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 is laying it down that a woman should not be a priest, he shows some elementary conception of what many of us now hold to be the truth of the matter. "The bringing-up of women," he says, "is commonly such" that they cannot have the necessary qualifications, "for they are not brought up in learning in schools, nor trained in disputation." And even so, he can ask, "Are there not in England women, think you, that for learning and wisdom could tell their household and neighbours as good a tale as any Sir John there?" For all that, his advocacy is weak. If women's rule is not unnatural in a sense preclusive of its very existence, it is neither so convenient nor so profitable as the government of men. He holds England to be specially suitable for the government of women, because there the governor is more limited and restrained by the other members of the constitution than in other places; and this argument has kept his book from being altogether forgotten. It is only in hereditary monarchies that he will offer any defence of the anomaly. "If rulers were to be chosen by lot or suffrage, he would not that any women should stand in the election, but men only." The law of succession of crowns was a law to him, in the same sense as the law of evolution is a law to Mr. Herbert Spencer; and the one and the other counsels his


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 readers, in a spirit suggestively alike, not to kick against the pricks or seek to be more wise than He who made them. If God has put a female child into the direct line of inheritance, it is God's affair. His strength will be perfected in her weakness. He makes the Creator address the objectors in this not very flattering vein:—"I, that could make Daniel, a sucking babe, to judge better than the wisest lawyers; a brute beast to reprehend the folly of a prophet; and poor fishers to confound the great clerks of the world—cannot I make a woman to be a good ruler over you?" This is the last word of his reasoning. Although he was not altogether without Puritanic leaven, shown particularly in what he says of the incomes of Bishops, yet it was rather loyalty to the old order of things than any generous belief in the capacity of women, that raised up for them this clerical champion. His courtly spirit contrasts singularly with the rude, bracing republicanism of Knox. "Thy knee shall bow," he says, "thy cap shall off, thy tongue shall speak reverently of thy sovereign." For himself, his tongue is even more than reverent. Nothing can stay the issue of his eloquent adulation. Again and again, "the remembrance of Elizabeth's virtues" carries him away; and he has to hark back again to find the

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 scent of his argument. He is repressing his vehement adoration throughout, until, when the end comes, and he feels his business at an end, he can indulge himself to his heart's content in indiscriminate laudation of his royal mistress. It is humorous to think that this illustrious lady, whom he here praises, among many other excellences, for the simplicity of her attire and the "marvellous meekness of her stomach," threatened him, years after, in no very meek terms, for a sermon against female vanity in dress, which she held as a reflection on herself.

Whatever was wanting here in respect for women generally, there was no want of respect for the Queen; and one cannot very greatly wonder if these devoted servants looked askance, not upon Knox only, but on his little flock, as they came back to England tainted with disloyal doctrine. For them, as for him, the occidental star rose somewhat red and angry. As for poor Knox, his position was the saddest of all. For the juncture seemed to him of the highest importance; it was the nick of time, the flood-water of opportunity. Not only was there an opening for him in Scotland, a smouldering brand of civil liberty and religious enthusiasm which it should be for him to kindle into flame with his powerful breath; but he


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 had his eye seemingly on an object of even higher worth. For now, when religious sympathy ran so high that it could be set against national aversion, he wished to begin the fusion together of England and Scotland, and to begin it at the sore place. If once the open wound were closed at the Border, the work would be half done. Ministers placed at Berwick and such places might seek their converts equally on either side of the march; old enemies would sit together to hear the gospel of peace, and forget the inherited jealousies of many generations in the enthusiasm of a common faith; or—let us say better—a common heresy. For people are not most conscious of brotherhood when they continue languidly together in one creed, but when, with some doubt, with some danger perhaps, and certainly not without some reluctance, they violently break with the tradition of the past, and go forth from the sanctuary of their fathers to worship under the bare heaven. A new creed, like a new country, is an unhomely place of sojourn; but it makes men lean on one another and join hands. It was on this that Knox relied to begin the union of the English and the Scotch. And he had, perhaps, better means of judging than any even of his contemporaries. He knew the temper of both nations; and already during his two years' chaplaincy at Berwick, he had seen


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Rh said ever haunted those not regularly admitted, that, notwithstanding the master's protection, I found myself oblig'd to comply and pay the money, convinc'd of the folly of being on ill terms with those one is to live with continually.

I was now on a fair footing with them, and soon acquir'd considerable influence. I propos'd some reasonable alterations in their chappel laws, and carried them against all opposition. From my example, a great part of them left their muddling breakfast of beer, and bread, and cheese, finding they could with me be suppli'd from a neighboring house with a large porringer of hot water-gruel, sprinkled with pepper, crumbl'd with bread and a bit of butter in it, for the price of a pint of beer, viz., three half-pence. This was a more comfortable as well as cheaper breakfast, and kept their heads clearer. Those who continued sotting with beer all day, were often, by not paying, out of credit at the ale-house, and us'd to make interest with me to get beer; their lights as they phrased it, being out. I watch'd the pay-table on Saturday night, and collected what I stood engag'd for them, having to pay sometimes near thirty shillings a week on their account. This, and my being esteem'd a pretty good riggite, that is, a jocular verbal satirist, supported my consequence in the society. My constant attendance (I never making a St. Monday) recommended me to the master; and my uncommon quickness at composing occasioned my being put upon all work of dispatch, which was generally better paid. So I went on now very agreeably.

My lodging in Little Britain being too remote, I found another in Duke-street, opposite to the Romish Chapel. It was two pair of stairs backwards, at an Italian warehouse. A widow lady kept the house; she had a daughter, and a maid servant, and a journeyman who attended the ware-house, but lodg'd abroad. After sending to inquire my character at the house where I last lodg'd she agreed to take me in at the same rate, 3s. 6d. per week; cheaper, as she


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 already showing the physical effects of labour. This child, six years of age, was working twelve hours a day."

From Mr. Spargo's "Bitter Cry of the Children" I learn this much of the joys of certain among the youth of Pennsylvania:

"For ten or eleven hours a day children of ten and eleven stoop over the chute and pick out the slate and other impurities from the coal as it moves past them. The air is black with coal dust, and the roar of the crushers, screens and rushing mill-race of coal is deafening. Sometimes one of the children falls into the machinery and is terribly mangled, or slips into the chute and is smothered to death. Many children are killed in this way. Many others, after a time, contract coal-miners' asthma and consumption, which gradually undermine their health. Breathing continually day after day the clouds of coal dust, their lungs become black and choked with small particles of anthracite"

In Massachusetts, at Fall River, the Hon. J. F. Carey tells how little naked boys, free Americans, work for Mr. Borden, the New York millionaire, packing cloth into bleaching vats, in a bath of chemicals that bleaches their little bodies like the bodies of lepers

Altogether it would seem that at least one million and a half children are growing up in the United States of America stunted and practically uneducated because of unregulated industrialism. These children, ill-fed, ill-trained, mentally benighted, since they are alive and active, since they are an active and positive


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 and not a negative evil, are even more ominous in the American outlook than those five and sixty million of good race and sound upbringing who will now never be born.

It must be repeated that the American tradition is really the tradition of one particular ingredient in this great admixture and stirring up of peoples. This ingredient is the Colonial British, whose seventeenth-century Puritanism and eighteenth-century mercantile radicalism and rationalism manifestly furnished all the stuff out of which the American tradition is made. It is this stuff planted in virgin soil and inflated to an immense and buoyant optimism by colossal and unanticipated material prosperity and success. From that British middle-class tradition comes the individualist protestant spirit, the keen self-reliance and personal responsibility, the irresponsible expenditure, the indiscipline and mystical faith in things being managed properly if they are only let alone. "State-blindness" is the natural and almost inevitable quality of a middle-class tradition, a class that has been forced neither to rule nor obey, which has been concentrated and successfully concentrated on private gain.

This middle-class British section of the American population was, and is to this day, the only really articulate ingredient in its mental composition. And so it has had a monopoly in providing the American forms of thought. The other sections of peoples that have been annexed by or have come into this national


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Rh contact with insane people! How could I hope to pass these doctors and convince them that I was crazy? I feared that they could not be deceived. I began to think my task a hopeless one; but it had to be done, So I flew to the mirror and examined my face. I remembered all I had read of the doings of crazy people, how first of all they must have staring eyes, and so I opened mine as wide as possible and stared unblinkingly at my own reflection. I assure you the sight was not reassuring, even to myself, especially in the dead of night, I tried to turn the gas up higher in hopes that if would raise my courage. I succeeded only partially, but I consoled myself with the thought that in a few nights more I would not be there, but locked up in a cell with a lot of lunatics.

The weather was not cold; but, nevertheless, when I thought of what was to come, wintery chills ran races up and down my back in very mockery of the perspiration which was slowly but surely taking the curl out of my bangs. Between times, practicing before the mirror and picturing my future as a lunatic, I read snatches of improbable and impossible ghost stories, so that when the dawn came to chase away the night, I felt that I was in a fit mood for my mission, yet hungry enough to feel keenly that I wanted my breakfast. Slowly and sadly I took my morning bath and quietly bade farewell to a few of the most precious articles known to modern civilization. Tenderly I put my tooth-brush aside, and, when taking a final rub of the soap, I murmured, “It may be for days, and it may be—for longer.” Then I donned the old clothing I had selected for the occasion. I was in the mood to look at everything through very serious glasses. It’s just as well to take a last “fond look,” I mused, for who could tell but that the strain of playing crazy, and being shut up with a crowd of mad people, might turn my own brain, and I would never get back. But not once did I think of shirking my mission.


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10 Calmly, outwardly at least, I went out to my crazy business.

I first thought it best to go to a boarding-house, and, after securing lodging, confidentially tell the landlady, or lord, whichever it might chance to be, that I was seeking work, and, in a few days after, apparently go insane. When I reconsidered the idea, I feared it would take too long to mature. Suddenly I thought how much easier it would be to go to a boarding-home for working women. I knew, if once I made a houseful of women believe me crazy, that they would never rest until I was out of their reach and in secure quarters.

From a directory I selected the Temporary Home for Females, No. 84 Second Avenue. As I walked down the avenue, I determined that, once inside the Home, I should do the best I could to get started on my journey to Blackwell’s Island and the Insane Asylum.

left to begin my career as Nellie Brown, the insane girl. As I walked down the avenue I tried to assume the look which maidens wear in pictures entitled “Dreaming.” “Far-away” expressions have a crazy air. I passed through the little paved yard to the entrance of the Home. I pulled the bell, which sounded loud enough for a church chime, and nervously awaited the opening of the door to the Home, which I intended should ere long cast me forth and out upon the charity of the police. The door was thrown back with a vengeance, and a short, yellow-haired girl of some thirteen summers stood before me.

“Is the matron in?” I asked, faintly.

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Rh answered the girl, in a loud voice, without one change in her peculiarly matured face.

I followed these not overkind or polite instructions and found myself in a dark, uncomfortable back-parlor. There I awaited the arrival of my hostess, I had been seated some twenty minutes at the least, when a slender woman, clad in a plain, dark dress entered and, stopping before me, ejaculated inquiringly, “Well?”

“Are you the matron?” I asked.

“No,” she replied, “the matron is sick; I am her assistant. What do you want?”

“I want to stay here for a few days, if you can accommodate me.”

“Well, I have no single rooms, we are so crowded; but if you will occupy a room with another girl, I shall do that much for you.”

“I shall be glad of that,” I answered. “How much


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12 do you charge?” I had brought only about seventy cents along with me, knowing full well that the sooner my funds were exhausted the sooner I should be put out, and to be put out was what I was working for.

“We charge thirty cents a night,” was her reply to my question, and with that I paid her for one night’s lodging, and she left me on the plea of having something else to look after. Left to amuse myself as best I could, I took a survey of my surroundings.

They were not cheerful, to say the least. A wardrobe, desk, book-case, organ, and several chairs completed the furnishment of the room, into which the daylight barely came.

By the time I had become familiar with my eaters a bell, which rivaled the door-bell in its loudness, began clanging in the basement, and simultaneously women went trooping down-stairs from all parts of the house. I imagined, from the obvious signs, that dinner was served, but as no one had said anything to me I made no effort to follow in the hungry train. Yet I did wish that some one would invite me down. It always produces such a lonely, homesick feeling to know others are eating, and we haven’t a chance, even if we are not hungry. I was glad when the assistant matron came up and asked me if I did not want something to eat. I replied that I did, and then I asked her what her name was. Mrs. Stanard, she said, and I immediately wrote it down in a notebook I had taken with me for the purpose of making memoranda, and in which I had written several pages of utter nonsense for inquisitive scientists.

Thus equipped I awaited developments. But my dinner—well, I followed Mrs. Stanard down the uncarpeted stairs into the basement, where a large number of women were eating. She found room for me at a table with three other women. The short-haired slavey who had opened the door now put in an appearance as waiter.


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Rh Placing her arms akimbo and staring me out of countenance, she said:

“Boiled mutton, boiled beef, beans, potatoes, coffee or tea?”

“Beef, potatoes, coffee and bread,” I responded.

“Bread goes in,” she explained, as she made her way to the kitchen, which was in the rear. It was not very long before she returned with what I had ordered on a large, badly battered tray, which she banged down before me. I began my simple meal. It was not very enticing, so while making a feint of eating I watched the others.

I have often moralized on the repulsive form charity always assumes! Here was a home for deserving women and yet what a mockery the name was. The floor was bare, and the little wooden tables were sublimely ignorant of such modern beautifiers as varnish, polish and table-covers. It is useless to talk about the cheapness of linen and its effect on civilization. Yet these honest workers, the most deserving of women, are asked to call this spot of bareness—home.

When the meal was finished each woman went to the desk in the corner, where Mrs. Stanard sat, and paid her bill. I was given a much-used, and abused, red check, by the original piece of humanity in shape of my waitress, My bill was about thirty cents.

After dinner I went up-stairs and resumed my former place in the back parlor. I was quite cold and uncomfortable, and had fully made up my mind that I could not endure that sort of business long, so the sooner I assumed my insane points the sooner I would be released from enforced idleness. Ah! that was indeed the longest day I had ever lived. I listlessly watched the women in the front parlor, where all sat except myself.

One did nothing but read and scratch her head and occasionally call out mildly, “Georgie,” without lifting


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14 her eyes from her book. “Georgie” was her over-frisky boy, who had more noise in him than any child I ever saw before. He did everything that was rude and unmannerly, I thought, and the mother never said a word unless she heard some one else yell at him. Another woman always kept going to sleep and waking herself up with her own snoring. I really felt wickedly thankful it was only herself she awakened. The majority of the women sat there doing nothing, but there were a few who made lace and knitted unceasingly. The enormous door-bell seemed to be going all the time, and so did the short-haired girl. The latter was, besides, one of those girls who sing all the time snatches of all the songs and hymns that have been composed for the last fifty years. There is such a thing as martyrdom in these days. The ringing of the bell brought more people who wanted shelter for the night. Excepting one woman, who was from the country oh a day’s shopping expedition, they were working women, some of them with children.

As it drew toward evening Mrs. Stanard came to me and said:

“What is wrong with you? Have you some sorrow or trouble?”

“No,” I said, almost stunned at the suggestion. “Why?”

“Oh, because,” she said, womanlike, “I can see it in your face. It tells the story of a great trouble.”

“Yes, everything is so sad,” I said, in a haphazard way, which I had intended to reflect. my craziness.

“But you must not allow that to worry you. We all have our troubles, but we get over them in good time, What kind of work are you trying to get?”

“I do not know; it’s all so sad,” I replied.

“Would you like to be a nurse for children and wear a nice white cap and apron?” she asked.

I put my handkerchief up to my face to hide a smile,


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Rh and replied, in muffled tone, “I never worked; I don’t know how.”

“But you must learn,” she urged; “all these women here work.”

“Do they?” I said, in a low, thrilling whisper. “Why, they look horrible to me; just like crazy women. I am so afraid of them.”

“They don’t look yery nice,” she answered, assentingly, “but they are good, honest working women. We do not keep crazy people here.”

I again used my handkerchief to hide a smile, as I thought that before morning she would at least think she had one crazy person among her flock.

“They all look crazy,” I asserted again, “and I am afraid of them. There are so many crazy people about, and one can never tell what they will do. Then there are so many murders committed, and the police never catch the murderers,” and I finished with a sob that would have broken up an audience of blase critics. She gave a sudden and convulsive start, and I knew my first stroke had gone home. It was amusing to see what a remarkably short time it took her to get up from her chair and to whisper hurriedly: “I’ll come back to talk with you after a while.” I knew she would not come back and she did not.

When the supper-bell rang I went along with the others to the basement and partook of the evening meal, which was similar to dinner, except that there was a smaller bill of fare and more people, the women who are employed outside during the day having returned. After the evening meal we all adjourned to the parlors, where all sat, or stood, as there were not chairs enough to go round.

It was a wretchedly lonely evening, and the light which fell from the solitary gas jet in the parlor, and oil-lamp in the hall, helped to envelop us in a dusky hue


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16 and dye our spirits a navy blue. I felt it would not require many inundations of this atmosphere to make me a fit subject for the place I was striving to reach.

I watched two women, who seemed of all the crowd to be the most sociable, and I selected them as the ones to work out my salvation, or, more properly speaking, my condemnation and conviction. Excusing myself and saying that I felt lonely, I asked if I might join their company. They graciously consented, so with my hat and gloves on, which no one had asked me to lay aside, I sat down and listened to the rather wearisome conversation, in which I took no part, merely keeping up my sad lock, saying “Yes,” or “No,” or “I can’t say,” to their observations. Several times I told them I thought everybody in the house looked crazy, but they were slow to catch on to my very original remark. One said her name was Mrs. King and that she was a Southern woman. Then she said that I had a Southern accent. She asked me bluntly if I did not really come from the South. I said “Yes.” The other woman got to talking about the Boston boats and asked me if I knew at what time they left.

For a moment I forgot my role of assumed insanity,


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Rh and told her the correct hour of departure. She then asked me what work I was going to do, or if I had ever done any. I replied that I thought it very sad that there were so many working people in the world. She said in reply that she had been unfortunate and had come to New York, where she had worked at correcting proofs on a medical dictionary for some time, but that her health had given way under the task, and that she was now going to Boston again. When the maid came to tell us to go to bed I remarked that I was afraid, and again ventured the assertion that all the women in the house seemed to be crazy. The nurse insisted on my going to bed. I asked if I could not sit on the stairs, but she said, decisively: “No; for every one in the house would think you were crazy.” Finally I allowed them to take me to a room.

Here I must introduce a new personage by name into my narratiye. It is the woman who had been a proof-reader, and was about to return to Boston. She was a Mrs. Caine, who was as courageous as she was good-hearted. She came into my room, and sat and talked with me a long time, taking down my hair with gentle ways. She tried to persuade me to undress and go to bed, but I stubbornly refused to do so. During this time a number of the inmates of the house had gathered around us. They expressed themselves in various ways. “Poor loon!” they said. “Why, she’s crazy enough!” “I am afraid to stay with such a crazy being in the house.” “She will murder us all before morning.” One woman was for sending for a policeman to take me away at once. They were all in a terrible and real state a of fright.

No one wanted to be responsible for me, and the woman who was to occupy the room with me declared that she would not stay with that “crazy woman” for all the money of the Vanderbilts. It was then that Mrs.


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18 Caine said she would stay with me. I told her I would like to have her do so. So she was left with me. She didn’t undress, but lay down on the bed, watchful of my movements. She tried to induce me to lie down, but I was afraid to do this, I knew that if I once gave way I should fall asleep and dream as pleasantly and peacefully as a child. I should, to use a slang expression, be liable to “give myself dead away.” I had made up my mind to stay awake all night. So I insisted on sitting on the side of the bed and staring blankly at vacancy. My poor companion was put into a wretched state of unhappiness. Every few moments she would rise up to look at me. She told me that my eyes shone terribly brightly and then began to question me, asking me where I had lived, how long I had been in New York, what I had been doing, and many things besides. To all her questionings I had but one response—I told her that I had forgotten everything, that ever since my headache had come on I could not remember.

Poor soul! How cruelly I tortured her, and what a kind heart she had! But how I tortured all of them! One of them dreamed of me—as a nightmare. After I had been in the room an hour or so, I was myself startled by hearing a woman screaming in the next room. I began to imagine that I was really in an insane asylum.

Mrs. Caine woke up, looked around, frightened, and listened. She then went out and into the next room, and I heard her asking another woman some questions. When she came back she told me that the woman had had a hideous nightmare. She had been dreaming of me. She had seen me, she said, rushing at her with a knife in my hand, with the intention of killing her. In trying to escape me she had fortunately been able to scream, and so to awaken herself and scare off her nightmare. Then Mrs. Caine got into bed again, considerably agitated, but very sleepy.


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Rh I was weary, too, but I had braced myself up to the work, and was determined to keep awake all night so as to carry on my work of impersonation to a successful end in the morning. I heard midnight. I had yet six hours to wait for daylight. The time passed with excruciating slowness. Minutes appeared hours. The noises in the house and on the avenue ceased.

Fearing that sleep would coax me into its grasp, I commenced to review my life. How strange it all seems! One incident, if never so trifling, is but a link more to chain us to our unchangeable fate. I began at the beginning, and lived again the story of my life. Old friends were recalled with a pleasurable thrill; old enmities, old heart-aches, old joys were once again present. The turned-down pages of my life were turned up, and the past was present.

When it was completed, I turned my thoughts bravely to the future, wondering, first, what the next day would bring forth, then making plans for the carrying out of my project. I wondered if I should be able to pass over the river to the goal of my strange ambition, to become eventually an inmate of the halls inhabited by my mentally wrecked sisters. And then, once in, what would be my experience? And after? How to get out? Bah! I said, they will get me out.

That was the greatest night of my existence. For a few hours I stood face to face with “self!”

I looked out toward the window and hailed with joy the slight shimmer of dawn. The light grew strong and gray, but the silence was strikingly still. My companion slept. I had still an hour or two to pass over. Fortunately I found some employment for my mental activity. Robert Bruce in his captivity had won confidence in the future, and passed his time as pleasantly as possible under the circumstances, by watching the celebrated spider building his web, I had less noble vermin to in-


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20 terest me. Yet I believe I made some valuable discoveries in natural history. I was about dropping off to sleep in spite of myself when I was suddenly startled to wakefulness, I thought I heard something crawl and fall down upon the counterpane with an almost inaudible thud.

I had the opportunity of studying these interesting animals very thoroughly. They had evidently come for breakfast, and were not a little disappointed to find that their principal plat was not there. They scampered up and down the pillow, came together, seemed to hold interesting converse, and acted in every way as if they were puzzled by the absence of an appetizing breakfast. After one consultation of some length they finally disappeared, seeking victims elsewhere, and leaving me to pass the long minutes by giving my attention to cockroaches, whose size and agility were something of a surprise to me.

My room companion had been sound asleep for a long time, but she now woke up, and expressed surprise at seeing me still awake and apparently as lively as a cricket. She was as sympathetic as ever. She came to me and took my hands and tried her best to console me, and asked me if I did not want to go home. She kept me up-stairs until nearly everybody was out of the house, and then took me down to the basement for coffee and a bun. After that, partaken in silence, I went back to my room, where I sat down, moping. Mrs. Caine grew more and more anxious, “What is to be done?” she kept exclaiming. “Where are your friends?” “No,” I answered, “I have no friends, but I have some trunks. Where are they? I want them.” The good woman tried to pacify me, saying that they would be found in good time. She believed that I was insane.

Yet I forgive her. It is only after one is in trouble that one realizes how little sympathy and kindness there


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Rh are in the world. The women in the Home who were not afraid of me had wanted to have some amusement at my expense, and so they had bothered me with questions and remarks that had I been insane would have been cruel and inhumane. Only this one woman among the crowd, pretty and delicate Mrs. Caine, displayed true womanly feeling. She compelled the others to cease teasing me and took the bed of the woman who refused to sleep near me. She protested against the suggestion to leave me alone and to have me locked up for the night so that I could harm no one. She insisted on remaining with me in order to administer aid should I need it. She smoothed my hair and bathed my brow and talked as soothingly to me as a mother would do to an ailing child. By every means she tried to have me go to bed and rest, and when it drew toward morning she got up and wrapped a blanket around me for fear I might get cold; then she kissed me on the brow and whispered, compassionately:

“Poor child, poor child!”

How much I admired that little woman’s courage and kindness. How I longed to reassure her and whisper that I was not insane, and how I hoped that, if any poor girl should ever be so unfortunate as to be what I was pretending to be, she might meet with one who possessed the same spirit of human kindness possessed by Mrs. Ruth Caine.

to return to my story. I kept up my role until the assistant matron, Mrs. Stanard, came in. She tried to persuade me to be calm. I began to see clearly that she wanted to get me out of the house at all hazards, quietly if possible. This I did not want. I refused to


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FASHIONS FOR NOVEMBER.


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NAZARETH CITY OF. THE


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LOST IN THE SNOW. Engraved expressly for Peterson's Mas


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1


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SirDavid Wilkie

Ilman & Sons


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Ilman & Sons DADIGTENNES


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CLARE HALL, (SEE " ZANA," PAGE 314.)


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 synthesis are silent so far as any contribution to the national stock of ideas and ideals is concerned. There are, for example, those great elements, the Spanish Catholics, the French Catholic population of Louisiana, the Irish Catholics, the French-Canadians who are now ousting the sterile New Englander from New England, the Germans, the Italians, the Hungarians. Comparatively they say nothing. From all the ten million of coloured people come just two or three platform voices, Booker Washington, Dubois, Mrs. Church Terrell, mere protests at specific wrongs. The clever, restless Eastern European Jews, too, have still to find a voice. Professor Münsterberg has written with a certain bitterness of the inaudibility of the German element in the American population. They allow themselves, he remonstrates, to count for nothing. They did not seem to exist, he points out, even in politics until prohibitionist fury threatened their beer. Then, indeed, the American German emerged from silence and obscurity, but only to rescue his mug and retire again with it into enigmatical silence.

If there is any exception to this predominance of the tradition of the English-speaking, originally middle-class, English-thinking northerner in the American mind, it is to be found in the spread of social democracy outward from the festering tenement houses of Chicago into the mining and agrarian regions of the Middle West. It is a fierce form of socialist teaching that speaks throughout these regions, far more closely akin to the revolutionary Socialism of the continent of Europe than to the constructive and evolutionary Socialism of Great Britain. Its typical


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PETERSON'S MAGAZINE.

Vol. XXIV.

THE MODERN LAZARUS.

BY J. THORNTON RANDOLPH.

I.

It was a hot, breathless, Angust day in New York. The hour was high noon. Yet, beneath ‘that vertical sun, a blind beggar sat asking alms by the way-side.

His worn dress, though scrupulously clean, betrayed the utmost poverty, His hand shook with palsy as he held forth his tattered straw hat for alms. On his bared head, bald on top, but with a few thin, grey hairs around the edges, the vertical sun poured down its fierce host pitilessly. Poor old man!

Suddenly » splendid equipage drew up to the side-watk, and 8 portly, pompous man descended. Could the mendiosnt have seen that face, he ‘would scarcely have ventured to solicit slms; and now, when he did, his extended hat was rudely rebuffed.

“Get ont of tho way, get out of the way, ‘where's the police, I wonder,” cried the million- aire, in a quick, testy volce, rudely pushing the old mendicant aside.

An officer, who happened to be within heating, stepped immediately up, and was obsequiousness itself. He shook the beggar roughly.

“Come, be moving,” he said. And observing that the old man hesitated, but whether from ‘weakness, of to arouse pity he did not stop to inquire, he gave him » push, adding, “off with you at once!”

The aged mendicant resisted no longer. Feeling his way with his stick, he arose, and was soon lost to sight in the hurrying crowds, which even on that summer day, poured ceaselessly along the streets.

But, as he went, though his tongue was silent, his heart was not, He thought of hie early life, when, in a distant land, he had been prosperous and happy: his hearth shared by a sympathizing

Then he recalled the misfortunes which had driven him, fn his old age, into exile; the fever ship where his remaining grand-children had died; and the first day of utter beggary, type of many & day since when he had landed ons foreign shore, As these things rose before him, he groaned, ‘‘how long, oh! Lord, how long.”

af.

Josrump, end often almost overthrown, the mendicant had nevertheless snoceeded, at last, im advancing seversl aquares. He had now reached @ point where It became necessary to cross Broadway. For some time he hesitated, the ceaseless rolt of vehicles disheartening him ; but natty there was » lull, during whioh he thought he might venture.

He had achieved about half the distance, when ‘s pair of proud, high atepping horses approached ate rapid rate. ‘The liveried coachman, per- ceiving the beggar, drew partielly in. But his imperious meater, always impatient of delay, at thie angrily spoke up,

“Drive on, drive on," he cried, sharply. “What business has the old rascal to be in the way. He'll jump quick enough when he hears you on top of him,”

Ho did jump quick enough too: but it was the ‘wrong way. Catching the sound of the horses’ hoofs, he had turned bie sightless eyes toward them; and then, for the first time, the ooschman saw he was blind, To pull op agsin was the ‘work of & moment, even though the servant knew he was disobeying orders. But it was too Inte. The mendicant, losing his presenoe of mind, had sprung the wrong way; had fellen under the horses’ fest; and was run bodily over before the impetus of the carriage could be stopped.

Ho was not killed instantly. He had a recollection of being picked up, of hearing a crowd

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PETERSON'S MAGAZINE.

Vol. XXIV.

KITTY PLEASANTON’'S FIRST OFFER.

BY B. W. DEwErs,

I caxxor remember the time when I was not in love with Kitty Pleasanton, It mast have begun when we were both babies. I am eure I loved her aa we sat together, by the road-side soaking our dandelion stems in the little puddles of water to make them curl; my passion was in no wise abated, when, somewhat later, I climbed oherry-trees at her bidding; nor later yet, when at dancing-echool I awkwardly made my new- learned bow, and asked her to be my partner; nor, I sm very sure, was my boyish passion at all damped, when, on my return from college, I found my sweet little Kitty, changed, by some undefinadle alteration, from a lovely child, to o Dewitching young woman. She was almost the same sa when I parted from her three years before—the woman was very like the ohild— there were the same rosy cheeks, the same pouting, imnocent mouth, the same curling hair, ‘nt some charm, grace, or sentiment was added, which made my heart thrill with new emotion as I gozed ut her.

«Ritty,” said I, to her, one day, after I had been st home a week or two, and I found I could Featrain myself no longer. Kitty, I'm very much in love with you, as you know as well as Ido. I've always been in love with you, and I fancy you with me; but now I want you to pro- mise to marry me.” 1 paused, but Kitty made no answer.

“Yon like me, Kitty? don’t you!”

«Firat tell me,” aaid Bitty, blushing, and with an odd mixture of delight and bashfulness in her face, “if you've made me what is called ‘an offer ?"”

“fo be sure L have, my darling, an offer which I trust, and hope, you'll accept.”

“Don’t be too sure of that,” said Kitty, de- murely,

«Kitty! you love me?”

“That's my secret,” the provoking little thing replied.

“But at any rate,” sho continued, “I could not possible think of secepting the very first offer I ever received—I should be mortified all the rest of my life if I did. No, indeed; no girl of spirit would dream of taking up her firet offer, ad if she were afroid she should never have another. Excuse mo, James, I ean’t pos- sible accept you till I've bad at least one other offer.”

“But, my dearest Kitty,” I began.

“Kitty! Kitty! Kitty! will yon never learn to call me by my proper name, Mr. Brent? I confess I did hope, that when I received my ‘first offer,’ the person who made it would have addressed me with proper courtesy, and in manne befitting the occasion, giving me my name of Katharine, but now you've gone and spoiled it, all"

“Ob, I suppose you wanted s stiff, ceremo- ntoue proposal in form; but {’m no Six Charles Grandison, Kitty, Katharine, I would ssy—there- fore don’t be foolish—be content to know in plain words, that my whole beart is yours; and have the good sense to accept your firet offer, since your eecond may not be 0 good.”

But vain were my arguments and ressonings. Kitty wos determined not to accept her frat offer, and finding her ‘reeolate, I ohanged my tone, sequieaced in her views, confessed that after all, I, too, had a certain pride on thet point, and should be rather mortified to know that my wife had never had sny offer but that I had myself made her; and so I promised to suspend my uit till Kitty should have been 80 fortunste a8 to receive an offer from some other quarter.

Nor there was, not far from where Kitty dwelt, favorite dell, or bower, or something of the kind,

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PETERSON'S MAGAZINE.

Vol. XXIV. A DECEMBER REVERIE.

BY CHARLES J. PETERSON.

I—LOST IN THE SNOW.

Winter is in the air, on the hills, everywhere. The bit of blue sky, a mere strip, seen between the roofs of the long street, has the cold glitter of Damascus steel. How the tempest rattles the ‘casement, roars around the chimnies, or shrieks down the avenue! Out in the oountry it is blowing ® hurricane. The woods writhe and gtosn as men do upon the rack; and the wind comes down the hill-side sighing piteonsly like an old grey-beard asking alms.

‘At ses what a night! No moon, not even 8 ster, but everywhere utter darkness. We are there in imagination now, swinging, midway, in @ black abysa. Swinging, did we say? Yet more than that, beaten, dung about, almost drowned at times. The monsters of the deep, hideous and gigantlo presences; unseen, yet all sround us, now hurl mountains of waters down, now fling the stout ship as a child would « stone far into obscurity, now prostrate her help- less on her side, hold her down, end trample her under their tempest feet. (h! for morning. Think of shipwreck and death out here, a thoa- sand miles from shore, with a grave ten thousand fathoms down:—if, indeed, that oan be called grave, whore rest never is, but an eternal! toasing to and fro, like the limbs that Dante saw seething in the black cauldron of hell. Lightning would ‘be srelief! It is a fevered dream realized, one ‘of those where, forever and forever, we fall; and still, after conntless ages, after periods that created worlds measure ss eternities, ore falling and yet falling.

‘We are on the Alps! A storm hes sarprised us between two stations, 8 December tempest such as ia peen nowhere else. How ghastly everything around looks, The vallies below us no longer reveal, far down their sides, the farm ‘house or even village; but an cceas, epparently

Vou. XXIV.—17

bottomless, yet churned into foam on top, rolls above them, lashing its shores wildly—the spray rising in great clouds, in spectral columna, as from the awfal feet of that mightiest and most wierd of Nature's enchanters, Niagara, High aloft, the white peaks lift their dreadfol fronts, like the sheeted ghosts of some Titanic world, dead before Time began, The winds, at those tremendous heights, seem winds from another sphere, where neither attraction, nor other earthly influence hes power——winds that come commis- sioned, like spirits from the abyss of woe, to work evil and death at will.

‘The iey hand of the monster is upon us. The fine snow penetrates our nostrils, distils into our blood, freezes at last our very heart. We try to straggle on. We urge our weary borse forward. and, in our eagerness, would have pushed him over the preciplos, had he not himself drawn back, ems to know that our life is being chilled st its fountain, for he often turns his head, and hooks pityingly at us. But we are faat losing consciousness now. We have a dear ong, pledged to be ours on our retura—alas! our return, The thought is too much for us. Bat we choke down the tears. Then we think of home, of the dear old parents, of the warm breakfast-room, and of the long, long years they will wait in vain for the return of their lost son. Again it is too much for us. The church-yard rises before us now, where our ancestors have been laid for three generations, but where the last of the tine will never, never find sepulture, In wild dreams like these is it a wonder we hear a bell? That we fanoy it the swect Sabbath bell of our boyhood? That we sre, in imagination, a sinleyp child again? That, as we cross the violet-acented meadow to church, we hear angel voices alter- nating, a8 we used to, with the silver olangor of that airy messenger? _ That borne upward on

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 me, and that of Clarence away on Fernando Po. These two stood out alone, like great island masses made of iron rising from a formless, silken sea.

The space around seemed boundless, and there was in it neither sound nor colour, nor anything with form, save those two terrific things. It was like a vision, and it held me spellbound, as I stood shivering on the rocks with the white mist round my knees until into my wool-gathering mind came the memory of those anything but sublime men of mine; and I turned and scuttled off along the rocks like an agitated ant left alone in a dead universe.

I soon found the place where I had come up into the crater plain and went down over the wall, descending with twice the rapidity, but ten times the scratches and grazes, of the ascent.

I picked up the place where I had left Xenia, but no Xenia was there, nor came there any answer to my bush call for him, so on I went down towards the place where, hours ago, I had left the men. The mist was denser down below, but to my joy it was warmer than on the summit of the wind-swept wall.

I had nearly reached the foot of this wall and made my mind up to turn in for the night under a rock, when I heard a melancholy croak away in the mist to the left. I went towards it and found Xenia lost on his own account, and distinctly quaint in manner, and then I recollected that I had been warned Xenia is slightly crazy. Nice situation this: a madman on a mountain in the mist. Xenia, I found, had no longer got my black bag, but in its place a lid of a saucepan and an empty lantern. To put it mildly, this is not the sort of outfit the R.G.S. Hints to Travellers would recommend for African exploration. Xenia reported that he gave the bag to Black boy, who shortly afterwards disappeared, and that he had neither seen him nor any of the others since, and didn’t expect to this side of Srahmandazi. In a homicidal state of mind, I made tracks for the missing ones followed by Xenia. I thought mayhap they had grown on to the rocks they had sat upon so long, but presently, just before it became quite dark, we picked up the place we had left them in and found there only an empty soda-water bottle. Xenia poured out


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PETERSON'S MAGAZINE.

Vol. XXIV. “MUSIC AND LOVE.”

BY JAMES H. Dama,

It was a picture of more then Arcadian beauty. & lovely greenwood bank, covered with rich, thick grass, and in the back-gronnd a lake and silver cascade, the rustling of leaves and the marmar of water filling the air with music.

Three persons occupied this picture, reclining ‘on the grass, as the lords and ladies did in Bacoxccio’s garden, They were dressed in the pic- taresque etyle of thelr time, which was that of the seventeenth contary. The ladies were attired not very dissimilar indeed from the pre- sent fashion. Bat the gontleman, for there wae only one, wore a deep Isce collar, rosettes in his shoes, and other ornament of the juxurious and still half poetic age, that aucceeded to the ateel clad era of chivalry.

The loveliar of the two fomales reclined in the centre of the group, while a femele companion assisted her to hold 9 music book, But ber and what magnificent eyes they were! as often strayed to the cavalier on her left, who, on his part, seemed to study her fair countenance fax more earnestly than the page. At times they joined in a duet, the gentleman accompanying the Indy on his guitar: and at times they chatted pleasantly together; but they were as frequently silent, looking now at the landscape, and then furtively at each other, blushing when their eyes encountered, and looking suddenly off, only to detect each other looking furtively again.

Tt needed no sage’s eye to divine, from these “signs, that they were lovers, The Lady Beatrice ‘was, indeed, one whom it would be impossible to know without loving. Bora and brought up in & distant province of the South of France, che knew nothing of the hollowness of courts, or the follies of fashion, but was all innocence, gaisty, grace, health, modesty, and beauty. Hor life, antit the last fow weeks, had been spent in doing good among the poor on her father’s estates, in

going to the chapel, in reading tho ponderous old romances. in the oastle library, and in living among the woods and fields, But, all at*once, & new world bad opened upon her. One day, while abont to step into the little boat, with Which she and her foster-sister navigated the lake, her foot had slipped, and she hed fallen in. The water was deep, and she disappeared Instantly. Her companion, frightened out of all self-possession, could only scream, so that the Lady Beatrice would, perhaps, have been drowned, if the poream bad not arrested the attention of a cavalier who happened to be passing, snd who, rushing te the spot, rescued the beautiful girl, and bore her to a neighboring cottage.

When the Lady Beatrice, restored to oonscious- nes by the peasant’s wife, and by the exertions of her foster-sister, would have thanked her pre- server, he was gone, But,afew days after, when ashe had entirely recovered from her accident, she revisited the scene of it; and here encountered the stranger. Ho bowed respectfully to hor, and ventured to ask after ber health. She could not but answer kindly, and even add, in s few em- barrassed words, how grateful she was to him, ‘The interview, thus begun, was protracted, end led to many others. There was such a sym- pathy between the mind of the Lady Beatrice and that of the cavalier; he was so respectful, yet a0 eloquent, so handsome, yet so courtly; the time they were together seemed so short, and the hours they were separated appeared so long, that, at Jast, and unconsciously almost, the interviews grew longer aud more frequent, until finally the Lady Beatrice went every day to the green bank below the waterfall, and there met, every day, the cavalier, though without avy formal appointment. She did thie, without in- terferenee from any one. Her mother was long �


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 them, sometimes in a manner and with an exactitude that has struck me as little short of marvellous."

"I see he has interested you," said I, half smiling.

"I confess he has. Looked at from a scientific standpoint, I consider him the perfect product of his environment. I repeat there are few things I would enjoy more than to watch November using his experience and his supernormal senses in the unravelling of some crime of the woods."

I threw the stump of my cigar into the fire.

"You have persuaded me," I said; "I will try to make a start by the end of the week. Where is Joe to be found?"

"As to that, I believe you might get into touch with him at Harding's Farm, Silent Water, Beauce.

"I'll write to him."

"Not much use. He only calls for letters when he feels inclined."

"Then I'll cable."

"He lives twenty-seven miles from the nearest office."

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 "Still they might send it on to him."

"Perhaps; but it is a lonely part of the country, and messengers are likely to be scarce."

"Then I'll go to Harding's and arrange the trip by word of mouth."

"That would certainly be the best plan, and, anyhow, the sooner you get into the woods, the better. Besides, you will be more likely to secure Joe by doing that, as he is inclined to be shy of strangers."

I rose and shook hands with my host.

"Remember me to Joe," said he. "I like that young man. Good-bye and good luck."

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PETERSON'S MAGAZINE.

Vol. XXIV. THE OLD MAID AND HER PETS.

BY MES. COROLLA H. CBISWELL,

Aunt Manta lived in an old-fashioned house ja the country, where nobody ever visited her ' except her. neighbors, who generally came on business—that is to say, they came to abies from her, advice hath for bodily and mental ail-? ments, She waa quite a physician in her way, November, Aunt Maria was alone in her pleasant sitting-room. No, not exactly alone—for all her and certainly her remedies were very efficacious. } peta surrounded her—the parrot, the canaries, Besides, she was reputed & sybil—a true pro-} and the squirrels Im their respective gagea, the yheteas—for her predictions seldom proved false} white rat and the Guinea pig sleeping quieily -~and mony a love-lorn awain and sighing lassie } together in « little box upon s sheif, the monkey dent their footsteps at carly morn or late at eve, } playing with the rabbits in a corner, the poodle to Aunt Maria’s lonely dwelling. sitting In his mistress’ lap, the eats aud kittens Now, she was as kind-hearted and good an old $ snoozing together on the hearth-rug, and the maid as any ove ever knew. All ber neighbors} grest Newfoundland squatting before the fire, loved her sincerely, and in return for her many} hia red tongue lolling out with the heat, and kind offices, did all in their power to render her} locking very sugaciously in Aunt Maria’s face.

wondered whet mads her look and act so strange as she continually did—but although ticy won- dered, she wondered a great deal more.

One night, just after sunset, in the month of

life easy and comfortable. Indeed, it would have made an interesting picture Her chief happiness, and I may say delight, was { —thie “ happy fanily”—even Barnum might have in her pets, which I shall enumerate: three oats, { envied, had he lacked on. two Maltese kittens, one parrot, ons monkey, tre There was silence in the room, until some one canaries, Bix rabbits, two squirrels, one poodle, gently tapped at the door. Aunt Maria started, one Guineas pig, a white rat, and a great black } but sald, ‘come inl” Newfoundland. That is all I remember—thore A modest, smiling, oountry Iaasia then glided sight have been more—but these will do to itlus- } to the side of the aybil, as the villagers called trate my atory. her, snd, dropping upon her knees, said in « Well, something new happens everywhere every { fairy voice, ‘tall my fortune, please.” day--and it sc happened that a strangettime to} The goad woman laid her hand caressingly on dwell in the little village I am telling you of; and{ her young head, ‘Yes, Phebe.” in truth, be was the strangest stranger that ever! ‘Oh, hol” sereamed the parrot, winking one ‘was acon by the good people of that place. Hej aye, “7's tall your fortune.” waa @ tall, thin, middle-sged man, had 8 bump “Hush, Poll! Your hand, Phebe, Ah! you on his back, and waa blind of one eye—and of bava quarreled with your loyer---jeslousy—ak! all the countenances you ever caw, his had the$ have a care—what’s this? Phebs! you are queerpst, most grotesque expression, wrong—make up with him aud yonrs shall be 5 Well, dear reader, this strange stranger, who {happy lot That’ all I can tell you now—leave called himseif John Btrangs, settled down very} me!” quictly in a little dwolling, about a hundred} “Go awsy!” cried Poll Phebe, kissing the yards from that of Aunt Maris. This good} sybil's hand, departed. lady, dating from the arrival of asid stranger,; Tap! tap! om the window shutter—tap! tap! became very unsettled in mind me body, people t tap! Vou. XXIV.—14


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 a muddled mass of observations to the effect that “they got fright too much about them water palaver."

I did not linger to raise a monument to them, but I said I wished they were in a condition to require one, and we went on over our hillocks with more confidence now that we knew we had stuck well to our unmarked track.

Only she was a young and inefficient moon, and although we were below the thickest of the mist band, it was dark.

Finding our own particular hole in the forest wall was about as easy as finding "our particular rabbit hole in an unknown hay-field in the dark," and the attempt to do so afforded us a great deal of varied exercise. I am obliged to be guarded in my language, because my feelings now are only down to one degree below boiling point. The rain now began to fall, thank goodness, and I drew the thick ears of grass through my parched lips as I stumbled along over the rugged lumps of rock hidden under the now waist-high jungle grass.

Our camp hole was pretty easily distinguishable by day-light, for it was on the left-hand side of one of the forest tongues, the grass land running down like a lane between two tongues here, and just over the entrance three conspicuously high trees showed. But we could not see these "picking-up" points in the darkness, so I had to keep getting Xenia to strike matches, and hold them in his hat while I looked at the compass. Presently we came full tilt up against a belt of trees which I knew from these compass observations was our tongue of forest belt, and I fired a couple of revolver shots into it, whereabouts I judged our camp to be.

This was instantly answered by a yell from human voices in chorus, and towards that yell in a slightly amiable—a very slightly amiable—state of mind I went.

I will draw a veil over the scene, particularly over my observations to those men. They did not attempt to deny their desertion, but they attempted to explain it, each one


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] ing in the house of Messrs. Bawer and Stagh, who received me with the greatest cordiality.

10th. The council revoked the permission they had granted us, and all our company were immediately obliged to return on board, with the exception of our invalids, to which number I belonged, the dysentery having left me in a state of extreme debility. Being now removed from the rest of my fellow-sufferers in this contagious malady, I was very much relieved by the use of purgatives, sago, and skimmed milk; and in a short time completely recovered.

It was high time that this captivity should have an end; for the number of sick persons on board increased with alarming rapidity. Almost one half of the crew were attacked with dysentery and contagious fevers, which did not abate of their violence till they had carried off several of our men. At length the Council again granted the permission which they had revoked a few days before, and we had the satisfaction of meeting again together in the town.

The heat was excessive during the first days of our stay at Sourabaya. I was astonished to see Reaumur's thermometer rise to 27°; but these burning heats were but of short duration; for the change of the monsoon, which took place about the beginning of November, caused for


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 saying that it was not he but the other boy who "got fright too much."

As the black sergeant was nominally our guide, I asked him for his views on the situation. He said that when he got back to the camp the boys were drunk, which I daresay was true, but left the explanation of why he went back out of the affair. I pointed this out, and Bum, the Head man, charged into the gap with the statement that Black boy had got "sick in him tummick, he done got fever bad bad too much," and so he and the rest had to escort Black boy back to camp. This statement, though a contribution to the knowledge of the reason of the return, was manifestly untrue; because Black boy, who did not know English, sat laughing and talking at the fire during this moving recital of his woes. Those men should have rehearsed their explanations, and then Black boy could have done a good rousing writhe to support poor Bum's statement,

I closed the palaver promptly with a brief but lurid sketch of my opinion on the situation, and ordered food, for not having had a thing save that cup of sour claret since 6.30 ., and it being now 11 ., I felt sinkings. Then arose another beautiful situation before me. It seems when Cook and Monrovia got back into camp this morning Master Cook was seized with one of those attacks of a desire to manage things that produce such awful results in the African servant, and sent all the beef and rice down to Buea to be cooked, because there was no water here to cook it. Therefore the men have got nothing to eat. I had a few tins of my own food and so gave them some, and they became as happy as kings in a few minutes, listening and shouting over the terrible adventures of Xenia, who is posing as the Hero of the Great Cameroon, I get some soda-water from the two bottles left and some tinned herring, and then write out two notes to Herr Liebert asking him to send me three more demijohns of water, and some beef and rice from the store, promising faithfully to pay for them on my return.

I would not prevent those men of mine from going up that peak above me after their touching conduct to-day. Oh! no; not for worlds, dear things.


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320 a considerable time, especially in the afternoon, abundant falls of rain, which cooled the atmosphere to such a degree, that the thermometer did not stand higher than 22° or 23°, in the hottest part of the day.

As soon as my health was a little re-established, I made frequent excursions in the environs of the town, and as far into the country as my strength permitted me. I had the pleasure of seeing my collections of natural history encrease with a great number of specimens which I had never before met with.

Most of the roads to a considerable distance from Sourabaya are shaded by hedges of bamboo. Others were inclosed between long avenues of mimusops elengi, guillandina moringa, nauclea orientalis, hybiscus tiliaceus, &c. the shade of which produces a very salutary effect in this fervid climate. I was much surprised to see the last mentioned tree send out branches from the whole length of its trunk, as far down as the root; differing in this respect from all of the same species, that I had seen in other places, but I soon observed some of the Javanese employed in making incisions very close to each other in the bark of the trees with a large knife, and was informed that this operation has been practised here from time immemorial for the purpose of causing young


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September 24th—Lovely morning, the grey-white mist in the forest makes it like a dream of Fairyland, each moss-grown tree stem heavily gemmed with dewdrops. At 5.30 I stir the boys, for Sasu, the sergeant, says he must go back to his military duties. The men think we are all going back with him as he is our only guide, but I send three of them down with orders to go back to Victoria—two being of the original set I started with, They are surprised and disgusted at being sent home, but they have got "hot foot," and something wrong in the usual seat of African internal disturbances, their "tummicks," and I am not thinking of starting a sanatorium for abdominally-afflicted Africans in that crater plain above. Black boy is the other boy returned, I do not want another of his attacks.

They go, and this leaves me in the forest camp with Kefalla, Xenia, and Cook, and we start expecting the water sent for by Monrovia boy yesterday forenoon. There are an abominable lot of bees about; they do not give one a moment's peace, getting beneath the waterproof sheets over the bed, and pretending they can't get out and forthwith losing their tempers, which is imbecile, because the whole four sides of the affair are broad open.

The ground, bestrewn with leaves and dried wood, is a mass of large flies rather like our common house-fly, but both butterflies and beetles seem scarce; but I confess I do not feel up


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58

L. May. God bless your Grace with health and happy days!

Prince. I thank you, good my lord; and thank you all.

I thought my mother and my brother York

Would long ere this have met us on the way:

Fie! what a slug is Hastings, that he comes not

To tell us whether they will come or no.

Buck. And in good time here comes the sweating lord.

Prince. Welcome, my lord. What, will our mother come?

Hast. On what occasion, God he knows, not I,

The queen your mother, and your brother York,

Have taken sanctuary: the tender prince

Would fain have come with me to meet your Grace,

But by his mother was perforce withheld.

Buck. Fie! what an indirect and peevish course

Is this of hers! Lord Cardinal, will your Grace

Persuade the queen to send the Duke of York

Unto his princely brother presently?

If she deny, Lord Hastings, go with him,

And from her jealous arms pluck him perforce.

Card. My Lord of Buckingham, if my weak oratory

Can from his mother win the Duke of York,

Anon expect him here; but if she be obdurate

To mild entreaties, God [in heaven] forbid

We should infringe the holy privilege

Of blessed sanctuary! not for all this land

 17 S. d. Cf. n.

22 slug: sluggard

30 perforce: by force

36 pluck him; cf. n.

39 Anon: soon

40, 41 God infringe; cf. n.

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 to hunting much after yesterday's work, and deem it advisable to rest.

My face and particularly my lips are a misery to me, having been blistered all over by yesterday's sun, and last night I inadvertently whipped the skin all off one cheek with the blanket, and it keeps on bleeding, and, horror of horrors, there is no tea until that water comes.

I wish I had got the mountaineering spirit, for then I could say, "I'll never come to this sort of place again, for you can get all you want in the Alps." I have been told this by my mountaineering friends—I have never been there—and that you can go and do all sorts of stupendous things all day, and come back in the evening to table d'hôte at an hotel; but as I have not got the mountaineering spirit, I suppose I shall come fooling into some such place as this as soon as I get the next chance.

About 8.30, to our delight, the gallant Monrovia boy comes through the bush with a demijohn of water, and I get my tea, and give the men the only half-pound of rice I have and a tin of meat, and they eat, become merry, and chat over their absent companions in a scornful, scandalous way. Who cares for hotels now? When one is in a delightful place like this, one must work, so off I go to the north into the forest, after giving the rest of the demijohn of water into the Monrovia boy's charge with strict orders it is not to be opened till my return. Quantities of beetles.

A little after two o'clock I return to camp, after having wandered about in the forest and found three very deep holes, down which I heaved rocks and in no case heard a splash. In one I did not hear the rocks strike, owing to the great depth. I hate holes, and especially do I hate these African ones, for I am frequently falling, more or less, into them, and they will be my end. So far I have never fallen down a West Coast native gold mine, but I know people who have; but all the other sorts I have tried, having pitched by day and night into those, from three to twelve feet deep, made by industrious indigenous ones, as Mrs. Gault calls them, digging out sand and earth to make the "swish" walls of their simple savage homes; and also into those from twenty to thirty feet deep


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 with pointed stakes at the bottom, artfully disposed to impale the elephant and leopard of the South-West Coast. But my worst fall was into a disused Portuguese well of unknown depth at Cabinda, I "feel the place in frosty weather still," though I did not go down all the way, my descent being arrested by a collection of brushwood and rubbish, which had been cast into it, and which had hitched far down in the shaft. When I struck this subterranean wood raft, I thought—Saved! The next minute it struck me that raft was sinking, and so it was, slowly and jerkily, but sinking all the same. I clapper-clawed round in the stuffy dark for something at the side to hang on to, and got some tough bush rope, just as I was convinced that my fate was an inglorious and inverted case of Elijah, and I was being carried off, alive, to Shiöl.

The other demijohns of water have not arrived yet, and we are getting anxious again because the men's food has not come up, and they have been so exceedingly thirsty that they have drunk most of the water—not, however, since it has been in Monrovia's charge; but at 3.15 another boy comes through the bush with another demijohn of water. We receive him gladly, and ask him about the chop. He knows nothing about it. At 3.45 another boy comes through the bush with another demijohn of water; we receive him kindly; he does not know anything about the chop. At 4.10 another boy comes through the bush with another demijohn of water, and knowing nothing about the chop, we are civil to him, and that's all.

A terrific tornado which has been lurking growling about then sits down in the forest and bursts, wrapping us up in a lively kind of fog, with its thunder, lightning, and rain. It was impossible to hear, or make one's self heard at the distance of even a few paces, because of the shrill squeal of the wind, the roar of the thunder, and the rush of the rain on the trees round us. It was not like having a storm burst over you in the least; you felt you were in the middle of its engine-room when it had broken down badly. After half an hour or so the thunder seemed to lift itself off the ground, and the lightning came in sheets, instead of in great forks that flew like flights of spears among the forest trees. The thunder, however, had not


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Rh that he has found something to say for himself."

"Yes, we talked—a while since," the girl said. "At least he did."

"Then if you listened I hope you listened with a good grace."

"Oh, he speaks very well—and I've never disliked him."

It pulled her father up. "Is that all—when I think so much of him?"

She seemed to say that she had, to her own mind, been liberal and gone far; but she waited a little. "Do you think very, very much?"

"Surely I've made my good opinion clear to you!"

Again she had a pause. "Oh yes, I've seen you like him and believe in him—and I've found him pleasant and clever."

"He has never had," Lord Theign more or less ingeniously explained, "what I call a real show." But the character under discussion could after all be summed up without searching analysis. "I consider nevertheless that there's plenty in him."

It was a moderate claim, to which Lady


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It was a favorite remark of the late Mr. Whitbread's, that no man does any thing from a single motive. The separate motives, or rather moods of mind, which produced the preceding reflections and anecdotes have been laid open to the reader in each separate instance. But an interest in the welfare of those, who at the present time may be in circumstances not dissimilar to my own at my first entrance into life, has been the constant accompaniment, and (as it were) the under-song of all my feelings. exerting the prerogative of his laureatship addressed to youthful poets a poetic, which is perhaps the best, and certainly the most interesting, of his works. With no other privilege than that of sympathy and sincere good wishes, I would address an affectionate exhortation to the youthful literati, grounded on my own experience. It will be but short; for the beginning, middle, and end converge to one charge: -


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 settled things amicably with the mountain; it roared its rage at Mungo, and Mungo answered back, quivering with a rage as great, under our feet. One feels here as if one were constantly dropping, unasked and unregarded, among painful and violent discussions between the elemental powers of the universe. Mungo growls and swears in thunder at the sky, and sulks in white mist all the morning, and then the sky answers back, hurling down lightnings and rivers of water, with total disregard of Mungo’s visitors. The way the water rushes down from the mountain wall through the watercourses in the jungle just above, and then at the edge of the forest spreads out into a sheet of water that is an inch deep, and that flies on past us in miniature cascades, trying the while to put out our fire, and so on, is—quite interesting. (I exhausted my vocabulary on these boys yesterday.)

As soon as we saw what we were in for, we had thrown dry wood on to the fire, and it blazed just as the rain came down, so with our assistance it fought a good fight with its fellow elements, spitting and hissing like a wild cat. It could have managed the water fairly well, but the wind came, very nearly putting an end to it by carrying away its protecting bough house, which settled on "Professor" Kefalla, who burst out in a lecture on the foolishness of mountaineering and the quantity of devils in this region. Just in the midst of these joys another boy came through the bush with another demijohn of water. We did not receive him even civilly; I burst out laughing, and the boys went off in a roar, and we shouted at him, "Where them chop?" "He live for come," said the boy, and we then gave him a hearty welcome and a tot of rum, and an hour afterwards two more boys appear, one carrying a sack of rice and beef for the men, and the other a box for me from Herr Liebert, containing a luxurious supply of biscuits, candles, tinned meats, and a bottle of wine and one of beer.

We are now all happy, though exceeding damp, and the boys sit round the fire, with their big iron pot full of beef and rice, busy cooking while they talk. Wonderful accounts of our prodigies of valour I hear given by Xenia, and terrible accounts of what they have lived through from the others, and the men who have brought up the demijohns and the


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 chop recount the last news from Buea. James's wife has run away again.

I have taken possession of two demijohns of water and the rum demijohn, arranging them round the head of my bed. The worst of it is those tiresome bees, as soon as the rain is over, come in hundreds after the rum, and frighten me continually. The worthless wretches get intoxicated on what they can suck from round the cork, and then they stagger about on the ground buzzing malevolently. When the boys have had the chop and a good smoke, we turn to and make up the loads for to-morrow's start up the mountain, and then, after more hot tea, I turn in on my camp bed—listening to the soft sweet murmur of the trees and the pleasant, laughing chatter of the men.

September 25th.—Rolled off the bed twice last night into the bush. The rain has washed the ground away from under its off legs, so that it tilts; and there were quantities of large longicorn beetles about during the night—the sort with spiny backs; they kept on getting themselves hitched on to my blankets and when I wanted civilly to remove them they made a horrid fizzing noise and showed fight—cocking their horns in a defiant way. I awake finally about 5 a.m. soaked through to the skin. The waterproof sheet has had a label sewn to it, so is not waterproof, and it has been raining softly but amply for hours. I wish the camp bed had had a ticket sewn on, and nothing but my profound admiration for Kaiser Wilhelm, Emperor of Germany, its owner, prevents me from making holes in it, for it sags in the middle, and constitutes an excellent rain-water cistern, I have been saying things to it, during the night, about this habit, but the bed is so imbued with the military spirit that it says, "My orders are to be waterproof, and waterproof I'll be": so I decide to leave it behind, carefully drying it and protecting it as much as possible.

About seven we are off again, with Xenia, head man, cook, Monrovia boy and a labourer from Buea—the water-carriers have gone home after having had their morning chop.

We make for the face of the wall by a route to the left of that I took on Monday, and when we are clambering up it,


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. With the exception of one extraordinary man, I have never known an individual, least of all an individual of genius, healthy or happy without a profession, i.e. some regular employment, which does not depend on the will of the moment, and which can be carried on so far mechanically that an average quantum only of health, spirits, and intellectual exertion are requisite to its faithful discharge. Three hours of leisure, unannoyed by any alien anxiety, and looked forward to with delight as a change and recreation, will suffice to realize in literature a larger product of what is truly genial, than weeks of compulsion. Money, and immediate reputation form only an arbitrary and accidental end of literary labor. The hope of increasing them by any given exertion will often prove a stimulant to industry; but the necessity of acquiring them will in all works of genius convert the stimulant into a narcotic. Motives by excess reverse their very nature, and instead of exciting, stun and stupify the mind. For it is one contradistinction of genius from talent, that its predominant end is always comprized in the means; and this is one of the many points, which establish an analogy between genius and virtue. Now though talents may exist without genius, yet as genius cannot exist, certainly not manifest itself, without talents, I would


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Acceary after the fact, where a peron knowing the felony to be committed by another, relieves, comforts, or aits the felon. 1 H. H. 618.

Knowing the felony io be committed] There can be no doubt, but that it is neceary that the receiver have notice of the felony, either expres or implied, and fate be laid in the indictment, that the receiver knew that the peron received by him, had committed the principal felony. 2. Haw. 319.

The felony] This, as hath been aid, holds place only in felonies, and in thoe felonies, where by the law judgment of death regularly ought to enue: aud therefore not in petit larceny. 1 H. H. 618.

And therefore if a perfon do barely receive, comfort, or conceal an offender guilty of any common trepas, or inferior crime of the like nature tho' he knew him to have been guilty, and that there is a warrant out againt him, yet he is not an acceary to the offence: but perhaps in uch cae he may be indictable for a contempt of the law, in hindring the due coure of jutice. 2 Haw. 311.

Relieves, comforts, or aits the felon] In the explication of thee words, everal things are coniderable:

1. Generally, any aitance whatoever given to one known to be a felon, in order to hinder his being apprehended, or tried, or uffering the punihment to which he is condemned, is ufficient to bring a man within this decription, and make him acceary to the felony: as where one aits him with a hore to ride away with, or with money or vituals to upport him in his ecape. 2. Haw. 317.

2. But if a man knows that a peron hath committed a felony, but doth not dicover it, this doth not make him an acceary, but it is a mipriion of felony, for which he may be: indicted, and upon his conviction, fined and imprioned, 1 H. H. 618.

3. Alo if a man ees another commit a felony, but conents not, nor yet takes eare to apprehend him or to devy hue and cry after him, or upon hue and cry levied doth not purue him: this is a neglect punihable by fine and imprionment, but it doth not make him an acceary. 1. H. H. 618.

4. In like manner if one commit a felony, and come to a peron's houe before he be arrested, and uch peron uffer him to ecape without arret, knowing him to have committed a felony, this doth not make him acceflary; but if he take money of the felon to uffer him to ecape, this makes him acceary: And o it is if he hut the fore-door of his houe, whereby the puruers are deceived, and the felon hath opportunity to ecape, this makes him an acceary: for here is not a bare omiion, but an act done by him to accommodate the felon's ecape. 1. H. H. 619.

5. Also it eems to be ettled at this day, that whooever recues a felon from an arret for the felony, or voluntarily uffers him to ecape, is an acceary to the felony. 2 Haw. 318.


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 some 600 feet above the hillocks, swish comes a terrific rainstorm at us accompanied by a squealing, bitter cold wind. We can hear the roar of the rain on the forest below, and hoping to get above it we keep on; hoping, however, is vain. The dense mist that comes with it prevents our seeing more than two yards in front, and we get too far to the left. I am behind the band to-day, severely bringing up the rear, and about 1 o'clock I hear shouts from the vanguard and when I get up to them I find them sitting on the edge of one of the clefts or scars in the mountain face.

I do not know how these quarry-like chasms have been formed. They both look alike from below—the mountain wall comes down vertically into them—and the bottom of this one slopes forward, so that if we had had the misfortune when a little lower down to have gone a little further to the left, we should have got on to the bottom of it,and should have found ourselves walled in on three sides, and had to retrace our steps; as it is we have just struck its right-hand edge. And fortunately, the mist, thick as it is, has not been sufficiently thick to lead the men to walk over it; for had they done so they would have got killed, as the cliff arches in under so that we look straight into the bottom of the scar some 200 or 300 feet below, when there is a split in the mist. The sides and bottom are made of, and strewn with, white, moss-grown masses of volcanic cinder rock, and sparsely shrubbed with gnarled trees which have evidently been under fire—one of my boys tells me from the burning of this face of the mountain by "the Major from Calabar" during the previous dry season.

We keep on up a steep grass-covered slope, and finally reach the top of the wall. The immense old crater floor before us is to-day the site of a seething storm, and the peak itself quite invisible. My boys are quite demoralised by the cold. I find most of them have sold the blankets I gave them out at Buana; and those who have not sold them have left them behind at Buea, from laziness perhaps, but more possibly from a confidence in their powers to prevent us getting so far.

I believe if I had collapsed too—the cold tempted me to do


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 so as nothing else can—they would have lain down and died in the cold sleety rain.

I sight a clump of gnarled sparsely-foliaged trees bedraped heavily with lichen, growing in a hollow among the rocks; thither I urge the men for shelter and they go like storm-bewildered sheep. My bones are shaking in my skin and my teeth in my head, for after the experience I had had of the heat here on Monday I dared not clothe myself heavily.

The men stand helpless under the trees, and I hastily take the load of blankets Herr Licbert lent us off a boy's back and undo it, throwing one blanket round each man, and opening my umbrella and spreading it over the other blankets. Then I give them a tot of rum apiece, as they sit huddled in their blankets, and tear up a lot of the brittle, rotten wood from the trees and shrubs, getting horrid thorns into my hands the while, and set to work getting a fire with it and the driest of the moss from beneath the rocks. By the aid of it and Xenia, who soon revived, and a carefully scraped up candle and a box of matches, the fire soon blazes, Xenia holding a blanket to shelter it, while I, with a cutlass, chop stakes to fix the blankets on, so as to make a fire tent.

The other boys now revive, and I hustle them about to make more fires, no easy work in the drenching rain, but work that has got to be done. We soon get three well alight, and then I clutch a blanket—a wringing wet blanket, but a comfort—and wrapping myself round in it, issue orders for wood to be gathered and stored round each fire to dry, and then stand over cook while he makes the men’s already cooked chop hot over our first fire, when this is done getting him to make me tea, or as it more truly should be called, soup, for it contains bits of rice and beef, and the general taste of the affair is wood smoke.

Kefalla by this time is in lecturing form again, so my mind is relieved about him, although he says, "Oh ma! It be cold, cold too much. Too much cold kill we black man, all same for one as too much sun kill you white man, Oh ma!…," &c. I tell him they have only got themselves to blame; if they had come up with me on Monday


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 we should have been hot enough, and missed this storm of rain.

When the boys have had their chop, and are curling themselves up comfortably round their now blazing fires, Xenia must needs start a theory that there is a better place than this to camp in; he saw it when he was with an unsuccessful expedition that got as far as this. Kefalla is fool enough to go off with him to find this place; but they soon return, chilled through again, and unsuccessful in their quest. I gather that they have been to find caves. I wish they had found caves, for I am not thinking of taking out a patent for our present camp site.

The bitter wind and swishing rain keep on. We are to a certain extent sheltered from the former, but the latter is of that insinuating sort that nothing but a granite wall would keep off.

Just at sundown, however, as is usual in this country, the rain ceases for a while, and I take this opportunity to get out my seaman’s jersey, and retire up over the rocks to have my fight into it unobserved. It is a mighty fight to get that thing on, or off, at the best of times, but to-day it is worse than usual, because I have to get it on over my saturated cotton blouse, and verily at one time I fear I shall have to shout for assistance or be suffocated, so firmly does it get jammed over my head. But I fight my way unaided into it, and then turn to survey our position, and find I have been carrying on my battle on the brink of an abysmal hole whose mouth is concealed among the rocks and scraggly shrubs just above our camp. I heave rocks down it, as we in Fanland would offer rocks to an Ombwiri, and hear them go "knickity-knock, like a pebble in Carisbrook well." I think I detect a far away splash, but it was an awesome way down. This mountain seems set with these man-traps, and "some day some gentleman's nigger" will get killed down one.

The mist has now cleared away from the peak, but lies all over the lower world, and I take bearings of the three highest cones or peaks carefully. Then I go away over the rocky ground southwards, and as I stand looking round, the mist


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 sea below is cleft in twain for a few minutes by some fierce down-draught of wind from the peak, and I get a strange, clear, sudden view right down to Ambas Bay. It is just like looking down from one world into another. I think how Odin hung and looked down into Nifelheim, and then of how hot, how deliciously hot, it was away down there, and then the mist closes over it. I shiver and go back to camp, for night is coming on, and I know my men will require intellectual support in the matter of procuring firewood.

The men are now quite happy; over each fire they have made a tent with four sticks with a blanket on, a blanket that is too wet to burn, though I have to make them brace the blankets to windward for fear of their scorching.

The wood from the shrubs here is of an aromatic and a resinous nature, which sounds nice, but it isn't; for the volumes of smoke it gives off when burning are suffocating, and the boys, who sit almost on the fire, are every few moments scrambling to their feet and going apart to cough out smoke, like so many novices in training for the profession of fire-eaters. However, they soon find that if they roll themselves in their blankets, and lie on the ground to windward they escape most of the smoke. They have divided up into three parties: Kefalla and Xenia, who have struck up a great friendship, take the lower, the most exposed fire. Head man, Cook, and Monrovia Boy have the upper fire, and the labourer has the middle one—he being an outcast for medical reasons. They are all steaming away and smoking comfortably.

I form the noble resolution to keep awake, and rouse up any gentleman who may catch on fire during the night, a catastrophe which is inevitable, and see to wood being put on the fires, so elaborately settle myself on my wooden chop-box, wherein I have got all the lucifers which are not in the soap-box. The very address on that chop-box, ought to keep its inside dry and up to duty, for it is "An den Hochwohlgebornen Freiherrn von Stettin," &c. Owing to there not being a piece of ground the size of a sixpenny piece level in this place, the arrangement of my box camp takes time, but at last it is done to my complete satisfaction, close to a tree


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 last $$m$$ survivors out of $$m+\mu$$ lives A, B, C, &c. will jointly survive the term of $$t$$ years. And when $$\mu=0$$, the expression will become $${}_t\!(abc,\ \&\text{c.})$$ the probability that the lives will all survive the term (138).

When $$m=1$$ it will become $${}_t\!(\overset{1}{\overline{abc,\ \&\text{c.}}})$$, the measure of the probability that the last survivor of them will outlive the term; which it will be better to write thus, $${}_t\!(\overline{abc,\ \&\text{c.}})$$, retaining the vinculum, but omitting the unit over it, as in the notation of powers.

Also let $$\overset{m}{\overline{\text{ABC},\ \&\text{c.}}}$$ denote the value of an annuity on the joint continuance of the same number of last survivors out of the same lives. Then, if $$\mu$$ be equal to 0, it will be $$\text{ABC}$$, &c. the value of an annuity on the joint continuance of all the lives; when $$m=1$$, it will be $$\overline{\text{ABC},\ \&\text{c.}}$$ the value of an annuity on the last survivor of them. The values of annuities on the last survivor of two and of three hives, will be denoted as in Nos. 158 and 159 respectively; and that of an annuity on the joint continuance of the last two survivors out of three lives, as in No. 160.

The value of an annuity on the last $$m$$ survivors out of these $$m + \mu$$ lives, according as it is limited to the term of $$t$$ years, or deferred during that term, will also he denoted by $${}_{t\urcorner}\!\overset{m}{\overline{\text{ABC},\ \&\text{c.}}}$$ or $${}_{\neg t}\!\overset{m}{\overline{\text{ABC},\ \&\text{c.}}}$$ (156 and 157.)

172. An annuity certain for the term off $$t + \nu$$ years, is to be enjoyed by P and his heirs during the joint existence of the last $$m$$ survivors out of $$m + \mu$$ lives, A, B, C, &c.; and if that joint existence fail before the expiration of $$t$$ years, the annuity is to go to Q and his heirs, for the remainder of the term; to determine the value of Q’s interest in that annuity.

Q’s expectation may be distinguished into two parts:

2em

The sum of the present values of the interests of P and Q, together in the annuity for the term of $$t$$ years, is manifestly equal ta the whole present value of the annuity certain for that term; that is, equal to $$\frac{1 - v^t}{r}$$ (113 and 146); and the value of P’s interest for the term of $$t$$ years, is $${}_{t\urcorner}\!\overset{m}{\overline{\text{ABC},\ \&\text{c.}}}$$ (171); therefore the value of Q’s interest for the same term is $$\frac{1 - v^t}{r} - {}_{t\urcorner}\!\overset{m}{\overline{\text{ABC},\ \&\text{c.}}}$$

The present value of the annuity certain for $$\nu$$ years after $$t$$ years is $$\frac{v^t(1-v^\nu)}{r}$$ (114 and 146); and Q and his heirs will receive this annuity, if the joint continuance of the last $$m$$ survivors above mentioned fail before the expiration of $$t$$ years; but the probability of their joint continuance failing in the term, is $$1 - {}_t\!(\overset{m}{\overline{abc,\ \&\text{c.}}})$$; therefore, the value of Q’s interest in the annuity to be received after $$t$$ years, is $$\left [ 1 - {}_t\! ( \overset{m}{\overline{abc,\ \&\text{c.}}} ) \right ] \frac{v^t (1-v^\nu)}{r}$$; and the whole value of Q’s interest, is $$\frac{1}{r} \left [ 1 - v^{\nu+t} - v^t(1-v^\nu) \cdot {}_t\!(\overset{m}{\overline{abc,\ \&\text{c.}}}) \right ] - {}_{t\urcorner}\!\overset{m}{\overline{\text{ABC, }\&\text{c.}}}$$

173. ''Corol. 1. When the whole annuity certain is a perpetuity, $$v^{t+\nu}$$ = 0, and the value of Q''’s interest is $$\frac{1}{r} \left [ 1 - {}_t\!(\overset{m}{\overline{abc,\ \&\text{c.}}}) v^t \right ] - {}_{t\urcorner}\!\overset{m}{\overline{\text{ABC, }\&\text{c.}}}$$

174. ''Corol. 2''. When the term $$t$$ is not less than the greatest joint continuance of any $$m$$ of the proposed lives, according to the tables of mortality adapted to them, $${}_t\!(\overset{m}{\overline{abc,\ \&\text{c.}}}) = 0$$, and $${}_{t\urcorner}\!\overset{m}{\overline{\text{ABC, }\&\text{c.}}} = \overset{m}{\overline{\text{ABC, }\&\text{c.;}}}$$ therefore, in that case, the general formula of No. 172 becomes $$\frac{1-v^{\nu+t}}{r} - \overset{m}{\overline{\text{ABC, }\&\text{c.}}}$$; that is, the excess of the value of an annuity certain for the whole term $$\nu+t$$, above that of an annuity on the whole duration of joint continuance of the last $$m$$ surviving lives.

175. And if, in the case proposed in the last No. the annuity certain be a perpetuity, as in No. 173, the formula will become $$\frac{1}{r} - \overset{m}{\overline{\text{ABC, }\&\text{c.}}}$$ the excess of the value of the perpetuity above the value of an annuity on the joint lives of the last $$m$$ survivors; agreeably to No. 63.

176. Example 1. Required the present value of the absolute reversion of an estate in fee simple, after the extinction of the last survivor of three lives, A, B, C, now aged 50, 55, and 60 years respectively: reckoning interest at 5 per cent.

The general Algebraical expression of this value has just been shown to be $$\frac{1}{r} - \overline{\text{ABC.}}$$

the value required. And if the annual produce of the estate, clear of all deductions, were L. 100, the title to the reversion would now be worth L. 599, 18s.—, agreeably to No. 76.

177. Ex. 2. An annuity for the term of 70 years certain (from this time), is to revert to Q and his heirs at the failure of a life A, now 45 years of age; what is the present value of Q’s interest therein; reckoning the interest of money at 5 per cent.?