stories of survivors--two actors among the victims--the ghastly array of the disfigured dead--heartrending scenes in identifying the remains--complete list of the victims--burial of the dead. philadelphia: barclay & co., publishers, no. north seventh street. entered according to act of congress, in the year , by barclay & co., in the office of the librarian of congress, at washington, d. c. burning of the brooklyn theatre. the destruction of the brooklyn theatre, on the night of tuesday, december the th, was the most terrible calamity of its kind that has occurred in this country. what was first deemed to be an ordinary fire, naturally involving serious financial loss to the owners, the lessees and the actors, was really a catastrophe of the most heartrending character, causing, as it did, the loss of upwards of three hundred lives. no theatre fire on this continent had so much horror lent to it. even the most stony-hearted were touched by the awfulness of this great calamity. three hundred human beings of both sexes and of all ages were thrust into eternity through an agonizing and painful death. they were thus doomed at a moment of pleasure and mental excitement over the mimic troubles of the dramatic personages in a play possessing features that touched the hearts of those who followed the scenes on the stage. at a moment when every eye was fixed on the painted scene, and every ear strained on the utterances of the several characters, the dreadful cry of "fire!" was raised, and, in a few moments after, the entire building was filled with flame and smoke, and hundreds of men, women and children were suffocated and burned to death, and their charred and disfigured remains buried beneath the ruins. such is the simple and terse record of this most dreadful occurrence, and these few sentences afford such outline and visible form to the picture that it scarcely needs the shocking details that necessarily follow to give it color and ghastliness. that so much horror should attend the burning of a theatre sent a thrill of pain through every heart in the land. the full scope of the calamity and the dreadful scenes attending it are depicted in the accounts that follow. no more awful moment can be imagined than that when the fire was discovered. the full moon of the fatal evening had tempted upwards of twelve hundred people from their homes, and lighted them to the brilliant entrance of the theatre. the famous play of the "two orphans," with an excellent cast, mainly from the union square theatre, of new york city, was the attraction, and had renewed its fascinations over a public long since familiar with its story. the audience was characteristically a brooklyn gathering. many well-known citizens were there: among them the family of mr. william c. kingsley, the hon. henry c. murphy, edgar cullen and ladies, e. b. dickinson and ladies, and henry beam. the following was the distribution of characters in the play, and, with the exception of miss morant, miss vernon and one or two of the minor characters, all the members were in the theatre at the outbreak of the fire: chevalier de vaudry mr. c. r. thorne. count de linieres, minister of police mr. h. f. daly. picard, valet to the chevalier mr. claude burroughs. jacques frochard, an outlaw mr. j. b. studley. pierre frochard, his brother mr. h. s. murdoch. marquis de presles mr. j. g. peakes. doctor of the hospitals st. louis and salpetriere mr. h. b. phillips. la fleur mr. h. w. montgomery. officer of the guard mr. john mathews. martin mr. l. thompson. de mailly mr. j. clements. d'estres mr. george dalton. footman mr. e. lamb. antoine mr. r. struthers. louise, { the } miss kate claxton. henriette, {two orphans.} miss maude harrison. la frochard mrs. farren. countess de linieres miss fanny morant. sister genevieve miss ida vernon. marianna, an outcast miss kate girard. julie miss ethel allen. cora miss l. cleves. sister therese mrs. l. e. seymour. the play had proceeded to the last scene of the last act. the curtain had just been rung up, revealing a scene of exciting and pathetic interest to the audience. it was the interior of the hovel boat-house on the seine. the blind _louise_ (miss claxton) lay on a bed of straw; _mme. frochard_ (mrs. farren) was scraping a carrot; the cripple was at his wheel, and _jacques_ was about to emphasize his brutality with a threat. as was natural from her reclining position, which enabled her to see the flies, the first flame caught the eye of miss claxton. mr. murdoch (_pierre_) was delivering his speech when the two heard a whisper of "fire" from behind the scenes, and, looking up, saw flames issuing from the flies. mr. murdoch stopped, but miss claxton whispered to him, "go on, they will put it out, there will be a panic--go on," and he resumed. so far the audience had not noticed anything out of the way, and the two played the scene through, mrs. farren (_frochard_) entering meanwhile. the carpenters were all the while trying to stop the progress of the flames, unnoticed by the house, and miss claxton delivered her little speech to _jacques_: "i forbid you to touch me," which was greeted with applause. meanwhile the audience had begun to suspect something, and with miss claxton's words, "i will beg no more," the actors were forced to move from fear of falling timber, and the audience rose to their feet. mrs. farren and mr. murdoch stepped to the footlights and waved to the people to resume their seats, while mr. studley and miss claxton went forward to do likewise. mr. studley shouted: "ladies and gentlemen, there will be no more of the play, of course; you can all go out if you will only keep quiet." miss claxton, at the other end of the stage, begged the people to keep cool, adding: "we are between you and the flames." by this time the fire (which seems to have originated by some of the "short drops" blowing against the "border lights" in the flies, and so communicating to the scenery) had made so much headway that the actors had to look out for themselves. they had held their ground as long as it was possible, and, seeing from the panic which started immediately in the gallery and spread all over the upper part of the house, that the worst had begun, they began their retreat, the ground floor being already almost cleared. mr. thorne had gone. mr. burroughs was up-stairs in his dressing-room, from which he escaped only to meet his death. mr. murdoch was never seen again. miss claxton and miss harrison rushed one way; miss girard and the minor people another. the sight of fire seemed to paralyze every one for an instant, and just as they recovered sufficiently to act, mr. studley's sudden coming to the front of the stage and assuring them that there was no cause for alarm caused another pause of a second. it was for a second only. the blazing fragments began falling thick and fast, contradicting the actor's well-intentioned deception. the audience arose as by one impulse and made a rush for the doors. the entreaties of miss claxton and mr. murdoch were unheeded. the fierce struggle for life had begun. the ushers for the most part preserved their presence of mind and endeavored to enforce order among the rushing crowd, as did also the police in attendance. mr. rochfert, the head usher, broke open a small door at the farther end of the vestibule and increased the facilities of exit into the open air, which regularly consisted of two doors five feet wide, opening upon washington street. mr. rochfert also entered the auditorium and endeavored to quell the excitement, but without effect. a fire alarm had been immediately sent from the first precinct station-house, which is located next the theatre, and a minute or two after a general alarm and also a call for the reserved force of all the precincts. but by the time the engines were in position and at work the fire was beyond control. the occupants of the orchestra chairs and parquet had had but little difficulty in making good their escape, but at least two-thirds and perhaps even a larger fraction of the audience were still in the dress-circle and gallery. the lowest estimate of the number in the gallery is that five or six hundred people were in that portion of the house, and from among these were most of the three hundred deaths. the exit from the first balcony was down a single flight of stairs in the rear of the vestibule. down these stairs the people came in scores, leaping and jumping in wild confusion. the way out from the upper gallery was down a short flight of stairs starting from the south wall of the building, thence by a short turn down a long flight against the same wall to the level of the balcony, and from this floor down a cased flight into washington street. the main floor and first balcony were soon emptied through their respective exits, but for the five or six hundred panic-stricken gallery spectators to pass safely through the tortuous passage described was next to an impossibility. every indication points to the belief that, suffocated by the smoke forced down like a wall from the roof, the mass of those in the upper gallery thronged about the entrance to the stairs and were either blocked there so as to make exit impossible, or were unable even to make the attempt to escape, and sank down, one upon the other, to fall in a mass into the horrible pit under the vestibule when the supports of the gallery were burned away. those near the entrance of the stairs were, probably, the only ones who were able to escape from this terrible slaughter-pen. there was comparatively little outcry here, and this again would seem to indicate that suffocation had intervened to numb the sensibilities of the hundreds to whom death was to come by fire. as soon as the flames reached the rear of the theatre, near the entrances, where the hundreds of people were contending wildly, the horror of the scene was increased tenfold. some leaped madly from the gallery upon the orchestra chairs, and only a few were sufficiently self-possessed to lower themselves by the railings. one man escaped by the small window at the head of the gallery stairs, letting himself down upon the roof of the station-house. another, who attempted the same escape, was suffocated or became insensible as he reached the window, and was seen sitting motionless there until swept away. a few lowered themselves from the second-story windows on the flood's alley side. but the great mass stood helplessly blocked in. the smoke became unbearable, and the police and firemen who had been able to penetrate the crowd at all were obliged to retire. they seized as many of the paralyzed bodies as they could and dragged them into the street, passing on their way out over piles of insensible men and boys. fifteen minutes after the fire broke out the interior of the theatre was wrapped in flames. shortly after the roof fell in, and, at . , a half an hour after the fire started, the broad east wall fell with a terrible crash. the few who had reached the first flight of stairs from the street were taken out and carried into the first precinct station-house. the crowd that had escaped from the theatre remained in the adjacent streets. men without hats or coats, with clothing torn and faces bruised; women bonnetless and dishevelled, weeping convulsively--every face was a picture of woe and fright. the crowd was quickly and largely augmented by the anxious throng of sight-seers, and to keep them within the proper limits required the efforts of nearly the entire reserved police force of the city. the police commissioners and superintendent campbell, and inspector waddy; the chief of the fire department, thomas f. nevins, and fire marshal keady, had been telegraphed for and came promptly to the scene of the conflagration, and did everything in their power to provide for the sufferers, for many had been brought out bruised and burned. the firemen had not fairly begun their labors before it became evident that it was impossible to save the theatre or any part of it; the entire attention of the force was therefore directed to the surrounding buildings, which meanwhile were seriously threatened. several small buildings on the opposite side of flood's alley were partially destroyed, and at one time the first precinct station-house was in imminent danger. the fire was, however, confined to the theatre by the united exertions of the entire fire department. the interior decorations of the theatre were of such light and inflammable material that the fire was quite beyond their control, so far as the theatre was concerned, and the roof being equally light and inflammable, it required constant exertion to keep the fire from spreading. [illustration: claude burroughs. h. s. murdoch.] at about three o'clock in the morning the fire had been nearly extinguished, and the major part of the throng of sight-seers had gone to their homes, ignorant of the fatal consequences of the conflagration. the flames had subsided sufficiently to permit the firemen to make an investigation near the main entrance of the theatre. chief nevins passed over the trembling floor of the hallway toward the inner doorway. inside the doors the flooring had fallen in, leaving a deep pit of fire and flame, from which a dense smoke and steam ascended. here a sickening spectacle met his horrified gaze. close up to the flaming furnace, and clinging to the splintered verge of the demolished flooring, was the body of a woman. her hands clasped the frame-work of the door in a desperate grasp. she had fought hard for life. evidently she would have escaped had not the flooring given way beneath her. all the clothing was burnt off, and the features were so blackened that she was unrecognizable, and the body was removed to the morgue. at o'clock in the morning the flames were put out, and the heap of debris was black and cold. from the vestibule platform the firemen saw a most horrible spectacle. the mound that had at first appeared to be simply a heap of ashes proved to be almost wholly composed of human bodies. heads, arms, legs, shoulders, shoes, and here and there entire human remains protruded through the surface of the mound. policemen and firemen hesitated for a moment before leaping down upon the sickening heap. an inclined plane of plain deal boards was hastily constructed to reach from the tender vestibule platform to the pit, and upon this a ladder was rested. upon the ladder the men went to and fro. upon the plane, coffins were hauled up and down. at first the firemen lifted the bodies from the debris, after having carefully dug around them and loosened them, and ten minutes was consumed in exhuming each body. but as it became apparent that there were scores and scores of human remains, and that a day, and perhaps a night, would end before the last corpse was taken out, less tender means were used in the operation, and the work assumed a more earnest and energetic character. instead of five men, ten men set at work among the ruins, while on the vestibule platform a dozen sturdy firemen manned the short ropes by which the coffins, laden with human remains, were drawn up and dragged to the sidewalk. all the bodies were bent into horrid shapes, assumed in the struggles of death by suffocation and by burning. nine out of ten of the corpses had an arm upraised and bent to shield the face. something was missing from every one. this one lacked a head or a foot, this a nose, an ear, or a hand, another its fingers or the crown of the skull. very many broken limbs and protruding bones were found, and there were gashes in the upturned faces or fractures in the smooth-burned skulls, so that each corpse as it was dragged into the light was a new revelation of ghastliness. a few lusty pulls disengaged each body. two or three men seized its stiffened limbs and pressed them into a coffin, a pair of sharp-pointed tongs clutched the coffin, and the firemen overhead dragged it even with the street, where a cloth was thrown over the coffin, and it was dragged to the dead-wagons, which kept coming and going all day long. opera glasses, chains, studs, purses, and even watches were found under and on the bodies, and were thrown to one side upon a spread-out newspaper. opposite the main entrance at the rear of the theatre other firemen and police officers delved in the ashes and brought forth corpse after corpse to be boxed and carried away to the morgue, with the same rapidity as at the other door. at four o'clock, when a hundred and forty-seven bodies had been exhumed on the washington street side, fifty-three had been carried from the alley-way in the rear. moving among the firemen, either as spectators or supervisors of the ghastly work, were chief engineer nevins, police commissioner hurd, fire commissioner mclaughlin, assistant engineer farley, and ex-police superintendent folk. surrounding the ruins, in washington, johnson and adams streets, were throngs of people who stood close together on the sidewalks and left only room enough for one vehicle at a time to traverse the roadways. the dead-wagons continually passing and repassing, kept this passage way clear, and were themselves the objects of the most interest. during the entire day there were continual quarrels between the police officers and the over-curious people. pickpockets--nearly all boys--were numerous, and were brought into the first precinct station two at a time. in the station were coats, and hats, canes, shawls, bundles, valises filled with costumes, and numerous other articles taken from the ruins of the theatre. when the first wagon, laden with the dead from the fire, halted in front of the morgue, the gathering pressed forward and crushed its way between the wagon and the doorway. the police officers appealed to the people to be calm, and at length the bodies were taken into the building. daylight had not set in when the arrival of the dead bodies was announced. it was thought at first that the first was the remains of a young woman, but a vest displaying a watch and chain was revealed. about nine o'clock the second body, that of a young man whose hands were clasped, and who wore a plain silver ring and a gutta percha ring, was received. nicholas kieley's remains were next, and the rev. father kieley, who wept as though his heart was broken, recognized his brother. upon the body of the fourth corpse was a gold open-faced watch, to which was attached a thin gold chain. on the back of the watch was the words, "a mother's gift." the fifth body was that of a stalwart man, whose hands were fixed over his face. then there was a negro whose features were beyond recognition. following was a body whose head had been nearly consumed, and next one whose arms had been burned away. on this man was a bright gold collar button. then there were the remains of a young woman. the limbs were drawn up, the body was twisted, and the features could not be recognized. the remains of a boy about fourteen years of age were next carried in. a man with a checked shirt was put at his side. the bodies of three young boys and three girls were next received. on one of the bodies was a hunting-case silver watch, , , with a gold chain and a piece of the hell gate telegraphic wire as a charm. the timepiece was in good order and marked the correct time. before o'clock seventy-eight bodies were strewn about in the morgue, and a long line of men and women were constantly passing in and out of the building. nearly every person had permits from the coroner's office, and the women visitors were in the majority. a most shameful and vulgar feature of the inroad upon the morgue was the vast number of women who, through mere curiosity, insisted upon entering the building. women who were naturally nervous and hysterical forced their way in and risked good clothing and head dress in their wild attempts to hover over the bodies. they began to sob and gesticulate long before they reached the hallway in which twenty-three blackened corpses were in line on the marble floor. when the women reached this scene they shrieked as though bereft of all their kindred, but the majority of them were forced to admit that they knew no one among the dead. occasionally some agonized mother or wife recognized the charred remains of a loved one, and the woman wept as only a woman can weep. keeper mcguire, who has witnessed much sorrow in his place, and who is supposed to have a heart of adamant, wiped tears from his eyes, and then tried to excuse himself by saying: "this is too much. i am almost unnerved." occasionally some plain, methodical person entered, and, through close searching, discovered one who was known to him. in a business-like way the discoverer pinned a card or a slip of paper, bearing the man's name, to what remained of the clothing. young and giddy girls, who should have been chastised for their impudence, flaunted themselves in the presence of distressed visitors, and seemed to enjoy their trip through the morgue. on each side of the building is a yard, and there are many windows. small boys and stalwart men peered through these windows and indulged in expressions that were unseemly. this outside rabble became so unruly that an additional force of police was called upon to prevent a crush into the building. none of the bodies were put on the slabs. all were on the flooring. the faces were so blackened by the fire that they could not be recognized, and it was only through clothing or jewelry that any were identified. the undertakers of brooklyn combined together and volunteered their services in behalf of the sorrow-stricken families. they were of very great assistance to the police in preventing professional mourners from robbing the dead. one woman recognized her brother when she discovered a stud in his shirt bosom. another woman, with a small piece of cloth and a piece of shirt bosom, identified her husband, and saying, "he has $ in his pockets," put her hand in his vest pocket and took therefrom that amount. the arms of nearly all the dead were fixed as though shielding their faces, and one woman had drawn her clothing over her face and clinched her hands above her forehead. two young men were grappled together as though they had had a personal encounter in an attempt to escape from the theatre. others lay on their sides in the manner of persons who thus slumber. their watch chains and other jewelry were beautifully bright, and the clothing of all was blackened through the fire. in only about one-third of the cases were the limbs exposed through the torn and burned clothing. uplifted hands, whose fingers were shining bones, bore golden rings, and shoeless feet glistened in their whiteness. the hair and whiskers were gone, and faces were terribly scarred. a few of the bodies were burned to a crisp, and these were put into rough pine boxes, and all hope for their identification was given up. until late in the afternoon, men, women, and children flocked to the washington street station to tell of fathers, husbands, brothers, and children who had not returned to their homes since the evening previous. hour by hour the list of missing persons increased in numbers until it comprised nearly names. all who made inquiry for friends or relatives were necessarily disappointed, for the blackened, charred bodies were few of them in a condition to be identified. strong men, who had kept up both heart and hope, broke down and sobbed like women when they learned their own flesh and blood might never be discovered from out of the scores of shapeless trunks that were being exhumed from the ruins. women came in sobbing and went away convulsed with grief. the policemen themselves often surrendered their forced self-possession and sobbed aloud. in the evening the work was continued by the aid of calcium lights. it was thought best to discontinue the removal of the bodies from the rear through theatre alley to myrtle avenue. sixty-seven in all had been taken out that way. the main entrance, with the ghastly burdens still regularly coming out of it, was thrown into bold relief. the burner and lantern had been knocked off the street lamp over the way, and a great flame of gas blazed and flared into the air, lighting up the scorched and splintered doorway and the upturned faces of the throng. a calcium light on the sidewalk near the door illumined the corridor to the point where the floor had broken, and there another was fixed whose rays shone directly into the deep pit in which the earlier search had discovered the horrible mass of charred human bodies. this pit was the cellar of the main corridor, and its ruins were separated from the debris in the auditorium by the strong foundation wall that had borne the gallery columns. it was not until nine o'clock that this cellar, about twelve feet wide, and running through to the foundation wall on the alley side, was cleared. over one hundred and fifty bodies had been removed from it. toward the rear fewer were found, and those were evidently not from the gallery, as fragments of kid gloves could be seen on the fingers of the blackened hands, some of which still clutched opera-glasses. these bodies were more thoroughly calcined than those first found, and not unfrequently the firemen were able to put two or three into one box. after dark the orders against admitting outsiders to the ruins were more strictly enforced. among those admitted was the foreman of the grand jury, w. w. shumway. a calcium light from the alley wall shone over the ruins of the auditorium, and here the firemen began work shortly after nine o'clock. in addition to the lime light, oil lamps with reflectors and lanterns were used. in this fitful glare the firemen, their faces pallid from fatigue and hunger, toiled on without a word. the first body found in the auditorium was on the theatre alley side. its position indicates that the victim had reached a window when he was struck down. some friends of mr. murdoch were very anxious that an early effort should be made to recover his body. his mother was expected to arrive in the city during the evening, he having sent for her a few days before. about nine o'clock a stream of water was put upon the ruins in the northeast corner to cool the immense pile of bricks under which the body was thought to lie. the firemen were greatly impeded by the clouds of steam. they made their way from the southern end toward the stage. the broken wall lay in great lumps of brick and mortar. about halfway toward the stage shapeless human flesh was found crushed between two huge masses which had protected it from the flames that had consumed all the rest of the body. it was long before the bricks could be sufficiently cooled to admit the removal of this fragment. it was feared all the bodies in this part of the ruins had been similarly or more thoroughly consumed, owing to the intense heat from the inflammable stage fixtures. the interior of the adams street market presented at night a weirdly horrible sight. disuse had made the place grimy. the gas fixtures had been removed, and candle light had to be used. the bodies were in rows that reached the entire length of the long apartment. on the breast of each was a lighted candle held in a small block of wood. candles were also stuck on the hooks that had once been used to hang meat on, and lanterns helped to illuminate the spacious place; but the combined light was not sufficient to rid the corners of dark shadows. the bodies were in strained shapes, as though death had stopped them in a writhing struggle. their arms were raised to their faces in most instances, the gesture suggesting suffocation or warding off heat. the charring made them appalling to look at. at an old counter officers added to lists the names of the few who were from time to time identified. articles taken from the bodies were in a basket, enveloped and numbered, and corresponding numbers were written on slips of paper and pinned to the rags that still clung to the corpses. men and women passed from body to body, seeking friends or relatives, examining the bits of clothing, holding the candles close to the blackened faces, and looking for scars or other marks that might make recognition possible. they were wonderfully composed in manner, the only outbreaks of feeling being when a search was successful, and that was very rare. they were in the main of the poor class, such as occupy the galleries of theatres. they were persistent in their sad task, going along the rows of ill-shapen remains without missing a thing that promised identification. in several instances importunate appeals were made for permission to remove recognized remains, but the coroners decided not to grant that privilege until the next day. on the next morning (december th) the confusion was less at the scene of the awful catastrophe, but the solemn gloom was deeper than before, the excitement was nearly as great, and the under-currents of sympathy more intense. there was a gloom in brooklyn which could be felt even in the streets. there was but one topic of conversation. men, women, and children thought and talked of little else than the brooklyn theatre and the burned dead beneath its ruins. on the sidewalks, in the street-cars, on the ferry-boats, there was one and the same subject of interest. in the neighborhood of the theatre itself the excitement was at its height. but there was little to be seen that could either stimulate or gratify curiosity. two or three undertakers' wagons with the ugly coffins from the dead-house, were in attendance, but the uninterrupted procession of corpses, which was so horrible a feature of the scene on wednesday, ended late at night, and on this morning there was nothing to see save the smouldering ruins of the theatre. there was only the great void where the theatre had stood, a mere rim of crumbling walls, scarcely breast high, enclosing immense heaps of brick and rubbish, from which columns of steam arose in the air. a surging mass of people occupied the sidewalk in front of the dead-house, and stretched into the middle of the street, and men and boys clambered upon fences and wagons in the neighborhood, and gazed intently at the blank walls of the building. policemen guarded the main entrance and the iron gateway before it. no permits for admission were demanded of those persons who could satisfy the officers that they had lost friends or relatives by the fire. they were allowed to enter from time to time, passing in the front door and through the room on the right-hand, which contained about thirty bodies, lying on the floor, none of them identified; so, through a smaller room at the further end of the building, back to the left-hand room, in which some of the corpses were lying upon marble slabs and tables in the centre. upon such bits of clothing as remained upon the bodies, numbers, written hastily with lead-pencils on bits of paper, had been pinned; and where a body had been recognized, the name and address were added to the number. then, upon receipt of the coroner's permission, the corpse was placed in a plain deal coffin and sent to the address given by the persons who had claimed it. on friday morning (december th) the work of removing and examining the ruins was suspended, it being deemed unsafe to proceed any further while the walls remained in such an unsafe position. the dangerous parts of the walls were, however, braced, and the firemen resumed their labors in the afternoon. during friday night and early saturday morning a large number of small pieces of bodies, and several heads, were discovered, and the trunk of a body which was identified as that of mr. murdoch. the remains were taken in charge by an undertaker. [illustration: identifying the bodies in the morgue. identifizirung der leichen in der morgue.] many of the bodies were so mangled and charred that it was impossible to identify them, and it was determined by the board of aldermen to bury these at the public expense. the scenes at the morgue and the old market on saturday morning were, if possible, more heartrending and horrible than anything that had occurred in those places since the burning of the theatre. the undertakers' wagons rattled up to the door of the old market by dozens, and the coffins of stained and polished wood, studded with silver nails, were ranged in rows on the market floor, beside the black, gnarled things that had been human bodies. outside a motley crowd of men, women, and boys pressed close to the doors and tried to get past the police lines in order to witness the work of putting the stiffened and distorted bodies into the narrow coffins. wandering among the ghastly rows was the usual throng of sight-seers and mourners searching for friends. soon after one o'clock the last coffin was taken from the old market, and the driver who carried it hurried away after the others. the crowd around the door took a last glance at the blackened floors inside, as though the horrible place had fascinated them, and then chased the wagons and carriages that were going to join the procession. _the funeral._ at a quarter before two o'clock the gleam of bayonets appeared in schermerhorn street, and the winds bore fitfully the strains of a dirge played by a military band. the head of the procession was nearing the point of establishment of the right of the line. at flatbush avenue it halted for ten minutes only, while the disposition of the various parts of the procession was perfected. the twenty-third regiment, that had marched up in hollow square formation, opened and rested at an "order arms," while the forty-seventh regiment passed through and took the right of the line, headed by its splendid band. then the hearses and undertakers' wagons were broken from single to double column, and the twenty-third regiment was placed as a guard of honor, surrounding this portion of the mournful cortege. the other necessary dispositions were quietly effected, and then the march was resumed, with the procession in the following order: squad of mounted police--sergeant johnson. alderman fisher and supervisor quimby of committees--in carriage. forty-seventh regiment band. forty-seventh regiment. detachment fourteenth regiment, without arms. gatling battery, without piece. conterno's band. twenty-third regiment as guard of honor, leading and flanking first hearses. hearses--seventeen. forty-five undertakers' wagons, with from one to four coffins each. carriages with relatives and friends. carriages with ministers and officials. thirteenth regiment and drum corps. near bergen street the dirge which the band had been playing up to that point ceased, and the roll of twenty-four muffled tenor drums marked the time for the steps of the military. solemnly impressive as had been the music of the band it seemed infinitely less effective than the roll of the drums. the former had the color of melody, even though full of sadness, but the latter impressed itself on the heart as a monotone of sobs. the air grew heavier with the weight of those measured pulsations of half-voiced grief. along both sidewalks moved steadily, keeping step with the procession, a silent multitude. there was no hurrying, no conversation to beguile the weary way; only a sullen resistance to the frenzy of the gale. the drums ceased, and from the military band wailed forth another dirge more weirdly sad than that first played. a trembling, thrilling cry, as of a stricken soul, voiced by a single cornet, awoke, a harmonic wail, in hearing which, one could not repress a shudder. again the music ceased, and the terrible roll of the muffled drums began, mingled with the shriekings of the storm. the march was a terrible one, for its oppressive gloom, the deadly cold, the grief on every hand; but that portion from sixth avenue to the gate of greenwood cemetery was in all respects the worst. all that way the roll of the muffled drums continued, and across the wide vacant spaces toward the bay the icy blast seemed the breath of death itself. battle hill, where the arrangements for the interment of the bodies in one common grave had already been made, is the highest point of ground in the cemetery, and is situated but a short distance from the gate by which the procession entered. here a circular trench had been cut, seven feet deep and thirteen feet wide, nearly surrounding a round sodded space ten feet in diameter, upon which the projected monument is to stand. it soon became evident that human endurance would be insufficient to bear any protraction of the obsequies. with wonderful fortitude, not less than , persons maintained their places about the enormous grave, held as if by a hideous fascination. but all were suffering intensely from cold, and it was determined by those in charge to make the services as brief as possible. the rev. john parker read the protestant episcopal burial service. the rev. dr. putnam, instead of the extended funeral oration which he had prepared for the occasion, announced that the extreme cold would preclude the possibility of its delivery, and merely said a few brief words on the uncertainty of life and the blessed hopes of immortality. then the benediction was pronounced by the rev. mr. odell, and the ceremony concluded with the singing by the germania choir of kuhlau's beautiful choral, "above all summits there is repose." besides the public funeral, many private ones, of persons who had been identified by friends, took place on saturday, sunday and monday. the bodies of the actors murdoch and burroughs were taken to irving hall at o'clock on saturday, and remained in state until the funeral on sunday. great festoons of crape hung in long curves from a common centre in the middle of the room reaching to the galleries, that were draped in funeral cloth. each end of the hall bore its burden of black. two circles of gas in the ceiling cast a melancholy radiance. the bodies were encased in two rosewood coffins mounted with silver, which were placed in the centre of the room. the coffins severally bore the inscriptions: claude de blenau burroughs, born aug. , ; died dec. , . henry s. murdoch, died dec. , , aged . crosses and wreaths, the gifts of friends, covered the lid of each. at their head was placed a stand containing a large scroll of white flowers with the word "arcadian" in violet, the tribute of the members of the former club of that name. there was also a rich offering from the order of elks, with the mystic initials of the order predominant. as soon as the bodies were placed in position friends began to pass by the coffins. they continued to do so in the afternoon and evening. during the night the bodies were watched by a committee, the members of which relieved each other at intervals. the funeral services were held in the church of the transfiguration, better known as "the little church around the corner." the services were very impressive, and the attendance was very large. dr. houghton conducted. the remains of mr. burroughs were placed in the receiving vault of the second street cemetery, and those of mr. murdoch were taken to philadelphia, and buried on monday in woodland cemetery, the funeral services being conducted in st. peter's p. e. church. _mr. murdoch's career on the stage._ mr. henry s. murdoch, one of the victims of the terrible calamity, was engaged in the cast of the "two orphans" as _pierre_, the cripple, and was the sole support of a widowed mother and two sisters, who reside in philadelphia. the latter were expected in brooklyn next week to visit their brother during the christmas holidays. mr. murdoch was born in boston, august , , and was consequently in the thirty-second year of his age. he received his education in philadelphia, and made his début at the arch street theatre, in that city, in the winter of . during the season of he fulfilled an engagement at the boston museum, and from there he went to cincinnati, where he performed at pike's opera-house until its destruction by fire on march , . in this case he narrowly escaped with his life, and lost his entire wardrobe in the fire. he next went to san francisco, where he played with john mccullough at the california theatre. he remained there two years-- - . he then performed short engagements in washington, baltimore, st. louis and pittsburgh. in - he played at the arch street theatre, philadelphia, under the management of mrs. john drew, taking the parts of "fop" and "walking gentleman," and upon one or two occasions played leading characters. the season of - he spent in chicago, and acted at hooley's theatre, under the management of mr. fred williams, of boston. he resigned his position before the close of the season to support miss clara morris at the academy of music in the same city, then under the management of mr. c. r. gardner, who is now the manager of the arch street theatre, philadelphia, where mr. murdoch made his début. during his engagement with miss morris he made a decided hit as _armande_, in the play of "camille." at the conclusion of his engagement in chicago he returned to boston, where he remained one season, and commenced his engagement with messrs. shook & palmer last spring, when he played the part of _sandy morton_, in the play of "two men of sandy bar," at the union square theatre, new york. from there he went to the brooklyn theatre on october last. mr. murdoch was a nephew of mr. james e. murdoch, the eminent tragedian, and a brother of frank murdoch, the author of "davy crockett." he has a brother in new orleans also an actor, whose stage name is william wallace, and who lately made his début in that city. mr. murdoch was an accomplished and educated gentleman, and a rising actor. during his engagement in boston he played such characters as _charles middlewick_, in the play of "our boys," and _harry spreadbrow_, in "sweethearts." he gave much satisfaction in brooklyn in his interpretation of eustace, in "conscience," _charles surface_, in "school for scandal," and was giving an exceptionally good rendition of _pierre_, the cripple, in the "two orphans," at the time of the fire. he was a good vocalist and amateur artist. he had been suffering from sciatica for some time, and the malady had given him considerable pain during the six weeks previous to his tragic death, causing him to limp painfully at times. he occupied apartments at no. concord street, where his uncle, mr. henry murdoch, resides. _claude burroughs._ claude burroughs first made his appearance on the stage at the winter garden, new york, in , playing in "hamlet" with edwin booth. at the conclusion of his engagement with mr. stuart, who was then managing the winter garden, he went to brooklyn, where he played light comedy parts in the park theatre, then under mrs. conway's management. upon the opening of the union square theatre by messrs. shook & palmer mr. burroughs was engaged to play light parts. his first appearance at that theatre was as a _reporter_ in "agnes," the first piece produced in the house, and he has been in the cast of nearly every play since produced there. upon a few occasions when not playing in new york he has accepted engagements in brooklyn. he was the fop in "atherley court," the fop in "jane eyre," _maxime_ in "ferreol," and a very clever representative of _talbot champneys_ in "our boys." at the time of his death he was playing _picard_, the valet in the "two orphans." since the opening of the st. stephen's hotel, in eleventh street, in october, mr. burroughs has lived there. he had a delightful summer residence at larchmont, on the new haven road, where he was wont to entertain his numerous friends. he was about twenty-six years of age and unmarried. _sketches of other victims._ stuart campbell hand, a young reporter on the staff of the _commercial advertiser_ of new york, is among the victims of the calamity. he is known to have visited the theatre on the night of the fire, and has not been seen since. he was only eighteen years old. william l. donnelly, another young reporter, left his home on the evening of the fire to visit the theatre, and was never seen alive again. he had just returned to new york from a journalistic trip to the west. among the charred remains his stepfather felt assured he had discovered poor donnelly's body, identifying it by several articles of clothing; but as these articles were partly divided between two crisped trunks his mother declined to acquiesce in the identification, for fear of receiving the wrong body. mrs. caroline berri and her mother, mrs. martin, were undoubtedly trampled upon by the panic-stricken audience, and then fell victims to the flames. mrs. berri was the wife of officer richard berri, of district-attorney britton's office. he accompanied her and mrs. martin to the theatre; but when the cry of fire rang through the house, and the audience became uncontrollable, he was standing in the vestibule. he tried to push into the theatre to rescue his relatives, but was carried by the rushing crowd out into the street. his wife and her mother undoubtedly perished together. officer patrick mckean, of the central office squad, who was detailed to preserve order in the gallery of the theatre, is among the dead. he was a good officer, and had been made a member of the central squad for his exemplary conduct. he was seen working bravely in the vestibule of the theatre, trying to get the panic-stricken people to move out in an orderly manner. just before the fatal blast of smoke and gas filled the entire building it was noticed that he was exhausted by his hard labors; that he had lost his hat, and that his coat was torn from him by the surging crowd. it is supposed that he was precipitated, when the flooring gave way, into the horrible pit from which so many dead were taken on wednesday. officer mckean was a young man--about thirty years of age, and the support of a widowed mother. john mcginniss, an old employee of the brooklyn _eagle_, was among the killed, with two lady friends whom he had escorted to the theatre. he was about thirty-five years old, and was well known in brooklyn. it is likely that he bravely remained with his lady friends until the last. he was an old fireman of the former volunteer department, accustomed to battling with flames, cool-headed, and rapid in decision, and if he had been alone would undoubtedly have found means of escape. the body of nicholas f. kelly, aged twenty-two, was taken out of the theatre early wednesday morning. as it was being placed in an undertaker's wagon a young man standing by glanced at the corpse, and after saying, "my god, that's father kelly's brother," fainted away. the body was afterward identified by father kelly himself, who is the pastor of the church of the visitation, and one of the best-loved and most eloquent priests in brooklyn. _almost incredible._ the following story would be deemed almost incredible were it not vouched for by police captain worth. mr. hecht, of pulaski street, a wealthy merchant, identified the remains of his son, louis, eighteen years old, by the gold watch and gold chain and seal-skin hat found on the remains. as he stood stricken with grief over the charred corpse, two men jostled him aside, and, with many exclamations of sorrow and grief, claimed the body as that of their relative, and looked about for means to remove it. when the grief-stricken parent recovered from the shock their positive identification gave him, he again examined the body, and satisfying himself that they were those of his son, he directed their attention to the marks and signs by which he declared it impossible for him to be mistaken. the men passed away. they, however, were followed by others. to these the father again rehearsed his story of identification. "i thought," said mr. hecht, speaking to coroner nolan, "that the people were mistaken in the identification of the remains, but when over half a dozen people, whom i saw by their actions had no one among the unfortunates, came along, and with pretended cries of grief pointed out the body as that of some relative, i knew that it was done for the sake of obtaining possession of the valuables." mr. hecht, before seeking out the coroner to obtain a permit for the removal of the body, placed his son, the dead boy's brother, guard over the remains. the coroner at once made all the necessary arrangements to offset the work of these fiends. _the history of the brooklyn theatre._ in a building association, composed in chief of wm. c. kingsley, alexander mccue, and abner c. keeney, erected for mrs. f. b. conway the edifice then known as "mrs. conway's brooklyn theatre." under her management the first season opened on the evening of october d, , the play being bulwer's comedy of "money," with mr. and mrs. conway, edward lamb, mrs. farren, and others in the cast. until , with varying success, mrs. conway kept the theatre open, introducing her daughters, minnie (now mrs. levy) and lilian, mr. roche, mr. lamb, mr. chippendale, mrs. farren and others, in the regular company, and playing as occasional stars, booth, raymond, jefferson, sothern, the florences, the williamses, and charlotte thompson. at her death the daughters continued the lease, making their managerial début in "the two orphans." the house was packed, and when _henriette_ said to the blind _louise_, "don't say so, dear sister; we are not without friends, i hope," the audience rose as with a single impulse, and for five minutes stopped the action of the play by demonstrations as wild as they were encouraging. it soon became evident, however, that the conway element could not make the theatre a success, and a lease was issued to sheridan shook and a. m. palmer, of the new york union square theatre. under their management as a star and stock theatre it soon became a popular resort. but perhaps the greatest success the theatre has known was the "two orphans," the strongest play of the century, which ran hundreds of nights in new york, and with almost equal favor was played in brooklyn. the conveniences in the auditorium of the brooklyn theatre were admirably arranged for ingress and comfort, but for egress and safety they were like those of every other theatre. the outer entrance was shut off from the street by three doors. two of these opened on to a corridor, on the left of which was the box office, and at the further end the ticket-taker's stand, with movable doors, kept shut until a few moments before the close of the performance. an orderly and an unexcited audience would have no difficulty in getting out, for there were two large doors opening from the first circle on to the corridor, which in turn led to the movable doors referred to. the third door at the front entrance opened on a short and narrow hall, on one side of which was the party wall, and on the other a high iron partition. from this hall one long flight of narrow stairs led, two stories up, to the gallery. at all times the exodus of the gallery boys, in all theatres, is noisy and turbulent, but on an occasion like this no words could picture the rush. critical examination of the places of exit from the lower sections of the theatre affords no ground for censure of the architect, but the gallery exit couldn't by any ingenuity be worse. under ordinary circumstances five minutes' time would amply suffice to empty the house, but when disorder and confusion reign no deduction can be made, because the base of information is necessarily unreliable. [illustration: "my god! if the door should be locked." »mein gott! wenn die thür verschlossen wäre.«] as far as experience and money could secure immunity from danger, the brooklyn theatre was equal to the best appointed playhouses. every gas jet was shielded by gauze shades. no smoking was allowed in any of the rooms. no matches were tolerated. no one but the gas man, mr. webster, was permitted to light the gas. in the rear of the left hand proscenium box was mr. thorpe's private office. it communicated with the box and also with the auditorium. it was used this week by mr. thorne as a dressing room. mrs. thorne was, as always, with him. on the other side of the stage, behind the other box, was fanny morant's room. instead of remaining till the close of the piece, she left at the end of the fifth act. above thorpe's room was a dressing room at the top of an exceedingly narrow stairway, occupied by murdoch and burroughs. _other memorable disasters by fire._ the disaster at the brooklyn theatre far surpasses in loss of life any accident by fire in this country or europe. theatres have been frequently burned and losses of life have not been uncommon, but the brooklyn tragedy is altogether unparalleled. the disaster at richmond, va., december , , when seventy persons were killed, has up to this time been known as the most terrible of the class, but it is many times overshadowed by the brooklyn fire. the following are the principal theatres that have been burned in this country, with loss of life: national theatre, philadelphia, ninth and chestnut streets, july , , and an actor named shepherd burned. fox's theatre, philadelphia, walnut street, below ninth, june , . none of the audience were injured, but ten firemen and five spectators were killed by the falling of the front wall, and thirty persons were injured. the following theatres were burned without loss of life: front street, baltimore, feb. , ; melodeon, pittsburg, ; silbee's lyceum, philadelphia, july , ; gaiety, new orleans, nov. , ; adelphi, san francisco, may, ; sandford's opera house, philadelphia, ; winter garden, new york, march , ; chestnut street, philadelphia, april , ; columbia museum, boston, january , ; park theatre, new york, ; city museum, philadelphia, nov., ; academy of music, new york, may , ; butler's american theatre, fifth avenue, new york, january , ; waverly, new york, ; adelphi, boston, february , ; and theatres during the chicago fire, oct. and , ; arch street opera house, march , , and barnum's hippodrome, december , . _scenes and incidents._ how true it is that it requires great events to bring out latent properties in the minds of the every-day people one meets. especially is this true of woman. "oh, woman, in our hours of ease, inconstant, shy, and hard to please; when pain and anguish wring the brow a ministering angel, thou." another of the many instances of such devotion as scott hints at in these lines was witnessed on that terrible night. while the fire was in progress, a fireman near the entrance on washington street saw a strange sight. an undersized, delicate-looking woman came staggering out, carrying literally on her back and shoulders a man weighing apparently a hundred and fifty pounds. thinking the man was hurt, assistance was offered. it appeared, however, that the man (who was the father of the girl) was paralyzed on one side, and that, fearing he would be unable to make his way out, his daughter had lifted him up bodily and carried him from the parquet to the front entrance. she desired no further help than the placing of him on a car, and left the scene before his name could be ascertained. _a terrible moment of suspense._ in one of those graphic narratives of her experience on the eventful night that proved such a trying ordeal to her, and was yet borne with such high-souled self-possession, miss kate claxton relates one incident of intense interest. * * * "the back entrance was by this time a perfect hell of fire. miss harrison, on my call, rushed from her room and darted by me into a little subterranean passage, which led from the stage under the floor to the box office in front of the house. no such passage exists in other theatres. it was designed by mrs. conway when the theatre was built, so that she could readily communicate with her treasurer. i rapidly followed miss harrison, and it seemed as if the fire, swept by the draught, almost licked the clothes from our backs as we entered the passage. as we fled through it i remembered that it was closed at the other end by a door with a spring lock, and was usually kept closed, one of the ushers carrying the key. as i reached the flight of three or four steps leading up to the door my heart stood still, and i hesitated to try it. i thought, _'my god, if it is locked!'_ outside of the door we could hear the roaring of the maddened multitude struggling through the passage without. we must really have hesitated only a flash, but it seemed to me that we stood there for hours. the door fortunately was open, and we were in a second inside the box office. with the strength of despair we burst the door open against the struggling throng, and in an instant were in their midst. we had yet some distance to go; the fire followed us fast, and there was still a crowd of excited people to pass through. we got into the crowd and dashed along, heedless that now and again we felt that we had trod upon a human being. once i looked down and saw a human face, horribly distorted and burned. oh, my god! it was a fearful sight. i shall never forget it. afterward i saw the injured man taken out. he was horribly injured, and i think, must be dead. as soon as we got into the street we dashed into the police station. there a gentleman loaned me his overcoat, and after a short stay in the station we walked around home." _escaping through the grating._ william kerr, of hamden street, brooklyn, says that he was in front of the theatre when the fire broke out. he attempted to enter the theatre, but was prevented, and stepping back to the street he heard a noise beneath the sidewalk. the iron plate over the coal-hole was pushed up, and the head and shoulders of a man appeared. he pulled the man to the sidewalk, and he was followed by another man. he was then ordered off by the police. the police clapped the plate back, and nothing is known of the fate of the men who went back. _mad struggles for life._ when the rush from the parquet was at its height a father and mother with their child had made their way as far as the lobby, when the father, who held the child in his arms, was knocked down by the crowd. the child fell with its father, and its cries could be heard above all the din. the father struggled to his feet, and as he arose with the child in his grasp, the blood flowed from several gashes in his face and crimsoned his shirt. at the sight of the blood the wife shrieked and immediately fainted, falling upon the people directly in front of her. two men who appeared to think less of themselves than of others, lifted her up, and after a desperate struggle succeeded in removing her to the street, thence to the police station, where she was afterward joined by her husband and child. the man was found to have been badly injured by being trampled upon, beside being cut about the face. in another instance a wife became separated from her husband. the husband had fallen beneath the feet of the crowd, and his face was trampled into an almost unrecognizable mass. the woman became frenzied and clutching her hat tore it from her head. few people paid any attention to her. her cries were heard on the street. "where is my husband?" she shrieked. "where is my husband? won't some one find him for me? my god! my god! i shall go mad." people thought _she was already mad._ the nearly lifeless form of her husband was subsequently dragged from beneath the feet of the throng and borne into the police station. a fashionably-dressed lady, who occupied a seat near the stage, was so completely overcome by terror that she sank to the floor, not in a faint, but out of sheer fright. she was actually carried from the place by her attendant. _a family almost blotted out._ samuel solomon told the following sad story at the morgue, the morning after the fire: "last night my father, morris solomon, my brother philip, his wife, lena, and my two sisters, mary and deborah, went to the brooklyn theatre, and occupied seats in the family circle. when the fire broke out i came up here. the theatre was then in flames. i could see nothing of my relatives. i have remained here all night, with the exception of going home occasionally to see if they had returned. my mother is almost crazy, and has searched our neighborhood for them. not the slightest trace of either of them has been found since they entered the theatre. i am told the staircase gave way, and i am afraid they have been crushed to death and then burned." the young man was much overcome by the sudden catastrophe which had befallen his family, and shed tears as he recited the story. the missing members of the solomon family are morris solomon, aged years, a cigar dealer at maiden lane, new york; philip solomon, a musician, aged ; lena solomon, his wife, aged ; mary solomon, aged , and deborah solomon, aged years. _the numbers in the theatre._ we have obtained from the returns of the treasurer what we believe to be a correct list of all who were in the theatre on the night of the fire as spectators, and have also procured a full list of the employees. in the dress circle in the parquet in the gallery actors and actresses supernumeraries scene shifters and the like orchestra dressers, ushers, check takers, etc., etc. ----- in all about , although it is generally presumed that places of amusement are more apt to be crowded and more subject to fires than churches, history shows that fires in churches have proved even more fatal to human life than all the theatres that were ever burned. on the th of may, , a shocking catastrophe happened in the french catholic church, at south holyoke, massachusetts, which in many respects was much like that in brooklyn. the vesper hymn was being sung, when a candle at the altar set fire to the draperies surrounding the image of the virgin mary. there were about seven hundred people present, of whom those in the body of the church escaped without difficulty. but the flames streamed upwards to the galleries and spread along them, while the crowd on the staircase became a densely-packed, panic-stricken mass. many were killed or severely wounded in the crush, besides those who were overtaken by the flames and burned to death. the whole thing lasted but twenty minutes, and in that time over seventy lives were lost. one of the most terrible disasters of modern times, also strikingly similar to this recent disaster, occurred in the church of the jesuits, at santiago, in chili, on the th of december, . it was the last day of the celebration of the feast of the immaculate conception, and the church had been elaborately decorated for the performance of mass. a gigantic image of the virgin, in whose honor the celebration was held, occupied a prominent position in the church, and all around pasteboard devices and thickly intertwining draperies covered the masonry of the church from floor to ceiling. festoons led from pillar to pillar, and from the roof and projecting arches hung twenty thousand paraffine lamps. the women of santiago, who on these occasions go from church to church, had filled the church of the jesuits. three thousand persons, the greater number of whom were women and children, were present in this most venerable of santiago's churches, and even on the steps outside women knelt in prayer to the virgin, whose altar they were unable to reach. in the midst of the ceremony a paraffine lamp burst, and the flames at once caught the draperies and festoons surrounding it. then from arch to arch and pillar to pillar the fire leaped, the lines that held the lamps aloft being burned the burning paraffine was emptied on the women below; and, while these twenty thousand vessels of flaming liquid were deluging the unfortunate women, the decorations above carried the flames to the roof, which burned and crackled like a tinder-box. a rush was made for the great centre door, and in a few minutes it was hopelessly blocked, while only a few knew of the small door beyond the altar. as women endeavored to escape through the crowd, others who were burning clutched their dresses and cried in piteous tones for help, and clinging in their agony communicated the flame that was consuming them to the persons whom they had seized. some women in their desperation divested themselves of their clothing, and a few succeeded in effecting their escape, but only a few. each moment increased the crowd and intensified the block at the main door, and while it became more and more difficult to escape, the flames were spreading on the floor, flying from one prostrate body to another, and destroying the panic-stricken creatures by scores and hundreds, while the church resounded with piteous cries for help and still more heartrending shrieks of agony; the vast roof now gave way, and came down with its blazing beams and rafters, crushing and inundating the seething mass of tortured individuals beneath it. when the fire had burned itself out and workmen could get at the ruins, two thousand corpses were carried out. _relief for the destitute._ as soon as it was known that so many had perished in the flames, a generous spirit of rivalry sprang up among the proprietors of places of amusement all over the country, as to whom should contribute the largest amount of money for the relief of the survivors and those rendered destitute by the fire. individual actors also subscribed liberally, and a relief association was organized to receive and disburse the money thus contributed. memorial services were held in new york and brooklyn the sunday after the fire, and prominent clergymen all over the country selected the terrible catastrophe as a theme for eloquent sermons. thrilling account of the daring bravery and wonderful escape from a horrible death of cornelius j. daly and miss nettie morgan. it is a fact greatly to the credit of all present in the terrible fire that but one single case of selfish cowardice was displayed, either by the actors or the audience. great and noble deeds of daring, loving sacrifices, and humanitarian actions are everywhere described. the daily newspapers have given their readers many instances of true bravery displayed by men and women holding prominent positions in the world, but it remains for the writer to be the chronicler of a series of more daring acts and wonderful escapes, and the historian of two people who passed through the ordeal of fire, one of whom deserves a place high in the record of "brave men who did brave deeds." _the hero and heroine._ cornelius j. daly, the hero of this sketch, was of humble parentage. the elder daly, fully appreciating the disadvantages of his own position, early determined that his only son should receive a superior education. as a consequence, cornelius--or, as he was more familiarly called, conn--was sent to school at an early age, and on his seventeenth birthday was in a condition to fairly combat the world and achieve success. he was comely of feature, athletic of frame, and intelligent of mind. he was the pride of his old father and mother, and the admiration of all the friends of the family. one day conn returned to his humble home from school to find terror and grief supplanting the usual greeting of joy and pleasure; his father had been brought home in a helpless condition, a victim of the dreaded paralysis. it was evident, now that the head of the family had been incapacitated from further labor, that conn must do something toward their support. throwing to one side all his cherished ambitions and boyish hopes, conn left school and apprenticed himself in a large machine shop located in brooklyn. his wages at first were small, but being strong of limb and stout of heart, backed by intelligence, he speedily progressed, and in less than two years was promoted to the position of journeyman. his wages sufficed to keep his father and mother in comparative comfort, but even this failed to satisfy him. he yearned for something higher and nobler, and after working a few months as a journeyman, he grew dissatisfied with his position. he loved his old father and mother with all the ardor of his warm generous heart, and he feared lest lack of means should compel him to abridge their enjoyment of little luxuries he deemed necessary for their declining years. [illustration: rescuing her paralyzed father. errettung ihres gichtbrüchigen vaters.] again, conn was in love, but when he reflected over this last situation his heart sank even lower than when contemplating his pecuniary distress. it was the old, old story of honest, manly poverty, loving the daughter of proud and pampered wealth. conn was employed in a large machine shop, owned by a wealthy resident of brooklyn. it chanced one day that the proprietor's beautiful daughter, nettie, visited her father's establishment, and not finding him in the business office sought him among the workmen. mr. morgan was in the act of giving conn some instructions in reference to a piece of work when the rich young beauty approached him, and with girlish impetuousness began questioning about the to her wonderful mysteries of the tools and machinery about her. the indulgent father, after mildly chiding her for thus venturing among the oil-begrimed machinery, turned to conn, who had stood awe-stricken before the beautiful young girl, and said: "daly, this is my daughter, miss nettie. she desires to learn something of the uses to which the machinery is applied. show her around the shop." at the sound of his employer's voice conn recovered a portion of his senses, and, blushing and bowing toward the radiant beauty, who flashed the brilliancy of her black eyes full upon him, muttered some incoherent response, and waited for the young lady's commands. mr. morgan walked away toward his office, and miss nettie's manner toward the young mechanic was so kind that his first confusion melted away like snow before the summer sun, and in five minutes the beautiful heiress and the hard-handed mechanic were chatting together with the familiarity of old acquaintances. miss morgan seemed determined to learn all the details of the business, and conn was only too pleased to instruct her in the use and appliance of the tools and machinery. all pleasant things must some time have an ending, and the tour of the shop was at last completed. it had taken them nearly two hours to go through, however, and conn would have been the happiest of mortals if he could have had the privilege of being miss nettie's conductor and instructor forever. "good-by, mr. daly," murmured miss nettie, extending her aristocratic hand, white as alabaster, toward our hero, when the inspection of the machinery was at last completed. "good-by. i am ever so much obliged to you." it was, undoubtedly, very foolish and very improper, but when those dainty fingers touched his palm conn caught them up and, bending over, kissed the little hand with the courtly grace of a cavalier. miss nettie blushed, but did not seek to prevent this delicate homage, and with another "good-by," tripped away, while poor conn's head whirled around more rapidly than did the fly-wheel of the great engine. this was the beginning, and all the remainder of that day and the next and the next conn saw nothing, could think of nothing but miss nettie morgan. he lost his appetite, grew moody, shunned companionship with his fellow-workmen, and it is positively asserted that on more than one occasion he secreted himself in the vicinity of the morgan mansion to feast his eyes, if possible, on the person of his lady-love idol. once he met her in the street. she was just stepping from her father's carriage, attired in silk and velvet, and poor conn, in his ordinary work clothes, was going from his dinner to the shop. his heart gave a great jump when he saw her, and then his brain reeled and he felt sick and faint. miss nettie turned to give some instructions to the coachman and her eyes fell upon conn. instantly she stopped, and going toward him a step, extended her hand and said: "mr. daly, don't you know me? were you going by without speaking? how have you been?" again conn experienced the electric thrill shot from those white taper fingers, and once again his heart leaped so joyfully that it nearly choked him. he contented himself this time with bowing very low, and pressing her hand very slightly for just one blissful second. then she passed into a store, and conn, with a dazed feeling of happiness, went on down the street. but why linger over a description of this love feeling? all of us experience it at some time in our life, and i opine it is a glorious experience, and marks an epoch in life. conn's employer became cognizant of this state of affairs. angered at the "impudence" of the "beggar," as he contemptuously termed our hero and his passion, he immediately discharged him, and then conn's worship of miss nettie assumed the most lowly type of idolatry. he would have been content to do her humble service all his life, provided she spoke kindly and extended her hand to him but once a year. he lingered around her father's house at all hours now, day and night, and such persistent and mysterious watching of one house made him an object of suspicion to the police. he saw her very frequently, but at a distance. he felt sure that it would always be at a distance he might worship her, but it was pleasant--nay, bliss supreme--to sometimes hug the delusive "might be," and build brighter and airier castles. a few days after his discharge conn made the acquaintance of a representative of the peruvian government, interested largely in the railroad development of his country. the gentleman was at once impressed with the self-reliant intelligence of our hero, and finding him conversant with the intricate details of machine construction engaged him at a munificent salary to superintend the locomotive and machine works of the peruvian government, then in process of erection at valparaiso. it was demanded by his new employer that he proceed to the field of his future operations immediately, and a steamer leaving that day conn could only communicate with his beloved parents by letter, informing them of his good fortune. when miss nettie learned that conn had been discharged she took especial pains to make inquiries about him and his future. she never confided to any one her feelings toward the young man, but it must be admitted that she felt a tender interest in his welfare, and now that he was gone, missed his handsome face sorely. _a lapse of years._ this was in , and conn was in his twenty-second year. as the steamer bearing him away left his native shores in the dim distance, he lifted up a prayer to the most high to guide him aright in his new undertaking, and he inwardly resolved that he would some day return socially the equal of the girl he loved. he could then dare to ask her hand in marriage. five years passed away, spent by our hero in a persistent, laborious struggle toward the goal he had marked in life. his efforts were rewarded, and he had not been long among the indolent chilians before his superior strength of intellect lifted him above all competitors, and a stream of wealth steadily poured toward him. a great railroad was projected, and conn--we still preserve the familiar title--had the sole contract to build and equip it. the determination was to provide the travelling public with all manner of modern conveniences, and to encourage home industries, car and locomotive works, rolling mills, machine shops, etc., were established, and conn started for home to engage skilled labor in all the different departments. he arrived safely in brooklyn, and at once proceeded towards his old home, his heart overflowing with joy as he fancied the surprise and rejoicing of his parents at his unexpected return. the old house looked doubly familiar as he approached it, but no welcome light shone from the windows. he knocked long and loudly at the door, but receiving no response he was about turning away, when a woman in an adjoining house raised the window and asked him what he desired. "i was in search of mr. and mrs. daly," said conn. "can you tell me if they still live here?" "they still live here," replied the woman, "but they went to new york early this morning to visit some friends, and will not be back until tomorrow." thanking the woman for this information conn turned away, and with aimless steps walked down the street. he passed a theatre, resplendent with light, and joined the throng of gayly-dressed pleasure-seekers, filing into the building. he asked for a ticket at the box-office, but was told that all reserved seats had been taken, and that only gallery tickets were procurable. "that will do," he said, and, taking the bit of pasteboard entitling him to a seat, passed up the long, winding stairs to the gallery, and took a position in the front row of seats. it was a remarkable coincidence that miss nettie morgan had accepted an invitation to visit the same theatre that evening. mr. george st. clair fitzherbert, a young gentleman of elegant leisure, considerable wealth and few brains--nevertheless aristocratically connected, and therefore a welcome visitor at the morgan mansion--had purchased two orchestra seats in the most eligible locality, and invited miss nettie to do him the honor of sharing one of them. now nettie failed to have a very high regard for george st. clair fitzherbert's aristocratic connections, leisurely habits, wealth, etc.; in fact she had been known to call him a "conceited booby," but miss nettie was fond of the theatre; she very much desired to see the "two orphans," and therefore did the young scion of aristocracy "the honor." the interval before the appearance of the orchestra was devoted by conn to a careful survey of the theatre and the audience. just as the overture began miss nettie and her aristocratic escort entered, and the former was immediately recognized by conn. instantly all interest in the play was lost. he had eyes and thoughts only for nettie morgan. if one had asked conn the next day the simplest question about the play, it is doubtful if he could have answered it. miss nettie, unconscious of this idolatrous adorer's silent, soul-enraptured worship, gave all her sympathies to the troubles and heart-griefs of the "two orphans." more than once tears sprang to her eyes at the pathetic situations. _the cry of fire._ the curtain was rung up on the last scene of the last act. it was the hut of the _frochards_ on the bank of the river seine. it discovered the blind girl _louise_ on her pallet of straw, over whom was bending _pierre frochard_. suddenly the actors heard whispers of "fire, fire," and a shuffling to and fro behind the scenery. mr. murdoch, who was playing _pierre_, also heard the alarm, and miss claxton (_louise_) whispered to him: "the stage is on fire!" the play went on, _louise_ and _pierre_ continuing to recite their parts. when mrs. farren, as _pierre's_ mother, rushed in and, as the action of the play demanded, seized _louise_ by the hair and pulled her head violently backward, miss claxton's eyes were turned upward, and then she saw little tongues of flame playing over her head and licking up the flies at the top of the scenes. there were now four persons on the stage: miss claxton, mrs. farren, j. b. studley and h. s. murdoch. as they went on with the play, they whispered to one another about the fire and exhorted one another to do everything possible to prevent a panic in the audience. they thought that the flames might yet be extinguished without consuming the stage, and miss claxton said to mr. murdoch: "go on, go on, or there'll be a panic. they'll put the fire out from behind." in the latter part of the scene, where _pierre_ approaches _louise_, and she draws back, exclaiming, "i forbid you to touch me!" mr. studley, as _pierre_, turned his back to the audience upon approaching miss claxton, and whispered to her, while the burning beams above were almost ready to fall upon them, and they knew it: "be quiet! stand perfectly still!" and extending his arms, miss claxton remained immovable. the audience had not yet discovered the fire; but after the passionate exclamation, "i forbid you to touch me!" miss claxton glanced upward at the roaring flames that were now leaping from scene to scene, and hesitated, uncertain what to do. at this moment those sitting in the body of the house caught sight of the red flames at the top of the stage. instantly wild cries of "fire!" "fire!" were heard, and the people sprang to their feet terrified, and rushed, stumbling over the seats and crushing one another, toward the entrance. cinders were then falling upon the stage, and miss claxton, mrs. farren, mr. murdoch, and mr. studley advanced together to the footlights with panic written on their faces. mr. studley, in his stentorian tones, shouted to the affrighted people that they were safe if they kept quiet. "there will, of course," he said, "be no further performance, but you've all time to get out if you go quietly." several persons in the orchestra were recalled to their senses by these words, and they sat down again. the men appeared to be more excited than the women. the aristocratic fitzherbert, at the first alarm, was seized with a most uncontrollable fear--his blasé face was the color of chalk, and his thin legs knocked together like reeds shaken by the winter wind. forgetting all else but his own person in a selfish scramble for safety, he started to his feet and was rushing away. miss nettie, although terrified beyond measure, had presence of mind enough left to see that haste would only increase the danger. she caught her frightened escort by the hand, and pulled him into the seat beside her. "don't run," she cried; "we will get out better if we go slowly." the musicians in the orchestra were urging the people to retire quietly, and so were the actors. fitzherbert instinctively turned his eyes toward them, and saw a mass of flame back of the actors, with bits of burning wood dropping down, and the sight seemed to craze him. he started to his feet, tore violently away from miss nettie, and dashed into the crowd struggling to escape. the instinct of self-preservation had overcome reason, and the struggle for life became fierce and uncontrollable. as her escort thus basely deserted her, nettie's self-possession fled, and with a low moan of anguish she sank back upon the seat and covered her face with her hands. _the rescue--facing death._ intent on watching nettie, conn saw little of the play. when the first cry of "fire" was raised, he started to his feet and leaned eagerly forward. he saw the sparks falling upon the stage among the actors--heard miss claxton cry: "will the people keep their seats? we are between you and the flames, and will be burned first. will the people in the front seats sit down?" then he saw the people in the orchestra seats pause for a moment, saw the frightened look on the face of fitzherbert as nettie pulled him down beside her, and then, as the coward basely deserted her, he sprang upon the gallery railing, lowered himself to the family circle, from thence down into the body of the house, and in a moment was by the side of the girl he so passionately loved. she started when he placed his hand upon her shoulder, and then, as her eyes encountered the hungry flames reaching out their long arms, and consuming with lightning rapidity the canvas scenes, hid her face again and shuddered convulsively. conn, with his hand still upon her shoulder, looked in the same direction. the beams, supporting the roof of the boat-house, were falling in all directions, and the actors, conscious of their imminent peril, were in the act of rushing from the stage through a perfect rain of fire. as they disappeared a bright tongue of flame shot out over their heads toward the audience. it was like a transformation scene in a spectacle. the musicians were disappearing under the stage. liberty seemed to lie in that direction. "come, miss nettie," cried conn. "we must not perish. i will save you." she started up with a look of surprise, but uttered no word, and throwing his strong arm around her slender waist, conn dragged rather than led her toward the little door that gave exit to the musicians. in a moment they were under the stage groping around blindly in the dark, while the angry flame hissed and crackled overhead with a sullen, ominous roar. supporting the beautiful girl, conn darted toward a door through which he saw some of the actors disappear. he found himself in a little entry, dimly lighted by a single gas burner. it was a subterranean passage under the floor to the box office in front of the house. pushing the beautiful girl before him, conn sprang into this seeming haven of safety, and as the door closed behind him, the angry flames, fanned by the draught, almost licked the clothes from his back. rapidly fleeing along the passage way, the pair reached a flight of steps, at the head of which was a door. he strove to open it, but his efforts were resisted. "great god!" he cried; "it is locked." nettie answered with a moan of anguish, and the sight of her face, ethereally beautiful in its paleness, nerved him to desperation. he stepped back a few paces, and threw his entire weight upon the door. it shivered, swayed, and gave way, admitting them into the box office. there was yet another door to pass through, leading into the lobby, through which the maddened multitude was struggling. resting a moment, conn again dashed forward and burst the door open against the struggling throng. in an instant the two were in the midst of the frenzied mob, who fought and struggled for life with the desperation of mad men. men and women were being trampled upon by those behind them, and the former were as terror-stricken as the latter. the glare in the street, and the smoke in the corridor, enhanced the terror of those seeking an exit. "cling closely to me," conn whispered in the ear of the beautiful creature in his arms. raising aloft his strong right arm, he tightened his hold upon nettie's waist, and swaying from right to left, fighting down all opposition, was in a minute in the thickest of the throng. the two were lifted off their feet instantly, and carried out into the street with the surging mass. a carriage was standing near, and into it conn hurried his half-fainting charge. directing the coachman to drive with all speed to the address he gave him, conn leaned again into the carriage, and this time dared to snatch a kiss from her pale lips. "god bless you, miss nettie, my darling!" he cried; and bursting into tears, the beautiful girl could only cry, "you have saved my life; i shall never forget you." again he ventured to touch his lips to her cheek, and then, closing the door of the carriage, he bade the coachman drive with all haste, and hurried back toward the burning theatre. [illustration: burning of the brooklyn theatre during the performance of the "two orphans." brand des brooklyner theaters während der vorstellung der »zwei waisen.«] a mad and frightened crowd was still pouring from the building, and without one thought of the great danger he placed himself in, conn dashed in among the struggling men and women, to save more lives, if possible. he struggled manfully with the surging mass, and was soon in the body of the theatre. but one man and two women were in the auditorium, and bidding them fly for their lives, conn seized one of the pillars supporting the family circle gallery, and by a few vigorous muscular efforts raised himself to the top of the railing. jumping quickly over he rushed toward one of the exits, through which a maddened crowd was struggling in tumult and disorder. in vain he endeavored to quell their frenzy. forcing his way toward the head of the stairs, his strong arm was exerted to hurl back frightened men and allow the shrieking, shouting mass below to escape. suddenly a cry came from below that aided him to drive back the uppermost. "for god's sake, turn back; we cannot get out," was called from the bottom of the blocked and creaking stairway, and immediately there was a momentary relaxation of the downward pressure of the crowd. at this moment conn extricated himself from the crowd, and hurried back into the dress-circle. the parquet below was empty, and people were dropping from the gallery into it, and lowering themselves from tier to tier. the stage was a mass of flames, and the smoke was filling the auditorium and rushing into the corridors. he hurried to the front main entrance of the dress-circle, and there found a mass of men and women shrieking, shouting and crowding madly down upon the living mass below. for a while the passage seemed blocked by a human barrier which could neither move of itself nor give way to pressure from above. burly men and weak women seemed alike powerless in that dense throng, and to aggravate the panic, people at the turn of the stairs kept calling, "go back! go back! you cannot get out this way." this may have been intended to restrain the crowd above from forcing their way down, but it had a different effect. people madly urged each other forward, men swore and women shrieked, and to heighten the horror of the scene a volume of black smoke burst into the passage and rolled along, blinding the eyes and parching the throat. in this dreadful moment, when the horrors of death seemed to stare those people in the face and to overshadow them like a pall, a desperate flight for life began. women fainted and men fell under foot and were trampled down, and through that writhing, struggling mass, amid a tumult of cries and shrieks and groans, the lower vestibule was reached. a lady in front of our hero, pressed and beaten down by the mad crowd, fainted and would have fallen. he caught her in his arms, and now began a desperate struggle. persons from the gallery and elsewhere had blocked the doors, and there were many behind him in the dress-circle, pushing violently, one even clutching at the head of the unconscious lady as she hung over his shoulder. slowly they were making for the doors, when the flames from the ceiling seemed to dart down and met the jets from the gaselier. then there was dreadful yelling and crowding at the doors, men and women struggling desperately for every inch gained. a horrible accident occurred. a lady partly suffocated, like the rest of them, had fallen and could not be lifted, and was evidently trampled to death. but there was no time to think. he passed over several forms. looking behind for an instant he saw there was a frightful panic in the theatre. the gas or something else had exploded, the lights were out, the flames roared and the pieces of wood and plaster fell upon the heads of those at a distance. "mercy!" "my god, save me!" and names of husbands and brothers were shouted. the heat was intense, for the fire was rapidly closing upon them. arms were thrown up in an attempt to force a passage, as men sometimes do when swimming, and dozens must have been swept under and trodden to death. he had now nearly reached the door. all at once a fearful crash came, as if the gallery or ceiling had fallen. "murder!" "help!" "help!" seemed to be shouted from a hundred lips. he turned as he felt the fresh air blow upon his face, and saw behind something like a dark wall. he then felt that at least a hundred and fifty people were shut in to certain destruction. but the groaning and yelling continued worse than ever. beyond this wall he could see bright flames, which seemed to swell and surge in a terrible manner. on gaining the street he found still more excitement; but he had to hurry to the station-house with his unconscious burden. in a moment he was back again at the theatre, exerting himself to the utmost to quiet the people in the lower lobby, and have them leave in an orderly way, so that all might get out safe. but when the audience, in their mad rush to escape from the flames, began to trample on one another, he commanded them to keep back so that he might save those who had fallen. although the surging crowd was loath to obey, yet his commands were so earnest that he kept them back a sufficient time to pick up about twenty persons who would otherwise have been crushed and killed, and carried them, comparatively unhurt, into the adjoining station-house. after saving these people he returned to the theatre, which was now enveloped in flames. men, women and children were thrown down and trampled upon, but the brave man rushed in among the frantic crowd, at the imminent risk of his own life, and pulled out a number of bodies, cut, bruised and bleeding. those who witnessed his actions state that he saved in this way the lives of at least forty persons. when the firemen arrived, he assisted them to quell the flames. he remained at the fire throughout the night and all the next day. he was one of the first to discover the dead bodies, and although faint, hungry, and burned and blackened out of human semblance, assisted in getting out the charred and mangled bodies, and it was not until the last one had been removed that he sought repose. _conclusion._ conn, or rather mr. daly, took an early opportunity of visiting the house of his old employer, mr. morgan. being possessed now of abundant means and letters of introduction from high dignitaries in the chilian government he had no difficulty in getting an invitation from mr. morgan to tea, with whom he had made a large contract for tools. miss nettie looked more charming than ever, and to the surprise of _pater familias_ recognized his guest as the brave gentleman who rescued her from the burning theatre. it is unnecessary to say that mr. morgan was agreeably surprised, and the gallant rescuer being socially and pecuniarily his peer, young, and distinguished-looking, he began to look upon him as a possible son-in-law. it was not our purpose to tell a love-story, and it is only necessary to add that if there is anything in "signs," mr. daly will certainly carry off as a bride the charming miss nettie morgan. _list of the sufferers._ it is extremely probable that a great many persons were lost in the terrible fire whose bodies were not recovered. the following is a complete list of the identified dead, the unidentified, and persons reported to the police as missing: identified. argrove, charles, st. mark's avenue. aurbach, gustave, hudson avenue. armstrong, christopher, skillman street. addison, john, water street. amao, alfred, hamilton avenue. amand, gustave, hamilton avenue. athell, durell, court and nelson streets. ashwell, joseph, fleet street. alberte, amanda, atlantic avenue. bedford, daniel, hicks and clark streets. bennett, w., butler street. brook a., atlantic avenue. brosnan, john, pearl street, new york. brown, william, hicks street. bryant, william a., flatbush avenue. bullion, william f., lafayette avenue. burton, william f., lafayette avenue. bordess, may, fulton street. birdsall, a. b., atlantic avenue. boyle, peter, adams place. burke, frederick, fulton street. bolstridge, george, adams street. broderick, patrick, sackett street. boyle, thomas, adams street. burroughs, claude, new york. curran, richard, jay street. clark, e., th street. cowan, james, sumter street. conconan, peter, walworth street. cinler, john, ----. chantey, henry, court street. crandall, william e., myrtle avenue. chichester, t., baltic street. cassidy, m., adelphi street. creech, w., duffield street. cassidy, james, hamilton avenue. conroy, michael, plymouth street. callom, james, amity street. cassrelt, john, prince street. cowan, james, south portland avenue. cullen, john d., amity street. cullen, james, amity street. de shay, mr. dietz, aaron, greene avenue. dietz, abraham, greene avenue. dooner, james, willoughby and canton sts. devoe, chas. e., devoe st., williamsburgh. doner, hugh, tillary street. dempsey, thomas, prince street. dorrity, edward, prince street. deanaro, clara, fourth street. davidson, dennis, withers street. dunlan, charles, st street, new york, (supernumerary). divine, thomas, east new york. doran, john, willoughby and kent aves. donlan, william, prince street. elliott, james, atlantic avenue. easebel, john, ----. fry, john, skillman street. fry, william, skillman street. fry, henry, skillman street. foley, cornelius, degraw street. farrell, george, myrtle avenue. franke, charles, degraw street. franke, william, columbia street. franke, charles, columbia street. frankish, ----, m. d., ----. faron, e. e., charles street. farey, patrick, president street. garrett, charles, livingstone street. gilhoma, samuel, portland avenue. garvey, john e., th street and third ave. goodwin, j., canal street. guthrie, f., lafayette avenue. glies, philip, wolcott street. gibbons, frank, lafayette street. gray, alfred h., calyer street. gray, william a., calyer street. guy, james, york street. gorth, frank, ----. hecht, louis, pulaski street. hendricks, mr., lawrence street. hendricks, ----, fulton street. holdrich, dora. holdrich, emma. hartman, william, myrtle avenue. haston, john, hudson avenue. hayes, john, west d street. hanfry, john, court street. huston, john, hudson avenue. hoefler, george, and child, of gowanus. hoefler, kate, of gowanus. howell, r., scholes street. jones, henry h., summit street. jackson, robert, flatbush avenue. jackson, john a., adams street. jackson, c. kerlan, john, marcy ave. and kosciusko st. kennedy, john, gold street. kraft, henry, boerum street. kerrigan, joseph, water street. kroemer, joseph, bushwick ave. and stagg st. kelly, michael, meeker avenue. lamb, lawrence, plymouth street. lane, g. lawler, p., little street. lewis, p., binghampton. lowenther, abram, fulton street. lott, charles, sackett street. lott, george, sackett street. loughlin, john, bridge street. lessen, isaac, atlantic avenue. lennon, james, ----. looney, joseph, conover street. likewise, annie, new lots. lohn, john, prince street. martin, ann and child, ½ lawrence st. mcginniss, john, little water street. mccullough, angus, pacific street. mcloughlin, george, th street. mclean, james, myrtle avenue. mcmanus, john, court street. mcdermott, john, elliot place. mccarty, patrick, james street. mccafferty, james p., navy street. mcgiffy, john, hicks street. mcnally, j., prince street. meeling, j. p., reardon street. meek, j. e., pacific street. martin, p. e., elliot place. morris, j., liberty street. murdoch, h. s., concord street. murphy, james, amity street. murray, william, navy street. mowberry, john, centre street. mitterberry, diedrich, west th st. meigh, alfred, bushwick avenue. myer, isaac, new york. nagle, w., broadway. neith, c., smith street. nevin, ----, president street. offerman, f. d., smith street. osborne, wm. h., eagle st., greenpoint. oleson, louis, sackett street. o'brien, hugh, concord street. oram, stephen, union avenue. ostrander, jacob l., navy street. parsons, mrs., and child, st. louis. pickford, frank, patchen avenue. pollard, john, flushing and grand ave. pearce, w. h., duffield street. phillips, solomon, ----. quinn, james, gold street. quick, elias b., jr., th street, e. d. ramsdell, g. r. reordon, p., atlantic avenue. ralph, henry, grand ave. and bergen st. rogers, catherine, snedeker ave., new lots. solomon, morris, boerum place. solomon, philip, boerum place. solomon, tracey, boerum place. solomon, lena, boerum place. solomon, deborah, boerum place. styles, charles f., putnam avenue. scott, charles, (officer.) taylor, arthur, chauncey street. turner, john f., jas and prospect streets. varick, mrs., ----. webster, h., clinton street. wait, a., bushwick avenue. wine, r., butler street. weldon, m. j., south first street. whistance, thomas, hudson avenue. wheeler, lewis, sackett street. ward, matilda, oxford street. wakeman, e., joralemon and court streets. wook, john, fleet place. xendid, william, fulton street, n. y. unidentified or missing. arlaum, arthur, hamilton avenue. alberte, louis, atlantic avenue. bedford, david, hicks street. binley, john, box street. barnes, ----, hicks street. boyne, thomas, vanderbilt avenue. ball, william, third avenue and th st. ball, george, third avenue and th st. blachford, chas., wife and child, bridge st. boyne, bennett, plymouth street. berri, caroline, smith street. beatty, edward, carlton avenue. cavanagh, frost, hudson avenue. crane, oliver f., north elliott place. collins, daniel, prince street. chichester, thomas, court street. coyle, nicholas, johnson and duffield sts. cadmos, mrs. phil, fifth avenue. cadmos, george w., fifth avenue. deree, charles e., devoe street. donlan, william, navy street. delepartree, ed., smith street. dakin, daniel, new london. doolittle, henry, union place. foden, walter, jay street. froidevaux, rosine, columbia street. forskein, andrew, third avenue. green, frank, lafayette avenue. gregg, john, van brunt street. gowan, john, adams street. grange, george a., galveston, texas. game, robert, butler street. hand, stewart, smith and state streets. hickey, john, fulton street. hamilton, delia, pine and pearl sts., n. y. harrison, charles, bridge street. holdridge, george, adams street. haskins, lawrence, prince street. hampson, frederick, dean street. hampson, mrs. emma, dean street. hellwick, dora, fulton street. hellwick, emma, fulton street. jackson, george, hicks street. jennings, john w., concord street. keenan, john, marcy avenue. kraft, geo., boerum st., near bushwick ave. leek, christopher, marcy avenue. leyden, james, state street. lidigate, margaret, atlantic avenue. lunt, charles, hart street. lunt, josephine, hart street. leverich, caleb, clermont avenue. mcclair, hudson avenue. mclellan, edward, new pearl street, n. y. mclellan, mrs. jane, new pearl st., n. y. mclellan, james, new pearl street, n. y. mclellan, mary a., new pearl st., n. y. mcguigan, james, new pearl street, n. y. mccullough, john, pacific street. mccullough, donald ross, pacific st. mcginnis, ----, adams street. mcginnis, ----, adams street. mcneil, james, myrtle avenue. martin, timothy, lawrence street. mulvadey, mary, little water street. merton, g. s., galveston, texas. montrose, joseph f., navy street. nathan, stephen, prince street. pampool, lena, fulton street. pollard, william, flushing and grand aves. reigler, joseph, atlantic avenue. rothwell, adelaide, , atlantic avenue. rossel, ---- (cuban), fulton street. suntz, henry, court street. suntz, charles, court street. sorlemer, george, pearl and concord sts. stephens, george, jay street. stedall, a., flatbush avenue. steele, daniel, ninth street. tracey, john, wyckoff street. turpinghi, william, th st. and fifth ave. valdes, ---- (cuban), fulton street. vecht, christian, smith street. wroe, charles, prince street. wroe, charles, jr., prince street. latest report of missing persons. since the above list was prepared, the following persons have been reported to the police as yet missing: byrnes, bernard, , plymouth street. francis, george, , new york. game, robert, , butler street. gannon, john, , gold street, n. y. gibbs, mary, , sullivan street. hayes, samuel, , fifth avenue. hesdra, mary a., , gold street. hennessey, george, , duffield st. jennison, h., , fourth ave., cor. wyckoff street. jennison, a., , fourth ave., cor. wyckoff street. jordan, fred., , pacific street. morgan, frank, , atlantic avenue. page, sarah a., , gold street. page, addie s., , gold street. russell, arthur, , atlantic avenue. smith, mrs., , sands street. simpson, mrs., , sands street. west, catharine, hartford, conn. white, william, , smith street. wayland, maggie, ----. warner, john, , atlantic avenue. transcriber's note the lists of individuals at the end of the text are grouped by initial letter of the person's last name. however, they are not necessarily arranged in alphabetical order. this is preserved as printed. minor punctuation errors have been repaired. hyphenation and accent usage has been made consistent. the following errors have been repaired: page --it amended to its--"... the brooklyn theatre and the burned dead beneath its ruins." page --hitchcock amended to murdoch--"henry s. murdoch, ..." page --caste amended to cast--"... was engaged in the cast of the "two orphans" ..." page --caste amended to cast--"... he has been in the cast of nearly every play since produced there." page --daily amended to daly--""daly, this is my daughter, miss nettie. ..."" page --arived amended to arrived--"he arrived safely in brooklyn, ..." page --concidence amended to coincidence--"it was a remarkable coincidence that miss nettie morgan had accepted ..." page --instantly amended to instantly--"instantly all interest in the play was lost." page --berry amended to berri--"berri, caroline, smith street." illustrations have been moved where necessary so that they did not fall in the middle of a paragraph. down town brooklyn a report to the comptroller of the city of new york on sites for public buildings and the relocation of the elevated railroad tracks now in lower fulton street, borough of brooklyn [illustration: borough of brooklyn] brooklyn, new york mcmxiii contents letter from the comptroller report of the committee first plan second plan third plan fourth plan fifth plan sixth plan additional report supplemental report letter from the comptroller april th, . _dear mr. pratt:_ it appears to me that the time has now arrived when some definite policy should be formulated regarding a number of needed improvements in the borough of brooklyn, with particular reference to a settlement of the court house, bridge terminal and other questions. we have had considerable discussion regarding these matters, and while this discussion has developed, as it naturally would, many divergent views, i am confident that it has also served a most useful purpose because now we all have a much better idea of the work that has to be undertaken and the importance of intelligent and united action governing it. it is very necessary that some one should take the lead and i, therefore, suggest that you endeavor at the earliest possible time to effect a meeting of those interested as citizens and officials in developing the best plan for brooklyn's improvement, with a view to having a definite policy proposed and so determined at this time that the only thing necessary in the future will be the authorization of the funds to carry the plan into effect. there should be a civic center in brooklyn. we have a nucleus of such a center in the present borough hall. we need a new terminal for the brooklyn entrance of the brooklyn bridge, a better approach to that bridge by the present elevated railroad lines, the removal of the elevated railroad tracks from lower fulton street, a new court house, a new municipal building and a thorough improvement of that section running from the intersection of myrtle avenue and washington street to the terminal of the brooklyn bridge, using this improved section for the purpose of carrying out a general beautification of the proposed civic center. all of these things cannot be done at once, but they are all a part of what should be a general plan. i believe that if the subject be approached in a spirit of civic patriotism a general plan can be developed which will mean the ultimate procurement of all these much-needed improvements, and in such a way as to be of the greatest benefit to brooklyn as a borough. yours truly, william a. prendergast, _comptroller_ mr. frederic b. pratt brooklyn, new york * * * * * upon receiving the foregoing letter, mr. pratt conferred with a large number of officials and citizens interested in the progress of brooklyn, and acting upon their advice formed a committee of ten, believed by him to be representative of the various points of view, for the purpose of making a systematic study of the problems set forth and to formulate a report with definite recommendations. the report and recommendations of the committee appear in the following pages. report of the committee of ten citizens of brooklyn appointed at the suggestion of william a. prendergast, comptroller of the city of new york since the appointment of this committee on the th day of april, , it has had frequent meetings, conferences and hearings. conferences have been had with representatives from organizations that have given time and study to the subjects within the scope of this committee. several public hearings were held, notice of which was given in the public press. written communications have been invited from all persons interested. architects have been employed to advise and we have had the help of competent engineers. at the outset the committee has been compelled to recognize the situation of brooklyn and its relation to manhattan and greater new york. brooklyn has always labored under the disadvantage that, although its residents have helped create the great assessed valuations in lower manhattan, it did not before consolidation receive any benefit from the taxation of those values. in this respect brooklyn was not and even now is not like independent cities such as buffalo, cleveland or chicago, where both residences and office buildings contribute alike to support the same municipal government. prior to consolidation on january st, , brooklyn had reached the limit of her constitutional borrowing capacity. the city needed many new schools and more bridges and tunnels across the east river. along with many disadvantages that flowed from consolidation, there came the great advantage that brooklyn at last received a portion of the tax money raised on the real estate in lower manhattan, to which brooklyn people had helped to give a high value. it must, however, be recognized that manhattan is the central borough, and that as the business and municipal center of greater new york she is entitled to pre-eminence in buildings to transact the city's business. now that the boroughs constitute one city, manhattan must help to give the outlying boroughs those utilities that their growth reasonably requires, and the outlying boroughs must recognize manhattan as the business and official center. for the last twenty years the industrial population in brooklyn has been greatly increasing. officials and loyal citizens who desire that the historic character of brooklyn should be preserved cannot afford to wait ten years before a beginning is made to brighten up the downtown district. continued migrations of home owners from brooklyn to new jersey and to counties outside of greater new york may weaken the ability of the borough to preserve its entity and character. if it should once become a somewhat neglected industrial annex of manhattan, the result would be injurious both to brooklyn and manhattan. no greater calamity could happen to every part of brooklyn than to have the borough lose its civic pride. when we add to the foregoing considerations the fact that greater new york has nearly reached the constitutional limit of its borrowing capacity, we should not delude ourselves into thinking that persistent and long-continued demand will bring indefinite millions of dollars to brooklyn in the near future. the vast contemplated expenditure for rapid transit railroads brings a share to brooklyn, but even to validate the dual rapid transit contracts it was necessary to dedicate to subways $ , , out of the $ , , of self-supporting dock bonds exempted under the recent constitutional amendment, while we in brooklyn know that more than $ , , are needed for dock improvements in brooklyn alone during the next ten years. in order to obtain a sufficient margin within the debt limit, assessed valuations have been placed at full value, and in some cases beyond prices that property will bring in the open market. until the comprehensive rapid transit plan is completed in the course of four to six years, it cannot be expected that there will be a substantial increase in assessed valuations, taking the city as a whole. with all of these considerations before us we have concluded that the strictest economy must be observed in improving the downtown district of brooklyn, and that every dollar expended should be not only of the greatest use for the special purpose to which it is put, but also that every dollar expended should give co-ordinated results. therefore we consider that such lands as are taken for public buildings should also contribute toward the opening up and improvement of the central business locality. outside of money for rapid transit lines, docks, schoolhouses and street improvements, it is not likely that the borough of brooklyn will within the next eight years receive any substantial sums except for the new municipal building and a new court house. if these buildings are placed in isolated locations where they have no relation to one another nor to the borough center, it will be most unfortunate. like the academy of music, which is surrounded by narrow streets, they would confer only a partial benefit. therefore the question of their location is more than finding a good spot for a court house or municipal building. the problem is to find locations that will be convenient for the public business, have a relation to each other and other public improvements, and contribute to the acquirement of more open space where it will do the most good. we think that the borough hall locality should be preserved and improved as the borough's municipal center. some say that we should look to eastern parkway, some to flatbush avenue extension. but borough hall park is the old-time and long settled center. the large office and financial buildings are there. it is convenient of access from every part of the borough. every new rapid transit line will be directly connected with it. it is opposite the district of corresponding use in manhattan. it is separate from the congested shopping district and will undoubtedly remain so. some advocate flatbush avenue extension as the best place for new buildings. the future value of the extension even for public buildings cannot be denied. canal street, manhattan bridge, the extension and flatbush avenue furnish a continuous broad thoroughfare from the north river to jamaica bay. when greater new york becomes a city of , , people, it may become the axis for magnificent public buildings both in manhattan and brooklyn. but canal street today is a locality of small business and it is premature to try to force its brooklyn continuation into prominence as a civic center. although manhattan's new court house will be built on center street, yet the front door of manhattan's civic center will be the city hall park for the next thirty or forty years, and canal street at its best will be only the back door. when the big business of manhattan reaches canal street it will be time enough to use city money for great public buildings on the extension. if brooklyn were an independent and self-contained city like boston and chicago it might experiment without fear in building up a new civic center, but brooklyn today must look well to hold her own against the constant draft that manhattan makes on her financial and office center. brooklyn bridge is today and for a long time will be the main entrance to brooklyn. the district between the bridge and borough hall has become depressed and unsightly, mainly because the retail shopping business left it, and brooklyn, unlike independent cities, had no wholesale mercantile business to take its place. no city can hope to improve and brighten itself and still neglect its front door. the clark street subway will have a station near lower fulton street. the federal government has appropriated money to enlarge the post office. the bridge terminal has ceased to be a terminal and has become a way station, so that now the structures that deface the entrance to brooklyn can be taken down, as bridge commissioner o'keeffe proposes, and a solid, simple, low-lying structure substituted for the sheds and aerial monstrosities. surely now is the time to link such an improvement with the clearing up of the whole district. the borough must within a few months either grasp or lose its chance to start this work. as part of the dual rapid transit system the city has issued to the municipal railway company, controlled by the brooklyn rapid transit company, a certificate to third track its fulton street elevated line from the east river to east new york. the complications in perfecting the dual contracts, and the need of haste, were so great that the problem of freeing borough hall park and lower fulton street of the elevated railroad was not solved and inserted in the contracts, but immediately after the signing of the dual plan, mayor gaynor, borough president steers, the public service commission and the board of estimate took action resulting in the preparation and passage by the legislature of an amendment to the rapid transit act providing for the re-location of the tracks and the making of a contract for that purpose between the public service commission and the company. thus the way is paved for the removal of the elevated tracks to adams street, taking them entirely out of lower fulton street and borough hall park. orders for the fabrication of steel for the third track construction will soon be placed, and if the contract for re-location is not made, the steel will be ordered for reconstructing the elevated railroad in its present location. it would be unfortunate indeed if additional outlays should serve to perpetuate the railroad in borough hall park. at the same time that the tracks are removed, it is desirable that the city should do as much as possible in opening and improving the unsightly locality between fulton and washington streets. as an independent proposition the taking of so much land has not appealed to some of the members of the board of estimate, but an entirely different question is presented if this area can be used in part for one of the new public buildings. plan shows the locality as it would appear after the tracks are re-located and the plaza opened. washington street should be widened to correspond to the width of the open space now opposite the mechanics' bank building. some say, why not widen washington street taking forty or fifty feet of private land along its westerly side and do nothing to disarrange the rest of the property between washington street and fulton street? the answer to this is that the taking of parts of the buildings would in many cases be almost, if not quite, equivalent to a total destruction of the entire properties. if the city should acquire for public purposes the three blocks lying between fulton street and liberty street on the west and washington street on the east, it could widen washington street to the required width of feet, use the space opposite the post office for one of the new buildings, and design the open space near the bridge as a dignified and fitting approach to brooklyn bridge, corresponding to some extent to the open space partly covered by the manhattan municipal building at the other end. this should be done in connection with commissioner o'keeffe's plan of reconstructing the bridge terminal. the new public building located here would not act as a stopper in the bridge plaza, because the space now between the mechanics' bank building and myrtle avenue is of a fixed width and acts as a fixed limitation. if washington street is widened to the same width, the approach to the bridge plaza proper would be better than if the bridge plaza should extend all of the distance to borough hall park. in the latter case the plaza would be too large and not pleasing in form. a considerable part of this real estate is already owned by the city. by chapter of the laws of the supreme court justices of this department were empowered to select a site for a new court house and recommend it to the board of estimate. in they selected the two blocks bounded by court, clinton, state and livingston streets, and on december th, , the report was made by the board of sinking fund commissioners to the board of estimate. the board of estimate has taken no action thereon. in july, , the board of estimate determined upon the southeast corner of court and joralemon streets as a site for the new municipal building, taking in both the corner and the land covered by the present municipal building. the land has been acquired, plans for the building have been prepared, and when the board of estimate makes an appropriation for building, actual construction can begin. if, however, the recommendations of this report should meet with favor, the municipal building would be erected in another place. the committee has endeavored to deal with these four factors, viz., court house, municipal building, bridge plaza and re-location of tracks, so that the money expended should not only bring the best result for each factor, but at the same time bring the additional benefit of relating the four factors so that all will unite to improve the downtown center. we shall now compare the cost and advantages of the four factors as presented in the clinton street court house site, and as presented in the other plans that reasonably meet the needs of the situation. first plan clinton street court house site (see diagram marked plan ) . cost of bridge changes and re-location of tracks as estimated by the department of bridges, and assessed value of additional property required for same $ , , . . assessed valuation of land and buildings between washington and fulton streets , , . . assessed valuation land and buildings, clinton street site for court house , , . . municipal building site at south-west corner of court and joralemon streets (title now vested in the city) ------------- total $ , , . this plan places the new court house on the site selected by the judges, and the new municipal building on the site that has been condemned for this purpose at the corner of court and joralemon streets to which will be added the land covered by the old municipal building. for the purpose of these comparisons no values are placed on land and buildings now owned by the city. the item of $ , , for brooklyn bridge changes and re-location of tracks is the same in each of the six plans, and includes the assessed values of the entire half blocks east of adams street. the re-location of the tracks on adams street will require a six track structure between the bridge and myrtle avenue and a three track structure between myrtle avenue and fulton street. adams street is not wide enough for so many tracks. the preponderating engineering opinion is that the city should not widen adams street, but remove the structure to the half block east of adams street. the space fronting adams street under the solid track floor would be available for renting. the cost of taking the half block by condemnation would not materially exceed the cost of taking forty feet along the block fronts. the question of damages to abutting owners would be avoided, and adams street would be made better for traffic and business than it is now. part of this large item would be paid by the railroad company. under the terms of the third tracking certificate already issued the company is to pay all of the cost of reconstruction and betterment of the structure in its present locations, and it is understood that the company will pay at least an equal amount when the tracks are re-located under the new law. if the re-location brings other benefits to the company it would seem that even a greater portion of this item should be borne by the company. the new law provides that the division of expense shall be arranged between the public service commission and the company, subject to the approval of the board of estimate. the new court house according to this plan would be feet from the hall of records. although the books and files kept in the surrogate's and register's offices are not needed so frequently in trials as the papers from the county clerk's office, it is a distinct disadvantage to have them so far away from the court house. the new court house, on this site, would be unrelated to any other improvement. it would also be entirely surrounded by private property, admitting of no architectural development and bearing no relation to the court house itself. the land is entirely covered with buildings valuable for their present use and is a recognized center for physicians. if the court rooms are made to face toward the streets they will increasingly be subjected to street noises, for we find that no streets in this locality are quiet. automobiles and auto-trucks abound. if this site were acquired for the new court house the board of estimate would probably refuse either to open the bridge plaza or widen washington street. the result would be that practically no general improvement to the financial center would be made. the joralemon street front of borough hall park, probably the most dominating site in the borough, would contain three buildings, the hall of records, the old court house and the new municipal building, none of them harmonizing with the others, and bringing little or no distinction to the most prominent site in the borough. the old court house would be relegated to criminal business to the detriment of this vicinity. it would seem that the city's plan for future buildings should make some use of the polytechnic institute land. it is only a question of time when this school will move elsewhere. this plan throws away the opportunity of making profitable use of this land. the main objection to this plan, however, is that, although expensive, it brings practically no help to downtown brooklyn. it dissociates the desired factors and does not relate them. it simply procures an isolated court house, leaving the business center of the borough as badly off as before. second plan flatbush avenue extension site for court house (see diagram marked plan ) . cost of bridge changes and re-location of tracks as estimated by the department of bridges, and assessed value of additional property required for same $ , , . . assessed valuation of land and buildings between washington and fulton streets , , . . assessed valuation of land and buildings flatbush avenue extension site for court house , . . municipal building site at south-west corner of court and joralemon streets (title now vested in the city) ------------- total $ , , . in this plan the court house would be , feet from the hall of records. the transaction of court business on the border of the retail shopping district would increase street congestion. it is distant from the present office district, and, if selected, injury to the present office district would result. it is inconvenient to residents of certain parts of the city. if court rooms fronted on the street they would yearly become more subject to noise. the available space would not afford as large an interior court as would be desirable if the court rooms were to face inside. if this site were acquired, the bridge plaza would probably remain unopened. like plan , this plan scatters the benefit of the four factors under discussion, and does not unite them. third plan state street site for court house (see diagram marked plan ) . cost of bridge changes and re-location of tracks as estimated by the department of bridges, and assessed value of additional property required for same $ , , . . assessed valuation of land and buildings between washington and fulton streets , , . . assessed valuation of land and buildings in the two blocks bounded by boerum place, livingston, court and state streets , , . . municipal building site at south-west corner of court and joralemon streets (title now vested in the city) ------------- total $ , , . like the clinton street site, this site would be so expensive that its purchase would probably preclude the opening of the bridge plaza. if the present court house should be retained, the new court house would be hidden and without any effective relation to borough hall park. if it had outside court rooms they would be noisy. schermerhorn street would either need to be closed or else carried through the building by tunnel. in the former case one of the streets most needed for traffic would be lost, and in the latter case the street would need to be artificially lighted both night and day and even then would be troublesome to maintain. this plan is open to all of the objections of plan . indeed it is even less desirable as it interferes more with traffic. fourth plan livingston street court house site (see diagram marked plan ) . cost of bridge changes and re-location of tracks as estimated by the department of bridges, and assessed value of additional property required for same $ , , . . assessed valuation of land and buildings between washington and fulton streets , , . . assessed valuation of land and buildings in block bounded by boerum place, livingston, court and schermerhorn streets , . . polytechnic institute and buildings fronting on court street not taken by the city for new municipal building site , . ------------- total $ , , . this plan has been pressed by very competent persons and we have given a large amount of detailed study to its merits. it contemplates that the old court house and municipal building should be torn down, and that the new court house should be set far back from joralemon street, the open space in front of it being flanked by the hall of records on one side, and a building of corresponding design on the other, to be used for children's and women's courts. the court house would be built on both sides of livingston street, which would be double-decked so that the noise of surface cars and vehicular traffic could not reach the court rooms. this noise is now considerable on account of the slight grade from the court street to the boerum place level which requires the application of brakes on the down grade. on account of the widening of livingston street this block is only feet deep. any form of treatment would seem to be unduly expensive and even then the court house would not be quiet, as the court rooms would be subjected to the noise from the crossovers at the corners of livingston street with court street and boerum place. the municipal building would need to be placed on the plaza site or elsewhere. one of the main objections to this plan is that the arrangement of all the buildings must be on an axis that does not correspond with borough hall, the park, or washington street, and on this account the open place between the flanking buildings as well as the buildings themselves would stand awry. fifth plan washington street site for court house (see diagram marked plan ) . cost of bridge changes and re-location of tracks as estimated by the department of bridges, and assessed value of additional property required for same $ , , . . assessed valuation of land and buildings between washington and fulton streets , , . . site for new court house takes part of last item. . municipal building site at south-west corner of court and joralemon streets (title now vested in the city) ------------- total $ , , . this plan contemplates placing the new court house on washington street opposite the post office, and the new municipal building at the corner of court and joralemon on the site condemned for that purpose. it separates the court house from the hall of records. the chief objection, however, is that the available space is not sufficient. a court house of the size desired would be compelled to assume an awkward shape, and it would be so narrow that an inner court to light court rooms facing on it would be out of the question. throughout our work we have kept in mind the desire of the judges for quiet rooms for the conduct of trials. washington and fulton streets are noisy on account of surface cars and vehicles and it would in our opinion be undesirable to have court rooms front on these streets. the court house is to be a much larger and more imposing building than the new municipal building, and it should not be placed on a contracted site. sixth plan present site for court house (see diagram marked plan ) . cost of bridge changes and re-location of tracks as estimated by the department of bridges, and assessed value of additional property required for same $ , , . . assessed valuation of land and buildings between washington and fulton streets , , . . site for municipal building takes part of last item. . site for court house takes polytechnic land and buildings, etc., in addition to land now owned by the city , . ------------- total $ , , . this plan contemplates that the court house would occupy all of the present court house block except the hall of records; that it should have a large inner court with court rooms opening upon it; and that the municipal building should be placed on the plaza site. the available area for the court house would be , feet. the inner court could be feet by feet with a superficial area of , feet. the building, if six stories high, could easily have four floors devoted to court rooms. each floor would afford space for nine court rooms, each forty feet by fifty feet, and one large court room for extraordinary trials, feet by feet. this would make forty court rooms in all and there would be ample space for a jury room and robing room in connection with each court room. the street noises would be an objection to this site if the court rooms fronted the street. we are advised, however, that the fronting of the court rooms on the inner court would protect them entirely from street noise. ventilation in so large a building as this would necessarily be furnished by a power system, and would be independent of the movement of outside air. indeed, it seems to be conceded that a power system succeeds only when windows are not opened and shut at will. moreover, trials are not held during the hot months of july, august and september. on account of these considerations we are of the opinion that inside court rooms can be fully as comfortable and as well ventilated as if they fronted on the streets. the inner court would be so large that there would be an abundance of sunlight. this would not be the case with the lower stories if the building were fifteen or twenty stories high, but our investigations have shown that with a building not over six stories in height, the sunlight will be abundant. careful consideration has been given to the subject of noise during construction. the first portion of the new court house built would be that fronting on borough hall park between the present court house and court street. this would be followed in due course by the construction of the livingston street front after the polytechnic institute would be able to locate in a new place. later the remaining portion of the new court house would be built where the old court house now stands. it cannot be denied that there would be some inconvenience to court work from construction noise while these successive portions were building, but if the new municipal building is erected within the next few months on the site selected for it adjoining the old court house, there will be the same degree of construction noise. moreover, wherever the new court house is built, it is almost certain that it will be followed by some new construction in the immediate locality. the main thing is to obtain freedom from noise after construction is over, and we believe that the work of the courts could be conducted in inside court rooms on this site with more quiet than in outside rooms on any of the other sites that have been suggested. we find that the first wing of the new building could be built as a unit providing sixteen to twenty court rooms with all requisite minor rooms and facilities. these would be more court rooms than are now in use. this would afford the needed expansion in connection with the use of the old court house, which has fourteen court rooms. the later completion of the livingston street wing would furnish a total of thirty-two court rooms in the new building. this would permit the abandonment of the old court house so that the last wing could be built where the old court house now stands. if the money for the construction of the new court house is appropriated from time to time, as will probably be the case, it will be no disadvantage to have the different parts successively available for construction. forty new court rooms will not be needed for some years, and there will be a saving of interest to the city if the entire expenditure is not made at one time. the county court now has four court rooms, the supreme court ten, the appellate division one, and the appellate term one--in all sixteen. the act empowering the judges to select a site and approve a court house does not contemplate that the county court will be provided for in the new building. if, however, a forty court room building should be erected, it is evident that the county court should be housed in it or else many of the court rooms would be idle for a long time. the new court house in manhattan will provide fifty to sixty court rooms. a new brooklyn court house containing forty court rooms would provide as much space as is likely to be needed during the next forty years, and the city would hardly care to lose interest on unnecessary space for a longer period. when, however, the civil business transacted in the new court house should need all of the court rooms, the city would probably feel the need of a separate criminal court building in some other part of the borough. it is unlikely that the county court will continue both its civil and criminal terms indefinitely. the tendency in all large cities is to separate civil and criminal trials both as to judges and location. the new court house in this location would be near the hall of records, a comparatively new, sound and dignified building. both judges and trial lawyers are accommodated by having the real estate, surrogate's and county clerk's records and books near at hand. part of the large space under the new court house could be used for moisture proof vaults for the storage of obsolete papers that are already crowding the county clerk's office. the great advantages of this site to the borough are apparent. it holds the court business of the borough in the locality which has for generations become adapted to it. it preserves and improves the present office center. it is the most convenient spot in the city for judges, litigants, lawyers and jurors, and is also the most accessible from the court, municipal and financial centers of manhattan. the new rapid transit lines will make it more accessible from every part of greater new york. the present location of the polytechnic institute is not well adapted for educational purposes. its future growth is circumscribed and probably it is only a question of a few years when another location must be found for this growing institution. the site for the municipal building on washington street, opposite the post office, would have an area of approximately , square feet--being an irregular plot feet by feet. it would be a moderately high office structure and would fit an irregular plot of ground better than the more monumental court house. it would also be adjustable to the site bounded by office buildings with the height of which it would harmonize. the distance of the new municipal building from borough hall would be feet. in manhattan the distance between city hall and the new municipal building is feet. a station of the new interborough subway will be near the corner of fulton and clark streets. this will be the great manhattan west side subway, running south from times square through seventh avenue, park place and william street, thence under the east river at old slip, thence through clark and fulton streets to the junction with the two tracks under borough hall, not now used, but which when used will make brooklyn's four track subway to flatbush avenue, long island station, park plaza and eastern parkway. not only will the placing of the municipal building on the washington street site allow the much needed widening of that street without extra cost, but the erection of the court house on the present site as provided in this plan will admit of the widening of the streets by which it is bounded, viz., livingston, court and joralemon streets. this consideration is important in view of the concentration of street cars and other traffic at this center of street circulation. no other plan presents equally good sites for the new court house and the new municipal building. this plan has the further merit that it harmonizes the four factors, i.e., court house, municipal building, bridge plaza and re-location of tracks, in a manner where each factor brings additional benefit to every other factor. the removal of the elevated tracks without opening up the bridge approach would be only a partial improvement. placing the court house on the clinton street site or flatbush avenue extension site would have no relation whatever to the other three factors. this plan logically, harmoniously, and at comparatively small expense paves the way for the improvement of the entire area between brooklyn bridge and the hall of records and furnishes frontages that will attract the construction of substantial and handsome business buildings. for these reasons we recommend: . the removal of the elevated railroad tracks from borough hall park and lower fulton street, pursuant to the permissive legislation passed by the last session of the legislature as an amendment to the rapid transit act. . the acquirement by the city of the land not now owned by the city between fulton street and liberty street on the west and washington street on the east, also three lots in the small block opposite clark street. . the widening of washington street to feet, which is the same width as the throat between the mechanics' bank building and myrtle avenue. . the location of the new municipal building between fulton and washington streets approximately opposite the post office. . the location of the new court house on the present site of the old court house, such site to include the land intended for the new municipal building, and also the rest of the land in that block on court and livingston streets, all court rooms to front on a large interior court. frederic b. pratt edward m. bassett frank m. brooks alexander mckinny frank c. munson james h. post charles a. schieren alfred t. white howard o. wood edward c. blum dated, june st, additional report by a minority of the committee we, the undersigned, while agreeing with recommendation no. of the foregoing report, believe that all of the three blocks between fulton street on the west and liberty street on the east, should be acquired by the city and not only the three lots opposite clark street. our reasons for this belief stated briefly are, that the buildings erected upon these blocks are of poor construction and unsightly and their condition will not be improved by the bridge approach, nor will a better class of buildings be erected in their stead. they stand as a menace to the improvement of fulton street north of clark and if not removed will carry upon their rear walls billboards and signs which will mar the effect of the new bridge approach. if they are not removed the traveler, approaching brooklyn by means of the bridge cars, will have but a momentary glimpse of the improved plaza and the new municipal building as the train swings around into adams street. if, on the contrary, the buildings are removed the effect of the improvement will be noticed as soon as sands street is reached. this will be the more noticeable to travelers by the trolley and to pedestrians using the bridge. the assessed valuation of these blocks is $ , . if they are acquired by the city it is our belief that the increase in the assessed value of property upon fulton street immediately opposite to the blocks in question will more than equal the assessed valuation of the property taken. howard o. wood frank c. munson james h. post [illustration: plan ] [illustration: plan ] [illustration: plan ] [illustration: plan ] [illustration: plan ] [illustration: plan ] supplemental report submitted to the comptroller with the perspective drawings it was recognized from the beginning of the study of this problem that any recommendations must of necessity take into consideration existing conditions and must co-ordinate with any general plans for the development of the borough as a whole. a thorough study has been given this question and it may be stated with reasonable assurance that the proposed location and general arrangement of the court house and municipal building not only do not in any way conflict with future changes but contribute very largely to the accomplishment of further improvements. an exhaustive argument has been made already on the location of these buildings. in addition to the reasons already given for the suggested locations, it may be stated that the plaza site is not well suited as a location for the court house. on such a location the interior light courts would be too small to successfully serve the court rooms, and the block too irregular. furthermore, since the character of the municipal building is that of a high office structure, a less regular plot of ground is required as a site than is the case with the more monumental court house. this building is more adjustable to a site bounded by office buildings with the height of which it will harmonize. the court house is the focal point of a system of arteries leading to various centers--washington street to the brooklyn bridge, court street to the docks, fulton street to the retail business center at its intersection with flatbush avenue, and finally, willoughby street to fort greene park. [illustration: _proposed new location of elevated railroad tracks and sites for court house and municipal building_] willoughby street, along its distance from the borough hall square to fort greene park, should at some time be used as a relief to myrtle avenue and for that distance should be the important and improved street. furthermore, it will become, if developed, a strong factor in relieving that portion of fulton street below flatbush avenue of the traffic from the eastern section of the borough, which has for its objective point borough hall square. this artery, leading directly to fort greene park, centers on the martyrs' monument. since this monument has been carefully placed on the axis of willoughby street, it is not only desirable but economical to bring it into value. willoughby street crosses flatbush avenue at its highest point and from this intersection the façade of the proposed court house will come finely into view. there will be, therefore, strong reasons for developing willoughby street. the location of the municipal building on the plaza site will allow of the widening of washington street. it will further the improvement of the approach to the brooklyn bridge. the erection of the court house on the present site near borough hall will admit of the widening of the streets by which it is bounded, namely, livingston street, court street and joralemon street. improvements such as these are very important in view of the concentration of street cars and other traffic at this center. further relief might be had by placing additional street car loops at the bridge plaza where part of the cars that now crowd borough hall square might be carried around the north end of the proposed municipal building. the buildings located as proposed do not make a formal group in the strict sense of the word. they may be made, however, to count together. one's attention, immediately on crossing the brooklyn bridge, whether by the cars, by vehicle or on foot, will be controlled by the façade of the municipal building with its foreground of public space and on passing beyond this building into washington street, one's attention will be carried with interest to the façade of the court house which will frame the borough hall silhouette and dominate borough hall square. owing to the location of the borough hall on the washington street axis, it is recommended that no central motif be used in the court house design. the façade of the court house must be designed as a foil to the broken silhouette of the borough hall and its cupola. should the borough hall be ultimately removed, the axis may be controlled by a central feature of monumental or commemorative character. the converging lines of the lower cornice of the buildings, of the curbs and of the lamp posts, carry the eye forward to this motif and to the façade of the court house. co-operation between the architect selected for the municipal building and the united states supervising architect should be urged, so that this building and the post office will be harmonious in architectural character. various monuments and architectural details are suggested on the plans. they must all be in harmony and in scale with one another and with the buildings. their setting must be carefully studied in detail. the placing and proportioning of balustrades, of pools of water, of grass plots and in particular of trees must be done in the finest way, as it is only by a careful attention to all these details that this group can be brought into harmony of high order in keeping with its importance. [illustration: _view from borough hall toward brooklyn bridge showing proposed municipal building_] the spaces surrounding the public buildings, where not needed for circulation, should be parked and trees should be planted wherever they will serve to enhance the buildings, screen undesirable objects, at the same time not interfering with business interests. the same variety of tree should be planted throughout and should not exceed to feet in height. of almost equal importance is the question of lamp posts--their height, design, spacing and fixtures. it is suggested that this be exhaustively studied in the light of modern invention so as to make of the streets and open spaces involved, a model for other parts of the city. the paving of these streets and open spaces also should be perfect. creosoted wood block is recommended for its all round qualities. the above recommendations, if carried into effect, will contribute to making this entrance to brooklyn harmonious and impressive. the studies submitted in plan and perspective should be understood to be only general suggestions along the lines indicated. consideration in detail of the requirements of the various buildings _court house:_ the courts and allied departments, at present situated in the old court house building, in the borough hall, in the hall of records and in rented quarters, which would be housed in this building, are: supreme court, supreme court, appellate division, county court, criminal parts, county court, civil parts, grand jury, county clerk, district attorney, sheriff, commissioner of jurors, all court stenographers and clerks, justices' chambers, justices' reference library, law library. space occupied at the present time by the various departments is as follows: square feet. county clerk , district attorney , sheriff , commissioner of jurors , that space included in the old court house, appellate division, in the borough hall, appellate term in rented quarters including justices' chambers, about , the bill for the selection of the court house site does not provide quarters in this building for the county courts, but it is likely that for several years all county court business would be handled in the new court house. [illustration: _view from brooklyn bridge toward borough hall showing proposed new court house in the distance_] a safe assumption for a new building providing ample light courts and set back fifty feet from both court street and joralemon street is ten court rooms per floor. a building having four court floors and two additional floors would have an area of approximately , square feet. each court room unit, moreover, would be amply supplied with judges' robing room, clerks' room, and necessary witness, counsel and jurors' rooms. this building would be about feet high to the main cornice. in addition, space would be provided for an emergency hospital, for newspaper reporters, and for a general public waiting room. the new court house would provide seventy to eighty thousand square feet on the first floor, sixty-five to seventy thousand square feet approximately on the court room floors, and fifty thousand to sixty thousand square feet on the upper floor which should be planned as justices' chambers. _hall of records:_ space vacated by the county clerk, at present housed in the hall of records, would provide twenty-five per cent. additional room for the surrogate's court and the registrar. should a new structure of the same height as the court house be erected at some future date, and set back from court square and fulton street, the space available for those departments would be nearly doubled. _municipal building:_ a building on the plaza site about eight stories high, would have a floor area equivalent to the building now planned to be placed on the joralemon street site. it would adequately house all of the administrative departments and bureaus. the chief officials would doubtless remain in borough hall. borough hall could be used entirely for administrative business as the appellate division would move to the new court house. frederic b. pratt edward m. bassett frank m. brooks alexander mckinny frank c. munson james h. post charles a. schieren alfred t. white howard o. wood edward c. blum dated, july th,