CHAPTER VIII.

_Society._

"Our Daisy is a singular girl," said Mrs. Bell to her husband the evening

after Mrs. Lane's party, as they sat alone over the library fire, after

all the young people had retired, and fell to talking about their children,

as parents will.

"Is she? I think most parents would be glad to have a daughter as

'singular.'"

"Yes, I knew you would say that; and I appreciate her as highly as you do;

but nevertheless, sometimes I am puzzled to know what to do with her. If

she gets an idea into that quiet little head of hers, it is hard to modify

it."

"Well, what is it now?"

"It's just this. I don't believe she will ever be willing to go out

anywhere, or even have company at home. I proposed to her to-day that we

should have a little company next week, and she looked absolutely pained,

and said, 'O, mamma, if we could get along without it, I should be so

glad--unless you wish it very much. Or, perhaps, I could stay up stairs.' I

was quite provoked for the moment, and said, 'No, indeed, you couldn't. I

should insist on your entertaining our friends.' And then she was so sorry

she had offended me. She is so good and conscientious, that I can't bear to

thwart her; and yet I am sure it will not be good for her to shut herself

up entirely."

"Oh, well dear," said Mr. Bell, who had the most utter confidence in his

wife's ability to train her children, as he might well have, "she will get

over it in time. Let her go out a little and she will soon learn to like

it."

"No, I am afraid not. Everything she does is done on principle, and unless

I can make society a matter of principle, I am afraid she will never enter

into it at all, her diffidence makes it a positive pain to her to meet

strangers."

"Well, get a principle into it, then, somehow," said Mr. Bell. "You can

manage it; you understand all these matters. I am sure Daisy is just like

you in requiring a principle for everything."

"She is not a bit like me," said Mrs. Bell; but she could not help smiling

nevertheless, and the conversation turned to something else. But the

mother, who was in real difficulty about this matter, carried her

perplexities where she always did, to the throne of grace, and there

obtained light to show her how to act. She knew that nothing in her

children's lives was unimportant in the eyes of the Heavenly Father, and

prayed for wisdom to guide her young daughter aright at this important time

of her life.

The next time that Daisy brought her work basket to her mother's room, for

a "good quiet sit-down," as she expressed it, Mrs. Bell resolved to open

the subject that was on her mind; but the young girl anticipated her design

by saying, "Now, mamma, before we begin the second volume of our Macauley

(how tempting it looks and what lovely readings we will have!) I want to

ask you something."

"Well, dear?"

"I know I troubled you yesterday when you spoke about having company, dear

mamma. I was so sorry afterwards; but if you knew how I dread it, I don't

think you would blame me. I have been thinking about it a great deal since,

and now I want to ask you a question and get one of your real good

answers--a _settling_ answer, mamma. Do you think it is _my duty_ to go

into company? Now begin, please, and tell me all about it;" and Daisy took

up her work and assumed the attitude of a listener, as though she had

referred her question to an oracle, and was waiting for a response.

The mother smiled a happy and gratified smile before she answered. It was

very pleasant to her to see how her sweet daughter deferred to her opinion;

and kissing the fair cheek she said: "I can't answer you in one word,

darling. What do you mean by 'going into company?' Of course you know that

I have no desire to see you absorbed in a round of parties, or even going

often to companies."

"Oh, I know that, mamma; I mean quiet parties, such as you and papa go to;

reading and talking parties, and big sewing societies and musicals."

"You mean going anywhere out of your own family?"

"Yes'm, that is just it. I am so happy at home. I have plenty to do, and

all I want to enjoy. With you and papa and Nelly and our pet Lucy, and the

boys coming home Sundays, what could one wish for more? I am perfectly

happy, mamma."

"And would you never care to make acquaintances, then--to make and receive

calls?"

"Oh, no'm. I dislike calls of all things, except, of course, to go and see

Mrs. Lane, for she asked me to come and see her, mamma, and to go over to

Fanny's to play duets, and to a few other places."

"You are a singular girl, Daisy."

"I know I am," said Daisy, earnestly, dropping her work, "and that's the

very reason why I think it's just as well for me to stay at home. Now, last

night, I'm sure there wasn't a girl there thought of such a thing as being

frightened; except me; but I didn't really enjoy the last part very much;

it was so disagreeable being among so many strangers; and even during the

reading, I wished myself back in our old composition room, where I could

hear Mrs. Lane without being dressed up, and being surrounded by girls

dressed even more than I was."

"And would you like, then, always to live retired at home?"

"Indeed I should, mamma! and I can't see why I may not. We are told not to

love the world," said Daisy in a lower tone. "Why is it not better to keep

out of it entirely?"

"I will tell you, darling, why it is not," said Mrs. Bell, seriously.

"Because our Master did not do so, and we cannot follow His example

perfectly, if we do."

"Was it not the poor and sick that He visited, mamma, chiefly?"

"Yes, dear, and so it should be with us; but He visited, too, the rich and

the high. He seems to have gone wherever His presence was desired, to make

that presence felt by all classes of people, and we ought to imitate Him in

this as in all other things."

"Do you think we can do that?"

"Yes, I think we can in some measure. At any rate, I am sure we ought to

try. Suppose, Daisy, that every one adopted your rule--that every house was

a castle, and no one in it cared for anybody outside. What a selfish world

this would be! Our Christian love would be limited to our own family."

"But I would visit the poor, mamma."

"Yes, and that is by far the most important. But, dear, you have gifts of

mind and heart and education that enable you to do good in other ways than

in ministering to the poor and the ignorant. There are other hearts to

reach, over whom you can have even greater influence, because they

sympathize more entirely with you. You can show forth the love of Christ,

and set a Christian example in your own sphere, darling, where you were

born and brought up, and it would be wrong for my daughter to hide the

talents God has given her under a bushel, and not to care for anyone or

anything outside of these four walls."

Daisy had left her seat and taken her favorite place at her mother's feet,

and now looking up into her face, she said, earnestly, "You are right,

mamma, as you always are. But poor me! I would rather face an army, it

seems to me, than a roomful of people. I know what you are going to

say--all the more my duty--and I shall try with all my might."

"My darling, in every roomful of people there are some whom you can cheer

and please; and even Christ pleased not Himself. Think of that, and it will

give you strength to overcome your timidity. You can serve your Master in

some way, be sure of it. And you can learn much from others. You would not

develop all round, but would be a one-sided character, if you had only

books and your own family for companions."

"Mamma, let us have the company. I am ashamed that I have been so cowardly.

You shall see how hard I will try."

Hon. John Whitehead.

Our grave and reverend scholar and historian, taking his place later among

_Historians_, has surprised and delighted us all by appearing suddenly in a

new character, writing a very lively, graphic, and, of course, instructive

story for boys; "A Fishing Trip to Barnegat", which we find in the _St.

Nicholas_ for August, 1892. The following is an extract:

FROM "A FISHING TRIP TO BARNEGAT."

"Now this fish of yours, Jack," said the uncle, "is not only called the

toad-fish and the oyster-fish, but, sometimes, the grunting toad-fish.

There are species of it found all over the world, but this is the regular

American toad-fish.

"This fish of mine is called the weakfish. Notice its beautiful colors,

brownish blue on its back, with irregular brown spots, the sides silvery,

and the belly white. It grows from one to three feet long and is a very

sharp biter. When one takes the hook, there is no difficulty in knowing

when to pull in. Why it is called the weakfish, I do not know, unless

because when it has been out of the water its flesh softens and soon

becomes unfit for food. When eaten soon after it is caught, it is very

good."

Just as Uncle John finished his little lecture, an exclamation from Will,

who had baited with a piece of the crab, and dropped his line into the

water, attracted their attention. Not quite so impetuous as Jack, he landed

his prize more carefully, and stood looking at it with wonder, hardly

knowing what to say. At last he called out:

"Well, what have I caught?"

It was a beautiful fish, though entirely different from Uncle John's. It

had a small head and the funniest little tail that ever was seen. Its back

was of a bright, brown color, but its belly was almost pure white; it was

quite round and flat, with a rough skin.

"Turn him over on his back, and rub him gently," said the captain. "Do it

softly, and watch him."

Will complied and gently rubbed him. Immediately the fish began swelling

and as Will continued the rubbing it grew larger and larger until Will

feared that the fish would burst its little body.

"Well," he said, "I never saw anything like that, Captain! Do tell me what

this is."

"This we call, here in Barnegat, the balloon-fish. It is elsewhere called

the puffer, swell-fish, and globe-fish. One kind is called the

sea-porcupine, because of its being covered with short, sharp spines. It is

of no value for food."

Jack thought his time had come to catch another prodigy, and when his hook

had been re-baited by the skipper, he dropped his line into the water, and

was soon rewarded by another bite. Using more caution this time, he landed

his fish securely on deck instead of over the sail, and exclaimed:

"Wonders will never cease! I don't know what I've got now, but I suppose

that Captain John can tell!"

Mrs. John King Duer.

Mrs. Duer, whose family as well as herself has long been associated with

Morristown, has published, in Morristown, in 1880, a short story entitled

"The Robbers of the Woods, by Grandmother". It is a pretty, fascinating

tale for children, in which the winsome innocence of two loving boys charm

away all the cruelty of the "Robbers of the Woods". It is only thirty

minutes reading and yet the story leaves after it an impression of the

tender beauty of childhood.

The following extract is expressive both of the touching pathos and of a

certain nicety of description which belongs pre-eminently to Mrs. Duer.

FROM "THE ROBBERS OF THE WOODS."

The sun was up and the room quite light when Carl opened his eyes at the

touch of a hand on his shoulder. "It is daylight now my little man and we

must be getting you on your way home ere long, but first come and get some

breakfast." The boys were soon dressed, and after saying a short prayer in

which they thanked God for his goodness in making the robbers so kind to

them, they opened the door and found themselves again in the hall and with

a substantial meal before them. Having eaten enough and all being ready,

the man who found them in the woods now came near, and putting his large

brown hand gently on Carl's arm, he said, "My boys, before I can open that

door you must let me tie a cloth over your eyes, and consent to let it be

there till we tell you to take it off. No harm shall come to you, for I

myself am going to take you through the woods and not leave you till I put

you on the road that leads to your mother's door." When Eddie first heard

that his eyes were to be blindfolded, he began to cry and clung tightly to

his brother, fearing to look about him "lest one of the robbers should be

there to cut my poor little head off," as he whispered to Carl. But when

Carl said, "Eddie, you must be good and believe what these men say. They

are not going to harm us and we are going straight home to mother. See I

will put the bandage on your eyes myself, and will sit close to you and

hold your hand all the time." He then tied a clean handkerchief, which the

man gave him, close over Eddie's eyes and allowed the man to do the same to

him. They then were led out of the hall.

They heard the heavy door close after them, and felt the cool, morning air

blow over their faces, then the boys knew they were outside the stone wall.

Soon they were lifted up, and put in a wagon, and a man's voice close to

them said: "Boys, I am going to put your little cart in the wagon too, so

that you may get it home safely." When all was ready, the wagon began to

move away, and as they drove off, they heard the voices of the robbers

calling after them, "good-bye, brave boys, we wish you good luck."

Little Eddie sat quite still beside Carl; as they drove away he held tight

fast to his brother, and neither of them spoke a word.

They were astonished at all they had seen and heard, while they were in the

robbers' castle, and now they were once more in the free and open woods,

they could not do as they pleased, but sat with their eyes bound up, not

knowing where they were going. Carl did not doubt the words of the men who

told him that no harm should come to him, but at times he had to comfort

and assure poor little Eddie, for he sat trembling with fear. After they

had driven several miles, and the man who was with them had answered their

questions as to how far they were from home now, the wagon stopped and the

man got out saying, "Now boys, you are on the road that leads direct to

your home and I am going to leave you very soon, but before I go you must

promise me not to untie the bandage from your eyes, till you hear a long

whistle, which will blow from my horn, after leaving you; you will then

undo the bandage, and find something beside you to take to your mother."

Saying this, the man took the boys from the wagon, and setting them

carefully down, he lifted their cart out also and shaking hands with the

still astonished boys, and wishing them good-bye, he sprang into the wagon

and they heard him drive rapidly along the road.

They sat for some time very quiet, until the loud, long whistle from a

distant horn told them the time of their captivity was at an end, and

hastily tearing off the bandage from their eyes they looked eagerly around

on all sides. Not a vestige of the wagon could be seen. It had been turned

just at the spot where they had been left, and whether it went back the

same way, or took another road, they never knew. But what was their

surprise, when they turned to look for their own little cart, to see beside

it a pile of wood cut just so as to fit in, and on top of the pile a

package containing many pieces of money in bright shining gold. This was

the present they were told to "take back to their mother." Carl's heart

gave a great bound of joy, for he knew how sorely his dear mother needed

help, and he knew now that these men were her friends, and would never harm

them.

They had scarcely recovered from their surprise, and had just begun to load

the little cart with the well-cut wood, when sounds of voices were heard,

and the boys could distinctly hear their own names called. They knew it was

the neighbors who were out searching for them, and soon saw them coming out

in the open space where they stood.

* * * * *

The neighbors were heartily glad to find the boys safe and well, and

surprised at the wonderful things they had to tell of all that had befallen

them.

Madame de Meisner.

Many Morristonians will remember well Miss Sophie Radford, first as a

little girl, living in the old Doughty House on Mt. Kemble avenue, then

owned and occupied by her grandfather, Mr. Joseph Lovell, who purchased it

of the Doughty estate and lived in it for a long period of time.

Afterwards, Miss Radford is recalled as a charming girl and a belle in

Washington Society, whence her father, Rear Admiral Radford, U. S. N., went

from here, and where she met and married the handsome and elegant Secretary

of the Russian Legation, M. de Meisner. Their marriage was performed first

in the Episcopal church and afterwards with the ceremony of the Greek

church, at her father's house, it being a law of Russia, with regard to

every officer of the Empire, that the marriage ceremony of the Greek church

shall be always used, a law like "that of the Medes and Persians, that

altereth not".

Both M. and Mme. de Meisner were in Morristown a few years ago and met many

friends. It is since then, that they went to Russia and there, after a

delightful reception and experience, Mme. de Meisner was inspired with the

idea of writing "The Terrace of Mon Desir".

It was published in the fall of 1886, by Cuppies, Upham & Co., of Boston.

A curious fact about this book is that it was Mme. de Meisner's first

appearance in the field of literature and she had never before contributed

even the briefest article to the press.

"The Terrace of Mon Desir" is a pretty love story, gracefully written. The

opening scenes are laid in Peterhoff, near St. Petersburg, and where is the

summer residence of the Czar. The author thus finds an opportunity of

describing a charming social life among the higher classes, with which,

though an American girl, but married to a Russian, she seems to be and is

perfectly at home, having it is evident taken kindly to the new and

interesting situations of her adopted country. The characters are

delightfully and simply natural and the combinations are vivacious and

sparkling, by which quality American women are distinguished, and in which

characteristic foreigners find an indescribable charm.

Mme. de Meisner herself has a bright animation in conversation. Some

authors talk well only on paper, but to this observation the author of "The

Terrace of Mon Desir" is a marked exception, as all those who know her

graceful, easy flow of language will recognize.

The continuity of the story forbids an extract.

Miss Isabel Stone.

Miss Stone who has long lived and moved in our society, has written, beside

the poem already given, many bright papers and stories for children which

have been published in various magazines and journals, among them _The

Observer_; _Life_; _Little Ones in the Nursery_, edited by Oliver Optic;

_The Press_, of Philadelphia; _The Troy Press_ and _The Christian Weekly_.

These stories and other writings were published under an assumed name.

In 1885, she published a very clever booklet entitled Who Was Old Mother

Hubbard? A Modern Sermon from the _Portsmouth_ (Eng.) _Monitor_ and a

Refutation by an M. M. C., New York; G. P. Putnam Sons.

This booklet had a very large sale and went through several editions. The

story of this publication is interesting. "The Modern Sermon" appeared

anonymously, first in one of our prominent magazines. It was written in

England and traced to its origin. This was read at a meeting of the

Mediaeval Club, (a literary club of some celebrity in Morristown), at the

house of Mr. John Wood, one of its members. Miss Stone was at once inspired

to write the "Refutation"; which was read at her own house by Mr. John

Wood, arrayed in characteristic costume for the occasion. (For the benefit

of those who may not know him, we may add that Mr. John Wood is one of

Morristown's best readers and amateur actors.)

We give the "Refutation" which is a clever dissection of the subject. As "A

Modern Sermon illustrates the method upon which some Parsons Construct

their Discourses", so "A Refutation" appears "in the Combative, Lucid and

Argumentative Style of Some Others".

REFUTATION.

MY DEAR HEARERS: It is my purpose this evening to give to you the result of

many hours of thought and consultation of various authors regarding the

subject to which our attention has been lately called.

While I hesitate to engage in the controversial spirit of the day, I feel

it my duty to expound to you the truth and to unmask any heresy that may be

gaining ground.

The discourse to which I allude was upon the text,--

"Old Mother Hubbard went to the cupboard,

To get her poor dog a bone;

But when she got there the cupboard was bare,

And so the poor dog got none."

I propose to prove to you this evening that all its arguments were founded

on false premises; that the _whole picture_ drawn of the subject of our

text--viz., old Mother Hubbard--was diametrically the reverse of the

reality; in short, to give _a complete refutation of the text_ to all those

who listened to those first erroneous statements.

_Firstly_, Old Mother Hubbard was _not_ a widow.

I am at a loss to understand why our learned brother should so have drawn

upon his imagination as to represent her as such, when, as I shall endeavor

to set before you _conclusively_ this evening, it is _distinctly_ stated in

the text that she was the wife of an _ogre_!

My friends, in those days _men_ and _husbands_ were designated by the term

"poor dog;" and, indeed, the lightest scholar knows that the term has

descended to the present day and is often appropriated by a man himself

under certain existing circumstances.

Now, that this "poor dog" of a husband was an ogre is abundantly proved by

the fact that Mother Hubbard provided for him bones.

Yes! bones! my friends; but--_they_--_were_--_human_--bones!

Deep research has convinced me of this fact. I find that in those days

ogres did not catch and kill their own meat, as is commonly supposed. They

were but human, my friends, and, like the rest of humanity, preferred

rather to purchase labor than perform it. They, therefore, employed their

own individual butchers; but, with rare wisdom, they chose some carnivorous

animal to supply their table.

In proof of this, we come, _Secondly_, to the word cupboard, as mentioned

in the text,--

"Old Mother Hubbard went to the cupboard,

To get her poor dog a bone."

This word cupboard is in our present version misspelt, owing to some fault

in copying from the original, and thus is rendered c-u-p-b-o-a-r-d; but the

word properly should be spelt c-u-b-b-e-d. This is a compound word, derived

from cub--a young bear--and bed, or deposit, as we speak of the bed of a

river.

This was a _bone_ deposit--a place where the ogre's food was deposited by

the cub.

A young cub was a less expensive butcher than a bear, as nowadays labor is

cheaper from the young aspirant than from the assured professional.

Therefore they were the usual employees.

But this ogre, though evidently in the habit of employing a cub in this

department, had now become dissatisfied and procured the more satisfactory

service of an old bear; for, if you will carefully examine the text, you

will see that the meaning is _obvious_, for, as though to insure all its

readers from misunderstanding, you will see that it is _distinctly_ stated

that--

"The cub-bed was _bear_."

Now we come _Thirdly_ to the word "none."

"And so the poor dog got none."

This word in the original stands for two things--first, n-o-n-e, meaning

nothing, which was the heretical sense deducted by my opponent, and the

other and correct sense being n-u-n--a woman with black veil, generally of

tender years; and Mother Hubbard, who intended to supply her lord's table

with one small bone, found that instead the bear had secured the bones of a

_whole nun_!

_Fourthly_ and lastly, it is clear from the words "poor dog," that the ogre

was poor, but _not_ Mother Hubbard.

No, my hearers, _evidently_ she was _rich_, evidently _she_ held the

purse-strings, and the ogre had stealthily supplied his table with a

luxury, and his house with a steward, for which he individually was

incapable of providing the means.

This is _clearly_ the fact from the words of the text, for you will notice

that it was _when_ she got there--not _before_, but _when_ she got there,

that she found the change that had been made in the household

arrangements.

And then, doubtless, ensued a scene such as some "poor dogs" nowadays

understand only too well!

And now, my friends, we come to the moral. It is _not_ to beware of widows

as my opponent tried to prove, but for you, my hearers, on one hand, to

beware of marrying a poor but extravagant dog, and you, on the other, to

beware of marrying a rich but penurious wife.

Augustus Wood.

Charles P. Sherman.

Miss Helen M. Graham.

It is scarcely necessary to state the fact that Mr. Augustus Wood is a

native of Morristown, belonging as he does to a very old and well-known

family, or that he is the author of a little volume entitled "Cupid on

Crutches". This is a summer story of life at Narragansett Pier and makes

one of a group of light novels which we will give in succession.

"A BACHELOR'S WEDDING TRIP."

BY "HIMSELF."

"Himself" we recognize as Mr. Charles Sherman, then a bachelor, who

cleverly dedicates the book in these words: "To the Unmarried: as Instance

of the Bliss which may be Theirs, and to the Married, as Reminiscent of THE

trip, These Threaded Sketches are Fraternally Dedicated by the Author".

The third of the group is

GUY HERNDON OR "A TALE OF GETTYSBURG."

BY "ELAYNE."

Elayne, we know, is Miss Helen M. Graham, one of Morristown's Society girls

who spends much of her time in New York.

This "Tale of Gettysburg" is the first venture of Miss Graham into the

field of literature. Her choice of subject indicates that she is in touch

with the growing realization among our novelists of how wide and fruitful

a field is presented to them in the events of our civil war. The few

graphic pictures already given by them of the social and other conditions

of those stirring times, will be more and more valued by the present

generation, and by those to come, as the years go on.

Other Novelists and Story Writers.

Among the poets, we have already mentioned as writers also of stories, many

of them for children and young people,--

_Mrs. M. Virginia Donaghe McClurg_,

_Miss Emma F. R. Campbell_,

_Miss Hannah More Johnson_,

And _Mr. William T. Meredith_,

the last being the author of a summer novel, "Not of Her Father's Race".

_Rev. James M. Freeman, D. D._,

who, in addition to his editorial work and more serious writing, has

published more than thirty small juvenile works, written under the name of

"Robin Ranger", and which are all very great favorites with children, and

_Mrs. Julia McNair Wright_,

who, besides her many volumes on many subjects, has written novels, among

them, "A Wife Hard Won," published by Lippincott, and a large number of

stories for young people, found in many Sunday School libraries, as well as

stories on the subject of Temperance, which are found in the collected

libraries of Temperance societies.

TRANSLATORS.

Mrs. Adelaide S. Buckley.

Mrs. Buckley, who has already been numbered among our _Poets_, has

translated a German story called "Sought and Found" from the original work

of Golo Raimund, which has passed to its second edition. The translator

says, in her four line preface, "This romance was translated because of its

rare simplicity and beauty, and is published that those who have not seen

it in the original may enjoy it also."

One never takes up these charming little German stories without exclaiming,

no other country-people ever write in the same sweet, simple way! The

reason is evident to those who have lived among Germans and experienced

their unaffected hospitality. There is a peculiar simplicity of home life

even among the nobility. A friend says: "I so well remember now, a lovely

morning visit, in particular, to a little, gentle German lady in her

beautiful drawing-room which contained the treasures of centuries. No one,

I am sure, could have helped being struck by her gentle simplicity and

unaffected courtesy. She came in dressed in the plainest of black dresses,

a white apron tied around her waist, and on her head the simplest of

morning caps. But her sweet German language,--how beautiful it seemed, as

in the low, musical voice which bespoke her breeding, she talked of her own

German poets; of Walther von der Vogelweide and the great Goethe and

Schiller, of Auerbach and Richter and modern story writers." Afterwards, in

speaking of the charm and beauty of such simplicity, the friend added,

"Yes, and she belongs to one of the oldest noble, hereditary families of

Germany, and carries the sixteen quarterings upon the family shield, which,

to those who understand German heraldry, means the longest unmixed German

descent. We could not help contrasting such quiet manners with many of the

artificial assumptions and the aggressive boldness found that winter in

Dresden." Therefore we always hail with pleasure translations of these

stories of German life among all classes. Though to translate requires no

creative power, translating is in some respects more difficult than

creating, for the reason that to translate demands a quick comprehension

and intuitive discernment of the spirit of a foreign language, of the

conception of the writer and of the national life which the language

embodies. And we must remember that it is in the power of interpretation

that woman especially excels.

This little story is essentially well rendered, with the animation and

vivacity of the original, and it has great merit in preserving its German

spirit, that sentiment which is so marked and so unlike any other people.

What Dr. Johnson said of translation had a ring of truth as had all his

mighty utterances, namely: "Philosophy and science may be translated

perfectly and history, so far as it does not reach oratory, but poetry can

never be translated without losing its most essential qualities." It would

seem then that to know the poetry of a people one must read it in the

original language, which every one surely cannot do. Mrs. Buckley however,

recognizing this subtle quality of the poetry of a language, has left the

little verses of the story untouched, wisely giving the translation at the

bottom of the page. A very lovely translation it is however and after a

short passage from the book, "Sought and Found", we shall give another

poetic translation of the poem "Im Arm der Liebe", by Georg Scheurlin.

The following is a short passage from the story:

EXTRACT FROM "SOUGHT AND FOUND."

TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF GOLO RAIMUND.

Upon the table lay Veronica's picture, which in the meantime had been sent.

The flowers, painted by her hand, appeared to him like a friendly greeting.

He took it up and regarded it a long time; then, followed a sudden

inspiration, he wrote upon the back:

(Here follows the German verse, the translation below:)

Thy merry jest is gentle as the May,

Thy tender heart a lily of the dell;

Fragrant as the rose thy inmost soul,

Thy wondrous song a sweet-toned bell.

As in sport he subscribed his name; and then, as this homage, which had so

long existed in his heart, suddenly expressed in words, stood before him,

black upon white it was to him as if another had opened his eyes and he

must guard the newly discovered secret. He placed the picture in a

portfolio, in order to lock it in his writing-desk, and his eye fell upon

the journal which had so singularly come into his hands. He laid the

portfolio beside it. Did they not belong together? Did not the mysterious

author resemble Veronica?

Like a revelation it flashed over him and so powerfully affected his

imagination that the blood mounted hotly to his temples, and, in spite of

the severe cold, he threw open the window that he might have more air.

"If it were she!" thought he; restlessly striding up and down, and yet

exultant that he had now found a trace which could be followed.

THE ARM OF LOVE.

TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF GEORG SCHEURLIN.

A young wife sits by a cradle nest,

Her fair boy smiling on her breast;

In the quiet room draws on the night,

And she rocks and sings by the soft lamplight;

On mother bosom the rest is deep;

In the arm of love--so fall asleep.

In the cool vale, 'neath sunny sky,

We sit alone, my own and I;

A song of joy wells in my breast,

Ah, heart to heart, how sweet the rest!

The brooklets ripple, the breezes sweep;

In the arm of love--so fall asleep.

From the churchyard tolls the solemn bell,

For the pilgrim has finished his journey well;

Here lays he down the staff, long pressed;

In the bosom of earth, how calm the rest!

Above the casket the earth they heap;

In the arm of love--so fall asleep.

Miss Margaret N. Garrard.

It must be a poet who shall translate a poet and so naturally we find Miss

Garrard as well as Mrs. Buckley, already in our group of "Poets".

The difficulty of reproducing well, in metrical forms, thoughts from the

poetry of another language, is so great, that we give with pride the

translation of Miss Garrard of one of Goethe's sweet wild-wood songs, in

which he excelled.

THE BROOK.

TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF GOETHE.

Little brook, where wild flowers drink,

Rushing past me, swift and clear--

Thoughtful stand I on the brink--

"Where's thy home? Whence com'st thou here?"

I come from out the rock's dark gloom,

My way lies o'er the flower-strewn plain;

And in my bosom there is room

To mirror heaven's sweet face again.

Pain, sorrow, trouble have I none;

I wander onward, blithe and free--

He who has called me from the stone

Will to the end my guardian be.

Other Translators.

_Hon. John Whitehead_ has translated considerably from the French and

German, having used these translations in several of his writings, but

individually they have not been published. He aided in translating the

"History of the War of the Rebellion in North Western Virginia", which was

written in German by Major F. J. Mangold, of the Prussian Army. The book

was a monograph published by Major Mangold in Germany, but never published

here. This translation was largely used by Judge Whitehead in his published

articles on "The Fitz John Porter Case."

_Miss Karch_, a German lady long a resident of Morristown, was also a

translator, but it has not been possible to procure the details of her

work. It is nine years since Miss Karch returned to Heilbronn, Germany,

where she is now living. For the fifteen years preceding her return, she

had been a resident of Morristown as a teacher of the German and French

languages. Says a friend: "She was a conscientious, accomplished and true

woman, intensely loyal as a true German, self-sacrificing, patient and

kindly generous in bestowing her softening and refining influences, upon

those who needed them."

LEXICOGRAPHER.

Charlton T. Lewis, LL. D.

The great work of Dr. Lewis is his Latin Dictionary, published in 1879, as

"Lewis and Short's Revision of Andrew's Freund". This is recognized as the

most useful and convenient modern Latin-English Lexicon.

Quite recently Dr. Lewis has brought out a Latin Dictionary for _schools_,

which is not an abridgement of the larger work, but an original work on a

definite plan of its own. "It has the prestige", says a critic, "of having

been accepted in advance by the Clarendon Press of Oxford, and adopted

among their publications in place of a similar lexicon projected and begun

by themselves. Thus it may be said to be published in England under the

official patronage of the University of Oxford".

Dr. Lewis also published in 1886 "A History of Germany From the Earliest

Times".

He ranks among the first Greek scholars of the country, having been for

many years a member of the well-known Greek Club of New York, of which the

late Rev. Howard Crosby D. D. was pioneer and president.

He also ranks high as a Shakesperian scholar and critic, and as a poet.

From his poem of "Telemachus", some lines are transcribed among the

poetical selections of this book.

Dr. Lewis has made a profound study of the subject of prison reform and has

been, and is, an active worker in that direction, in the New York Prison

Association, being on the Executive Board of that Association.

In Stedman and Hutchinson's "Library of American Literature", Dr. Lewis is

represented by a paper on the "Influence of Civilization on Duration of

Life".

HISTORIANS AND ESSAYISTS.

William Cherry.

ANCIENT CHRONICLER.

William Cherry is a veritable "Old Mortality", judging from a unique volume

found in the Morristown Library. This ancient sexton of the First

Presbyterian Church, was a true wanderer among graves. It is said by those

who remember, or who had it from their fathers, that the old house

adjoining the Lyceum Building is the one in which Mr. Cherry lived and no

doubt reflected on the uncertainty of life, while he compiled his

melancholy record.

The following is the title of the old volume published by him and printed

by Jacob Mann in the year 1806:

"Bill of Mortality: Being a Register of all the Deaths, which have occurred

in the Presbyterian and Baptist Congregations of Morristown, New Jersey;

For Thirty-Eight Years Past, Containing (with but few exceptions) the Cause

of every Disease. This Register, for the First Twenty-Two Years, was kept

by the Rev. Dr. Johnes, since which Time, by _William Cherry_, the Present

Sexton of the Presbyterian Church at Morris-Town".

"Time brushes off our lives with sweeping wings."--_Hervey._

Some of the causes of disease given are as follows:

"Decay of Nature"; "Teething"; "Old Age"; "A Swelling"; "Mortification";

"Sudden"; "Phrenzy"; "Casual"; "Poisoned by Night-Shade Berries";

"Lingering Decay", &c. We find no mention of "Heart Failure".

This curious and valuable volume needs no further comment.

[Illustration: THE WASHINGTON HEADQUARTERS.

FROM GARDEN AND FOREST.

Copyright 1892, by the GARDEN AND FOREST PUBLISHING CO.]

Rev. Joseph F. Tuttle, D. D.

To the Rev. Joseph F. Tuttle, D. D. we are indebted for the invaluable

chronicles of events, of the life of the people, and of Washington and his

army in Morristown during the Revolutionary period. Apparently, all this

interesting story, in its details, would have been lost to us, except for

his indefatigable zeal in collecting from the lips of living men and women,

the eye-witnesses of what he relates, or from their immediate descendants,

the story he gives us with such pictorial charm and beauty, warm from his

own imaginary dwelling in the period of which he writes.

For the following sketch of this author we are indebted to the historian

who follows, the Hon. Edmund D. Halsey.

Rev. Joseph F. Tuttle, D. D., son of Rev. Jacob and Elizabeth Ward Tuttle,

was born at Bloomfield, N. J., March 12th, 1818. Fitted for college

principally at Newark Academy, he graduated at Marietta College with first

honors of his class in 1841. He entered Lane Seminary and was licensed to

preach in 1844. In 1847 he was called to pastorate of church at Rockaway,

N. J., as associate to his aged father-in-law, Rev. Dr. Barnabas King. He

left Rockaway to accept the Presidency of Wabash College in 1862, and,

after thirty years in that position, resigned in 1892.

During his fifteen years in this county he was a most voluminous and

acceptable writer for the press--writing for the _Observer_, _Evangelist_,

_Tribune_ and other papers. But he is principally remembered more for his

work as a local historian. He wrote, "The Early History of Morris County";

"Biographical Sketch of Gen. Winds"; "Washington in Morris County";

"History of the Presbyterian Church at Rockaway"; "Life of William Tuttle";

"Revolutionary Fragments", (a series of articles published in _The Newark

Sentinel of Freedom_); "Early History of Presbyterianism in Morris County",

and other shorter articles. At the time his Revolutionary articles were

published there were still men living who had personal knowledge of the

events of that era and he gathered an immense amount of material which but

for him would have been lost.

The following from the pen of Dr. Tuttle appeared in _The Newark Daily

Advertiser_ of April, 1883:

A FINE RELIC AND A FINE POEM.

Thirty years ago and more my surplus energy was devoted to the innocent

delights of hunting up places, people, facts and traditions associated

with the American Revolution as preserved in Morris County. Some very

charming rides were taken to Pompton, Mendham, Baskingridge, Spring Valley,

Kimball Mountain, Singack, and other places. My rides made me certain that

Morris County is both rich in beautiful scenery and historic associations.

The results of these rides appeared in a series of "Revolutionary

Fragments" printed in the _Advertiser_, as also in some elaborate papers

before the Historical Society.

One day I visited the Ford Mansion, and met that polished and elegant

gentleman, the late Henry A. Ford, Esq., then its proprietor. He was the

son of Judge Gabriel H. Ford, grandson of Colonel Jacob Ford, Jr., whose

widow was the hostess of Washington, the Winter of 1779-80, great-grandson

of Colonel Jacob Ford, Sr., who built the "Ford Mansion," and

great-great-grandson of John Ford, of Hunterdon County, whose wife was

Elizabeth who was brought to Philadelphia from Axford, England, when she

was a child a year old. Her father was drowned by falling from the plank on

which he was walking from the ship to the shore. Philadelphia then had but

one house in it. Mrs. Ford's second husband was Lindsley, and "the widow

Elizabeth Lindsley died at the house of her son, Col. Jacob Ford, Sr.,

April 21, 1772, aged ninety-one years and one month," and so the courtly

master of the "Ford Mansion," when I called to visit it, was of the fifth

generation from the child-emigrant, whose father was drowned in the

Delaware, in 1682.

The pleasure of the visit was greatly enhanced by the attentions of Miss

Louisa, daughter of the gentleman named. She afterward became the wife of

Judge Ogden of Paterson. The father and daughter with delightful courtesy

took me over the famous house and associated in my memory the rooms and

halls, and even the antique furniture with the family's most illustrious

guest. I was especially interested in the old mirror that had hung in

Washington's bedroom. Miss Ford produced a poem on that mirror, written, I

think, by an aunt, and at my request she read it. She was a charming reader

and promised me a copy.

Under date of Paterson, October 31st, 1856, Mrs. Ogden was kind enough to

send me the promised copy with a note apologizing for the delay and adding:

"I think, however, you will find the poetry has not spoiled by keeping." I

have not ceased to be thankful that my first visit to the Ford Mansion was

so pleasantly associated with the attentions of the father and daughter,

both of whom have since died.

The mirror is a fine relic still to be seen with other elegant old

furniture, belonging to the Ford family, at the "Washington Quarters" at

Morristown, and I am sure all will regard the poem which pleased me so

much thirty years ago as "one that has not spoiled by keeping."

ON AN OLD MIRROR USED BY WASHINGTON AT HIS HEADQUARTERS IN MORRISTOWN.

Old Mirror! speak and tell us whence

Thou comest, and then, who brought thee thence.

Did dear old England give thee birth?

Or merry France, the land of mirth?

In vain another should we seek

At all like thee--thou thing antique.

Of the old mansion thou seem'st part;

Indeed, to me, its very heart;

For in thy face, though dimmed with age,

I read my country's brightest page.

Five generations, all have passed,

And yet, old Mirror, thou dost last;

The young, the old, the good, the bad,

The gay, the gifted and the sad

Are gone; their hopes, their sighs, their fears

Are buried deep with smiles and tears.

Then speak; old Mirror! thou hast seen

Full many a noble form, I ween;

Full many a soldier, tall and brave,

Now lying in a nameless grave;

Full many a fairy form and bright

Hath flitted by when hearts were light;

Full many a bride--whose short life seemed

Too happy to be even dreamed;

Full many a lord and titled dame,

Bearing full many an honored name;

And tell us, Mirror, how they dressed--

Those stately dames, when in their best?

If robes and sacques the damsels wore,

And sweeping skirts in days of yore?

But tell us, too, for we _must_ hear

Of _him_ whom all the world revere.

Thou sawest him when the times so dark

Had made upon his brow their mark;

Those fearful times, those dreary days,

When all seemed but a tangled maze;

His noble army, worn with toils,

Giving their life blood to the soils.

Disease and famine brooding o'er,

His country's foe e'en at his door;

But ever saw him noble, brave,

Seeking her freedom or his grave.

His was the heart that never quailed;

His was the arm that never failed!

Old Mirror! thou hast seen what we

Would barter all most dear to see;

The great, the good, the _noblest_ one;

Our own _immortal Washington_!

Well may we gaze--for now in thee

Relies of the great past we see,

Well may we gaze--for ne'er again,

Old Mirror, shall we see such men;

And when we too have lived our day,

Like those before us passed away,

Still, valued Mirror, may'st thou last

To tell our children of the past;

Still thy dimmed face, thy tarnished frame

Thy honored house and time proclaim;

And ne'er may sacrilegious hand,

While Freedom claims this as her land

One stone or pebble rashly throw

To lay thee, honored Mirror, low.

Y. F.

Hon. Edmund D. Halsey.

Mr. Halsey, historian, biographer, as well as lawyer, has published our

most valuable "History of Morris County", and is considered an authority

upon that subject, his accuracy being unquestioned. By his sterling

integrity and superior intellectual ability, he has, in the practice of his

profession, gained the entire confidence of the community in which, as a

lawyer, he has passed the greater part of his life.

Included in his literary work are "Personal Sketches" of Governor Mahlon

Dickerson, Colonel Joseph Jackson, and others; "The Revolutionary Army in

Morris County in 1779-'80"; and a brief sketch of the Washington

Headquarters entitled "History of the Washington Association of New

Jersey", published in Morristown in 1891.

Mr. Halsey also assisted Mr. William O. Wheeler in the publication of a

book of unique interest and of unusual value, especially to genealogists

and antiquarians, the title of which reads "Inscriptions on Tombstones and

Monuments in the Burying Grounds of the First Presbyterian Church and St.

John's Church at Elizabeth, New Jersey".

Mr. Halsey is a prominent member of the "Historical Society of New Jersey",

as well as of the "Washington Association of New Jersey".

We quote from his "History of the Washington Association" the following

"brief history of the title of the property".

FROM "HISTORY OF THE WASHINGTON ASSOCIATION OF NEW JERSEY."

Colonel Jacob Ford, Senior--prominent as a merchant, iron manufacturer, and

land owner, who was president Judge of the County Court from the formation

of the County in 1740 until his death in 1777, and who presided over the

meeting, June 27, 1774, which appointed the first "Committee of

Correspondence"--conveyed the tract of 200 acres surrounding the house to

his son, Jacob Ford, junior, March 24, 1762. In 1768 he conveyed to him the

Mount Hope mines and meadows where the son built the stone mansion still

standing. In 1773 Jacob Ford, junior, rented this Mount Hope property for

fifty years to John Jacob Faesch and David Wrisbery, and these men

proceeded to build the furnace afterward useful to the patriot army in

supplying it with cannon and cannon-balls.

Colonel Jacob Ford, junior, after making this lease returned to Morristown,

and, probably with his father's aid, began at once the erection of these

Headquarters, and had just completed the building when the war broke out.

He was made Colonel of the Eastern Battalion of the Morris County Militia

and was detailed to cover Washington's retreat across New Jersey in the

"mud rounds" of 1776--a service accomplished with honor and success. In

this or in similar service, Colonel Ford contracted pneumonia, of which he

died January 10, 1777, and was buried with military honors by order of

Washington. He left a widow, Theodosia Ford, and five young children. She

was the daughter of Rev. Timothy Johnes, whose pastorate of the First

church extended from 1742 to 1794, and who is said to have administered the

Communion to Washington. This lady in 1779-80 offered to Washington the

hospitality of her house, and here was his Headquarters from about December

1, 1779 to June 1780. In 1805, Judge Gabriel H. Ford, one of the sons of

Colonel Jacob, purchased his brothers' and sister's interest in the

property and made it his home until his death in 1849. By his will dated

January 27, 1848, Gabriel H. Ford, devised this, his homestead to his son,

Henry A. Ford, who continued to occupy it until his death, which occurred

April 22, 1872. From the heirs of Henry A. Ford title was derived to the

four gentlemen who organized the Association, namely: Governor Theodore F.

Randolph, Hon. George A. Halsey, General N. N. Halsted, and William Van

Vleck Lidgerwood, Esq.

Hon. John Whitehead.

BIOGRAPHER AND HISTORIAN.

Of Mr. Whitehead's new departure into the field of romance, we have already

spoken and a portion of his story "A Fishing Trip to Barnegat", is given to

represent him among "Novelists and Story Writers".

His literary work of many years covers a variety of departments in

literature.

In the _Northern Monthly Magazine_ which began some years ago, as a

periodical of high order we find running through several numbers a "History

of the English Language", contributed by Mr. Whitehead, in which he starts

from a true and philosophic premise. It is this: "It would be difficult to

separate any one creation from the whole universe and pronounce that it is

not subject to law." The reader discovers that these magazine articles

contain the germs of all that has been written in many exhaustive works on

the philosophy and growth of language.

For a number of years, Mr. Whitehead was editor of _The Record_, a small

sheet opened by the First Presbyterian Church of Morristown, the value of

which historically increases with each year. For this, he wrote largely,

sketches of prominent men of Revolutionary times and of others connected

with the congregation of the church.

Some important papers were contributed by him to the local press, including

"A Review of Fitz John Porter's Case", in the Morristown _Banner_, also

"Sketches of Morris County Lawyers". A series of "Sketches" was also

published in the _Newark Sunday Call_, entitled "Newark Aforetime",

referring to Newark and Newark people, fifty years ago.

Many of Mr. Whitehead's speeches and addresses have been published, among

them, those given at the Centennial Celebration of the First Presbyterian

Church of Morristown; at the Centennial Celebration of the Presbyterian

Church at Springfield, N. J.; two or three addresses before the Society of

the Sons of the American Revolution, and an address delivered two or three

years ago before the Washington Association of N. J. Of the latter

Association, Mr. Whitehead is an honored member as well as of the

Historical Society of New Jersey.

In the course of his study and writing, we have already mentioned among

"Translators," Mr. Whitehead has made several valuable translations from

German and French authors.

We must not overlook one principal labor which is far more herculean than

we, who are so greatly benefited by it, perhaps fully comprehend, namely,

the Catalogue, in two volumes, of the Library, in which Morristown justly

takes so much pride. This was a voluntary work.

Mr. Whitehead is now engaged on a "History of Morris County", to form one

chapter in a new illustrated "History of New Jersey," to be published by

Colonel U. S. Sharp. He has also in preparation the "History of the First

Presbyterian Church" of Morristown, in which will appear the interesting

proceedings of the Centennial exercises, recently held there.

A series of fine articles on "The Supreme Court of New Jersey" are now

appearing in _The Green Bag_ of Boston. This _Green Bag_ is a magazine

published in the interests of the legal fraternity, as from its significant

name we see, and this magazine is the nearest approach so far made by

Americans towards the traditional appendage of the English barrister,

everywhere seen over the border in Canada, by which, it is well known, he

is always accompanied when he goes to court and while he remains there in

attendance. This bag contains his briefs, papers and other impedimenta

connected with trials. It is not surprising, but it is touching, to find

Boston holding on to this last hope of accomplishing that for which so many

frantic efforts have been made in this country, only to meet with failure.

The last article in this magazine, of the series on "The Supreme Court of

New Jersey", is delightful in expression and in form; it has a fine large

type, is illustrated with well-executed portraits of the judges, in group

and singly, and is altogether most attractive and interesting.

Bayard Tuckerman.

Mr. Tuckerman, who resided for some time in Morristown, and whose ancestry

is associated with artistic and literary taste and genius, is the author of

"The Life of General Lafayette", published in 1889, during his residence

in Morristown, and, a copy of which was presented by the author, in person,

to the Morristown Library. Before this, he published a "History of English

Prose Fiction", in 1882, and after it, in 1889 again, he edited "The Diary

of Philip Hone". This author is now engaged on another book, to be

published in the spring in the "Makers of America" series, with the title

of "Peter Stuyvesant".

"The Diary of Philip Hone" is a charming book, especially to those familiar

with old New York. The editorship of any life requires a talent for

selection and a gift for combining and drawing together much desultory

matter, but when we consider that the two volumes, into which Mr. Tuckerman

compressed his material were less than one-fourth the original diary, which

fills twenty-eight quarto manuscript volumes, the herculean task is at once

apparent. A critic in one of the popular journals says of it: "As a rule

the diary needs little interpretation and it may be welcomed as an

agreeable, gossipy contribution to civic annals, and as a pleasant record

of a citizen of some distinction, parts and usefulness in his generation".

In the "Life of General Lafayette", Mr. Tuckerman has evinced his superior

love of industrious, conscientious study. The book is acknowledged to be

essentially truthful and exceptionally just above anything ever written of

Lafayette. It has been truly said of Mr. Tuckerman that "he tells the

story of Lafayette's life in such a way that the interest increases as it

proceeds" and that "he shows his skill as a biographer in this as in making

both the narrative itself and his own criticism of the subject heighten our

sympathy". He has not allowed himself to be turned from the actual

statement of fact by that peculiar sentiment of the romantic side of

Lafayette's career which has more or less colored the opinions of so many

other biographers. Mr. Tuckerman himself says that "Lafayette's name has

suffered more from the admiration of his friends than from the detraction

of his enemies."

FROM THE "LIFE OF GENERAL LAFAYETTE."

The visit to America was supplemented in the following summer of 1785 by a

journey through Germany and Austria.

* * * * *

Many distinguished officers were met. At one camp, as he (Lafayette) wrote

to Washington, he found Lord Cornwallis, Colonels England, Abercrombie, and

Musgrave; "on our side" Colonel Smith, Generals Duportail and Gouvion; "and

we often remarked, Smith and I, that if we had been unfortunate in our

struggle, we would have cut a poor figure there." Again;

Writing from Valley Forge to the Comte de Broglie, he gave a sad picture

of the poverty and sufferings of the army. "Everything here", he said,

"combines to inspire disgust. At the smallest sign from you I shall return

home". But the misery of Valley Forge never abated one jot of Lafayette's

enthusiasm. The privations which he saw and shared only made him put his

hand the more often into his own pocket, and redouble his efforts to obtain

aid from the treasury of France.

* * * * *

To Lafayette, the happiest portion of this voyage to America was the time

passed in the company of Washington. Hastening from New York immediately on

his arrival, he allowed himself to be delayed only at Philadelphia. "There

is no rest for me," he wrote thence to Washington, "until I go to Mt.

Vernon. I long for the pleasure to embrace you, my dear general; in a few

days I shall be at Mt. Vernon, and I do already feel delighted with so

charming a prospect." Two weeks of a proud pleasure were then passed in the

society of the man who was always to remain his beau ideal. To walk about

the beautiful grounds of Mt. Vernon with its honored master, discussing his

agricultural plans; to sit with him in his library, and listen to his hopes

regarding the nation for which he had done so much, were honors which

Lafayette fully appreciated. He has left on record the feelings of

admiration with which he saw the man who had so long led a great people in

a great struggle retire to private life, with no thought other than

satisfaction at duty performed. And it was a legitimate source of pride to

himself that he had enlisted under his standard before fortune had smiled

upon it, and had worked with all his heart to crown it with victory. The

two men thoroughly knew each other.

The words of Lafayette will be found, in this volume, in the paper on

"George Washington."

* * * * *

He (Washington) responded to Lafayette's demonstrative regard by a sincere

paternal affection. Later in the summer, Lafayette met Washington again,

and visited in his company some of the scenes of the late war. When the

time for parting had come, Washington accompanied his guest as far as

Annapolis in his carriage. There the two friends separated, not to meet

again.

On his return to Mt. Vernon, Washington added to his words of farewell, a

letter in which occur the following passages; "In the moment of our

separation, upon the road as I travelled, and every hour since, I have felt

all that love, respect, and attachment for you, with which length of years,

close connection and your merits have inspired me. I often asked myself, as

our carriages separated, whether that was the last sight I ever should have

of you, and though I wished to say no, my fears answered yes. I called to

mind the days of my youth, and found they had long since fled, to return no

more; that I was now descending the hill I had been fifty-two years

climbing, and that, though I was blest with a good constitution, I was of a

short-lived family, and might soon expect to be entombed in the mansion of

my fathers. These thoughts darkened the shades and gave a gloom to the

picture, and consequently to my prospect of seeing you again. But I will

not repine; I have had my day. * * * * It is unnecessary, I persuade

myself, to repeat to you, my dear Marquis, the sincerity of my regards and

friendship; nor have I words which could express my affection for you, were

I to attempt it. My fervent prayers are offered for your safe and pleasant

passage, happy meeting with Madame de Lafayette and family, and the

completion of every wish of your heart." To these words Lafayette replied

from on board the "Nymphe," on the eve of his departure for France: "Adieu,

adieu, my dear general. It is with inexpressible pain that I feel I am

going to be severed from you by the Atlantic. Everything that admiration,

respect, gratitude, friendship, and filial love can inspire is combined in

my affectionate heart to devote me most tenderly to you. In your friendship

I find a delight which words cannot express. Adieu, my dear general. It is

not without emotion that I write this word, although I know I shall soon

visit you again. Be attentive to your health. Let me hear from you every

month. Adieu, adieu."

Loyall Farragut.

BIOGRAPHER.

With Morristown is associated the beautiful memoir of our great Admiral, in

honor of whom one of the streets of our city is named. In the old house now

removed from its original position to the end of Farragut Place, this

honored commander once visited for several days, walking over the ground

now occupied by the houses of many families, delighted as a boy with

everything in nature; noticing and observing the smallest detail of what

was going on around him and interesting himself equally in the humblest

individual who crossed his path and in the most distinguished visitor who

asked to be presented.

The "Life of David Glasgow Farragut" was written according to the admiral's

expressed wish, by his only son, Loyall Farragut, who for a short time had,

in Morristown, his summer home, and who presented to the Morristown

Library a copy of his book.

The Farraguts came from the island of Minorca, where the name is now

extinct. In the volume referred to, we find these words: "George Farragut,

father of the admiral was sent to school at Barcelona, but was seized with

the spirit of adventure, and emigrated to America at an early age. He

arrived in 1776, promptly sided with the colonists, and served gallantly in

the struggle for independence, as also in the war of 1812. It is said that

he saved the life of Colonel Washington in the battle of Cowpens."

In reading this volume one is transported to the times and scenes

described, and everywhere is felt the grandeur, beauty and simplicity of

character of this truly great and lovable man. In the touching letter to

his devoted wife, on the eve of the great battle, is seen, as an example to

all men of future generations, the realization of a man's fidelity to the

woman of his choice, even in the moment of greatest extremity, and the

possibility of the tenderest heart existing side by side with the daring

courage of one of the bravest men the world has ever seen.

Wonderfully stirring are the descriptions given of the river fight on the

Mississippi and of the battle of Mobile Bay, after which Admiral Farragut

received from Secretary Welles the following congratulatory letter:

"In the success which has attended your operations, you have illustrated

the efficiency and irresistible power of a naval force led by a bold and

vigorous mind and the insufficiency of any batteries to prevent the passage

of a fleet thus led and commanded. You have, first on the Mississippi and

recently in the bay of Mobile, demonstrated what had previously been

doubted,--the ability of naval vessels, properly manned and commanded, to

set at defiance the best constructed and most heavily armed fortifications.

In these successive victories, you have encountered great risks, but the

results have vindicated the wisdom of your policy and the daring valor of

our officers and seamen."

Josiah Collins Pumpelly.

Mr. Pumpelly, long a resident of Morristown, claims our attention as a

writer, rather than an author, as he has not been a publisher of books,

beyond a collection of three Addresses in pamphlet form entitled "Our

French Allies in the Revolution and Other Addresses".

Several sketches entitled "Reminiscences of Colonial Days", and others of

the same character, all involve considerable research and add to our

literary possessions in connection with historic Morristown. His "Address

on Washington", delivered before the Washington Association of New Jersey,

at the Morristown Headquarters, February 22, 1888, was published by the

Association, and has long been for sale there. Of this, the writer says, "I

rejoice that even in this slight way, I can be of service to an Association

whose faithful care of this home of Washington in the trying winter of 1779

and '80 deserves the lasting gratitude of every loyal Jerseyman." In

closing this address, Mr. Pumpelly said, quoting from our favorite

historian, Rev. Dr. Tuttle, "each old parish in our County had its heroes,

and each old church was a shrine at which brave men and women bowed in

God's fear, consecrating their all to their country." Mr. Pumpelly adds:

"So instead of referring our children to Greek and Roman patriots, we have

but to call up for them the names of our own men and women, who have here

amid the hills of Morris, wrought out for us this heritage, so much

grander, so much nobler than they themselves ever dreamed." This address is

now bound in a larger pamphlet with "Our French Allies", to which we have

referred and which was read before the New Jersey Historical Society, at

Trenton, January 22d, 1889 and "Fort Stanwix and Battle of Oriskany", an

address delivered before the Society of the Sons of the Revolution, in New

York City, Dec. 3, 1888.

There was an important paper read by Mr. Pumpelly before the New Jersey

Society of the Sons of the Revolution, on June 10th, 1889, and by them

adopted in their meeting of that date, and afterwards published, on "The

Birthplace of our Immortal Washington and the Grave of his Illustrious

Mother, shall they not be Sacredly Preserved?"

Another address followed on "Joseph Warren" before the Massachusetts

Society of the Sons of the American Revolution, on April 18th, 1890, on the

occasion of the 114th Anniversary of the Battle of Lexington. He was then

President of the New Jersey Society of the Sons of the American Revolution.

A paper was read by request on "Mahlon Dickerson, Industrial Pioneer and

old time Patriot," on January 27, 1891, before the New Jersey Historical

Society.

Mr. Pumpelly has also given much time and literary effort in philanthropic

and sanitary directions. Many articles have appeared from time to time from

his pen in behalf of reforms in the treatment of our dependent, delinquent,

and defective classes, all tending to social economic improvement and, at

one time, assisting materially the advance of the State Charities Aid

Association of New Jersey of which he was for several years an active

member.

His attention is now being turned to the story of the Huguenots in this

country. He is just completing a quite exhaustive paper upon the Huguenots

in New Jersey, which is to be given by request before the Genealogical

Society of New York, in January 1893, after which the subject is to be

prepared by him for use in a school text-book.

In _The New York Genealogical and Biographical Record_, of April 1892, is

"A Short Sketch of the Character and Life of John Paul Jones", written in a

most interesting and delightful manner and given before the New York

Genealogical and Biographical Society, January 8, 1892. We quote from

WHAT DOES THE CAUSE OF HUMAN FREEDOM OWE TO THE HUGUENOT?

In looking back over the milestones which mark in history the relapse and

advance, the failure and the successes, of the principles of civilization,

we note that at a certain period it was the Teutonic Nations which broke

loose from Rome and the Latin Nations who adhered to the Pope. Also, that

in France, opposition to Rome was early and considerable. Thus the

Waldenses, Albigenses, and Lefevre and his colleagues were Huguenots and

lovers of human freedom before the name itself was known--Calvinists

before Calvin, Lutherans before Luther, Wiclyfites before Wiclyf.

That great movement for the liberty of conscience and personal freedom,

civil and religious, was not in France an importation, for God had

deposited the first principles of the work in a few brave hearts of Picardy

and Dauphiny before it had begun in any other country of the globe. Not to

Switzerland nor to Germany belongs the honor of having been first in the

work, but to France and the Huguenot.

It was the voice of Lefevre, of Etaples, France, a man of great nobility of

soul as well as genius of mind, which was to give the signal of the rising

of this morning star of liberty. He it was who taught Farel, the great

French reformer and "master-builder" with Luther.

Hannah More Johnson.

Miss Johnson's poem, "The Christmas Tree", has taken its place in our

Poet's corner. She is also mentioned among _Novelists and Story-Writers_

for her well-known stories of "Lost Willie"; "Ella Dutton"; "Snow Drifts";

"Signal Lights", and "First the Blade" published by A. D. F. Randolph and

by the Presbyterian Board. But perhaps her most important work is "Mexico,

Past and Present", an excellent and charmingly written history of Mexico, a

book of interest and importance, with sixty three maps and illustrations,

treating not only the history, but the present condition and prospects of

that country. This work is found in many libraries, and places Miss Johnson

among our _Historians_.

Miss Johnson is the daughter of Mr. Jacob Johnson and niece of our

townsman, Mr. J. Henry Johnson, who was the last preceptor of the old

Morris Academy. Though long a resident of Morristown, she now makes her

home in Philadelphia where she is editor of a Missionary Publication.

"I first thought of myself as a writer", says Miss Johnson, "when I saw my

name for the first time in print and nearly fainted with fright. I have

never recovered from that shock and not until I had had more than one

collision with publishers have I consented to give my name to articles."

Last September (1892) "Bible Lights in Mission Paths" was published: "The

long interval between my first and my last book," says the author, "was

filled with what seems to me the true work of my life." And it is curious

how this work of life came to her quite unsought and unexpectedly. Let us

hear it in her own words. "About twelve years ago," she tells us, "a

relative became proprietor of a small religious weekly in Philadelphia,

_The Presbyterian Journal_. I had the entire charge of the missionary

department. Shortly afterward, the Presbyterian Alliance met in our city

and the Woman's Foreign Missionary Society, (of which I was and still am a

Director), held in connection with that great convocation in the Academy of

Music, an all-day meeting in one of the churches. Presbyterian women were

there from every quarter of the world beside others from sister churches.

At noon as I sat, talking over the programme for the afternoon with Mrs.

A----, she said regretfully, 'I am afraid that we shall not be able to get

these women to speak loud enough to be heard all over this great church. It

would be delightful if we could have a full report.' 'I think I could get

one up, Mrs. A----,' said I. 'I have been taking notes of the speeches all

the morning and this afternoon we are to have written reports and papers.'

'I can get them all for you,' she said quickly. That night I went home

laden with documents, three-fourths of them from the Old World. The

_Journal_ publishers offered to send out an extra and send it to any

address I gave. Within a week, this extra was mailed to every mission

station throughout the world, which had been in any way represented at this

woman's meeting or mentioned in its reports. Ever since that busy, busy

week with French, English, Scotch, German, Italian, Belgian and Irish

women, I have been a constant reporter of Missionary meetings. This led to

a series of articles for Monthly Concerts, proposed for the use of pastors

and other leaders of missionary meetings. Twelve articles a year for about

four years, each one of which had cost months of research and study, I had

time for nothing else. It was weary work. All roads led to Rome and I

couldn't pick up a book or a daily that didn't give me an item or a

suggestion. The nameless writer was generally supposed to be some Doctor of

Divinity shelved with a sore throat or other ministerial disability. I

remember one time when a carefully prepared article (of mine) on Siam

appeared in _The Gospel of all Lands_, credited to _The London Missionary

News_. It had been taken from the magazine in which it was first published,

profusely illustrated and sent out as an English production."

Besides this Miss Johnson has furnished monthly articles for various papers

and occasional poems, for magazines. Thus we see her very busy life has

been fruitful of unusual results.

Mrs. Julia McNair Wright.

Mrs. Wright has already been mentioned among _Novelists and Story-Writers_.

For the following graphic sketch, we are indebted to one of our writers,

Mrs. Julia R. Cutler.

"One of the authors whose sojourn in our 'beautiful little town', as she

calls it, was of a comparatively brief period, from 1881-'83, but whose

writings, as showing deep research in many fields of thought, both

scientific and historical, entitle her to more than a brief mention, is

Mrs. Julia McNair Wright.

"Her husband, the Rev. Dr. William J. Wright, is President of and,

Professor of Metaphysics, in a Western College. Much of Mrs. Wright's time

is spent in visiting different large cities, at home and abroad, where she

can have access to libraries and gain information on various subjects

connected with her books.

"While in Morristown, she wrote, at the request of the Presbyterian Board

of Publication, her book on "The Alaskans" and also a short work on the

religious life, called "Mr. Standfast's Journey", besides preparing for the

press a book entitled "Bricks from Babel", which she had previously written

while visiting London and the British museum. The Rev. Joseph Cook fully

endorses this book, and calls it 'a most admirable compendium of

ethnography.' A set of religious biographies were, also, about this time,

published in Arabic.

"These works written and prepared for the press while she was occupying her

quiet cottage home on Morris Plains, would alone have entitled her to a

prominent place among the authors of whom Morristown has reason to be

proud. But these are but a small portion of her literary labors. Judging

from the number of books which appear over her signature, she must indeed

be gifted with the 'pen of a ready writer.'

"Among the more prominent works are 'The Early Church in Britain'; 'The

Complete Home', of which over one hundred thousand copies have been sold;

'Saints and Sinners of the Bible'; 'Almost a Nun'; 'The Priest and Nun'; 'A

Wife Hard Won', a novel published by Lippincott; 'The Making of Rasmus';

'Rasmus a Made Man'; and 'Rag Fair and May Fair'. The last deals with

social questions in England, and is being re-published in London, as indeed

a number of her other books have been, as well as translated into the

French language.

"Mrs. Wright's latest work, completed during a recent visit to the British

museum, is a Series of Readers on Natural Science, called 'Nature Readers,

Seaside and Wayside', which are having a large run in this country, in

England and in Canada and which are a new invention in school books. They

have been more warmly received than any books for our schools, for the past

twenty-five years.

"Very few persons have the talent of dealing with so many subjects and

doing it so well. Even the Temperance cause owes much to Mrs. Wright, as

its earnest advocate, and many of her thrilling stories on this subject

have touched the hearts and inspired the actions of those who have read

them. Nor has she, amid her multitude of duties, forgotten the young, as

the large number of volumes on the shelves of our Sabbath School libraries,

bearing her name can testify.

"May the pen Mrs. Wright has so wisely and deftly used, in the cause of

education and humanity, long continue through her skillful hand, to trace

its characters upon the hearts and minds of those with whom it comes in

contact!"

Mrs. Edwina L. Keasbey.

Though Mrs. Keasbey has published a most attractive and useful book, full

of practical thoughts idealized, yet we place her and Mrs. Stockton in

this grouping for the reason that a large part of her writing was of this

character, on the whole. Much of it was graphically descriptive of scenes

in foreign lands and at home, usually accompanied with reflections which

indicate the _Essay_ character. Like others of our writers, there is a

variety in her writing and choice of subjects which makes it somewhat

difficult to place her with exactness.

Most of Mrs. Keasbey's writing was originally done for _The Hospital

Review_, a paper edited by her, during eleven years, for the St. Barnabas

Hospital, which was founded largely through her efforts and influence and

was a work to which she devoted her life. For this was written a series of

papers entitled "A Lame Woman's Tramp through some Alpine Passes", and

"Bits of English Scenery Sketched by a Lame Hand", among which is a fine

and vivid picture of the first sight of Durham Cathedral. So, for this

_Hospital Review_ were originally written the papers now collected and

bound in one of the prettiest little volumes one could desire, convenient

in size, artistic in design and with clear, large type and broad margins.

This is entitled "The Culture of the Cradle".

In the education of children, Mrs. Keasbey has found the key and basis of

all true and reasonable training, in the development of the child's

individuality. The object of this book is to suggest the meaning and

purpose of true culture and to show how it must begin with the cradle and,

says the author, "to give some suggestions and leaves from experience that

may be of use to those who are striving to begin, in the right way, the

education of their children." The book, published in 1886, has had a large

sale and the entire proceeds have been devoted to the Hospital of St.

Barnabas, which the author so much loved.

Mrs. Keasbey was the eldest daughter of the Hon. J. W. Miller, and she

inherited well her intense love of good works from her honored mother, who

was so long identified with Morristown's philanthropic and charitable work.

She was born in the old Macculloch mansion on Macculloch Avenue and lived

there till her marriage in 1854, after which her literary qualities and

rare executive abilities went to adorn the city of Newark where she will be

tenderly remembered, and where her works live after her.

FROM "THE CULTURE OF THE CRADLE."

As I sit by my window on this beautiful spring day, preparing my article

upon "The Nurture of Infants," a pair of little birds are building their

nest in the vine that grows about my piazza, so I take my text from them.

How busy they are, how absorbed in their work! The whole world contains

for them no other point of interest, but only this little crotch in the

vine which they have chosen to build their cradle in for their future

little ones. We may be quite sure that it is the best spot in the whole

vine, not too shady or too sunny, just happily out of the reach of cruel

cat or mischievous boys, and then the cradle will be so perfect, strong

enough to resist the winds that shake the vine, and covered enough to

withstand the spring rains, and warm enough to shelter the little ones as

they crack the shell; and so comfortable with its soft padding of cotton

and down to cherish and protect the little tender bodies when they come

into this cold world.

I think it is nearly finished to-day, for the little mother has settled

herself down into it and nestled herself in it and picked off her own soft

down, and stuffed it in with the cotton that she had lined the nest with.

She looks so satisfied and content, as if she would say, "it is quite ready

now for my little darlings."

With this little mother there is no word of complaint or selfish murmur

though she is going to sit in that nest for many a long day and dark night,

through storm and sunshine, until the little ones come forth from their

eggs to gladden her heart and repay her care and work of preparation.

Can we mothers have a better teacher or a wiser example than this little

bird, whose lessons in motherhood have come to her direct from her

Creator?

Mrs. Marian E. Stockton.

As to Mrs. Stockton's charming pen, we must reluctantly refrain from

noticing her many essays and writings in various directions, principally

prepared at the request of literary societies and other

organizations,--always read by some one else, owing to the writer's great

dislike for coming into public notice, and always published, and sent

about, by the Society or group of people for whom they were written. The

title of this book compels us, however, to mention this gifted woman's

name, and we give below an extract from one delightful paper, written as

usual by request for an important occasion, read by a distinguished

literary woman, and as usual published.

FROM "HOME AND SOCIETY."

It may help to a proper understanding of the line of thought followed in

this paper if I state in the beginning that it is, chiefly, an attempt to

get a definite answer to the question so often asked: What is Society? It

is an effort to arrive at a conclusion which the majority of American women

may be willing to accept. Otherwise we shall find ourselves so beset with

perplexities that we shall not be able to get anything out of our subject.

For most persons have very vague ideas regarding society, and would find it

difficult to express them. I have tried to get at the ideas of a few

persons who might be supposed to know, with but small result. One says: "It

is a limited company of persons of wealth and leisure who give up their

time chiefly to entertainments and pleasure." This view of the subject

suggests the familiar advertisements of a certain soap, reversing the sign;

for taking out the pure article--_i. e._, the persons composing this

society--we would have 99 44-100 of the people of the United States with no

society at all. _So very little_ of the pure article will, I think,

scarcely suffice to float this definition.

Another says: "It is a collection of the best people in a city or

neighborhood who give a tone to the place." This is better, but calls forth

other questions. Whom do you mean by the "best people"? What is "tone"?

What sort of "tone" do they give? New York, New Orleans, and Poker Flat

would give widely different answers to these questions.

Another defines it as "a number, large or small, of cultured people." This

conveys a charming idea to the mind, but it is too limited, for we are

considering to-day society in its broadest as well as its best aspects;

and, surely, we would none of us be willing to deny to good-hearted,

honest, decent people, the pleasure of forming a society of their own kind,

and enjoying it in a rational--if uncultured--fashion. We want to-day to

get hold of a comprehensive idea of society.

Last summer, at a fashionable resort, I heard some New York ladies

speaking, with admiration, of another lady in the hotel, and one exclaimed:

"What a pity she is not in Society!" To this they all agreed, and another

kindly asked: "Can't we do something to help her to know people?" As I knew

this lady, and was aware of the fact that, when she returned to the city at

the beginning of every season, she sent out cards to six hundred people, I

was much surprised; for, if visiting and being visited by six hundred

people is not being "in society", I do not know what is. Therefore, I could

only infer that she was not in their special coterie.

A very intelligent woman once told me frankly, that she could not imagine

anything that could be called society outside the City of New York.

Again I was told, some time ago, by a literary lady who was then residing

in this city (but who is not here now): "Literary people are not

recognized in New York society." I use her own words and they puzzled me.

Soon after, there chanced to fall in my way a description of New York life

by a Frenchman who had been entertained by all sorts of people. He stated

that the most charming society in this city is the literary society, and he

proceeded to paint it in glowing colors. Between the literary lady on one

side and Max O'Rell on the other, I gave up that conundrum.

These few examples of misconceptions and wrong-headedness in regard to what

society really is will suffice to show how necessary it is to get a clear

and comprehensive definition for it. To get this we must disentangle

ourselves from all these figments, go back, and enter through the gate

which naturally leads into society.

TRAVELS AND PERSONAL REMINISCENCES.