"^A v^' '>o • -^> ,#' '^' ,(\^ ■^v A>' ..Ai ->. r^X vOo ""^^ ,0^ .'W .% " .0 0. 'o. » ^^, N >>• .0" 9 -i a^ /• :% iN >^ .0' c *, -^^ "'^..^A^ .# oo ■> >° '^"' cP "o 0-* ■'*.. 'i CAUSERIE. Ca us ERIE. PROM THE BOSTON EVENING JTRANSCRIPT. 4 ^^^. ^^ ■4 or ^^ .. BOSTON: ROBERTS BROTHERS. 1880. Copyright, 1879, By Roberts Brothers. University Press : John Wilson and Son, Cambridge. CAUSEEIE. " Fools rush in where angels fear to tread," no doubt ; and this perhaps accounts for the fact that the fools carry off so man}^ of the prizes in trade, love, and war. Success can't be had without taking some chances ; and the " angels" that deliberate too long are a little apt to be left out in the cold. " IJaudace, et encore I'audace, et toujours Vaiidacer The press justly claims to have vast power. Commensurate with that power is its responsi- bility. It is in duty bound to tell the news and tell the truth ; but that involves no duty, no right, to spread before its readers in countless homes the details of crime or the doings of those charged with its detection and punishment. No 6 CAUSERIE. gentleman would feel justified in entertaining a parlor full of cultivated people with such re- citals as appear in too many papers. Why should an editor call it ' ' enterprise " to send such recitals into a thousand such parlors, know- ing, as he does, their demoralizing tendenc}'? Newgate calendars ma}" interest : they certainly degrade ; and the time will come when it will be recognized that editors are guilty of an ofience, not alone against good taste, but against public morals as well, when they pre- sent to their readers a mental repast which, however appetizing, -is full of subtle poison. To make record of and comment upon a gi'cat crime is clearly the duty of a journalist ; but to turn it over and over, to draw the pictm-e from every possible point of view, to fill the mind of his readers with its revolting and brutalizing details, to the exclusion of ever}^ thing that is elevating and ennobling, is as clearly a trans- How these war memories come floating back ! It seems like a dream now, but it was terribly real CA USERIE. then. At Olustee, just before the fight. ' ' Please, sir," said Pat, an Irish corporal, "I think me horse wants to roll." " Very well," said the cap- tain, "take off his saddle and let him roll, but mind 3^ou mount as soon as he is through." ' 'Yes, sir," said Pat, saluting and falling to the rear. There was a brush with the ' ' Johnnies " a few minutes later, and there was lively work for the next half-hour. When a lull came, the captain saw Pat sitting quietly on a stump, holding his saddle. "Where's yonv horse?" asked the cap- tain. "Down in the field there, sir," answered Pat, rising to salute his commander. " Didn't I tell you to mount as soon as he had done roll- ing?" " Sure 3'ou did, captain, an' it's for that I 'm waiting. He hasn't begun yet." It was Pat's last sally of wit. The poor fellow fell in the next charge. * * "Paint her any color, so she's red," broke in Mose at the engine company meeting, when the boys got into a wrangle over the adornment of the new " tub." He had a rough way of putting it, but he merely expressed a strong man's natural 8 CA USER IE. love for color, not tint or shade, but good, bright color. It is this that makes us, in these later days, welcome the honest coloring of Oriental art, despite its faulty and even grotesque drawing. Tints and tones may rest the eye, but color — true, deep color — is a tonic that strengthens it. Virtue is often a negative quality. The man who has no temptation to do wrong, and is so circumstanced that he finds it most natural and most easy to do right, has no special occasion to plume himself on his virtue, and is not to be held up as a pattern, by any means. For in- stance, there comes to mind a man who never drinks. He never did drink, he never wanted to drink, he doesn't like to drink, and — he doesn't drink. That is not virtue. Another did drink, alwa3's wanted to drink, drank to ex- cess, does like to drink, but after a long and manly struggle succeeded in getting the mastery of himself, and does not drink. That is virtue. Yet the world praises the one because he never drank ; and, though it applauds the other for con- CA USERIE. 9 quering his appetite, remembers the time when it seemed to have conquered him. Let us praise virtue and applaud it, but let us make certain that it is \irtue before the demonstration begins. People who bring into this world hot tempers, strong impulses, and fiery passions are certainly to be pitied, but not to be blamed unless they give way to them without effort ; while if they control and conquer them, thej^ deserve the highest praise. The more fortunate ones, whom Nature endows with cooler blood, genial, sunny tempers and more deliberate ways, are certainly to be congratulated, but never praised. The time will come when half the things that men complain of in their fellows will be treated as infirmities rather than as faults ; when the}^ will be cured, not punished. " Then at the balance let 's be mute, We never can adjust it ; "What 's done we partly may compute, But know not what 's resisted." He is six feet four, a fine, manly fellow ; she four feet six, a little beauty. They have recently 10 CAUSERIE. returned from their wedding journe}', and taken up their abode at a well-known boarding-house in this cit}'. Last Sunday morning he left the breakfast table earl}-, sajing that he must hmry to be in time for his Sunday-school class. After he had gone, a lady said to the little bride, " So 3'our husband has a class in Sunday school?" "Yes," she answered, timidl}^, "a class of little girls ; " innocentl}' adding, after a short pause, "he 's very fond of little girls." There was a suppressed smile all 'round, and the poor little woman blushed to the roots of her hair. It 's a shame to print it, but it 's too good to keep. At Oak Bluffs, one Sunday, while the boat for Woods Hole was l^^ing at the wharf waiting for passengers, a dog that had been exposed to the sun's burning rays on the hot planks fell in a fit. He wasn't much of a dog, but he was "some- body's darling," nevertheless, as the event proved. He la}' there in spasms. The crowd looked curi- ously on, gathering in a circle about him, but doino- nothino-. A bucket of cold water would CAUSERIE. 11 no doubt have brought him out of it, but there was no bucket hand}-, and it was the business of nobody in particular to fetch one. At last some officious person proposed that he should be thrown overboard. No sooner said than done. Four stout hands seized him, and with a "one, two, three," over he went — to drown. Hardly had the waters closed over him, when there arose a cr}^ of sorrow and anguish, — a cyj so piteous that it moved the hearts of all who heard it. It came from a little girl. The dog was her pet, her companion, and had been wantonly sacrificed because some officious bungler thought that a douse might revive him, and that, if it didn't, one dog more or less didn't matter much, any- how. Perhaps not, to him ; but those who saw the poor child's tears felt that it was a needless and cruel blow to her. *** Perhaps it is because of the growing scarcity of available men, perhaps it is because of the increasing independence of the fair sex, — what- ever the reason, it is a fact patent to all who frequent places of amusement, that ladies venture 12 CAUSERIE. abroad in the evening without male escorts far more frequentlj^ than the}' did ten 3'ears ago, and it is greatly to the credit of our cit}' that they can do so with impunit3\ A lad}' would hardly go out alone of an evening ; but if accompanied by another of her sex, especiall}' if one of the pair be tolerably along in 3'ears, — it is not neces- sary to give exact figures, — both feel compara- tively safe. The result is that 3'ouug men are not quite so much of a necessity as the}^ once were, and are made to feel that they are no longer indispensable. Time was when a 3'oung man, simply because he was a man, was permitted to feel that he was a ver}' important creature ; but now that a male escort can with propriety' be dispensed with on occasion, he has been made to descend from his high horse. He was wont to impose his cheap ' ' horse talk " and slang on his lady friends, and was permitted to parade his conceit and ignorance, simply because he was a necessary evil ; but times have changed all that, and he now often finds that unless he can command respect by his knowledge, his character, or his gentlemanly deportment, his room is considered CA USERIE. 13 more desirable than his compan3\ All of which is having an excellent effect upon the average young man of the period. *** It is not enough to keep a friend's secret ; you must keep that you have it to keep. And this is the true test of one's power to keep a secret. JMan^^ who can and will refrain from actually divulging what has been committed to them, cannot refrain from letting the world know that they know something w^hich they could tell if they would. And of all persons those are the ones to whom it is least safe to confide any thing. *** When the Second Advent fever was at its height many years ago, there was numbered among the eleventh-hour converts a man who was known as a hearty and frequent eater. It was in a New England village. According to the calculations of the elders, the "going up" was to take place at four o'clock on the morning of the next day. The believers, with the new convert among them, clad in white robes, assembled soon after midnight 14 CAUSER IE. and began singing h3'mns of praise. Four o'clock came and passed, but there were no signs of the coming of the cliariot. At about five, the convert, who was getting hungry', ventured to inquire into the cause of the delay. He was informed that it arose from the difference between earthlj^ and heavenly time. This satisfied him for a while, but towards seven o'clock, there still being no signs of an}' thing unusual, he approached the minister and asked him if he could state definitely what the difference in time was. The minister professed that that was beyond his ken. "Very well," said the doubter, who now began to feel the pangs of thirst as well as of hunger, " I '11 wait just thirty minutes more. After that I shall scoff.'' *** In Florence, " a many years ago," there was a boarding-house, — a certain " Casa " something or other, the name is forgotten, — a veritable cage of song-birds, in which dwelt and studied a num- ber of 3^oung ladies, gathered from all parts of Christendom, preparing themselves for the lyric stage. On pleasant days melody came pouring CA USERIE. 15 out of ever}^ open window, and it seemed to passers-b}' as though the house must be the very home of harmon}'. But rumor said that it was full of the most distracting discord ; that jealousy and cnv}" ran high within its walls, and that its fair occupants were not a little given to saying disagreeable things of one another. And it was a cage in more senses than one, for it was presided over b}^ an old she-dragon, who would let no one enter, and would not permit its inmates to walk abroad save under her guardianship. Most de- lightful accounts of the beauty, grace, and general " niceness " of the incarcerated students came to a crowd of jolty good fellows, then abiding in fair Florence, from the lips of an old maestro who taught them, and the}^ were particular^ struck with his description of a fair-haired and sweet- voiced young German girl who seemed to have no friend among her mates. At length it was an- nounced that she was to '' come out " at the Per- gola, to make her debut, in fact, and that she was to appear as Violetta in " Traviata." With this came a whisper that the other girls had predicted her failure, and had so worked upon her feelings 16 CA USERIE. that she had lost all courage and heart. "She can sing better than the best of them," said the maestro^ whose S3'mpathies were fuUj' aroused ; "but unless she gets a little encouragement at the start, she will break down completely. Can't 3'ou boys fix it?" The boys thought the^^ could. At all events, when the time came, the pit was well filled with an appreciative audience composed largely of waiters from the hotels and cafes, ready to do the bidding of a half-score of 3^oung fellows who occupied the front row. The plan worked to a charm. When the debutante appeared, there was a perfect storm of applause. She was a little startled, but the idea that an3'bod3^ was working up a game for her never crossed her mind. Her reception encouraged and roused her, all ner- vousness was gone, she sang like a bird, and was cheered to the echo. After her first aria a large bouquet was handed over the footlights, followed by others at proper intervals throughout the even- ing, and after each act she was called before the curtain to make her acknowledgments. Never did the old Pergola witness such excitement. People in the boxes, catching the infection, sent CA USERIE. 17 out for bouquets and showered them upon the stage b}^ the dozen. The manager of the theatre congratulated the heroine of the evening in the green-room before the whole company, and the wonderful success of Signorina 's debut was the talk of the town for a week. There was a good deal of gnashing of prett}' little teeth in the boarding-house, and when the boys went round in the small hours of the night to serenade the happy recipient of so man}' honors, more than one window was closed in a ver}' pronounced and ex- pressive way. But that mattered nothing. The boys had a good time, the young lady had a good "send off," and nobod}' was hurt. Since then the lad}' in question has earned applause in Paris, in London, in St. Petersburg, and in Vienna ; but Causeur believes that never was it more grate- ful to her than at the first performance, when the whole pit of the Pergola stamped and clapped as one man. * * A FRIEND and neighbor has a son who is so quick at repartee that it is a little dangerous to cross swords with him. He was out riding with his 18 CAUSER IE. father the other day, when, noting the name of a street, he asked if it was named for Mr. B , a well-known but not altogether popular citizen. "By no means," said the father; "it was not named for him, but for his father, w^ho was very popular and very much esteemed." The boy said nothing ; so his father, who thought he saw a chance to preach a little sermon, continued, " It 's ver}^ apt to be so. A boy has a father whom ever3^body loves and respects for his good quali- ties and abilities, but in too many cases the boy don't amount to any thing." Said the bo}", after a pause, " Your father was ver}^ much esteemed, wasn't he, sir?" * * A FRIEND, a journalist of distinction, now hold- ing a very prominent and responsible position on one of the best-known papers in the country, had a peculiar experience once in getting a posi- tion on the staff of a New York dail}^ He ap- plied to the editor-in-chief, who knew him well, and was aware of his ability and experience. " I 've nothing to offer 3'ou," he said ; " but per- haps 3-0U 'd better see the managing editor." To CA USERIE. 19 the managing editor, who also knew him well, the applicant went. "There's nothing I can give 3'0ii," he said, pleasantl}' ; " wh}^ don't j'oo see the editor-in-chief ? " The next day he applied to both again, and the next, each time receiving the same answer. Dropping in on the fourth day, he noticed a vacant desk in the reporters' room, kept for any one who might want to use it. He called the office-boy, told him to clean up the desk and bring writing materials. Having "moved in," he sought the city editor's assign- ment book, picked out a job that he thought he could do, did it, laid the result on the citj^ editor's desk, and went home. The next day he did the same thing, and the next, and the next. On the fifth day the editor-in-chief passed through the room while he was at his desk. " So j^ou've got to work?" he said, pleasantl}'. "Yes, sir," answered the self-appointed reporter. A day or two later the managing editor came in. " Got at it at last, eh?" he inquired. "Yes, sir," an- swered this latest addition to the staff, going on with his work. Things went on in this way for two weeks, when one morning the chief came in. 20 CA USERIE. "How do 3'ou like your position?" he asked. " First-rate ; there 's onlj' one trouble : I haven't had any money j^et." " iVb money '^ How's that? Perhaps the managing editor forgot to put your name on the roll. Never mind ; I will. How much did he sa}' 3'ou were to have?" "He didn't say, sir," said the re- porter, telling the truth very literally. The chief fixed the pay then and there, dated it back two weeks, and the "hanger-on" became a full- fledged member of the staff on the spot. And the best of the joke was, that it was not until two years afterward that either the editor-in-chief or the managing editor knew how it came about, each supposing the other had done it. Two heads certainly were better than one that time — for the applicant. *** It was a prett}' and interesting thought of the poet who declared that originally man under- stood, or at least could learn to understand, the talk of birds and beasts, just as he can now learn a language not his own. He held that man had drifted awa}' from nature, and had thus shut him- CAUSEPdE. 21 self up to his own kiud, but that now and then there came one who, though he could not con- verse m the " natural language," could at least understand and interpret it. " Such a man," he declared, "■ is a poet — a born poet. He may make rhymes or he ma}' not. That matters Uttle. He is a poet at heart, and has the instinct, the feeling, the sj'mpath}- of a poet." Perhaps so, but where is the poet who will tell us just what the robins sa}' to one another, as they flit about the cherr3'-trees ; or expound the ceaseless chatter of the sparrows ? The canary in his cage is say- ing something that his friend across the street doubtless understands, but to us it is only music. Buras, a true poet if ever there was one, a poet who loved nature in its every pliase, onl}' ven- tured an inference as to the burden of the wood- lark's pathetic song when he said, — '* Naught but love and sorrow joined Such notes of woe could waken," No, our poets are human, after all, and if men have drifted away from nature, the poets have kept them compan3\ 22 CA USERIE. It was in a well-remembered cafe in Florence, man}^ years ago. A companion, " a fellow of in- finite wit," and, like all such fellows, of a bilious and dyspeptic temperament, bad been gloomy and sullen all da}^ the result of that depressing No- vember weather which is nowhere worse than in the valley of the Arno. But as the "strange invisible perfume" came steaming up from the cup before him, rich with the aroma of far-off Araby, his spirits revived, the merrj' twinkle came back to his dark eye, and a smile bright- ened his face, as he said, "Do 3'ou know, old fellow, that an honest man and a good cup of coffee are two of the noblest works of God?" In an old copy of Murray's Handbook for Switzerland, a copy that shows signs of wear and travel, — as well it ma}', for it has " made," in pocket and knapsack, most of the minor and many of the major passages of the Alps, — there stands, against the name of the little Valais town of Brieg, this startling announcement : " Hotel de la Poste — Bugs." This was clear and explicit. CA USERIE. 23 and no doubt expressed the exact truth. At all events, tourists took it to be such, and gave the hostehy a wide berth. It is even recorded that an Enghsh " milord," travelling that wa}^, slept in his carriage in the court-3'ard all night, rather than enter a hotel which had so potent a black mark set down against it. The result was w^hat may be supposed. A new hotel started up, the proprietors of the old house with the objectionable tenants were forced to sell out, and the later editions of Murray indicate that Brieg now boasts two inns, neither of which has inherited the feature which made their predecessor so undesir- able, and all because a guide-book had the pluck to tell the truth. And this leads to the remark that one thing greatlj^ needed in America is an honest and truthful guide-book, one in which the advertising feature will not stare the reader in the face wherever he opens it, and that will be in fact as well as in name a '' guide." As it is, the un- war}' traveller finds that the compilers — they have no authors — of his guide-books, moved thereto by liberal advertising on the part of shrewd Bonifaces, sound the praises of hotels 24: CA USERIE. which, on being tested, proA^e to be dreaiy as to comforts, detestable as to table, and simply abom- inable as to beds and toilet conveniences. The unvarnished truth is the first and chief prerequi- site in any reform, and the American guide-book that dares to give it will not only prove a mine of wealth to its publishers, but a blessing and a boon to the travelling pubhc in America. Not long since, a lady living upon the patrician soil of the West End was forced to make a busi- ness visit into the benighted region of the South End. Repairing thither, this Lancastrian rose was not a little surprised to find upon the walls of the modest mansion pictures to which the most decorative denizen of the Eleventh Ward could take no exception. When the mistress of the house came to receive her guest, she met this greeting : " I am so surprised to find a ' Me3'er von Bremen ' ! While I was wondering, I espied another example and an aquarelle, also, of this, my favorite artist. I did not expect to find at the South " — Here gentle breeding got the CAUSERIE. 25 better of astonishment, and business was pro- ceeded with at once. As the lad}' drove awa}*, the South End resident, a " sadder and a wiser woman," was passing her nursery door, when these words from the lips of her baby-bo}' fell upon her ear : ' ' There was once a little pea ; it dwelt in a little pod ; it was so green that it thought the pod absorbed all the beauty and light and color there was in the world." And the mother smilingly took the lesson to her heart. * * A LITTLE miss of four 3'ears, while walking with her father the other day, saw a long funeral pro- cession approaching. She had learned in a gen- eral wa}' that funerals were for the conversance of the deceased to the grave ; but her ideas must have been somewhat confused, for after looking at the long line of carriages for some moments in silence, she asked, " Papa, where are the}^ taking all these dead folks to ? " *** It was once Causeur's good fortune to spend a few daj's in the modest home of a friend of slender 26 CA USERIE. means, a home that was all that its owner could afford to make it, yet lacked many things that would have made it more comfortable and con- venient. During his stay, two guests were enter- tained at tea, both of them men of means and wide acquaintance, accustomed to all the luxury that wealth can give. But they were widely different in their behavior. The first dwelt upon Jhe fact that the house was in an out-of-the-way spot, and that there were few or no neighbors. At table he told of the delicious tea he had drunk at the house of one friend, of the rich tea- service that he had seen upon the table of another, of the rare old china that was used in his own household, and of the daint}^ meals he had eaten from it. In the cramped little sitting-room, after tea, he sat by the stove and talked of the delights of an open wood-fire, of his enjoj^ment of rare and costly books and pictures, and of twenty other things that the host of whose hospitalit}^ he had partaken did not and could not possess. When he had gone, it was clear, although nothing was said, that his visit had caused pain, that it had made the wife feel her straitened circumstances CA USERIE. 27 more keenh' than ever, and cast a shadow over her husband's thoughts. The next evening came the other visitor. lie brought good cheer in his ver}' face. The room, he said, felt so warm and comfortable after his walk, which, he added, was just the thing to give a man a good appetite for his supper. At table he spoke of ever}' thing that w'as nice, congratulated his host on having such a snug little home, apologized for eating so much, but couldn't help it, because it was "so good" and tasted " so home-like," liked the old black tea- pot because it was just like the one his mother had when he was a boy, and told his hostess, who was all smiles and as happ}' as a queen, that she ought to thank her stars that she had no gas or furnace to ruin the flowers that made her room look so cheerful. After tea he insisted that the children should not be sent to bed "just 3'et ; " said he wanted to tell them a stor}', as he did ; and when he had done, and had kissed them good-night, the}' trudged off upstairs with beaming faces, under the guidance of a mother who felt that a ray of real sunshine had entered her home, making it better and happier for all time. And 28 CA USERIE, then he smoked a pipe, declariDg that he preferred it, because he had that delicacy which forbade his taking out his well-filled cigar-case, praised the housewife's taste in arranging the prints and chromos that adorned the walls, and declared that the home-made mat on the floor was a very mar- vel of needlework. The very first book he laid his hand on proved to be his " faA'orite author," and furnished the theme for a half-hour's chat. And when it was time for him to leave, he said that lie hadn't had so good a time for months, hoped they 'd invite him again, and left with a hearty "good-night" to every bod}^ And the best of it was, that there was nothing studied in all this. He said pleasant things because he liked pleasant things, and he abstained from criticisms and comparisons because he disliked them. And when he had gone, husband and wife felt that their efforts to make their little home pleasant and comfortable had not been in vain, and in their hearts they blessed the kind soul who had revealed them. CA USERIE, 29 Your true soldier never forgets that a wise commander always keeps a force in reserve to fall back upon for support. This was well illus- trated in Baltimore, some sixteen 3'ears ago, when a private soldier, evidently a little the worse for liquor, stepped up to a group of gentlemen in front of the Eutaw House and announced that he placed his trust "in Ulysses Grant." No atten- tion was paid to him at first, but he persisted in his assertion, and in a loud tone repeated, " Gen- tlemen, I place my trust in Ul3'sses Grant." At this one of the party, a clergyman and a good friend of the soldiers, felt bound to reason with him, and said, "It's all ver}^ well to have faith in your general, my bo}', but your trust should be in a higher power. Now, I have the utmost con- fidence in General Grant, but I place my trust in God." " That's where 3'ou're wrong, old man," said the soldier, ' ' and I '11 tell you wh3^ I put my trust in Ulysses Grant. If he fails me, I fall back on God. Suppose God fails 3'ou, where 's your reserve ? " The good clerg3inan did not stop to discuss the question further, but the answer was noted as a curious illustration of how far the 30 CA USERIE. teachings of the camp will carry an ignorant man in affairs spiritual. *** It was in the far, far West. The barkeeper had been crossed in some way during the after- noon and was in ill-humor. Up stepped a thirst}^ citizen and rapped impatiently on the bar. " What shall it be, 'jedge'?" said the mixer of drinks. "Well," said the "jedge," "make it a gin cocktail with a bit of mint in it." "That ain't w^hat 3'ou want," answered the barkeeper, "you want whiskey straight, yoii do." "No, I don't," persisted the "jedge," " I tell you I want a gin cocktail with a bit" — "No, you don't, jedge ; no, you don't. You're goin' to have whis- key straight ; and more 'n that," he added, trying the keen edge of his bowie on his thumb nail, "you're goin' to drink it out of a tin dipper." The ' ' jedge " admitted the force of the argument and changed his mind. This recalls the story of an Eastern man, accustomed to the luxuries to be had at Delmonico's, who dropped into a res- taurant in a Nevada mining town for dinner. The head waiter, who was also junior proprietor of the CAUSERIE. 31 establishment, accosted him with, " Well, colonel, what '11 you have ? " " Beefsteak and mushrooms,'* answered the " colonel," as " peart" as possible. " Guess not," said the waiter, who felt that he was being " gu3'ed." ''Guess not? Why not? Bring me a beefsteak with mushrooms right awa}'." "Look here, stranger," said the waiter, "I don't want to make no trouble, 3^er know, but I don't allow no man to quarrel with his vittles in this ranch." With that he took a six-shooter from his hip pocket, cocked it, and holding it in a suggestive way, added, "Hash is what 3'ou're goin' to eat." The "colonel" had hash. A FIG for etiquette ! It is a hindrance to good fellowship, a bar to neighborly kindness. It keeps apart and estranges those who should and would come together. It is cold and unfeeling. Out upon it. Mr. Younghusband takes his family into a new neighborhood. All is strange. There are pleasant-looking houses in the street, and pleasant-looking people live in them. Young- husband is happ3\ He flatters himself that his 32 CA USERIE. wife will now have what she has so long sighed for, — societ}' ; not societ}' in the sense w^hich has all but usurped the word's significance, but com- panionship during the long days, while he is bus}' in the city. In due time the neighbors drop in. They are shown the new house, they praise its aiTangement and convenience. They applaud the taste shown in the selection of carpets and furni- ture. They rave over the ample closets. They go away, and leave a pleasant impression. Mrs. Younghusband confides to her lord that she likes Mrs. Neighbor, and Mr. Younghusband has struck a balance and found that he likes Mr. Neighbor. Mr. and Mrs. Neighbor, on their way home, mut- ually conclude that the}^ like the new-comers, but the fundamental thought in their minds is that ''''that call is made," as though it was a disagree- able task happily- accomplished. In due time the "call" is returned, and the books are squared. It won't do for Mr. Neighbor and his wife to go again too soon, — they don't want to seem "in- trusive." But at length it is accomplished, and again " that call is made." Once more there is a "society" balance against the Younghusbands, CA USERIE. 33 and in time they discharge it. And so the dreary books are balanced and unbalanced, a weary dut}^ on both sides. There is no heartfelt companion- ship, and if acquaintance thus formed sometimes ripens into friendship, it is the exception that proves the rule. Count 3'our friends, your real friends, — you can do it on 3'our fingers' ends, — and ask j^ourself how many of these ever came to you through the door of etiquette ; count those w4io might have been 5^our friends, whose friend 3'ou hoped to be, and who in turn hoped to know 3'ou intimatel}', and sa}' how many of them have been kept from you hy the rules of etiquette. Nothing is more beautiful or more worthy of respect than an exhibition of simple faith, even when those who witness it cannot themselves partake of it. Protestants ma}' and do smile at some of the observances of the Roman Church, but when the faith of those who engage in them is undoubted, they must command respect. All who have travelled in Europe have seen at fre- quent intervals along the highwa}' in Catholic 3 34 CA USERIE. countries little shrines, more or less rude, some consisting onl}^ of a cheap print of the Virgin or the Saviour, framed, and protected from the weather by a pent roof let into the wall of house or garden. On a mountain pass, during a ram- ble through the Oberland, Causeur was one da}^ crossing a footbridge, when he came upon a little girl, not over nine 3'ears of age, who was kneel- ing before a modest shrine at its centre. Before the shrine lay a bunch of fresh wild-flowers, and the little one was addressing a fervent pra3'er to the Virgin (not to the picture of the Virgin), to whom the shrine had been reared. It was a wild and lonelj' spot, at least two miles from any habitation, night was coming on, and it seemed strange that a child of such tender years should be there alone at such an hour. He stood with uncovered head until the little maid had crossed herself and risen from her knees, and then asked how she came to be there all alone. With child- like simplicity she answered that her mother was sick at home ; that her father, who was a liunter, had been gone two whole days, and that she knew that if she brought some flowers and prayed to CA USERIE. 35 the good Virgin, she would keep her father from all harm and bring him safel}' home. This was told in a perfectty simple, straightforward, mat- ter-of-fact wa^', without a particle of restraint, and seemingh' with just as much confidence that her pra3'er would be answered as an American child would feel concerning a favor she had asked of her mother. The little one's path la}' down the mountain. The two walked along together, the diminutive native telling all the small gossip of the valle}'. Arrived at her home, — a ver^' modest little cottage, — Causeur entered and was kindly welcomed, receiving the mother's thanks for seeing her little girl home, and a generous supper of goat's milk and black bread. Just as he was about leaving, there was a heavy step in the little porch, and a moment later the father of the family had entered. '"' And so my little one has been praying for me," he said. " When I stopped on the bridge to thank the good Virgin for her care of me, I saw the flowers, and I tracked her footprints all the way home. But whose were the big feet that came with them?" The wife looked at Causeur, whom the hunter had not no- 36 CAUSERIE. ticed, and explained his presence. Tlie brave fellow lifted his hat and extended his hand. " I thank 3'ou, sir," he said, "for seeing m}" little girl safel}^ home ; but she was in no danger. The good Virgin would not let an}' harm come to a little child who pra3's to her night and morn- ing, and loves her so dearl3\" If poor weak hu- manity is saved by faith, surely that Swiss hunter, his wife, and child will have front seats. There are a great many unreasonable people in this world, and the queer part of it is, that the most unreasonable are generall}^ the ones who delude themselves into the belief that the}' have reason on their side. They always have a care- fully devised and well-studied line of argument, which thoroughly convinces them, and which they believe impregnable. A gentleman, now well ad- vanced in years, came to Boston forty-odd years ago a poor lad. He came well recommended, was bright and smart, and had a wonderful ca- pacity for work. Unlike their successors, the Boston capitalists of that day believed in the CA USERIE. 37 vigor and zeal of 3'outh ; the}" were wise enough to see that if the}" gave an intelligent, active, and hard-working lad something to do, they would get the lion's share of the benefit ; and they were big-minded enough not to worry if he made some- thing more than a pittance out of it, too. Not out of favoritism or any special kind-heartedness, but because of the advantage to those who did it, the young man in question was "taken up," as the phrase is. He hadn't a dollar in the world, but he was industrious, painstaking, and frugal ; he had a clear head, and worked with an incen- tive, — bread and butter. He did so well, and won such a reputation for success in every thing he undertook, that business came pouring in upon him, and he made money. Opportu- nities for favorable investment offered here and there. He availed himself of them, and made more money. He was ready to do his share of public work, and did it satisfactorily. Hard as it is to believe nowadays, his employers, venera- ble men in high shirt-collars, bald heads, and gold-headed canes, were actually proud of his success ; nay, they were enthusiastic about it, and 38 CA USERIE. did their best to promote it, not for his sake, be it remembered, but for their own. Boston mer- chants were long-headed in those days. Time passed on. "The 3-outh had grown a man," a man with a family. He had prospered and was rich. His children grew up, and had every luxur}', comfort, and advantage that wealth could afford. They had the best teachers, mingled in the best society, went through college, made the "grand tour" of Europe, and came home to begin work. Is it strange that the}^ did not take hold with the same spirit, the same zeal, that he showed fort}'- odd 3"ears ago ? Is it strange if thej^ do not rise before daylight, as he did, and work until the small hours of the morning? Is it strange that they prefer a luxurious meal in a sumptuous club- room at mid-day, to a hasty lunch eaten in ten minutes snatched from work? The father thinks it is. He cannot see, he sa3's, wh}' his boys should not do as he did. " When I was 3'our age," he said to his son one da}", ' ' I used to work " — " Yes, sir," answered the son, respectfulh^, " when 3^ou were my age you used to work from some unheard-of hour in the morning until some equally CA USERIE. 39 unheard-of hour at night. You had to. You would have starved to death if you hadn't. But it isn't so with me, sir. The conditions are different. You made them different. I don't reahze that I 've got to. I know better. I don't mean to be idle ; I don't want to be, and I 'm not. But I lack the incentive 3'ou had. If you hadn't had the incentive, 3-ou wouldn't have worked so hard. I haven't got it, and so I don't." The father, although pleased at his son's vigorous defence of his position, refused to be convinced. '' There 's a good deal in that bo}^," he said, *' if he would only work. At his age I " — He saw that he was laying himself open to another attack, and desisted. But his faith in his argument re- mains unshaken. This recalls a storj^ heard in New York a year or more ago. One morning a 3'oung man who had recentlj^ been admitted as a partner into a well-known publishing house in tliat cit}' reached the store about ten o'clock. This was a trifle more than the senior could stand. " When your father and I were working to estab- hsh this business," he said, " we made it a rule always to be here at eight o'clock." "Exactly, 40 CA USERIE. sir," said the junior, drawing off his gloves, " but, 3^ou see, things are different. It is established now, thanks to your industry and enterprise, and that 's the reason I can afford to take my wife for a drive in the Park before coming down." The senior smiled good-natiiredl}', but he couldn't quite grasp it. *** That was not a bad idea of a much-travelled EngUshman, who said that, in order to run through the whole gamut of courtship, four languages were necessary. " French," he said, " is best for the opening passages, for conversation, for acquaint- ance, for that nameless something which it is a sin to call flirtation. Then comes German, with its wonderful wealth of poetry, just suited to sen- timent. It carries you bej'ond friendship, but leaves you short of love. When that supervenes, we must turn to the lingua Toscana^ the warm tones of the passionate South." " So far so good ; but where does j^our fourth come in ? " " Next morning, m}^ bo}'," he answered, " when 3'ou ask her father's consent in downright Enghsh." CAUSERIE. 41 If it be a Christian duty not to covet the good things which our neighbor has and we have not, it is no less our neighbor's dut}' not to seek to insph'e envy in us by a parade of his possessions. Nothing could be more plain, and 3^et it is a view of the case which the neighbor seldom takes and almost never acts upon. Like hope, the love of display springs eternal in the heart of man, — and woman, — and not one in a thousand who displa^^s his or her advantages thinks that the act sends a pang to the hearts of the less fortunate. Nine out of ten of the jeunesse doree who indulge in costly amusements do it with an air which plainly says, " I can do this — you can't ; " and a hke pro- portion of the 3'oung women who pride themselves on the extent and variety of their wardrobes tell of them in an exulting tone, which plainly says to their less fortunate sisters, " See how much I have that you have not." At one of our Boston grammar-schools were two girls who sat side by side. One was the daughter of a worthy citizen of large means, who lives in grand style on Com- monwealth Avenue ; the other the daughter of a no less worthy man, a mechanic, whose humble 42 CAUSERIE. home is on a less-known street. The rich man's daughter was a bright girl in many things, but, as A. Ward said of Chaucer, she " couldn't spel." One day she wrote a note which was in open vio- lation of every principle and example which the spelling-book contains, and this note fell under the QjQ of her schoolmate, who made some cutting remark concerning its inaccuracies. Some tale- bearer carried this forthwith to the author of the note, who was in high dudgeon at once. Going to her critic, she exclaimed, " I know I can't spell, and 3'ou can ; but I 'm going to Europe with my father, and you can't do that ! " Margery is a woman grown. Ten years ago she was a bright little lassie of twelve. " Pretty Margery" they called her then, and pretty she was, as sweet a child as ever gladdened a mother's heart. Happy herself, she tried to make others happy, and could see no reason why any one should ever be otherwise. But a shadow fell upon her home. Her father, the bread-winner, died, leavins: her mother and herself with but httle CAUSERIE. 43 store of this world's goods. But Margery was bigger now, and brave. She knew she could earn her mother's living and her own, and with courage in her heart she set about it. She was near eigh- teen when the stroke came. Within a year she had a school, and her salar}', added to the trifling income that her mother could call her own, gave the two a modest but comfortable living. Margery was doing well, but was ambitious to do better. She put her soul into her work, studied hard, and so won the esteem of those in authorit}- that in due time she had an advanced position and an increased salary. For a girl of twenty, Margery was doing more than well. But somehow she got the idea into her little head that she had reached the top of the ladder, that her position was secure, that further study was unnecessary, and that if she but performed her routine duties, no one would, could, or should question her right to employ the rest of her time as best suited her. The theatre had long been her one means of amusement and relaxation, and when tired out with a week of work and study, Saturday after- noon would often find her occupying a seat at one 44 CAUSERIE. of the theatres, thorough^ engrossed in the play. This rested her, led her mind into new channels, and, followed b}^ the quiet and repose of S Linda}', prepared her for a fresh encounter with her work when the new week came in. It was a help to her, and she was wise to take advantage of it. But of late she is at the theatre three evenings out of four, and is so engrossed in matters theatrical that she can converse and think of nothing else. In a certain sense she is still faithful to her duties, but in the larger and truer sense she is not. There is no longer any ambition to excel in her profession, and among her intimates, who are by no means the same she had a 3'ear or two since, she admits that it is distasteful and wearisome to her. During the summer, when she ought to have been resting, in order to be fresh and strong for her winter's work, her whole thoughts and energies were devoted to getting up private theat- ricals, in which, as an amateur, she had tolerable success. In a word, she is "stage-struck," and is in danger of sacrificing her position and her income because of it. She has no special talent for the stage, — no flatterer, even, would go so far CA USERIE. 45 as to tell her that, — but she has learned to love the excitement ; and one would think, from her conversation, that theatrical topics were the onty ones worth considering, and theatrical people the only people worth knowing. Does Marger}^ think that others do not see this? Does she imagine that there are none read}^ and anxious to take her place, — nay, to prove to the powers that be that they are better fitted for the place which she holds than herself ? If she is laboring nnder this delu- sion, it is time that she wakened from her dream, realized the situation, turned over a new leaf, and devoted herself once more, heart and soul, to the profession in which she holds an envied position. An incomplete idea is apt to be a false idea, — it is necessary to take the whole in order to make it valuable. A good country parson preached a series of sermons on practical moralit}', and very interesting and instructive they were. A lad in the village who had heard only one of them was coming out of an orchard one da}^, his pockets bulging with stolen fruit. He met the parson, 46 CAUSERTE. who noticed his efforts to conceal the evidences of his guilt. "Have you been stealing apples?" asked the minister. "Yes, sir," answered the boy, sheepishl}^ ' ' And 3'ou are trying to hide them from me? " continued the good man. " Yes, sir," said the culprit, and then added, his face brightening up, "you said last Sunday that we must avoid the appearance of evil." A MAN with an idea is always an uncomfortable person to get along with. Society does not under- stand him, and therefore abuses him. The press misrepresents him, the Church pours out its anath- emas upon him, he is scorned and derided, — but the idea persists. Many who read these words remember the Abolitionists, — the real, Simon-pure, Garrisonian, no-union-with-slaveholders Aboli- tionists, — who declared that inasmuch as the Con- stitution of the United States permitted men to hold their fellow-men in slavery, therefore the Constitution of the United States was "a cove- nant with death and an agreement with hell." The platform was simple, but strong. It was CA USERIE. 47 founded upon an idea. Only those who had over- powering convictions dared to stand upon it. Eight here in Boston they were abused, per- secuted, and misrepresented, persistently and systematically ; their speeches were purposel}' misreported, their declarations purposely misin- terpreted. The pulpits of New England, a power second only to the press, joined in the hue-and- cr}'. People stood ready to believe an}^ thing of an Abolitionist, although the}' knew, as a matter of fact, that they were peaceable, honest, and law- abiding. The time came when all was changed. A baptism of blood opened the nation's heart to the truth, and they who had been most read}^ to defame were loudest to applaud. They had at last comprehended the idea. Their eyes were opened, and they saw that the men whom they had persecuted and maligned were RIGHT. Are we quite sure that we understand the men who to-da}' claim that they have an idea, the men who call themselves " Socialists "? Are we quite sure that we know what a Socialist is ? " Deluded beings," we call them, when we do not use harsher words. Are we quite sure that all the delusion is 48 CAUSE BIE. on their side, and all the wisdom on ours? Have we not perhaps been too ready to take the asser- tions of others as to their intentions and objects, and too hasty in our conclusions based upon these ? That the whole theor}' of the Socialists is correct is more than improbable, — it is impossible ; for no human theory was ever yet perfect. But when thinking men — men who are known to be honest and straightforward in their dealings with their fellows — have sounded the depths, and claim to have made fast to even one great truth which society has ignored, it is not safe to scoff without examination. Our social fabric seems strong and goodly when viewed from the inside. But its walls may have cracks and flaws that need repair. Is it not wise to look them over now and then, seek out the defects, and repair them? And shall we reject the stone that just fits the gap because offered bj^ one whom society derides and condemns as a Socialist? If we cannot be brave enough to seek out the remedy for ourselves, let us at least not be such cowards as to reject it because it is offered by those whom it is fashion- able to despise. Let us not tremble at a name. CAUSERIE. 49 Let us not be afraid of a man because he has an idea, at least until we know of our own knowledge what that idea is. And that we ma}^ know, let us demand that press and pulpit shall tell us, and tell us trul3% Had the American people accepted tlie great fundamental truth which the Abolitionists taught, and sought to right the great wrong, there would never have been an}^ war. Had the French Government been wise in time, and j^ccepted some of the remedies which those who afterwards became Communists offered, and applied them to the cure of evils that all saw and recognized, there would never have been anj^ Commune. Let us learn a lesson from the past. *** There used to be a piece in the ' ' Reader " in which Tact and Talent were ingeniousl}' compared, and the advantages of the former shown. Now, Tact is but another name for Genius. Talent is acquired, while Genius is inborn. Talent pro- ceeds b}^ rule. Genius by inspiration. A good storj', remembered by the theatre-goers of the palmy days of the Old National, illustrates this. McFarland was the Player King to Macready's 4 50 CA USERIE. Hamlet. The star called McFarland to him at rehearsal, and said, "When I come to this pas- sage, I want 3'ou to stand here.'' He did so, and all went smoothly. A few weeks later the elder Booth was playing the same part, and again Mc- Farland was the Player King. Going to this greater star he said, " Where do you wish me to stand at this point, Mr. Booth ? " " Wherever you please, sir," was the answer. "I shall find you." *** There are enough sad and morose people in this world, and it is a mercy that there is a sprinkling of the other kind, — good souls who do God's work by their cheerfulness, who per- sist in looking on the bright side, and making the best of every thing. But these good people sometimes overreach themselves. The father of a little family died. The undertaker came to do his ghastly office ; but as all was not read}^, the, coffin was stood on end in the corner of the little parlor until later in the diny. Meantime in came a good, neighborly woman of the cheerful sort, to condole with the bereaved widow. They sat there CAUSERIE. 51 in the gloom, mingling their tears, the one giving comfort, the other receiving it. At length the would-be cheerful neighbor said, "It 's hard, Sarah, ^-ery hard ; but remember that 3'ou have much, very much, to be thankful for. "John was a good man, a good father, and a good husband. He has left you a good home for 3'ourself and 3'our childi-en, pleasant and comfortable, and well furnished ; and, by the w^ay," she added, her face brightening as she glanced at the upright coffin, " I see 3'ou 've got a new clock." A CORRESPONDENT wauts Something said about "the cowardly criticism of the press." When critics so frame their observations as to suit everybody and offend no one, their criticisms are not worth the paper they are written on, much less the cost of putting them into t^'pe. A critic ma^^ seem to make friends by suppress- ing his honest belief; but he loses his best friend, — his own self-respect. A critic's judgment may be false. If so, the pubhc will find him out, and it will prove his misfortune. But if he be dis- 52 CA USERIE. honest, it will prove his disgrace. As to " cow- ardice," it need only be said that it takes more courage to stand up and express one's honest convictions than to dodge and quibble, but it pays in the long run. Some years since a well- known Boston critic took occasion to hint that a certain artist was a "fraud," that he was unfit for the work assigned him, that his work proved it, and that the public needed to have its eyes opened. It was severe, but it was true. The artist came to the critic in a rage. He stormed and swore, struck a tragic attitude, declaimed vehemently, and made a fool of himself gener- ally. A wounded bird alwa3's flutters, jo\x know. When he paused, the critic said, quietly, "One of us is evidently wrong in this matter ; I feel certain that I am right ; yo\x are equally positive that you are. Suppose we leave it to the public to decide. I can't deceive the public long, even if I want to. Neither can 3'ou. Go on with your work, and I '11 go on with my criticism. My risk is as great as yours. If it is I that am the fraud, my employers cannot afford to keep me. If 3^ou are what I have said 3'ou are, 3'our CA USERIE. 53 emplo^'ers cannot afford to keep 3'ou." That was the manly wa}^ to put it. Some folks are never satisfied, never can be satisfied, and never will be satisfied either in this life or the next. Their stock in trade is to com- plain, and without something to complain about they would be miserable. The best wa}^ is to let them complain, and pa}' no heed to them. Growl- ing that does not make somebody else uncomfort- able soon becomes tiresome to the growler. They tell of a man of this sort who went to heaven, and after a short stay there was asked how he liked it. He replied that the accommodations were tolera- ble, but that his halo didn't fit worth a cent. It is often claimed that besides the five well- known senses of sight, taste, smell, hearing, and feeling, there is another, unnamed and undefined, which reveals to us the presence of persons or things whose proximit}^ is not made known by 64 CA USERIE. any of the senses named. How often we say " something tells us" this or that, when we can- not define what that "something" is. During the war, a sailing-vessel loaded with miscella- neous supplies went ashore near Hilton Head. It was desirable to get her cargo out as soon as possible, and a party of blue-jackets were detailed to go on board and " break her out." The officer in charge was particular to inquire whether there was any liquor on board, but was reassured on learning that what little there was was in a cask in the lower hold, underneath the rest of the cargo, and that his men would not come to it for two da3's at least. Work began, and in two hours the blue-jackets, every man of them, were in a state of the most hopeless intoxication, and had to be hoisted over the side and taken back to the ship whence tliey came. Investigation showed that Jack's unerring instinct had led him straight to the grog. He had literally sunk a well through the cargo, until he struck a cask of whiskey, knocked in its head, and imbibed its contents by the dipperful. How did he know it was on the ship? or, knowing that, how did he CAUSERIE. 55 know where to begin his mining operations? Something told him. What was it? The best administrative officers are those who make their authority felt with as few words as possible, and never display it unnecessaril3\ Men who are competent to command — " born leaders," as the}^ are called — have no occasion to exact obedience from subordinates, for no one ever thinks of disobe3'ing them ; while those who do not possess the faculty only display their weak- ness in their efforts to appear important and im- pressive. The story is told of a man who had a large number of pigs in a pen near his house, and made it his practice to go out ever}" evening and *' stir them up" with a club, to the great annoy- ance of the pigs and the disturbance of the neigh- bors. One of these remonstrated with him one morning, asking why he treated his pigs in such a cruel manner. "Because," he answered, "I want them to know that I am boss." There are too many men in every community whose idea of executive ability is exactly on a par with this. 5Q CA USERIE. They bluster and splurge and " stir things up" generall}^, believing that such foolish parade of authoritj^ will convince those unfortunate enough to be under them that tbe}^ are " boss," whereas the fact is that it serves to convince all concerned that thej^ are fools. And the time comes at length when those who are over them find it out, and then the}^ are dropped. The quiet way is the best, after all. "The harm is all done b}^ the low rum-shops. If the sale of liquor were confined to ' respectable ' places, no injur}' would be done." Softl}' there, 3'oung man. Don't be too sure. Many a man who learned to like drink in a " respectable " place has in the end satisfied his craving for it in what you term "low rum-shops." Again, the harm done in any given place where liquor is sold is to be measured not alone b}' the number of persons whom it injures. A Faneuil Hall speaker once asked, " Isn't one man as good as another?" and was answered from the gallery with "Yes, and a sio-ht better ! " The bullet that took the life CA USERIE. 57 of General Reynolds on the first clay at Gettys- burg wrought an injur}' to the Union cause far greater than if it had killed an orderly, albeit the loss to those near and dear to the fallen would have been as great in the latter case as in the former. And so, if Causeur may be judge, the ' ' respectable " establishment which allures and tempts young men whose education and abilities fit them to hold positions of high trust and impor- tance in which they could and would serve their fellow-men, whether in private or public station, and puts them in the way of acquiring an appetite which robs them of their manhood and unfits them for the life of usefulness to which the}' have by right looked forward, though it number its victims but b}^ the score, is a greater source of evil to the community than one of the lower sort, which at- tracts and destroys a far greater number of a dif- ferent kind. It is true that the poor and ignorant man who acquires the habit brings upon his family and friends a degree of sorrow, suffering, and misery from which wealth protects the rich ; but it is the injury to the community that is in question. 68 CA USERIE. One may as well be hanged for a sheep as for a lamb. " Once upon a time there lived a maiden," — and a very charming little maiden she was, by the way. She was staying with her parents at a well-known hotel in Washington, and in no way conld an evening be spent more pleasantly than in promenading its halls in her compan}^ One evening, — it ivas rather late, — just in the midst of a most interesting conversation, there came an interruption in the shape of a messenger from the young lady's mother, bearing a summons to come upstairs at once. Her caller saw the situation, and was about to take a hasty leave ; but the '' little maiden" took his all-too-willing arm, saj- ing, " Mother's as mad as she can be, and we may as well walk round the hall once more." And they did, twice. *** The man who is forever writing down what he learns and tabulating his knowledge seldom finds time to use it, and it is more than likely that somebody else will benefit more b}^ it than he does himself. In fact, recording becomes the business of his life, his energies and thoughts are devoted CA USERIE. 59 to it, and, no matter how full and accurate Ms materials ma}' be, he alwa3's finds when he wants to use them that there is some one thing lacking to make them complete. After all, the brain is the best and most reliable memorandum-book ; it is alwaj's at hand, use enlarges its capacit}' and increases its usefulness and reliability, and no one can read it but its owner. Once let the brain get into a receptive and retentive way, and it will go on gathering and holding information without any effort on the part of him who carries it about, and before he knows it he will have a stock of valuable and immediately available facts that will distance the best-kept set of memorandum-books ever written. A trained hand is a good thing, but a trained head is a better and a scarcer. People talk about being " blessed " with a good memory. Any man who has ordinary- mental capacity can "bless" himself with that useful article if he will but try. Don't rely on fictitious aids. Don't try to remember a thing by remem- bering something to remember it b}'. That is clumsy and roundabout. Strive to remember the thing itself, and if 3'ou will but persevere you '11 60 CAUSERIE. find that it is not so difficult after all. But to return to the text. Some 3^ears ago a well-known Boston merchant, then a newty fledged junior in the house of which he is now a leading partner,, was sitting at a desk surrounded by samples, with a newly bought memorandum-book before him. He had a magnifier, and was examining the dif- ferent samples, carefully counting the number of threads to the inch, and duly recording the results of his investigations. "What are 3'ou up to now ? " asked the senior partner, taking a seat on the corner of the desk. "I'm examining these goods, sir," answered the junior : "I want to find out all I can about this business." " Of course you do," continued the head of the house, "but that 's no way to do it. Put your glass in your pocket. You ma}^ need it some day, although it isn't likely. Burn up that memorandum-book. If you write down all you know, some clerk will get it all away from you. Go among the goods, look at them, feel of them, learn to know them as I do, ask all the questions 3'ou choose, and re- member what you hear, and before yow. know it you will be able to tell the value of a piece of CA USERIE. 61 goods in the dark. You can't learn this business by rule, 3'oung man. You 've got to absorb it." Twenty 3'ears ago, — not such a long look backwards, but, furioso! what old fogies we shall all be twent}' j^ears hence^ — Mr. J. Glancy Jones was American minister at the imperial and royal court of Austria. He had a mania for etiquette, especiall}^ Viennese etiquette, and his first duty, when an American famil}' came to the ' ' Kaiser- stadt," was to call and explain, especially to the ladies, the mj'steries and intricacies of local eti- quette. And thus it came about that he was nicknamed J. Etiquette Glancy Jones, a cogno- men that many have heard without knowing how it was earned. Another peculiarit}^ of that same eminent diplomat was that, wherever he went in Vienna, he had, close at his heels and in gorgeous liver}', an enormous negro of the sootiest com- plexion, the kind of a skin that charcoal makes a white mark on. This was all for "style;" but some w^ag of an American, temporarily resident in Vienna, started the story that our minister 62 CA USERIE. was subject to fits, and that the attending negro was emplo3'ed to catch him in case he should fall. The stoiy was passed from mouth to mouth, reached diplomatic and court circles, was firmly believed, and created no little sj'mpathy for our punctilious minister. But '61 came, Buchanan went out of office, and with him J. Etiquette Glanc}^ Jones and his gorgeous sable follower. Nineteen business men out of twenty will ad- mit that the true way to make their employes take an interest in their work is to give them an interest in its results ; that is, to make their compensation, or a portion of it, at least, depen- dent on those results. The}' argue that in this way each employe becomes, in some sense, a partner ; that self-interest causes him to be more diligent and more faithful in his work, and that, while this benefits him, it benefits his employer far more. So much for theory, and the theory has over and over again been proved sound. But there is not one man in a hundred who is willing to do it. Talk is very cheap ; but when it comes CAUSERIE. 63 to action, that is another thing. Just so in the matter of taking young men into partnership. Every business-man will tell you that it is far better to give a valuable young man an interest than to keep him on a salarj-. So much for theory. As a matter of fact, in nineteen cases out of twenty, "juniors" are fought off until they can be fought off no longer. All of which shows that not a few of our business-men have no real faith in their own theories, and do not see what is for their own best interests. Soon after Lincoln's inauguration in 1861, Paris w^as invaded by newly appointed ministers and consuls, — Cassius M. Clay, on his way to Russia ; George P. Marsh, bound for Italy; Anson Burhngame, waiting to see if Austria would re- ceive him, and one or two others, besides Fre- mont, who was on a special mission to purchase arms. Of evenings, at the Hotel du Louvre, the fun was "fast and furious," and all the stories that had done duty on the stump during the pre- ceding campaign were told again for the benefit 64 CAUSERIE. of thoce who had spent the summer of '60 abroad and missed it all. " Burlingamc," said a Ken- tuckian who happened to be of the party, ' ' tell 'em about ' the gal in red.' " Burlingame colored up, looked at Claj, and seemed puzzled. "Tell it," said Clay: " it 's out, and they may as well hear it." And this was the story : At one time, several years before, Burlingame and Clay were stumping together in the West. One evening they had received a particularly warm welcome, and had returned to the hotel, where they were sitting in their room, smoking, and congratulating each other on their success. Suddenly strains of music were heard outside. "They are serenading us," said Clay; "open the window and make 'em a speech." "No, 3'ou," said Burlingame. But Clay persisted ; so Burlingame stepped to the window, opened it, and began, "Fellow-citizens, I hardly know how to thank you for this touching proof of your esteem and regard. Mr. Clay and myself are indeed grate " — Just at this point a voice in the crowd below was heard saying, "Boys, that ain't the gal in red. Let 's dust!" and they " dusted," leaving the laugh on the CAUSERIE. 65 " visiting statesmen." The}" swore each other to secrec}', and kept it quiet for some time, but it leaked out somehow, and the}' had to make a clean breast of it. *** "Whence come the fashions?" is a question often asked. Several 3'ears ago a leading New York house imported, through a blunder, a large amount of a certain very ugly material which would not sell, and la}' dead upon their hands. Something had to be done. The proprietors of one or two fashion-papers were interviewed. The next week their columns told thousands of eager readers that there had recently been shown a new and stylish fabric which promised to be very fashionable ; and the statement was widely copied by the daily press. Retail dealers found their customers inquiring for it, and sought it of the jobbers. The jobbers in turn sought it of the im- porters, who quickly unloaded their whole stock at a handsome profit. The goods were voted "beautiful" and "stylish," and the fabric in question was "the rage" for a time. Just how much the fashion-papers were paid was never 5 QQ CAUSERIE. divulged. All of which shows how one fashion was "set," and "what fools these mortals be." " It 's easy enough to tell ' Why Some Men Marry,'" said Coelebs, shutting up his book and lighting a fresh cigar, ' ' but I can tell you why some men dorCty Now Coelebs, be it known, is not only a gentleman, but a good fellow as well, a favorite with everybody, the ladies included, and a welcome guest at man}'^ a fireside. He has just crossed the line of thirt^^-five, has seen not a little of the world, is well-to-do in a moderate wa}^, is well read, talks well, and carries a very level head on a pair of broad, square, manly shoulders. " If 3'ou mean to tell wh}' you don't marr}'', proceed." " I didn't say that," quoth Coelebs, with just a tinge of a blush in his cheeks ; "I didn't say that. It is not for a man to say why he does not marry, but it may be permitted for him to put it in a general way, and say why some men do not. Going about as I do from house to house, seeing my married friends in the privacy of their homes, I see and hear many things which I am not sup- CAUSERIE. 67 posed to see and hear, and I note many little matters of restraint and embarrassment which the poor things struggle hard to conceal. There is no reason under heaven why our friend Henry, who was married six months ago, should not to- da}' be just as polite to the wife of his neighbor, our old chum George, as he was before he was married ; but an}^ thing more than the most ordinary civihties offends Mrs. Henr}^ mortall}', and I know that Henrj^ is prevented from doing TOSiiaj polite and pleasant, jQi absolutely unobjec- tionable things, because of his wife's foolishness in this direction. The result is that an old and true friendship, perhaps a dozen old and true friendships, are wounded and broken in this way, because of this senseless restraint that Henn^, whom 3'ou and I know to be a gentleman and an honorable man, has been put under b}- marriage. Then there is this everlasting effort to do as well as 3'our neighbor does, to keep up a hollow and tiresome ' st^'le,' because Mrs. Grundy may say something. This and a dozen other things that I could name are the reasons that influence some men not to marry." "And will they influence 68 CA USERIE. you'^'' "Yes, they will influence me, but they may not decide me. In fact, it ma}^ not be me who will decide." And with this Coelebs pulled violent!}^ at his cigar, and, a little later, when he thought no one was looking, took from his pocket a daint}" note in a fine hand, and read it attentivel3\ *** A WELL-KNOWN lawycr in this city was one day arguing a case before the Supreme Court. He had occasion to cite a decision of the same Court made some years ago, — a decision which, as it seemed to him, exactly covered his case. Having read it for the Court's information, and given the date, he innocently observed, as he closed the book, " As your Honors are no doubt aware, this Court was very strong at that time." This re- calls another incident. It seems that, some j^ears ago, a certain Worcester lawj'er had a case be- fore the Supreme Court, in which, unfortunatelj^, a very well-known decision of that august tribunal was clearl}' against him. It would hardl}^ do to undertake to make the Court reverse its own de- cisions, — na}", it would not be prudent to cast CA USERIE. 69 ail}' reflections upon its prior determinations of legal questions. But in the course of his argu- ment he did cast such reflections, and then sought to remedy the difficultj' b}^ saying, ''I wish 3'our Honors to understand that I have the highest pos- sible respect for the decisions of this Court, except in certain very gross cases." Good-breeding is but the evidence of kindliness and generositj'. No one who acts upon impulses which spring from these need fear to violate it. There is no rule for it ; and no cold formality, no heartless " etiquette " can produce it. Graceful acts or words which spring from kindly thoughts are its unmistakable exponents. Is it not a little strange that among the many who are independent as to means, and have had ever}' possible advantage and opportunity' in the matter of education, not onl}' at school and college, but in that larger w^ay which travel and acquaint- ance afibrd, there are so few who are competent 70 CAUSERIE. and willing to assume public duties ? It is not so in England. There mere wealth, generall}^ inher- ited, gives a certain position, but he who would realh^ shine must do something more. He must serve his countrj' either in the armj^, the navy, in the civil service, or in politics, and he will be rated quite as much according to the abilit}' and energy which he displays as hy his inherited wealth and rank. The fact is that there are no harder-worked men than the nobility and gentry of England, who, thoroughl}^ independent as to means, feel that they owe a dut}' to the country and perform it. Causeur remembers a gentleman in Yorkshire, a man of broad acres, ample income, and elegant leisure, who entertained as onl}^ such men can. But in the evening, after the guests had joined the ladies in the drawing-room, he excused himself, saying that he had work to do in the librarj^ ; and work it was, work that kept him studying, writing, and figuring far into the night. He was on a county commission which for a 3'ear had been investigating some public question and taking evidence, and, with this mass of matter before him, the gentleman in question CA USERIE. 71 had the task of preparing the report to Parha- ment, an undertaking which required not only literar}' abiUt}', but an expert's knowledge of the subject in hand. It will be well for America when the rich feel called upon to devote to their countr3' a part, at least, of the thought, energy, and study which are now bestowed on bric-a-brac, polo, and kindred pursuits. *** Religious zeal sometimes carries men to lengths that provoke a smile ; 3'et, if it be but genuine and sincere, it must always compel respect. In a city not far from Boston is a little corner store kept b}^ a man who, though of small means and obscure position, is esteemed among all who know him for his honest dealing and upright life. He had been, until a 3'ear ago, a confirmed smoker, keeping an old clay pipe on a shelf in the back part of the store, and taking a quiet whiff when opportunity offered. But when a customer came in he invariably laid it aside. He is a deeply and truly religious man, and given to holding serious converse with himself. One afternoon last fall he was sitting in his store, quietly puffing, when it 72 CA USERIE. occurred to him that if he was ashamed to smoke in the presence of his customers, he ought to be ashamed to smoke in the presence of God. The argument was conclusive to his mind, and he acted upon it. He took the pipe from his mouth, threw it out of the window, and has not smoked since. An old stor}' was recalled by an incident not long since, and comes up as freshlj" as though heard but 3'esterday. In a certain country town there had been a long-continued drought ; the fields were parched and burnt, the foliage had withered under the sun's burning ra3's, the wells were dr}^, and it was onl}^ b}' going to the river, three or four miles distant, that water for the animals and for household use could be obtained. Under these circumstances it was resolved in the "store "one Saturday evening to see the good parson and ask him to pra}^ for rain. He was interviewed, and promised accordingl}-. The next morning the sun came out hotter than ever, and the congregation came to church white with dust, which hunoj like a cloud over the roads. At the CA USERIE. 73 close of the " long praj'er " — and it was unusually long — the preacher said, " And now, O Lord, we approach a subject that lies near, veiy near, to our hearts. Thou knowest that our fields are parched and our wells dr}' ; thou knowest that we choke with dust and that our cattle are in sore need ; and so, Lord, we pra}' that thou wilt open the great almighty bottle of the universe, and pour out its contents on this, our bedroughted countr}'." On the evening of that day the sk}^ looked hazy. On Mondaj' there were genuine clouds, and " signs of rain." Tuesday brought two or three refresh- ing showers; the " women folks," as New Eng- landers of the rural sort call the fair sex, caught enough for their week's washing, and were happ}^ and the withered vegetation began to revive. On Wednesday and Thursday the rain fell steadily, on Friday it came in torrents, and, ere Saturday evening fell, things began to look serious. But there was no let-up ; and when Sunday morning came, the devout ones who ventured out had to go to "meeting" in boats. Just as the dripping minister was about to climb the stairs that led to the high pulpit a bedraggled deacon took him by 74 CAUSERIE. the arm and had a few words with him apart. The pastor looked puzzled, but finally assented with a nod, took his place in the pulpit, and opened the service. Again there was a long pra3er, — a very long pra3'er, — and it closed as follows : " Again, Lord, we approach with fear and trembling the subject of which we made men- tion last week. We told thee that our fields were parched, our wells dry, and our cattle were in sore need, and we asked that thou wouldst open the great almighty bottle of the universe and pour out its contents on our bedroughted countrj' ; but, O Lord, when we made that, our prayer, we'd no idea thou'dst lose the stopple." In an obscure street in an uninviting section of the cit}", in a room scantily and poorly fur- nished, — for piece by p>iece had gone to the pawnbroker, — a woman died ' this week. She had known better daj^s. When first married she had a happ}^ home, a tender, loving, and indus- trious husband, and life looked full of promise. But there came a change. An enemy, potent CA USERIE. 75 to destroj^, entered that home. His approaches were gradual, and his first appearance was under a pleasant guise. But his presence became more frequent, his demands more exacting. The hus- band's wages were sacrificed to him ; his savings were invaded. Little by little the enem}' strength- ened his position, until his command was absolute. His victim had become a drunkard and a beggar. The poor wife, now a mother, bore up bravely, hoped against hope, and, with womanty courage, sought a more humble home. But the enemy was upon her track ; her husband, to whom, despite the change that drink had wa'ought in him, she clung with a true woman's love, sunk lower and lower, and seemed to have lost all the instincts of manhood. She fought long and bravely, but care, sorrow, misery, and want overcame her, and this week, wasted to a shadow^, her friends found her dead in her room. Her child was with her, but her husband, who had sworn to love and pro- tect her, was not there. He was found in a low den, too much overcome with drink to even com- prehend that his wife had gone to a better and happier life, released, at last, from the tie that 76 CAUSERIE. had made existence here a burden and a sorrow. When the last da}^ comes, and men are judged by a tribunal which knows no appeal, will not that husband stand amon^ murderers? It was at Queenstown. The "tender" had been made fast to the quay, and the gang-plank had just been run out. A Boston passenger was crossing it to terra Jirma^ when he w^as accosted by a wrinkled old beggar in ruffled cap and short clothes with, " Would you have a si:?vpence for an ould lady eighty-four years old and a grand- mother still living?" That bit of mother wit was too much for the passenger. He gave her a shilhng. * * A BIT of advice to j^oung men who are trj-ing to get ahead : Never complain that 3'our em- ployers are selfish. Not that they are otherwise, but it will not help matters to growl about it. They are selfish. Their emplo3'ers, when they were young, were no doubt selfish, and from them they learned the lesson. You, too, will CAUSERIE. 77 learn it, and when 3'ou become emplo^'ers 3'ou '11 be selfish too. It is from selfish motives that men engage in trade, and selfishness rules their actions. Of course it would be better, and wiser, and all that, if they were not selfish, but they are. Now, what are 3'ou going to do about it ? Wh}', make it for their selfish interest to do better by 3'ou, and they will. Respect yourselves, and you '11 make them respect you. Remember that 3'ou are at a disadvantage, that there are a hun- dred ready to climb into your place if you do not fill it, and that those who employ you are fully aware of the fact, and read}' to make the most they can out of it. Remember that if you are getting $1000 this 3'ear and want $1500 next year, j^ou 've got to earn the $1500 this year. You 've got to pay for promotion, often an ex- orbitant price, and, as 3'Ou have no other means to pa3' with, you 've got to pay in work. Of course it 's unjust, of course it seems hard that your emplo3'er should keep and spend moue}" that you have justty earned ; but, Causeur's word for it, it won't pa3' to fret or growl about it. Never be satisfied with having " earned 3'our 78 CAUSERIE. money." Earn more than j^our raone}^ and then, in a manl}^, straightforward, business-like wa}', ask for more pa3\ Ten chances to one, 3'ou '11 get it. If 3'ou don't, look about, and as soon as 3^ou 've found a better place, discharge your emplo3^er. The hard work that 3'Ou have done, the record of it, and the reputation 3'ou will have established for hard work, will make the task of finding new emplo3'ment comparativel3' eas3\ Your capacit3' for work is 3^our onl3' capital. Invest heavil3", for 3'OU are sure to win. Logic is logic. Many 3'ears ago a certain New Hampshire judge was travelhng in compan3^ with his nephew, a 3^oung aspirant for legal fame. They occupied a room together at a countr3' inn one night, and in the morning, as soon as he was awake, the 3'oung man asked the judge what time it was. "Seven o'clock," responded the judge, without consulting his watch. ' ' How do you know?" asked his nephew. "I assume it," an- swered his uncle ; " if I sa3' it is seven o'clock. CAUSEPdE. 79 I may be right ; if I sa}- any thing else, I may be wrong." Logic is logic. OxE day, when Canseur was sauntering along the shad}^ lane that leads up the mountain side to the old Etruscan town of Fiesole, where the olive and the vine combine to make the land- scape rich with green, he paused in front of a peasant's cottage to enjo}' a bright little spot of earth, rich with autumn flowers. The peasant, an old man, stood in the doorway, and smiled a kindl}' greeting. In such Italian as he could muster, Causeur complimented him upon the beaut}^ of his garden, and asked if he might pick a few of the blossoms. "They are at your ser- vice, signore," said the old man in that musical lingua Toscana which, once heard, is never for- gotten, " the}^ are 3'ours and welcome. The good God who sends the flowers sends them as much for you as for me ; and it is because they give so much pleasure to the strangers who come this way and to my grandchildren here that I have them. All are welcome to them ; bat (I don't 80 CA USERIE. know why it is) no one eA'er picks any without asking. Take all you want, signore. and take an old man's blessing with them." That was many years ago ; but Causeur has often thought since, when he has heard friends complain that, despite high fences and police regulations, it was useless to cultivate flowers because of the depre- dations of passers-b}^, perhaps a little of the spirit which that poor peasant had in his heart would do more than the highest fence ever built. Humanit}^ is not half so bad as some folks think, and a little exhibition of confidence in it goes a long way towards making it better. A " LADYE FAiRE " writcs that flirting is worse in man than in woman, " because his position makes him in a great sense master of the situation." She adds : " There is no sin more intolerable and base than to impl}', by all the language of eye and touch and intimate attention, that a man has the most ten- der regard for a woman that he has no thought of making his wife, knowing: all the time that he is CA US ERIE. 81 awakening feelings and heart-throbs to which he can never respond. Women have no redress. Men know tliemselves safe ; for a woman can have no real claim until asked to become a wife. Thus, while a fondness has become aroused, waiting for an expected declaration, women find themselves sud- denl}' thrust aside. To be sure, one is fortunate to be deserted b}' such a coward with the soul of a pick- pocket ; but then, does it not leave its mark on her life-path ? " All ver}^ well, sweet my lad}', and all ver}' true, perhaps : but is there not another side to the picture ? If it be the prerogative of the man to ask, it is the privilege of the woman to refuse, and one ma}" well doubt whether one man in a hundred was ever fool enough to ask unless he had reason- able ground to expect acceptance'. Certainly there is no being more despicable than a " man flirt ; " but where there is one such there are twenty victims of women flirts, poor fellows who have been led on and on, fascinated and charmed, until it suited the convenience or caprice of the objects of their affections to turn them off with a laugh. The man who deliberately seeks to win the love of a woman only to cast her from 6 82 CA USERIE. him is a villain at heart. Can an}' thing better be said of the woman who is guilt}' of the same offence? Some fifteen years ago, in Washington, Colonel (now General) Rucker, post quartermaster, en- joj'ecl the distinction of being the most voluble, exact, and picturesque swearer in the army. Hundreds of regimental quartermasters who sought his approval on requisitions can testify to this, and so can others of higher grade in the department. One day there dropped in upon him a major and A. Q. M., just transfen-ed from the far West, where he had spent all his time since leaving West Point, 'way back in the forties. He presented his card, and, after the usual greet- ings, requested the colonel to approve in triplicate a requisition which his clerk had drawn in due form. Rucker took it, and, with his little stub of a pencil, — is there a Massachusetts quartermaster who does not remember that hope-destro3'ing im- plement? — proceeded to mark out about half the articles on the list. Then he signed it, and, CAUSERIE. 83 returning it to the major, gave him a broadside of the most fearful profanit}', dashing him all up in a heap and then double dashing him back again. At last he paused, and the major spoke ; "Is your name Rucker7" "Yes." " i). H. Rucker?" "Ze^." ''Colonel D. H. Rucker, quartermaster here? " " Yes." " Well, Rucker, I 'm ashamed of 3'ou. I 've heard that 3^ou could swear, but I've been deceived. Now listen to me." And then the fireworks began. He dashed him backwards and forwards, up and down, and piled it on till the air was blue. Rucker hstened, but he couldn't stand it. His grim face broke into a smile, and he said, pointing to the requisi- tion, " Major, tear up that dashed paper and send me another copy. You can have any thing 3-0U want at this post, but 3'ou must teach me how 3'ou do it." *** In politics don't content j^ourself with reading and hearing the speeches of 3'our own side only. Study carefully the positions of your opponents. Listen to their arguments patientty and carefull}', not for their sake, but 3'our own. Neither side 84 CAUSERIE. has a monopoly either of truth or wisdom, and it ma}^ be that you will hear much wholesome truth from the lips of those with whom you are contend- ing. Indeed, it is safe to sa}^ that he who hears one side only, whichever it ma}^ be, is prett}^ sure to be ignorant of much that is true, and to be imposed upon by much that is false. Rely on the best and most honorable papers 3'ou can get for your news, but rely on yourself for your opinion. Do 3'our own thinking. If 3-ou do this you may be wrong now and then, but further thinking is prett}' sure to set you right. If 3'ou let your paper or your part3' do your thinking, 3'ou will not only often go wrong but sta3" wrong. One thing more : Be more intolerant of dishonorable doings in 3'our own party than in that with which 3^ou are contending. To be sure, success is a duty, but success by dishonorable means is more disastrous in the end than defeat. It is 3'our right to expose and condemn the shortcomings of 3^our opponents, but it is 3'our dut3'' to see to it that 3'our own part3' resorts to no doubtful expedi- ents. Lastl3^, give caucus managers and profes- sional wire-pullers distinctly to understand that you CA USERIE. 85 want none of their dictation, that 3'ou propose to vote as best suits 3-0U, that 3'Ou will " scratch" ever^^ objectionable name on the ticket, and do 3'our best to thwart their little plans for self-ad- vancement. The average caucus manager dreads but one thing, : — honest, independent voting. Of the men who have made their mark in this generation by the accumulation of large wealth, few are less known as to their personal pecu- liarities than the late A. T. Stewart. He was a "money getter," first and foremost, as is well known ; but it is not so well known that he had a vein of wit, and was unusually prompt and bright at repartee. Some 3'ears ago a gentleman who now holds an honorable and enviable posi- tion as a partner in an old-established Boston dr3^-goods commission house was in the employ of a jobbing firm in this cit3", holding a responsi- ble position and receiving a salar3^ of six thousand a 3^ear. One da3' the late James M. Beebe sent for him, and said that Mr. Stewart wanted a relia- ble, well-informed man for a certain responsible 86 CA USERIE. position, and that he, Mr. Beebe, had taken the liberty to suggest his name. In a day or two a letter came from Mr. Stewart, asking Mr. X. to come to New York and see him at his early convenience. Mr. X. went on, and was ush- ered into the presence of the merchant prince, who received him cordially and opened his busi- ness at once. "I want a man who has had just your experience. I know you will succeed, and if you want to make a change five j^ears hence it will be no disadvantage to you to have been in my employ. I will pay 3'ou eight thousand a year. What do 3'ou say ? " Mr. X. was somewhat taken aback by the suddenness of the proposal, and was disposed to interpose some objections. " I am a jobber," he said, " I have a large trade and a large acquaintance among customers, but these will be of no use to me in the position you offer." Then he paused and seemed to be thinking. ' ' What is it ? " asked Mr. Stewart, ' ' what is passing through your mind?" "I was thinking, sir," answered Mr. X., "that to take up with 3'our offer is a good deal like stepping off a plank at sea." "Exactly," CA USERIE. 87 replied Mr. Stewart, as quick as a flash and with a twinkle in his e3^e, " and stepping on the deck of a first-class ship." That settled it. It is alwaj's painful to a man who has a heart to see a fellow-being under the influence of liquor ; it is still more painful to see others making merry over his crime or misfortune, whichever one chooses to call it. Mirth is a good thing, one of the best things in this great and good world, and there are plent}' of things to raise an innocent and wholesome laugh. But a laugk at a di'unkard is neither innocent nor wholesome. It serves to familiarize those who indulge in it with what all should regard with pity if not with horror. Even the so-called humorous paragraphs which go the rounds of the press, whose point consists in speak- ing lighth^ or jokingly of the vagaries of intoxi- cated persons, do incalculable harm, and would never appear in print were editors sufficiently aware of their evil influence. Coarseness and vulgarity, not infrequent in the daily papers a quarter of a century ago, have almost entirely 88 CAUSERIE, disappeared, thanks to an enlightened and im- proved public taste. It is to be hoped that what in newspaper offices are known as " rum para- graphs " will soon be ranked as forbidden things. Death is terrible at best, but never more so than when it enters a home to rob a husband of his young wife, and little children of a loving mother. When age has dulled the faculties, when disease hds made life a burden, when children have grown to manhood and womanhood. Death, though an unwelcome, is not an unexpected visitor, and those that remain may lay their dead away, feeling that Nature's order has been ful- filled, and that they can take up the burden which the loved one has laid down. But when a young wife and mother, in the fulness of life and hope, with ever}^ thing to live for, is called suddenly away, there settles upon those who remain a feel- ing of desolation which no words can describe, and he is a bold man indeed who thinks or seeks to comfort them. CA USERIE. 89 In view of the flings which the New York and Western papers are constant!}^ making at Boston's " culture," it seems a little too bad to furnish them with ammunition ; but the temptation to tell a good stor}^, especially a true one, is not to be re- sisted. Many will remember that for j'ears there existed in Boston a certain literary set, which had all the peculiarities of a mutual- admiration society, and a ver}^ close corporation as well. They re- solved over and over again, if not in form, cer- tainty in fact, that none but the elect were entitled to literary honors in Boston, and that they were the elect ; and they had a way of quoting one another's good things, and of patting one another on the back, that was delightful to behold. But sometimes the}^ forgot to use the quotation marks. When Tennyson's "In Memoriam " appeared, a certain Poet was standing in the Old Corner Bookstore, turning over the leaves of the freshly printed volume, when up stepped a Literary Friend, of rare taste and learning in poetrj', say- ing to the Poet, " Have 3'ou read it? " " Indeed I have," was the answer ; " and do you know, it seems to me that in this delightful book Tennyson 90 CA USERIE. has done for Friendship what Petrarch did for Love." This was too neat a mot for the Literary Friend to forget. That afternooi^ he called upon a lady on Beacon Hill, and noticing a copj'of " In Memoriam" on her table, saw his opportunity. After the usual greetings, he took up the book. "Have you read it?" he asked. "Yes," said the lady, " and I have enjoyed it greatly." " So have I," said her visitor ; " and do you know that it seems to me that in this charming poem Tenny- son has done for Friendship what Petrarch did for Love." " Indeed," rejoined the lad}^, adding, with a mischievous smile, "Mr. " (naming a well-known essayist and critic) ' ' called this morning and said the same thing." Who it was that originated the apt comparison remains an unsolved mystery to this day. "Expound to me," writes a gentle but unknown querist, "the distinction between lust and Love. Where do yow. draw the line?" The /me, say you, the line7 Say rather the chasm, the ab3'ss, the unfathomable depths that j'awn between. CAUSERIE. 91 They are autipodal. Love is generous, lust is selfish ; Love craves an idol, lust demands a victim ; Love worships, lust gloats ; Love is pure, lust foul ; Love makes sacrifices, lust exacts them ; Love elevates, lust degrades. Love is of the soul, spiritual ; lust is of the flesh, sensual. What the poison weed is to the blushing rose, the serpent to the dove, curse to benediction, fiend to angel, — such is lust to Love. Invite Love, welcome it, worship it, enthrone it in 3^our heart, for it is Heaven-born and holy. But beware of lust. Shun it, repel it, trample it beneath 3'our feet ', for it is a Devil incarnate, and accursed. — Art answered, fair questioner ? *** A GOOD story that Starr King told twenty years ago : When Chicago was a \QYy 3'oung city, with man}" peculiarities that made it any thing but an inviting abode, a Frenchman, who had resided some 3"ears in New York, and had been in the habit of dining daily with a party of friends at a well-known restaurant, announced to them one evening that he had determined to go to Chicago to live. Man}" regrets were expressed, for the 92 CA USERIE^ Frenchman was a pleasant fellow and a boon com- panion as well, and more than one bottle was cracked that night to wish him bon voyage and prosperit}^ Some six weeks passed. One even- ing the usual compan}'' assembled for dinner. What was their surprise to see the little French- man sitting in his accustomed place. After a hearty welcome and a general handshaking, they plied him with questions as to his experiences in the West and the cause of his sudden return. " Gentlemen," he said, " joost you hearken to me vat I shall say. Ven ze day of jugement come, and ze Lord shall say to me, ' Sare, 3'ou shall go to Shecago or joxx shall go to hell,' zen I shall sa}^, ' Sare, I mush obliged, but I prt^fare go to heU.' " *** A "Boston Box," fresh as a daisy and full of enthusiasm for work, was employed by a well- known firm in the dry-goods business. The con- tract was a simple one, but it was a contract. On his part the youth was to give his services and do what he was told. On its part the firm was to pay him one hundred dollars for the first CAUSERIE. 93 year's work, and teach him the business. The money consideration was insignificant ; the knowl- edge of the business was what the 3'outh was after. He was put down cellar, kept at opening and nailing up boxes, running errands, and sweeping the store ; in a word, he was made to do a porter's work, and his employers no doubt chuckled at the thought that they were getting for two dollars a week work that was well worth fifteen. But, like a sensible fellow, the youth said nothing until the time was up. On the morning of the first anniversar}^ of his coming to the store he was on hand earl3% and when the senior partner came in, respectfully asked to be allowed to see him in the counting-room on business. The man of business acceded to the request, and the two entered the back office. *'A year ago to-da}^," said the 3'outh, closing the door, ''I entered your service and agreed to give 3'ou m}^ time and work. Have I done it to 3'our satisfaction?" "Entirely so," said the merchant, ' ' and I am willing to increase your" — "Excuse me," said the 3'outh ; "I have more, to say. You agreed to pa}^ me one 94 CAUSERIE. hundred dollars, and jom have done it. You also agreed to teach me the business, and 3'ou have deliberately and knowingly broken your promise. I know nothing about the drj'-goods business, and it is 3'our fault. You have robbed me of a 3^ear's time. What do 3^ou propose to do about it?" The merchant looked at the "boy," but he did not flinch. He had right on his side, and his employer knew it. He, the man who prided himself that his word was as good as his note, had been accused by a beardless boy of having failed to keep his agreement, and knew that the charge was true. He said nothing. "What I want," said the " bo}^," "is an extra hundred dollars as an increase." "You shall have it," said the merchant. ' ' And besides that," continued the j^outh, " I want two hundred dollars additional, to parti}' make good 3'our broken promise." Again the merchant looked in his e^'e, but got no comfort. "Well," he said, " it's- a good deal to pay a bo}^ the second year, but I will see about it." And he did "see about it," for the next morning the "bo}^" was a salesman, on a four-hundred- CA us ERIE. 95 dollar salaiy. It don't pay to rob a boy who knows his rights. *** Of course you have met him. Who has not? The man who, when in company', enjo3"s mak- ing himself disagreeable and everybody uncom- fortable by sarcastic and biting remarks, which he pretends to think bright, but which he knows to be simply rude. The* fact is that he is a shal- low-pated fool, who knows his own lack of wit, and thinks to make it good b}' ill-natured talk. Not a person can be mentioned concerning whom he has not something disagreeable to say ; not a subject can be discussed upon which he has not pronounced and peculiar views, which he delivers with a degree of assurance only equalled b}^ his ignorance. To "snub" is his delight, to kill pleasure his pastime. The man who steals the spoons and pockets the napkins is not half so great a pest. Spiritual comfort, an excellent thing in its place, is sometimes inopportune. It was on board a hospital transport, which lay at White 96 CAUSER IE. House Landing, on the "raging Pamunkej^," just after one of the worst battles before Rich- mond. It had been reserved for the badl}^ wounded. Night had fallen,^ and the surgeons and nurses were doing their work as best they couki b}^ the light of candles held in the hand. It was a weird and ghastty scene, one not soon to be forgotten ; but there was little time to think of it then, for there was work for all to do. It was towards eleven o'clock, when the wounded were still being brought on board, that there stepped from the old wharf a lad}^ in middle life, with a bundle under her arm. She said that she came as the representative of some Christian organization in Philadelphia, and that her mis- sion was to help the wounded soldiers. She was admitted to the vessel, and immediately repaired to the gloomy cabin, opened her parcel, and gave a tract, entitled " Dancing a Sin," to each of the bedridden soldiers. It is to be hoped they prof- ited b}^ the instruction ; but man}' of them, if the^' ever danced thereafter, did it on one leg, for the amputating knife had been doing its dreadful work all the evenino^. CA USERIE. 97 It is very certain that one half the world knows nothing of how the other half lives, and it is much to be feared that it does not care. People who have comfortable homes, — i^eople who, whatever cares later life maj^ have brought, at least had a happ}^ childhood, and in 3'outh had the advantage of schools, and were spared the burdens of life and a share in life's conflict until the}' were fairly advanced toward manhood, have ver}' little idea of the extent to which abject poverty will grind the heart out of a human being. One can work, and work with pleasure, when a bright and prom- ising future looms before him, even if it be in the dim distance, and full of uncertainty^ ; but to work and work, daj^ in and day out, with the wolf ever at the door, and with no hope of ever driving him awaj', must breed a degree of despair which only those who experience it can fathom. A gray- haired old Yorkshireman, then a "boss" in a Pennsylvania coal-mine, related that at the age of six he was put to work in the mine. Ever}' morning at six o'clock he had to go down the long shaft in a bucket with the miners, and spend the whole day below, where it was his duty to 7 98 CA USERIE. tend a door in the gangway, opening it as the trains of loaded cars came along, and closing it after them, the object being to make the cur- rent of air pass through the workings instead of through the gangwa3\ He had no light, — his parents were too poor for that, — but sat there hour after hour in the dark, alone, twelve hours a da}^, receiving at the week's end a miserable pittance for his wreck's work. During six months of the yetxv he never saw the sun, save on Sun- da3's, and Christmas was his one holida}^ "It was terrible, sir, terrible," said the old man ; ' ' no one knows how terrible ; and if it were all to do over again, I 'd much sooner get into my coffin at the start." Little children are no longer put to work at such a tender age, even in Eng- land, but there are many "children of a larger growth " who work on and on, with no hope of an upward step, to whom the world looks as dark as did the dungeon-like gangwaj* to that poor little "trapper" bo}^ They are in our midst, at our very doors, and their name is legion. Are we, their more happy and fortunate brothers and sisters, do- ing all that we should to make it seem brighter? CAUSERIE. 99 In an interval in the dancing, more years ago than Causeur cares to name, it was his good fortune to sit on the stairs and enjo}' a few mo- ments' quiet chat with a charming belle. She had much to say concerning a certain 3^oung man who had had the misfortune to offend her. She rattled on in a thoughtless wa}', sa3ing man3'' things against him which she did not really mean, until Causeur felt called upon to take up the cud- gels in his absent friend's defence. So he sug- gested that whatever good quaUties he lacked, he certainty was good-natured. "Good-natured!" said the fair one, with a look of disgust, " Good- natured ! My little dog is good-natured." Here is a letter that Causeur had half a mind to consign to the waste basket, but on second thoughts he decided to answer it : — Dear Causeur, — As you seem to have set your- self up as an authority on such subjects, will yon please tell me whether you think it good taste for a gentleman to compliment a lady; in other words, to flatter her? Arthur. 100 CA USERIE. You show both 3^0 ur impudence and'your igno- rance, 3"oung man. Causeur never " set himself up " as an authority on any subject. He has opinions on many, and has ventured to express them, but has never yet asked anybody to adopt them. But as you want, and evidently need, information, yow shall have it, and a piece of Causeur's mind as well. Know then, O callow 3^outh ! that to compliment and to flatter are two very diflerent things. The man who deals in flattery is a fool, and writes himself down an ass every time he indulges in it, for the object of it knows it to be false and heartless, and values it, and him who dispenses it, accordingly. But an occasional compliment is a very diflerent thing. Ever^^body likes a little "taffy." Children cry for it, and doubtless you haven't outgrown 3'our taste for it, friend Arthur. To pay a compliment is to tell the truths and to tell it as though 3^ou meant it. And the only way to do that is to mean it. If a girl is pretty or accomplished ; if she pla3^s well, or sings well, or dances well, or talks well ; if, in a word, she pleases, why, in the name of common sense, shouldn't she be told of CAUSERIE. 101 it ? Don't blurt it out before everybody, Arthur. Tliat will onl}' serve to make her feel uncomfort- able and make you appear ridiculous. Say it quietly" when opportunit}" offers, hut say it strongly. Convey the idea distinctly and fully, so that there may be no mistake about it. But don't saj' it " officiall3\" Formality is about the coldest thing known. More than one maiden has been made happ\' — sa}' for half an hour — by a man's tak- ing the trouble to say a pleasant thing about a toilet that he liked, and many of fashion's follies have been given up b}' girls when they noticed a discreet silence concerning them on the part of their gentlemen friends. A bewitching little black- e3'ed beaut}' once said to a gentleman in Causeur's hearing, — she didn't know he was near, though, — "I like to have 3'ou say sweet things to me, it seems to come so easy and natural." He had had practice, Arthur, more practice than 3'ou '11 have this five 3'ears. But persevere ; keep tr3'ing, and 3-ou'll get the hang of it. In general terms, it ma3^ be said that it is alwa3's better to sa3' an agreeable thing than a disagreeable one, better for all parties. The gallant who, when a 3'oung 102 CAUSER IE. lady stepped on his foot while dancing and asked his pardon, said, "Don't mention it; a dainty little foot like that wouldn't hurt a dais}^," not only told the truth, but doubtless felt more com- fortable than the boor who, when his foot was stepped on, roared out, "That's right; climb all over me with 3^our great, clumsy hoofs." A LITTLE eight-year-old puss went neighboring, and had a full budget of news on her return. " Do 3'ou know, mamma," she exclaimed, "that Mary [a neighbor's cook] has been awa}- a whole week, taking care of her sick sister, who died yesterday ? " " Then I suppose she '11 be back soon," said her mother, looking up from her sewing. "Oh no, she won't," answered Puss; "her aunt's sick too, and she's got to wait till she dies." *** Success is a good thing, but when achieved through mean and unworth}^ devices it neither commands nor deserves respect. He who builds himself up by pulling others down, no matter how CA USERIE. 103 great the measure of his success, is to be neither imitated nor envied. The chief of New York's merchant princes used his influence — which was very great, for he made princely subscriptions to campaign funds — to secure the appointment in the custom-house of a man devoted to his inter- ests as appraiser. Now and then the officer, whose business it was to serve two masters, — the government and the merchant, but chiefly the merchant, — would appear at the latter's store with a sample of goods, ostensibly to get an ex- pert's opinion of its value. The merchant always took him into his private office, examined the sample carefullj^, learned the name of the im- porter, the price at which the goods were invoiced, and such other particulars as would serve his pur- pose. Dismissing the official, but retaining the sample or a portion of it, the merchant's next move was to summon one of his leading salesmen, show him the goods, and direct him to hunt up something in the stock that approached it most nearl}', and go at once to the importer's cus- tomers and off*er it at a price below the actual cost of importing the expected goods. Some 104 CAUSERIE. would buy and some would merely make a note of the offer, but when the importer came with his samples he found his customers supplied as to stock or "demoralized" as to price, and was forced to sacrifice his goods or hold them. This was done s^^stematically and regularl}^ No won- der the merchant grew rich ; but his riches meant bankruptcy and poverty to his competitors. Was that "success"? *** No two men known in this community have told more stories at the expense of other people than Captain John W^man and Henry C. Barna- bee, and it is high time that one was told at their expense. It was back in the fifties — about seven or eight. It occurred to a gentleman, a well- remembered Boston merchant who knew them both and loved a joke, to have a little fun by bringing them together, — they had never met, — and making each act a part for the other's benefit. Accordingly a dinner was arranged, a jicirti carre. There were the host; Captain, then plain "Mr." Wyman, who had his instructions to personate a country parson in order to " fool" a bumpkin who CA USERIE. 105 had been invited ; Mr. Barnabee, then a salesman in a dry-goods store, who had also received his instructions to personate said bumpkin, in order to "fool" a sedate and strait-laced parson whom he was to meet ; and another who was in the secret. W^man came in a suit of immaculate black, with a face as solemn as a deacon. Bar- nabee appeared in an unmistakable ' ' up-country- " costume. The pair were introduced, and at once set about imposing upon each other. Dinner was announced. Wj^man " asked a blessing," and confined his remarks to serious topics. Barnabee was full of what he had seen on this, his (alleged) first visit to the oitj. It was rather a poser when Barnabee asked Wj-man, " Where are 3'ou preach- ing now ? " but the ' ' reverend " gentleman got over it by saving that he preached "last" in Pl^'mouth. He had been making stump speeches there. Dinner over, conversation took a wider range. Barnabee told a story or two which so upset Wj^man that he "gave himself awa}'," be- ing reminded of others not of the ministerial sort exactly. When he had told that story about Daniel Webster at Buffalo, when he said, " We '11 106 CAUSERIE. all ride," "the bumpkin" began to get his e3'es open, and when Barnabee had made his well- remembered speech on the annexation of Cuba, "which once joined on to the State of Maine like two pieces of a broken saucer," Wj-man saw daj^light, and there was a mutual admission of a mutual sell. The fun was fast and furious for the next two hours, and no end of good stories were told, after which the party broke up. The three surviving members keep it as a bright spot on memorj-'s page. "Yes," observed a friend the other evening, " she certainly is very highly cultivated. She is very st^'lish, plaj's well, sings well, talks well, dances well, and rides well, and succeeds admi- rably in private theatricals. In fact," he added, " she's just the kind of a girl 3'ou'd like one of 3'our friends to marry." "Then 3^on wouldn't care to many her?" "By no means, my dear fellow. What 1 'm looking for is a real nice girl." CAUSERIE. 107 How painful it is to see a person who is about to start for Europe planning for every separate day of absence, just what time he will start, just what he will see, and just at what hour he will get through. To do this is to convert what should be pleasure into labor, and very severe labor at that. Travel that is enjoj^able is full of surprises, 3'es, and of disappointments. You reach Interlaken, for instance, at night. You rise in the morning and throw open the shutters, expecting to see the Jungfrau in all her virgin purit3\ Instead you see clouds, rain, and low- hanging mist. If 3'ou are tied to a plan 3'ou start for Lauterbrunnen, see about half of the Staubbach, cross the Wengern Alp and see far less that is awe-inspiring than 3'ou could see any decentty pleasant da3^ in Berkshire, reach Grin- delwald, take a damp walk to the glacier, of which 3'ou see only the foot, and then return to Interlaken, 3'our scheme of travel requiring 3^ou to start thence earl3' on the morrow for Thun. But if you are a wise tourist, and are not fet- tered to a plan, — or, worse still, to a part3", — 3'Ou linger in Interlaken, — linger until the clouds 108 CA USERIE. lift, and the Jungfrau bursts upon joxx in all her beant}^ Then 3-ou start out and do 3'our sight- seeing. Arrived at Lauterbrunnen, you hear of the wonders of the upper valle}^, which not one traveller in a hundred ever sees. You visit it, and then, as the day is wellnigh spent, decide to pass the night at Miirren. To-morrow will do for the Wengern Alp. And so 3^ou go on, in delightful uncertainty where you will " bring up." That was the wa}' Causeur saw Switzerland, and that 's the way to see it. With only a knapsack for baggage and a light heart for company, he tramped over the passes and through the valleys, now spending the night in a stately .hotel, now in a peasant's chalet, and more than once found shelter under the hospitable roof of a village priest. He had no ambition to be a ''high climber," or to tread dangerous or difficult paths. His object was to see the mountains, not to chmb them. And see them he did, at sunrise, at high noon, at sunset, under the soft light of the moon, under fair skies, and when storms swept the valleys. And he can truly say that some of the finest views in Switzerland, especially in the Bernese CAUSERIE. 109 Obeiiand, seem never to have been discovered by the compilers of guide-books. It is alwaj^s well to take a cheerful view of things. A dozen 3'ears ago a friend went to New York and remained a week. On his return he announced to his friends that he had made eight hundred dollars during his absence. "How did you do it?" asked one of the group. "Easy enough ; anybody can do it. I onl}^ spent two hundred dollars, and I had a thousand dollars' worth of fun. Isn't that a clear profit of eight hundred dollars?" * * Summer is gone. The artists still linger among the mountains and at the sea-side, try- ing to put in enduring shape the mellow tints of the harvest season as seen through the clear autumnal air. But their summer work has been sent home, and is to be seen in the studios and in the art stores. And now comes the critic, little loved and less understood. Yet he has a place and a duty, and is as necessary to art as the 110 CAUSERIE. artist himself; judicious praise is beneficial, but not more so than a judicious pointing out of defects. The two combined make up criticism, which is not, as man}^ seem to think, mere fault- finding. It is useless to declaim against the critic as such. He is a fixed fact. He has come to sta}'. The individual may be unworth}^ or in- competent. If so he drops out, but the profes- sion remains. The critic's task is neither pleasant nor eas}^ He must be honest above all things, regardless of his own feelings or of the feel- ings of others. He must be just, as he under- stands justice. He may — and will if he is wise — consult authorities, and enlarge his under- standing by stud}^ and thought, but the judg- ment must be his own, uninterested and unbiassed. If he swerve from this ; if he follow the popular estimate ; if he give to mere trick and display the meed of praise that should be reserved for true art ; if he gloss over faults which his keener eye sees, but which the public does not note ; if, in a word, he cease for one instant to be true to himself, he forfeits self-respect, and his value as a critic has gone. Causeur has known many CAUSERIE. Ill professional critics, in art, in music, in the drama, and in literature ; and be can truh' sa}^ that, despite the abuse that has been heaped upon them by those whose work it has been their dut}' to put down at its true rather than its fan- cied value, he has found them, as a rule, honest, painstaking, and able ; free from jealous}^ and ill-will, and filled with a sincere desire to do credit to their high calling. There are those who will not believe this, but it is true. It is often said, and not without some truth, that friendship between men endures through trials and tests that would break friendship between women a thousand times over. When men conclude to trust one another, that is the end of it. The}' trust, absolutel}' and wliolh' ; but between members of the other sex there alwa3's seems to be a mental reservation, just enough to insure a break at the least jar. Cau- seur remembers that in Florence, in the fall of 'GO, he was walking with a lady on the Lung' Arno, when he unexpectedl}' met a friend, S., 112 CAUSERIE. whom he had not seen for a year. After a warm exchange of greetings, the ladj^ remarked to S., " You and Causeur seem to be very warm friends. I presume 3^ou keep up a desperate correspond- ence when 3'ou are apart." "On the contrar}'," answered S., "we never write. The fact is, our friendship is not the kind that needs to be indtied up every week." And to this day, al- though he has seen him but twice in ten j^ears, and has not had a Une from him in all that time, Causeur feels and knows that he has in S. a friend whom he can count upon as he would upon a brother. Is not this the truest friendship, after all? *** Back in the early da3's of California, when Wells, Fargo, & Co.'s Express did prett}^ much all the post-office and banking business for the miners scattered throughout the State, forwarding their letters, making their remittances, and giving them coined gold for "nuggets" and "dust," it was the custom of the men to come in from out- lying camps in "canon" and "gulch" every Saturday' evening, "plank" their week's mining CAUSERIE. 113 of the 3-ellow metal, and receive double eagles in exchange. Near the shant}' in which these busi- ness transactions were consummated there was always sure to be another devoted to gambling, and he was a lucky miner who got back to camp Monday morning with a single " 3'eUow boy " to show for his week of hard work. In one of these little settlements one Saturday evening there sat, in the office of the express compan}^, a dark- visaged, morose-appearing man, who looked as though he had lost not only his mone}', but every friend that he had ever had. There was an ex- pression of sullen despair upon his face, and, though he said nothing, his verj' presence cast a gloom over all present. The door opened, and in walked a hardj'-looking 3'oung miner, wearing a slouch hat, a red shirt, dark " pants," and a pair of boots of the true California pattern. He had a pleasant, cheerful face, and a brisk and business-like manner that attracted the favorable attention of every one. Stepping to the plank which formed the counter, he deposited his " dust," took his coin, and was about to go, when, turning again to the clerk, he said, "I 114 CAUSERIE. think 3'ou made a mistake in settling with me last week." "No, I didn't," answered the clerk, sharpl}' ; " it's all right." " Well, perhaps it is," retorted the miner, " but I know that 3'ou gave me fort^^ dollars too much^ and," he added, tossing out a couple of double eagles, " here's your mone}-."- The morose man, who had been an attentive lis- tener, rose slowl}^, moved towards the honest young miner, laid his hand kindly upon his shoul- der, and, looking into his face, said, "Young- man, don't you feel awful lonesome in this countr}^ ? " When trouble has come and gone, when disap- pointment has been followed by satisfaction, when differences have been amicably adjusted, misun- derstandings explained, hasty words recalled, and a disposition shown to make reparation for injury done, it is the part of friendship not alone to for- give but to forget ; to abstain from too close inquiry as to motives and causes, and to accept the out- come, without seeking to go back and criticise. It is useless to try to get at the explanation of ever}^ thing in this world, because there are some CAUSERIE. 115 things that never can be explained to eveiybody's satisfaction, and it always will be so as long as human nature is what it is and human beings con- tinue to look at questions from different stand- points, and to speak in different moods at different times. Let the inexplicable go unexplained. The shrewdest business men often overreach m themselves by pett}' meanness towards their em- ployes. Perhaps there never was a better illus- tration of this than an incident in the life of John Jacob Astor, or, to speak more trul}^, in the life of one of his captains, a man who, in early years, was the beau ideal of a seaman, and throughout his long life had the love and esteem of all whose good fortune it was to know him. He had sailed six vo3'ages to China without a chronometer, depending on " dead reckoning " and " lunars ; " just before starting on his seventh voyage he sucro'ested to Mr. Astor that it would be safer to have a chronometer. " "\Yell, get one," said the merchant. The captain did so, and entered its cost in his account current. When Astor's eye 116 CA USERIE. fell upon the item he drew his pencil through it. The captain expostulated. " Tarn it, man," said Astor, " I tolt 3'ou to get one ; I tidn't say I'd pa}' for it." The captain severed his connection with Astor then and there, went into Wall Street, engaged with other owners, and before night was in command of as fine a ship as ever floated in New York's beautiful ba^^ In three da3's she was read}' for sea, and set sail. At the same time Astor's ship, under the command of a new captain, set sail also. They had a race for Hong Kong, but the captain who, as he used to put it, had ' ' discharged " John Jacob Astor, by keeping the men at the braces took advantage of every puff of wind, and won by three days. Then there was lively work. The ship was loaded in the shortest time possible, and before Astor's vessel, which had arrived meantime, was half loaded, our captain weighed anchor, and, with a full cargo of tea, set sail for Sandy Hook, arrived in good time, got his ship alongside the wharf, and began hoisting out his cargo, which was sold by auction on the spot. This glutted the market, for the consumption was comparatively small in those days, and when CAUSERIE, 117 Astor's ship came in prices had fallen. Two da3's later, as the captain was sauntering down Broad wa}^, he met his former emploj^er. "How much did dat chronometer cost you ? " asked the latter. "Six hundred dollars." "Veil," said Astor, " dat vas slieap. It cost me sixt}^ tousand tollars." The merchant and the captain have long since paid the long reckoning, but that chronom- eter is still a good time-keeper and a treasured relic as well. * * A SWEET-PRETTY girl, who writcs a charming hand, and dates her note " Chester Square," writes to ask for a remed}' for jealous}^ but fails to say whether it is she who is jealous, or the other party. If it be herself, the very fact that she asks the question shows that she recognizes that she is jealous without just cause, and that she is anxious to be cured. This is a hopeful state of mind. Common sense is the only remedy in such cases ; and if be taken in frequent and heroic doses, a cure is certain. If, on the other hand, it is the "other part}^" who is afflicted, and if this fair correspondent is sure in her own mind 118 CAUSERIE. that she has given him no reason for jealousy, the remedy is ver}'' simple, though severe. The mal- ady that he is suffering from bears about the same relation to true jealousy that varioloid does to the small-pox. Give him a taste of the real article. The dose must be proportioned to the severity of the case ; but there is not much danger of its being too strong, if a permanent cure is wanted. This prescription never fails except in cases where the person administering it lacks nerve. Don't lessen the doses because the patient shows signs of convalescence. That is the time of greatest danger. Keep right on until the remedy is complete. You must " be cruel onl}^ to be kind." *** An elderl}' gentleman of a matter-of-fact turn of mind recently asked what sort of a girl a cer- tain 3^oimg man was engaged to, and was answered that she was very highly spoken of by those who knew her, and that she and her future husband, instead of frittering their time awa}' in frivolous amusements, were seeking to improve their minds by reading the classics together. "Classics be CAUSERIE. 119 hanged ! " broke in the old gentleman, somewhat irate; "they'd better be hugging each other." Which shows how little the generation that is passing awa}^ knows of the delights of " culture." Not long since there died in this cit}^ a young man whose future seemed bright and full of prom- ise. He was known to and esteemed b}^ a large circle of friends, and his untimel}^ death was widety mourned. At the funeral were assembled representatiA^es from man}^ of Boston's best-known families, and the services were conducted by a pastor whose name has been a household word in this cit}' for 3-ears. The last praj'er had been said, and the more immediate relatives had been led from the room, when those present became aware of the presence of one who had not been seen until that moment, — a 3'onng lad}^ of about twenty years, neatly j'et richly dressed, and closely veiled, — who approached the casket, kissed the cold forehead, placed a little bunch of violets in the lifeless hand, sobbed convulsively, and was gone. Inquiring glances were exchanged, bat it 120 CA USER IE. was evident that she was unknown to any one present. When the grave was reached, a wreath of violets was found at its head, and there were those who saw hunying away through a secluded path the form of her who had so mysteriously ap- peared and disappeared at the house. Hers was a grief so sacred and tender that no one sought to discover her identit}^, but an accident and the peculiar character of her offerings revealed it. She is the idol of her parents, a ver}- queen in social circles, and see7ns to have ever}' thing which heart can wish. But there are those who know the grief that weighs upon her. And her name is — Violet. *** " Soon" is a very convenient word, but it is a ver}' indefinite and trying one. A friend says, "I will write soon," or "I will come soon," — arousing an expectation, a hope, or a desire, as the case ma}' be, but giving no definite idea when it is to be gratified. Its use is a promise that means more to the receiver than to the giver, and often causes the former anxiet}^ and uncertainty which a little more definiteness and a little more CA USERIE. 121 thonghtfulness might prevent. There are few who cannot recall cases in which long, weary, and anxious waiting might have been avoided had a reasonable interpretation been put upon the little word " soon." *** "A Yankee in a Hoosier Land," out in Indi- ana, in the course of a very kind letter at hand this week, has this word to say to emploj^ers : '•'• Give a boy credit for what he does right, and he will work for j'our interests. When I left school I went into a store, and one of m}' em- plo3^ers, who had learned the business in the same store before me, was right after the boj's if they did wrong ; but I ne^er did au}^ thing right without getting credit for it, and his words of commendation inspired me to do more and better. 'M.y health being poor, I left the store for an outside business, and there I tried to do m}' best ; but for 3^ears it seemed as if I could do nothing right, and I was continually found fault with. Consequently I lost my interest, and did not do half that I might. Since I have had men under me, my own experience keeps coming 122 CAUSERIE. to my mind, and I have tried to have all patience possible with them, and to say a word of encour- agement when the}^ do right. I find it works well, and I believe my men like to work for me." No doubt of it. The fact is, while it is the right and duty of an employer to complain when he is not well served, it is equally his duty to acknowl- edge faithful service ; and the man who fails in this is not only unjust, but impolitic. The aver- age boy is manly, and wants to be treated man- fashion. He only asks justice, and he knows when he fails to get it. Indeed, no one has a keener appreciation of justice, or smarts more keenly under injustice, than a boy. The em- ployer who treats his bo^^s fairly and honorably will be repaid tenfold in faithful service. If a boy prove trustworthy, trust him, not grudgingly, but openly and heartil}'. More than one boy that could be named has gone to the bad because, when he was honestly tr3ing to do his best, he was constantly watched and doubted. Per contra, one is recalled who refused to leave bis emplo3^er, even when superior pecuniar}^ inducements were held out, giving as his reason that he had been CAUSERIE. 128 trusted to do his work without being watched, and that he had faith to beUeve that the time would come when Mr. would be in a posi- tion to do better by him. And it did. If that "bo}"" were to draw his check for $20,00"0 to- da}', an}- bank in Boston would honor it at sight. * * An old sea-captain, well known in the da3^s of Havi'e packets, who "sailed the seas over" for fift}^ years and more, used to tell that in the earl}^ part of his first voj'age as captain, when he had but just turned twenty-one, his cabin-boy com- plained of a lame back. There was a medicine- chest aboard, whose contents it was the cap- tain's duty to dispense according to the best of his knowledge and abilit}^ In a shallow drawer at the bottom of the chest were three or four Spanish-fly plasters ready spread on kid, and one of these the captain decided to apply to the bo^-'s back. It was done, and the little fellow sent to bed. In the morning he was on hand bright and earl}', but the captain's usual cup of coffee was missing. "Cook isn't up, sir," was the boy's 124 CA USERIE. explanation. "Why not?" asked the captain. ' ' Sa^^s he can't get up, sir." ' ' Why not ? " " Says his back hurts him, sir." "Back? what's the matter with his back?" " Tlie plaster, sir." " What do you mean?" exclaimed the captain; "I didn't put the plaster on his back." "No, sir, but / did," whimpered the boy. "You did, you young rascal," howled the captain, jumping from his berth ; " what on earth did you do that for?" "Well, sir," answered the boy, getting well out of the range of any stray boot-jack or other missile that might chance to be within the captain's reach, "when I woke up in the night it hurt me so that I had to take it off. The cook was in the next bunk asleep, and I just clapped it on his back : I didn't want to waste the plaster, sir." And he didn't. It worked to perfection, keeping the poor cook in bed with a sore back for over a week ; and in the next bunk, keeping him compau}^, was the boy, also with a sore back ; but it wasn't the plaster that made it so. A rope's end was a favorite prescription in those days. CAUSERIE. 125 Had thieves left Mr. A. T. Stewart's ashes alone, they were destined to sanctif}- a splendid cr}T^)t in Bishop Littlejohn's new cathedral on Long Island. In b^'-gone days it was the habit to entomb in such splendors the bodies of famous saints, whose worldl}^ goods might be reckoned at a crucifix, a missal, and a pilgrim's robe of sackcloth. Is it a sign of a new gospel and a better one when in cathedral graves the ashes of the millionnaire assume the traditional resting- place of the saint? *** There are those who are constitutionally op- posed to granting favors to their fellow-beings, — an uncomfortable class, who deserve no considera- tion from any one. Then there are those who are continually thrusting their favors upon others, — a class almost as uncomfortable to get along with, especially as the recipient of their attentions is invariably left under a sense of obligation. But there is a class of favors which ma}' be accepted without an}^ such feeling, since they cost the giver nothing, either in time or mone}', 3'et are invalu- able to the recipient. A poor fellow who had been 126 CAUSEPdE. badly injured in a railroad accident out West " drew the line " admirably. He was a brakeman, and had been hurt in the discharge of his dut}'. His home was in the East, and the road which he had served passed him to the terminus of its line. The next did the same, and also the next ; but at last he came to a superintendent who hesitated. The poor fellow pleaded his case. He was a rail- road man. He had been hurt at his post. He had been passed by all the other roads. " All very well," said the superintendent ; " but I can't see my way clear to give you a pass. If j^ouwere working for a farmer, and were to get hurt in his employ, would j'ou expect another farmer to get out his team and take you to the next town ? " "No, sir," said the brakeman; "not that ex- actly ; but if he was hitched up and going my way, I should think he was mighty mean if he wouldn't give me a ride." He got the pass. It is a serious fact that the more "branches" our schools teach, the less the pupils learn. Not only is the time so cut up that but little is devoted CA USERIE. 127 to an}^ one stud}- , but the constant shifting from one to another so distracts and confuses the pupil, that the impressions which he receives are apt to be vague and fleeting. It is very certain that the more a pupil knows the better it is for him, provided he knows it "certain." Our present system of education has many warm and earnest defenders, persons whose opinions are entitled to the highest possible regard ; but it is never- theless true that a tree is best judged by its fruit, and it is very certain that the annual crop of "graduates" is not what might reasonabl}' be expected, considering the mone}^ spent upon our schools, and our boastful claims concerning them. True, the pupils have a superficial and " showy" knowledge of many things ; but thorough knowl- edge of au}^ one branch is hard to find. Now, the chief object of schooling, the rudiments hav- ing been mastered, is to learn how to learn ; but our schools, too many of them, are teaching how not to learn. The arts of drawing and music ai'e taught to a certain extent ; but the greater art of study, the art which enables the pupil to con- centrate the energies of his mind and master the 128 CAUSER IE. subjects in hand, is shamefull}' neglected. The fact is that study, real study, is hard, tiresome, exhausting work, and no new-fangled "system" or "method" will ever make it any thing else. The boy that is going to really learn algebra, geometry, or trigonometr}^ has got to think, — think for himself; and that's just what the schools rarely teach him to do. It isn't enough that he should understand the solution of a prob- lem, the demonstration of a proposition, or the derivation of a formula. That is superficial. If he is really to learn, he must think out the solu- tion for himself, demonstrate the proposition, and have as clear a knowledge of wh}' a formula is correct as of the formula itself. But teaching of this sort takes time, and here seems to be the thing which our schools lack. To be sure, they have all the time there is, but they seek to crowd so much into it that it comes very short. " See the moon ! " said a lady to her nephew, a bright little boy of five, as they sat looking out the window together the other da}'. "The CAUSERIE. 129 moon!" said the little man. "You can't see the moon in the daytime." "Yes, you can," continued his aunt; "there it is over the trees." The little fellow had to admit that he saw it, but added, " 'T ain't lighted, any way." *** Of idle hands and idle brauis there is an ever- growing number, and ' ' What shall I do ? " is a question which is disturbing many minds. It is bad enough for men, many of whom have loved ones looking to them for maintenance ; but to women it is infinitely worse, because of the small number of avenues open to them. And to one class of women in particular this question is an ever-present source of trial and trouble. There is in this and in all other communities a class of young women who have enjoj^ed a good and elevating education, who have been sheltered in pleasant and loving homes, but who foresee that the da}^ must come when they will be thrown upon their own resources and must care for themselves. The}' have been bred to do no gainful work, their education fits them for no employment that can 130 CA USERIE. earn them a living, and though the}* make a good appearance and seem light-hearted and ga}", they have a secret consciousness that an unknown future is before them. Marriage is the solution to which most of these girls look forward in a vague and uncertain way, and they go on in idleness because they know not what to do. The world owes every one, man and woman, a living ; but the world expects something in return, and exacts it. Now, the girls referred to are, most of them, ready and willing to do something, al- though too many of them are so fastidious in their tastes that thc}^ lessen still further the few possible avenues of usefulness open to them. A girl who would think it her brother's bounden duty to accept any work, however distasteful, and hope for something better later on, will ob- ject to any thing that is offered her unless it suits her fanc}^ exactl3\ And yet there is no reason why girls should not start with the idea that they have their wa}'' to make in the world as well as bo3'S. Save in a ver^' few cases, every American boy grows up wath the knowledge that he has got to obtain emplo3'ment, and loorh from the time he CAUSERIE. 131 leaves school. The pay, in mone}^, may be small at first ; but he is learning a business, and getting a foothold, and that is no small part of his pa}'. There is no reason why girls should be brought up with the idea that they were born to be taken care of, while their brothers are given to under- stand that they have got to care for themselves. But they are brought up with this idea, and herein lies the mischief. This much is certain. No man who really wants work, and is read}" to do his ut- most at an}' thing, remains long out of employ- ment of some sort ; and the answer to be made to girls who ask, " What shall I do? " is, " Don't wait for just the thing that suits 3'ou : take up with the very first thing that you can find, and do it with all 3'our might. You will be sure to find something, and if you are fitted for some- thing better, that will come in time." Twenty 3'ears ago, when the anti-slavery agita- tion was at its height, a Boston man found himself one day on a Mississippi steamboat, on his wa}* to New Orleans. There were some rough customers 132 CAUSERIE. on board, gentlemen who were walking armories, so w^ell were their persons supplied with the arms and munitions of war. One day a little knot of these fierce -looking individuals were gathered on the quarter-deck, talking among themselves, and casting frequent glances at their fellow-passenger from Boston. At length one of their number sidled up to him and opened conversation with the remark, " From Boston, I believe?" " Yes," said the son of the " Hub," " I am from Boston." "Parker b}' name?" continued the Mississippian. " Yes, Parker is my name." ''''Theodore Parker? " growled the haughty Southerner. " Yes." " You don't mean to sa}^ that you are that miserable abo- litionist," said the long-haired individual, toying with the hilt of his bowie. " Oh ! no, not at all. You 've got the wrong man. My name 's Theo- dore D. Parker." " Well, stranger," said the representative of the " chivahy," "that's all right. But I 'd advise you to write that ' D ' plain." *** A YOUNG man in Roxbury writes asking advice about becoming a journalist, and the best way to CA USERIE. . 133 begin. As there seem to be an inordinate number of persons who are anxious to join the ah'eacl}' overcrowded ranks of journalism, perhaps it may be as well to answer his letter here. And the first suggestion to be made is that which Punch made to people contemplating matrimony, " Don't." Of the thousands who enter the ranks, verj^ few at- tain even moderate prominence, and a mere handful eminence. Boston has a dozen eminent law3'ers : it has not a single eminent editor, and wouldn't support him if it had. The best-paid editor in Boston doesn't get as much salary as the chief cook of a first-class hotel, and the profession as a whole, though honorable, is far from gainful. It involves steady, persistent work, a constant strain of the mental faculties, and no end of unintelligent, 3'et annoying criticism. There is no profession that exacts so much work for so small a return ; none in which the steps of promotion are more numerous or more diflflcult to ascend. With this by way of preface, it ma}' be said that the onty way to get into the profession is to take some subordinate position. This should be on a countr}' weekl}' or daily, where the candidate will have an 134 . CA USEEIE. opportunity to try his powers on pretty much all kinds of work. If he go into a large daily office at the start, he is confined to some one branch, and his chances for promotion out of that special department are small indeed, for the reason that he has little or no opportunity^ to acquaint himself with the work of any other. But the editor of a country paper has to be reporter and proof-reader as well, must keep the run of his exchanges, attend to all correspondence, and often see to the business department also ; and his assistant, if he can afford such a luxury, gets an insight into the whole management of the establishment. Success under such circumstances results, in time, in ad- vancement ; the candidate for journalistic honors gets a place on some city weekly or dail}^ and must take his chances for further promotion, which will depend upon his industry, his ability, and accident. The demand for service such as he can render is necessarily limited, the supplj^ large and increasing, and he must be content to accept the best position and the best pay that he can get. One thing more must be said, and should be care- fully considered b}^ the would-be journalist at the CA USERIE. 135 start. Hard as it is to get into journalism, it is harder still to get out. The training which a news- paper affords is not calculated to fit a man for any other known vocation or profession. In nineteen cases out of twent}' the novice enters upon it " for better or for worse," and for all time. If he can make an honest living in an}' other way, he had better eschew journalism. If he must engage in it, let it be with his e3'es open to the difficulties and disappointments that will inevitably beset his path. *** " Cui.TURE " is having a hard time of it in the West. At a social gathering in Chicago recentlj^ a gentleman was introduced to a young lady of whom the hostess spoke as " a very brilliant and entertaining conversationalist." The two chatted together for some minutes, and at length got to literar}' topics, Henry James and his short stor}', "Daisy Miller," coming up for discussion. "I have read it," said the lady, adding, with empha- sis, " and I tell you, James has no heart." " But Ms stories are certainly entertaining," suggested the gentleman. "Yes, that may be," said the 136 CA USERIE. " brilliant conversationalist," " but surel}' he can- not be compared with Shakspeare." " The men who speak With the loudest tongues do least." It was a favorite remark of an old sea-captain, that he learned in youth never to talk about any thing that he had determined upon. " Men waste their energy in talk," he would say, " and have none left for their enterprises. But if the}' are wise enough to keep still, and devote themselves to doing, they will find that their actions speak for themselves, and that talk is unnecessary." Good advice this, but many find it hard to follow. Man is a social animal, and there is a certain pleasure in discussing one's plans with a friend, and enjoying their fruits in anticipation. Some go through the world in a cold-blooded, calculat- ing wa}", seeking advantage at every turn, and doubtless finding it ; but are they, after all, the best models to pattern after? Is not a little human weakness of this sort rather amiable, on the whole ? It certainly is true that he who keeps CA USERIE. 137 his mouth shut and his ears open, lays deep plans, and watches his opportunity as a cat watches to take the fatal spring, stands a better chance of what the world calls success than the more con- fiding kind. But what is success? Is it simply to la}' up store of this world's goods ? The many so view it ; but those who have looked deeper feel that he is most truly successful who has borne his share of life's burdens and troubles, who has opened his heart to his fellow-men, whose thoughts have not been of self alone, and the workings of whose mind have not been whoU}' concealed. Of course, prudence is to be observed, and care must be taken in the choice of confidants. And, moreover, " still keep something to yoursel' You scarcely tell to ony." But don't seal up the windows of 3'our soul too tightlj^ It needs an occasional airing. An incident in the life of a clerg3'man well known in Boston. Many years ago, while spend- ing a few da^'s with a friend in the countr}^, word 138 CAUSERIE. came that in a village twenty miles off, the minis- ter had been suddenly called awa}', and with it a request that the visiting clergyman would siipplj?- his pulpit on the coming Sunda3^ He consented, and drove to the village on Saturday afternoon. Arrived there, he soon found the resident minis- ter's house. It had a broken-down, uninviting look, and his knock at the door was answered b}'- its mistress, whose look was anj^ thing but one of welcome. " Yes," she said, " this is the house ; and this," turning and unlocking a door, " is 3'our room. It 's a little dark and damp, for we don't open it often. We use it mostlj' for funerals." Time was when the lecture platform was one of the great factors in our educational S3'stem. Lecturers were esteemed for what the}' had to say, and the grace and power with which the}' said it. Lecture courses were arranged and managed by committees whose sole aim was to provide whole- some intellectual food for their fellow-citizens, and no idea of pecuniary gain entered into the mind of any one save the lecturer, who was fairly com- CA USERIE. 139 pensated for his services. Bnt in these later 3'ears the "bureaus" and "agencies" have come into the field, and all is changed. Bj^ shrewd manage- ment the}^ have, in their own interest, brought the l3xeum down to the " show " level, have put a lot of cheap, shallow-brained talliers and mounte- banks upon its i)latform, and have sought to en- courage what would best pay them, rather than what would best serve the public interest. The people's taste has been vitiated ; audiences no longer look for instruction, but rather for amuse- ment and entertainment ; and the race of old- fashioned lecturers, the men who felt that their success depended upon study, thought, and honest work, is fast djing out. Ethan Allen, whose misfortune it was to have a termagant for a wife, had, and deserved, a reputation for courage of the leonine kind. Some wags thought to frighten him once ; but they mis- took their man. One of them, arra3'ed in a sheet, stepped in front of him in the road late one dark night when he was on his way homeward. Ethan 140 CA USERIE. stopped, looked at the spectre, and without a mo- ment's hesitation, exclaimed, " If 3-011 come from heaven, I don't fear 3'ou. If 3'ou are the devil, come home and spend the night with me, — I married 3'our sister." His neighbors never sought to test his courage after that. All of which comes from Vermont direct. Boston has lost much during the past five 3'ears, — much trade, much prestige, and much money. But these do not cover her most serious loss. The course of business has wended its way Westward, millions of dollars' worth of merchan- dise that was formerly sold here is now distrib- uted in New York and Chicago ; but Boston's most serious loss has been in men, 3^oung, smart, enter- prising business men, educated in her schools and at her expense, to grow up and take the place of the generation of merchants who have made her known and respected during the past century. But the}^ were crowded out ; there was no open- ing for them; and they have "gone West," to contribute their energy and talent, much needed CAUSERIE. 141 at home, towards building up younger cities. Of course, the best go; the other kind remain. Ever}' business man in Boston will tell 3'ou that it is the part of true wisdom to ' ' give the young men a chance," and to profit by their youthful energ}' and "push." But not one out of ten of them ever thinks of practising what he preaches. A man's credit isn't worth much in State Street until he has one foot in the grave, and the result is that young men of spirit who have an honorable ambition to get on in the world x)ack their things and leave. All of which is bad, very bad, for Boston's future. *** They tell of a well-known Boston clerg3'man who, on his first visit to this cit}^, j^ears ago, spent the evening with the pastor of a flourishing church on Beacon Hill. Just as he was about to go, the sexton came in to see his pastor on a matter of business. The minister introduced his guest, and, expressing regret that he had not been able to show him more attention, urged him to come again, when he would take pains to entertain him. "Yes, Mr. ," broke in the 142 CAUSERTE. sexton, "come again b}' all means, and I'll show 3'ou round, too. I '11 take j^ou to Mount Auburn." *** So intricate and numerous are the duties and responsibilities that a republican form of govern- ment imposes, that were the citizen to inquire into every question, weigh all the evidence, and personallj' inform himself concerning everj^ candi- date, all his waking hours would not suffice to enable him to come to intelligent and accurate conclusions. Questions of national politics are more numerous and more difficult than most men care to grapple with ; but when to these are added State and municipal " issues," the task becomes appalling. Hence the necessity of parties. No man can uphold every thing which either party does : he must content himself with doing the best he can under the circumstances, and joining with that which seems to him nearest right on the whole. But he has no right to join for all time. It is his dut}' to reserve the right of private judg- ment, and to revise his opinion at least once a year, according to the change in circumstances. CA USERIE. 143 Party names endure, but part}^ policies and aims change ; and in a few 3'ears nothing but the names remain. It is bUnd following party, right or wrong, that gives power and influence to un- scrupulous politicians. When individuals of a part}' reserve the right, and practise it, to aban- don the party standard whenever the}' feel that it is in unworth}' hands or represents false doctrines, pohtical managers feel a wholesome check, and the unscrupulous sort retire in disgust, to the public advantage. It is what is called " the uncertain element," the class that votes each 3'ear upon its conscience, regardless of previous party affihation, that professional politicians on both sides chiefly dread ; and it is an encouraging fact that this ele- ment is increasing in importance and in strength. Its vote is cast for measures and for men, not for part}^, and is courted hy both parties. And the onl}' way for a partj' to win it is to come up to its standard. *** " You're a man after my own heart," said a belle at the Old South Ball to a 3'oung man who had opportunely rendered her a slight service. 144 CA USERIE. "That's exactly what I am after," he answered, as quick as a flash, and with a low bow. It cer- tainly was impudent ; but it is equally certain that the fair one smiled very sweetly upon him, and sailed away hanging upon his arm, to the dismay of a crowd of less audacious gallants. Do the gay j^achtsmen who go sailing by the twin lights of Cape Ann know the story of the heroine of Thatcher's Island? She was the keeper's wife, a bright, sunny-souled Httle woman. One day her husband and the assistant keepers crossed to the main-land, expecting to return soon. But a storm came up ; no boat could live in the channel, and night fell. She feared that her husband and the others had ventured to cross, and knew the probable result. But she was faithful to dut}'. At the accustomed hour the lights shone out clear and bright from the two towers. All night long she tended and watched them, going from one tower to the other in the blinding, howling storm, stopping onl}^ to say a word of cheer to the frenzied wives of the assist- CA USERIE. 145 ants, who, believing their husbands drowned, had no strength and no heart to help. When morning came, she looked towards the shore, and there, standing on the rocks, she saw her husband and the others. She counted. Yes, they were all there. Then she took new courage. The women helped a little, and the lamps were newly filled and trimmed, for the storm kept on, and there was no hope that the keeper could cross. Again night fell, and again the twin lights shone bright and clear, warning mariners to keep away from the granite "knuckles of Cape Ann." All night long she toiled ; but it was easier now. Her hus- band was safe, and the sacred dut}^ that he could not do she had done in his stead. With the first gray of dawn a boat put out from the cove. It reached the island, and the keeper jumped ashore just in time to support his brave wife as she fell in a swoon. Six months later came the reward. Keeper and wife were turned adrift, that one who had done a disreputable congressman's dirt}^ work might have the place. Republics are ungrateful. 10 146 CAUSERIE. A SON of Maine who went West in eariy j^outh, and has there attained wealth and an honorable position, returned last summer to visit his old home. At the village store he saw an old man whom he had known in his 3'ounger days. He accosted him, but was not recognized. " So 3^ou don't remember me," he said : "I am John R." "Jbw/" exclaimed the old man; " 3-ou don't mean to tell me that you are John R. ? " " I certainty am," said the visitor, shaking him by the hand, ' ' and I 'm very glad to see you again." " Well," persisted the old man, "I never did. To think that this is you. They tell me you 've grown awful rich, John." John admitted that he had ' ' saved something." ' ' And they say you 're the president of a railroad, and get a big salary." Again John had to admit that rumor spoke truth. "I'm glad on it, John! I 'm glad on it, my boy ! It beats all what sar- cumstances and cheek will do for a man." "All the nice men are married ! " exclaimed a bright-e^^ed beauty the other day, with a toss CA USERIE. 147 of her little head. She probably meant to say that all married men were nice. Of course they are. It is marriage that makes them so ; and the thing for that same little beauty to do is to take compassion on some miserable bachelor, and make him both happy and ''nice." Of all the men that served under the Stars and Stripes during the war of the Rebellion, none were more thoroughly in earnest or more truly lo3'al to the Union than those recruited in Western Virginia. The war was terribly real to them. Not one but had a brother, a friend, or a neigh- bor on the other side, with whom he had fought out the question in words long before arms were taken up. They felt that it was a personal quar- rel. They were terrible fellows to fight, although frightfully lax in disciphne. Their officers — those that were wise — took them for what they were, appreciated their fighting qualities, and soon ceased to wony about thfeir lack of disci- pline. What mattered it if they were not exact in mattei-s of salutes to their superiors? They 148 CA USERIE. were prompt to obey when duty called, as brave as lions in the face of the enem}^, and kindness itself to those who understood and appreciated them. One day, a command made up mainly of rough but manly fellows of this sort had a fight with the enem3% and captured a large number of prisoners. That night captives and captors bivouacked on the battle-field, and the next day began their march to the rear, where the pris- oners were to be handed over for shipment North. Towards noon, a rebel officer beckoned to his side the major commanding the escort. " Last night," he said, "while I was asleep, my haversack was stolen. I know what war is, and I accept its fortune, good or bad. That haversack contained several things that I value, — one that I prize as I do my hfe, — the portrait of a lady." And then, glancing back at the rough cavalrymen, he added, sorrowfully, "I suppose there is small chance of getting it again." "I '11 see," said the major. The command was marching "by fours." In four lines word was passed from front to rear, each man communicating with the comrade next behind him. Within ten minutes CAUSER IE. 149 a sergeant rode up to the major and handed iim a package. The major took it to his prisoner. "Open this," he said. There was the portrait, uninjured, and with it a bundle of letters, upon which the owner had written a request that it should be destro3'ed unopened in the event of his death. The seal was unbroken. How he was beloved by those who possessed his friendship, they only knew. A stranger to fear, he had the heart of a child and the mod- est}' of a girl. To relieve suffering was to him a pleasure. It troubled him to have his good deeds known, and he was at more pains to con- ceal them than are evil-doers to hide their sins. He was kind, not "kind to a fault," for 'tis never a fault to be kind. He had that tender- ness that belongs to true manliness alone, and no one sought his counsel or sympathy in vain. The daisies will deck his grave in the spring- time, and look up at his name on the stone at its head. Could Causeur have his way, they 150 CA USERIE. would read beneath it the last words he ever spoke, — "remember, boys, I've had a good time." A DISTINGUISHED Bostoiiiaii, whom his native city and State have delighted to honor, bethought him latel}^ to bu}' a new vehicle. A bargain offered in the shape of a buggy which a friend was ready to dispose of at a fair price. It was "second hand," to be sure ; but it was a good buggy, had been made " 'pon honor," had seen but Uttle ser- vice, and bore upon its panels the initials of the original owner, " B. C." The trade was made, and the bu^'er plumed himself not a little on having got a good thing at a low price. But there was one member of his family who was not altogether pleased. The son, a dapper 3'oung man, wanted a little more " style," and would have preferred a new vehicle of fashionable build. He said so much about it that his father at length lost all patience, and told him seriously that he was tired of his talk, and would hear no more about it. "But, father," said the young man, CA USERIE. 151 " don't you think we had better have that ' B. C* painted out?" "I tell 3'ou," said his fatlier, ' ' that I will not hear another word from jom about it." "All right, sir," said the son, duti- full}' ; "you know best, of course, but I thought that perhaps people might think that was when it was made." The father surrendered. Sheridan said, — " You write with ease to show your breeding, But easy writing *s curst hard reading." This must be the reason that three out of every four makers of verse write doleful stuff that is the hardest of all hard reading. They are forever singing songs that depress rather than cheer, and writing lines in a morbidly sad strain. Mem- ory recalls a pastor who prided himself on his power " to make all the women cry," whenever he preached. His trick — it was nothing but a trick — was to paint some sad scene, a child's death- bed, or a mother's anguish at its loss, and thus work upon the susceptible nature of the weaker portion of his hearers. And thej', poor things, half of them, took it for eloquence ! And so half 152 CAUSERIE. the readers of current verse esteem poetry in pro- portion to the amount of " cry" there is in it, just as confirmed topers value Hquor according to its "burn." What is wanted is more objective, de- scriptive verse. Let it be full of heroism and sentiment ; tell of generous acts and thoughts, of manly and womanly doings. The more of these the better, and you may justly be proud of the " teariness " which these produce ; but oh, rhyme- sters, do have done with mawkish sentimentality and hysteria-producing recitals of heart-rending scenes which exist only in your own diseased imaginations. *** It was in the early morning, the restaurant had been opened for the first comers, and the landlord had just taken his seat at the desk, when in walked a somewhat seedy-looking individual who seated himself at one of the tables and ordered a generous meal, which he ate with seeming relish. Ha^dng finished, he rose and approached the desk, remark- ing that he had enjo3'ed his breakfast exceedingl}'. " Glad you liked it, sir," said the landlord in his blandest tones, at the same time pulling out the CAUSERIE. 153 cash-drawer in a suggestive way. "Yes," con- tinued his guest, " the steak was delicious, and the coflfee was the best I have tasted for 3'ears." " I am ver}^ glad 3'ou are so much pleased with our fare," responded mine host ; " 3'ou must come again." " I will, thank 3^ou," said the man, turn- ing to go. " Hold on," said the landlord ; " that isn't all, b}^ a long shot. You can't pla}^ that here." And with this he took a pistol from his drawer, and held it in the face of the would-be "beat." "What's that?" asked the latter, in trembling tones. "That? that's a revolver." "Oh, is that all? How 3'ou startled me! I thought it was a stomach-pump ! " Few ladies have an3' idea of the number of steps the3' take and the number of miles they walk dail3' in going about their houses. The pedometer, a little watch-like contrivance which, carried in the pocket, feels each footfall and records the total in miles and fractions, reveals some extraordinary facts. A lad3^, an acknowledged invalid, who thought she saved ever3' unnecessar3' step, found 154 CAUSERIE. that she had, between breakfast and tea, walked nearly two miles without going outside her door. The pedometer would probablj' show that nervous ladies, who " can't sit still," and are constantly "jumping up" to get this or that, walk at least five miles a day in their travels about the house. What it would show in the case of the 3^oung ladies who dance by the hour, jQi are too delicate to walk, may be imagined. Of course, exercise is a good thing ; but exercise in the open air is the kind that is beneficial to health. If our ladies would manage to avoid a part of their unnecessary "trotting around" the house, — the result, in great part, of nervous habit, — and put the same number of steps into out-door exercise ever}^ day, the result would be greatl}' to the advantage of their health. And then, there are the stairs. If a lady were asked to hoist her own weight through twelve to fifteen feet of space, the ordinary height of a " story," she would esteem it a cruel hard- ship ; but she will do precisel}^ that half a dozen times a day to get her " other gloves," her fan, or to see that her hair is as it should be. Let any lady take pains to count the number of times CA USERIE. 155 she climbs a flight of stairs in the course of a day, and she will be surprised to find how much of her strength is consumed in lifting herself. A Boston minister, one who presides over a large and flourishing church at the South End, and " lends a hand" in all good enterprises, who was to preach in Providence, spent the night before with a friend in a village some miles dis- tant, and walked to Providence Sunday morning. On his way, feeling hungry-, he stopped at a house b}' the wayside, rang the bell, and asked the motherl^-^-looking woman who came to the door if he could have a glass of milk and a slice of bread. "Well," she answered, "I suppose you can ; but it does seem as though a big, strong man like 3-0U might earn his living by work, and not beg for it." He has been ver}- considerate of tramps ever since. " Why is it," asks a friend, " that professional men and business men so seldom get along com- fortably together? " Simply because they seldom 156 CA USERIE. understand each other. Their training, their modes of thought, their perceptions, are wholly different. When a professional man is empbyed, it is understood that the work is to be done his wa}'. When a non-professional man is employed, it is understood that the work is to be done in his employer's wa3\ They look at life, its objects and aims, from different standpoints, and their interpretations of the w^ord ' ' success " are as dis- tinct and unlike as the two sides of the traditional shield over which the knights fought to the death. The man of business is apt to put quantity above quality. He can easily understand that a man who works a given number of hours dail}" is en- titled to a given amount of recompense ; he can- not quite appreciate the fact that another may justly earn ten times as much in one-tenth of the time. As a distinguished lawyer put it, " The man who wants a will or a deed drawn in my office can have it at the list price, but he who wants a piece of my brain to make a cog-wheel out of, so that the machinery of his business will run smoothly and without jar, has got to pay for it, and pay handsomel}', not in proportion to its size, but CA USERIE, 157 in proportion to its value to him." On the other hand, professional men are too apt to undervalue the importance of business men to the community, and to speak in a contemptuous, offensive, and altogether foolish wa}' of " trade," as if those en- gaged in it were an inferior class. Some children take naturall}^ to a practical view of things. A little girl was sa3'ing her prayers the other evening, closing up with " God bless papa and mamma, little sister and everj'body, and keep us from harm this night. Amen." The " little sister," a bright-eyed puss of five 3'ears, quietly remarked, " If j^ou 'd said ' everj'body ' to begin with, 3^ou needn't have made such a long pra^-er." There are certain disagreeable people in this world who seem to take a special delight in annoy- ing others by reminding them of things thej^ would willingly forget. The}' are human Thorns, forever torturing their fellow-men for the sake of torture. Has a man met with misfortune in his business, 158 CA USERIE. thej are forever recalling the fact. Has a man in times that are gone wandered into devious paths, they are forever reminding him of it, often by congratulating him that that is past. Has a man blundered, they are forever telling him what "might have been." When the Thorn is of the masculine gender, there is one way of getting rehef. He can be knocked down and taught manners. When the Thorn is of the feminine gender, the case is different and not so easily disposed of. But one such scourge in petticoats got her deserts the other evening. It was at a little part}^, where some score of people were gathered together. The Thorn sat near a 3'oung man who, in da3's gone b}^, had been guilty of follies that cost him dearl3\ He had put them all behind him. But the Thorn took occasion to recall them, in a subdued and confidential tone. The victim, who had been subjected to the same torture before, spoke up so that all could hear. " Madam," he said, "for five j^ears I have been trying to forget all that. You have been trying to remember it. You have succeeded better than I. I congratulate 3'ou." The Thorn subsided. CA USERIE. 159 At a dinner-part}^ at which Judge Hoar, whose home is in Concord, was a guest, and the late Judge Thomas was also present, the question of the care of the insane came up for discussion, and it was stoutly maintained that the so-called " village s^'stem," under which the afflicted are kept apart in small communities, was superior to the asylum system. " However well the village system ma}' work elsewhere," said Judge Thomas, "it can never succeed in America." And then, with a quizzical glance at Judge Hoar, he added, " It has been tried for some years in Concord, and has proved a complete failure." Every now and then somebod}" discovers that the president of Harvard College and the chief cook of one of our leading hotels get about the same pa}^, and launches out into a long essay concerning the inequality of compensation in this world, and the inadequate reward which brains receive. There is an element of truth in it, but there is one factor which is apt to be forgotten. The president of Harvard receives a salary ade- 160 CAUSERIE. quale to his wants. At all events lie is satisfied, and that is the main thing. But that is not his entire compensation. He has a position, official and social, which any one might be proud to hold. He is known and respected from one end of the land to the other. All doors open to him. If he go abroad, the fame of Harvard precedes him, and he is everywhere an honored guest among the learned, the good, and the great. His responsibilit}^ is great, but so is his power. He ma}' not accumulate wealth, but he has something that wealth cannot buy ; and when he dies, his name will be inscribed with those of men whom this community, this whole countrj', have honored and revered. On the other hand, the chief cook of the hotel in question — But is it necessary to paint the other side of the picture ? One day there entered Buchanan Read's studio in the Via Marguta a tall, lank American, whose home was in the West, and who had been in Rome but a day or two. " Your name 's Read, I believe," he said. "Yes," answered the painter- CA USERIE. 161 poet, meekly. "Well, Read," said the stranger, taking a seat, ' ' I want to do something for American art, you know. Now, here's fifty dollars. Get me up something showy for the dining-room." *** " What do 3'OU mean by ' applying the per- sonal equation'?" asked a friend. To "apply the personal equation" is to consider and take into account, when estimating the value or impor- tance of what a person saj's or does, his or her peculiar characteristics, prejudices, and environ- ment. Many do this unconsciously^ ; others who have thought more deeply' do it systematically and understandingly ; while those who are igno- rant of it measure their friends and associates b}' an incomplete and therefore false standard. What a sanguine man says has a value wholly different from the same thing said by one who looks on the dark side of things ; what an impul- sive man does is to be judged very differently from the same act done b}' a considerate, prudent one. This is obvious. But there are more subtle characteristics — seen by the practised eye only 11 162 CA USERIE. — which deserve due weight and consideration, and he who best understands and appreciates them gets along most easily with his fellow-men, and is most successful in understanding them and making them bend to his wishes. " He seems to know me better than I know myself," said a lady of a gentleman of her acquaintance. It was true, though she didn't know why. It was because he knew her personal equation, and she didn't. When people begin to study their own peculiari- ties and characteristics, and, having mastered them, formulate them into a permanent equation, always to be kept at hand for read}" use, they begin really to know themselves. Many a man would be saved from unwise steps, from assuming duties and responsibilities for which he is wholly unfitted, and under which he will inevitably break down, if he would but study himself carefully and conscientiously. Having mastered himself, the mastery of others is comparatively easy. The late Joseph Harrison of Philadelphia, well known as the partner of Winans in Russian rail- CAUSERIE. 163 road contracts, and the inventor of the Harrison Sectional Boiler, for which the American Acad- emy of Arts and Sciences awarded him the Rumford medal, was emphatically a " self-made" man, self-made hy industrj^, perseverance, and — brains. It was in Switzerland, while climbins: the Gemmi. The conversation fell on his com- panion's chances of rising in the world should he embrace the profession of a mechanical engi- neer. Mr. Harrison favored the idea, saying that this was the age of invention and improve- ment, that machinery was constantly being ap- plied to new uses, and that he who would make it a stud}' and master it in all its forms would never lack for remunerative employment. "But I have no skill in drawing." " jS^ either have I," said Mr. Harrison; "I never had time to learn. But I have always found that if I had an idea I could express it on a shingle with a piece of chalk, and let a draughtsman work it out handsomel}^ and according to rule. And I 've generally had ideas enough to keep three or four draughtsmen bus}'. You can always hire draughtsmen, but you can't hire ideas. Study 164 CAUSERIE. to have ideas, my boy ; don't wony about 3'our drawing." Analogous to this is a remark made b}^ the chef of a great hotel in New York. It was noticed that the monarch of the kitchen devoted himself to the soups. "Why do you make the soup?" he was asked. "Because ze ozares cannot make him. Zay can make ze roast, ze fry, ze stew ; but ze soup, ah ! monsieur, ze chef alone can make ze soup." A UNIFORM, as a badge of responsibility and duty, is all but unknown in America outside the limited circle of the army and navy. The severel}^ simple uniform of an officer in either arm of the Government service is a sign and token that he who wears it represents the nation, — it is a badge wdiicli he is proud to wear, and which it is his bounden duty never to disgrace. But the vast majority of uniforms worn in America are meaningless concessions to the public's — and per- haps the wearers' — love of "fuss and feathers," of shining tinsel and staring colors, calculated, perhaps, to please the children, but ovl\j to inspire CA USERIE. 165 ridicule in the minds of thinking men. The red caps of the soldier messengers, the shoulder-straps and braid of the sprightly telegraph boys, mean something, and are entitled to respect ; but the ridiculous rig, to say nothing of the alleged " dec- orations" which adorn so man}^ of our militia warriors, is simpl}" absurd. It was in Scarborough, Me., a place famed for fish, but not for the richness of its soil, al- though about one-half its population manage to keep body and soul together by farming. There had been a long drought, and one Sunday, when a clergyman who had come by way of " ex- change " was to preach, one of the deacons, hav- ing referred to the "dry spell," suggested that a petition for rain was desirable. "The soil's rather thin, isn't it. Brother B. ? " said the min- ister. "Rather," answered the deacon; "but we need rain." The good man took his place in the pulpit, opened the morning service, and when the proper time came said, " O Lord, thy servant is instructed to pray that thou wilt send rain to 166 CAUSERIE. this land ; but thou knowest, O Lord, that what it wants is dressin'." *** Waltzing used to be described as the " poetry of motion," but it is any thing but that as prac- tised now. Indeed, it would be difficult to im- agine any thing more ungraceful than the mixture of hugging and iTinning which is taught to-day as " waltzing." The dancing- teachers find it to their advantage to discover some new step every year, so that those whom they taught last season will have to come again ; just as the dressmakers find it to their advantage to invent new fashions every 3'ear, so that last year's dresses, though but little worn, will have to give place to new ones. But if the waltzing step must be changed, why can't it be changed for the better occasion- ally? * * It is a fact that has been noticed and com- mented upon, time out of mind, that many hus- bands neglect those little attentions and marks of aflfection of which the}^ were so lavish during CAUSERIE, 167 courtship. Of course, there must be a reason for a custom which, though reprehensible in the ab- stract, has the sanction of all but universal prac- tice, and it becomes the duty of the philosopher to inquire into and expound it. Perhaps it is best illustrated by an anecdote told by a friend, whose wife, b}' the waj^, manifested her displeasure in ver}^ decided terms while he was relating it. It seems that on Columbus Avenue there dwell a wedded pair wlfo were made one last fall. No knight of old was more devoted to his " faire ladye " than was the husband during the honey- moon and the moon that followed it. But ere the third moon had waned, the young wife noted — or thought she noted, no doubt it was fancy — a change. As time passed on, it became still more apparent. Her husband was loving, of course ; but somehow there was a lack of the old ardor, there was a falling off in the old demonstrative- ness. This troubled her, and, woman-like, she was quick to conclude that his love for her had cooled. One evening, after thinking the matter over all day, she broke out with, " You don't love me anymore." "What makes you think so?" 168 CA USERIE. he asked, in a business-like way, scarcely lifting his eyes from the book which he was reading. "Because," she sobbed, " you never pet me any more, and you are not half so attentive as 3'ou used to be." And then she broke down into a regular cry. The husband saw that something must be done. Laying aside his book and regret- full}^ relinquishing his cigar, — a man does hate to be disturbed when once settled for the evening, — he went to his weeping wife, anS led her to the window. " My dear," he said, " do you see that horse-car coming up the avenue? " " I do," she sobbed. " And do you see that man running to catch it?" " Yes, dear, what of it?" " And do 3^ou see that he is straining every nerve, that he is shouting to the conductor at the top of his voice, and doing his best to make the car stop?" " I do," said the wife, whose curiosit}^ was aroused ; "but what on earth has that to do " — " One moment, my dear. Look again. Do you observe that he has caught the car, and that he is no longer running, but is probably quietly seated inside, taking a rest? He has got through shout- ing and running, because he has caught the car. CA USERIE. 169 Now, my dear," — at this point he kissed away her tears, — " it is just so witli me. I have caught the car." And with that the self-satisfied monster led his TNdfe back to her seat on the sofa, and silently resumed his easy-chair, cigar, and book. Is it with others as it is with Causeur in the matter of melodies, perfumes, and tastes? They always recall the place and circumstances under which the}^ were first experienced or forcibl}^ im- pressed, and bring up the scene with startling and often delightful reality. Take the matter of taste. He never can eat mutton broth without being so forcibly reminded of the saloon of a Cunard steamer that he actually sees the long tables, covered with a framework to keep the dishes from slipping, the overhead racks full of decanters and wine-glasses, the bright pewter dish-covers ; without actuall}^ smelling the odor peculiar to the place. He never smells violets that they do not recall the Place de la Madeleine, where, as a boy, he used to buy them ; nor lilies of the valley, with- out having before him, in all its detail, the Lung* 170 CAUSERIE, Arno, with its bridges, its shops, its hotels, its flower-girls, — famed for beaatj because they pos- sess none, — and the 3'ellow river rolling on to the sea. Mignonette — but never mind what mignon- ette recalls. Music is the most perfect awake ner of memory. Let a person sing or even whistle ' ' Dixie," and there rises — what think you ? The Coliseum of Rome, hoary with age, all its rugged outlines toned down by the flood of soft light that only an Italian moon can give. Why? Because it was there, "on such a night," that he first heard it. He has heard it a thousand times since. He has lain in the rifle-pits at Petersburg and heard the rebel bands play it across the line. He has heard fair Southern maids of rebel prochvities sing it as only such maids could sing it. He has heard it as a campaign song. He has danced to it and marched to it, but the first impression remains. The Coliseum towers majestically above all. And what is true of mutton broth, violets, lilies, mignonette, and " Dixie," is true of a hun- dred other thinofs. Is it so with other folk? CAUSERIE. 171 More than twenty -five years ago, a little bo}^, not 3'et in his teens, took his first lesson in " the art and mj'stery " of printing from a gentleman in middle life, who explained how the "case" was arranged, and why, and practicallj' exemplified the process of " setting up" tj-pe. " This, m}' boy," he said in a serious tone, yet with a kind smile, as he placed his hand on the lever of an old-fash- ioned Franklin hand-press, " is the most powerful weapon known. In the hands of bad men it is dangerous ; in the hands of good men it can work miracles. We hope to abolish slaverj^ with it." That man was William Lloj'd Garrison. Fools not only ask perplexing questions, but sometimes give home-thrusts for answers. In Southborough, two generations ago, there lived a poor half-witted fellow named Tim, who had a bad habit of swearing. One day he indulged in a volley of profanit}', which the village minister overheard. " Tim," said the good man, reproach- fully, " I am sorry to hear 3'ou use such language. 172 CA USERIE. I fear that I shall be a swift witness against 3^ou on the day of judgment." " No doubt of it,'* answered Tim, adding, quick as thought, " folks that want to clear themselves are always ready to tui'n State's evidence." The pastor of a church in Rhode Island died suddenly, and the congregation, by whom he was much beloved, was thrown into great grief. On the Sunday following the funeral the son of the deceased, also a clergyman, conducted the service. It was a solemn scene. The pastor's family, in deepest black, occupied the front pews, while the young man stood in the place made sacred b}^ his father's ministrations. The sermon was little more than a eulogy on the virtues of the deceased. Near its close, overcome by emotion, the son's voice faltered, his arms dropped across the pulpit, his head sank upon them, his hands worked in his strong agon}', and his tears fell upon the open Bible. Uttering a few broken words of prayer, he sank into a seat. Every head was bowed. Sobs were heard all over the church. Just at this CAUSERIE. 173 solemn moment the deacons rose — and passed the contrihution-hox ! * * Some favors, however well intended, are favors in name only. A good deacon was riding along a country road homewards, in his worn and weather- beaten chaise, behind a horse that considered time a matter of small importance. At the cross-roads he fell in with a man who was travelling afoot. The kind-hearted deacon offered him the seat by his side, and the invitation was promptly accepted. But ere they had ridden a half-hour together the stranger asked the deacon to stop, got out, and bidding him good-by, said, " Ye meant well, stranger, no doubt, but ye have hindered me." And he strode ahead, leaving the slow-going Dobbin where the little boat was, — "a long way astern." * * Some years since there arrived at the Eevere House in Boston a newly-wedded pair from Ban- gor. They took the best suite in the house, had a private table, and spared no expense. On the morning of the third day the groom ordered 174 CA USERIE. the trunks taken down and marked ' ' Fifth Avenue Hotel, New York," at the same time asking the row bo}^ to bring up his bill. He got it soon after, and started for the office. "Is this bill right? " he asked. "Yes, sir, all right," answered the cashier, glancing over the items and running up the figures; "yes, sir, $91.25, that's exactly right." " Very well," said the groom, " if that 's your figure, here 's the mone3^ I 've no fault to find, but you'd better mark those trunks for Bangor." *** Chicago has a Malaprop of the male persua- sion, whose blunders are a constant source of amusement to his friends. Not long since he was travelhng, and was assigned to share a room in the hotel with an acquaintance. He was just about putting out the gas before retiring, when his room- mate, akeady in bed, exclaimed, " What have 3'ou got on? " " Wh}^, you see," was the answer, " my wife forgot to pack my night-shu't, and I 've im- poviished one out of my duster." CAUSERIE. 175 It was back in the fifties, seven or eight, say twent}' 3^ears ago, — a score of 3'ears is a long time to look forward to, but glancing backward it seems but jesterda}^ One of Boston's best-known mer- chants, a man who was great in business and great in philanthropy, was walking briskl}' down town. He met a friend, and paused to exchange a word. The usual sahitations and mutual inqui- ries about trade having passed, the pair dropped into the then all-absorbing question of slavery. The merchant had pronounced views, and did not mince words in expressing them. He had thought the problem out for himself, had reached his own conclusions, had no doubt of their accurac}^, and had for years acted upon them. The discussion grew warm, and was proceeding apace, when his friend brought things to a standstill with the re- mark, " But 3^ou are too fast, Mr. . You begin hj assuming that slavery is wrong T " Sir," said the merchant, stepping nervous!}'- back, " I am will- ing to give mone}" and work to elevate and educate the masses on this question, and 3'ou must take 3 our chances with the crowd. / have no time to waste on an individual fool. Good morning." 176 CA USERIE. Said a rising 3^oung poet, puffing his after- dinner cigar, " When yow find a man who saj^s he has an idea for a poem, but don't know what form of verse to put it in, mark him for a fraud. He 's no poet, — he's a tape measurer. Kill him with a yardstick.''^ *** A WICKED story of a jovial soul who appeared at the gates of heaven and sought admission. St. Peter came out, looked the applicant over, asked a few leading questions, and finally said, severely, " No, 3'ou can't get in. You 're not fit." The traveller stepped back, looked the saintly door-keeper steadily in the eye, and crowed three times. The saint turned pale, shuddered, fum- bled for his key, and opened the door. " If you are going to be personal," he gasped, " you can enter, but don't do that to me again." To be forever dwelling on the past with regret and approaching the inevitable future with dis- trust is a symptom of a morbid and disordered condition of the mind. The past is past. We CA USERIE. 177 cannot change it. Memory is apt to hold and recall what was pleasant in it, — she kindly veils and hides what was otherwise. But the future, — the future will depend much upon ourselves ; and if we are wise, we shall bend our thoughts and energies to making it what we would have it. Approach it cheerfully and confidently, full of hope, and with an abiding faith in its blessings. He who keeps his eye, his thoughts, his heart upon the past, inevitably stumbles upon the future, and sees no opportunities until the}" are gone. But he who resolutely turns his back upon the past, and, with hopeful heart, active brain, and searching eye, peers into the future, finds its ways pleasant and eas}", and avails him- self of many " short cuts " to prosperity and hap- piness. Have faith in to-morrow. It will not disappoint you. " This is everywhere cherished — this everywhere heard : * It will all be right in the morning,' " especially if, by faithful, cheerful, and honest en- deavor, you strive to make it right. 12 178 CAUSERIE. Just as one of the poor children's excursions was on the point of starting, a bright little fellow accosted the kind gentleman who was helping the stream of diminutive humanity into tlie cars, with, "Nice day for the excursion, Mr. Smith." "Yes, my bo3^," answered the gentleman, pleas- antly, ' ' but how did you know my name ? " " Oh ! I remember 3'ou, sir, although you don't remem- ber me. I went on the first excursion, two j^ears ago." "And so 3'ou 're going again?" said Mr. Smith; "jump right in." "Going? No, sir! I 'm not going. I came down to see 'em oft'. I 'm a contributor." And he was. Out of his hard earnings he had given a whole dollar, that other boys and girls might have as good a time as he had two years ago. It is a curious fact that small men, small in stature as well as in intellect, are often seized with an ambition to be great, the result being, as a rule, that they succeed only in makiug themselves ridiculous. A man had a pet dog, a " pug," • good-natured, intelligent, and afl"ection- CAUSERIE. 179 ate, but very small. One night his master came home somewhat "elevated," and addressing the dog, who ran to meet him, he said, " Jack, you 're a good dog, and yo\x 're a handsome dog ; but', Jack, you'll never he a hig dog, you know." Some j^ears since, there arrived in Cincinnati a man from the interior of the State, who had a drove of hogs to dispose of. The packers of pork were then, as they now are, disposed to buy as low as possible, and it was alleged that they had entered into a combination to keep down the price of the hve article. The stranger visited one establishment after another, but failed to get an offer that suited him. At length he concluded to have the hogs packed on his own account, — that is, to turn them over to a packing establish- ment, to pack at his charge, and sell for his ac- count. The bargain was made, and he returned home. Some three months after he was met by a friend who had heard of the transaction. "You packed 3'our own hogs this year, didn't you?" asked the friend. "Yes." "Did you 180 CAUSER IE. save anything?" continued the inquirer. "Oh 3^es, I saved something. I saved my life, but I lost my hogs." *** It doesn't pa}^ to take advantage of another's necessities.. It is done, however, constantly, and by men who pride themselves on their shrewd- ness. A well-known business man in Boston wanted certain work done. It required special pro- fessional skill, which but few ever attain. But he found a j^oung man who possessed it in a high degree, who was greatly in need of work, and consented to work for very small pay. The em- plo3'er chuckled. The j^oung man went to work, and worked on a definite plan. He put the very best skill he had into his work. His employ- er's customers were delighted. They not only liked what he did, but they liked it so well that they would have no other. Again the employer chuckled. His business was growing in propor- tions and in profit. One day the young man asked for higher pa3\ His emplo^^er said he couldn't afford it. The j^oung man hiew that that was a lie, but he didn't say so. He kept on CA USERIE. 181 working, doing better and better. Again his em- plo3^er chuckled, not alone over his gains, but over the fact that he had, as he thought, deceived the young man. His confidence in his own sagac- it}^ had a rude awakening one morning when he learned that his "dupe" had set up in business for himself. The customers who liked his work would have no other. The emplo^'er has not been able to find any one who can just match it, at any price, and his business is steadil}^ going down. It doesn't pay to be too shrewd. You may buy things for less than they are worth for a time, but the balance has got to be paid in the end. *** We all remember how Rothschild shamed a guest who got down on his hands and knees to hunt for a sovereign which he had accidentally dropped, by taking a fift3^-pound note from his pocket, twisthig it into a taper, and lighting his cigar with it. A story is told of a party that sought to make a display of their wealth in a similar way. The first lighted his cigar with a ten-dollar greenback. The second " went him 182 CAUSERIE. ten better," and consumed a twenty-dollar note in the same way. The thu'd, not to be outdone, sacrificed a cool fifty. Then the fourth and last declared he 'd beat the crowd, took a blank check from his pocket, filled it out for a round thousand, signed it, and then lighted his pipe with it. And the joke of it was that the other three " caved" at once at his reckless extravagance ! A clear case of "fiat" money. Some one says, " a crammed brain is seldom a fresh one." Never was truer word spoken. People who do nothing but store their minds with facts and the ideas of others are apt to have very few ideas of their own, and those that the}' do evolve are generallj' fiat and stale. "Reading makes a full man," it is true, but there is such a thing as being too full. There is no room left for the imagination, no time left for thinking, that process of digestion which prepares the mind's food for assimilation. The idea that reading is the one thing needful to improve the mind has obtained much too strong a hold, and a CA USERIE. 183 habit of individual and independent thinking is too much neglected. People who do their own thinking, and freely say what they think, whether with tongue or pen, are the reall}^ valuable mem- bers of society, after all. In a town near Boston there lives a good lady who suffers acutel}- from sciatica. She has con- sulted physicians far and near, but has been unsuccessful in finding an}' cure. Not long since she heard that a man living not far away w^as afflicted with the same disease in an aggravated form, and it occurred to her that she would call upon him and ask whether he had ever found any thing that would avail to lessen its terrors. She did so, and having introduced herself, stated her errand. "Do 3'ou," she asked, "find any thing that affords 3'ou relief?" " Yes, marm," he replied, "two things." " Two things? Pray what are they ? " " Cursing and swearing," said the invalid. It is added that on her return home the good lady told her husband that she only regretted that she could not avail herself of this 184 CAUSERIE. remedy. ' ' Not that I have any conscientious scruples," she said, " but I don't know how." " Truth," said the rector, " is convex." You may follow the line of truth so far that it brings 3'ou to its antipodes, falsehood. All things are proportional in this world, and he who pushes too far in any one line leaves so much behind that his position becomes abnormal. The development of one taste or one faculty to the neglect and detri- ment of others is inconsistent with the best good. The perfect man is a rounded whole. Not long since a mother died, leaving six chil- dren to mourn her loss. The circumstances of the famil}' did not admit of their purchasing the usual mourning garments, but one little girl ob- tained a piece of broad, black ribbon, which she fastened about her as a sash. She was obliged to wear her ordinary clothing, but, with pathetic fidelit}-, she each da}" pinned the black sash about CAUSEPdE. 185 her, a simple but touching token of respect for the memor}' of her dead mother. Now that the ladies have the right to vote in this State on the choice of members of the school committee, they are beginning to find out wh}- it is that men devote so much time to politics, and to realize that the discharge of political duties is not such a simple matter after all. Many who were taken with the statement that " a woman can drop a paper ballot into a box as easily as a man can," are beginning to find out that " dropping a ballot into a box " bears about the same relation to the political duty of a citizen as putting a gar- ment on does to making it. The garment is use- less unless worn. The ballot is useless unless dropped into the box, — but how about the mak- ing ? Voting is the crowding act, the fruition ; but politics would be in a bad way indeed, if no one did an}^ thing but vote. To discharge political duties properly requires acquaintance with political questions. That the ladies have not. " But they can acquire it ? " Certainly. They have only to 186 CA USERIE. do what men do, ^^ read and stud}' and think, say for five or six 3'ears, and the}^ will begin to grasp things. "But there are man}- men who never read, stud}', or think, jet they vote." True, more 's the pity ; but that is not a good reason for adding more voters of the same kind to the hst. " But now that ladies are to vote, they will study and read and think." Will they? That is exactly the question that remains to be determined. The}' have now ever}' opportunity to prove it, and many people who have all along felt that woman suffrage was sure to come in some form sooner or later are watching events with a good deal of interest. One thing is certain : if women are going to content themselves with voting, it would be much better had the franchise never been given them. If they are to helj^ the cause of good government, they must assume all the duties of citizenship, inform themselves concern- ing current events, men, and measures, and, in a word, learn to take broad, comprehensive views of things. It may be an ungallant thing to say, but it is true, nevertheless, that such, as a rule, is not their present custom. Neither do they cus- CAUSERIE. 187 tomarily recognize any obligation to abide b}^ the clear result of an argument. Perhaps the ballot will reform them in these respects. We shall see. It was a French musician of the old school who, having listened to a performance of the more modern st3'le, said, '•'- Autrefois on jouait fort Men — maintenant onjoue hien fortr " All things come in time to him who waits," sa^'s the proverb ; but how few there are who know how to wait. This feverish, anxious, expectant waiting, how it wears upon the soul, robbing the thing waited for of half its pleasure. It is a calm, confident, patient waiting that bears the earliest and most certain fruit, the waiting that does not seem long because the waiter has discounted dis- appointment at the outset by expecting it to be long. The man or woman who has an object to accomplish may set all possible machinery in motion, may plan and scheme, but in nine cases out of ten there will be no success without wait- 188 CA USERIE. ing, — patient, steady, silent waiting. The wise man watches the development of his plans, notes every symptom, and estimates its bearing and im- portance, but he bends his energies to waiting, and — succeeds. A CERTAIN Massachusetts judge, at the outset of his career as a limb of the law, established him- self in Abington, and hung out his " shingle" as a lawyer. He was a stranger in the town, and soon after his arrival asked a man whom he chanced to meet, where he could find the chair- man of the selectmen. "What do you want of him?" was the Yankee-like reply. The young man explained that he was a stranger in town, that he was just starting in his profession, and that he thought it might help him to know the leading people in town. "Oh! that's it, is it?" said the party of whom he sought infor- mation. " You are a lawyer, are j^ou, and don't know anybody? The overseers of the poor are the men you want to know." CAUSERIE. 189 It was a favorite maxim of one of Boston's old- time merchants, that " the greatest possible expe- dienc}' is the closest possible adherence to the highest absolute right." Whether in business or in social relations, " short cuts " which involve a departure from this rule inevitabl}^ work disad- vantage in the end. True, men often seem to prosper by sailing as near as the}' deem safe to what the}' know to be absolutel}' wrong, but they lag behind before the race is over. A WELL-KNOWN Bostouian was trjing a horse one da}', in company with the owner, a pro- fessional "jockey." Having driven him a mile or two, the gentleman, noticing that he pulled rather hard, and showed a good deal of spirit, requiring constant watching and a steady rein, said, " Do you think that is just the horse for a woman to drive?" "Well, sir," answered the jockey, "I must say that I shouldn't want to marry the woman that could drive that horse." 190 CAUSERIE. It is to be regretted that the habit of drinking wine to excess has become so common at some of the club dinners for which Boston is noted. And b}^ "drinking to excess" is not meant absolute intoxication, but rather that clouded state of the brain which makes the individual ap- pear either stupid or sillj to those of his com- panions who have been wise enough not to get into the same condition. The social glass, tem- peratel}' and moderately used, is doubtless an aid to good cheer and good fellowship ; but the trouble is, that in the hands of the 3'oung it is more than apt to be abused, that too often its votaries make fools of themselves, and too often pave the way for a course of life which is a sorrow to their friends and a disgrace to themselves. Children are not to be trusted with loaded fire-arms or edgecj tools, and in the same wa^^ companies of young men are much safer without wine. The exuber- ance of A'outh should certainly be sufficient to furnish all needed spirits, and as for "driving dull care away," they will find in the end that wine will increase rather than lessen it. Properly conducted clubs are excellent things. They enable CAUSERIE. 191 men to extend their acquaintance both in a busi- ness and social waj', thej' break up the routine of everj^-day hfe, and are continuall}^ opening up new avenues of information and new opportunities. But their influence for good is destroyed and more than offset by their influence for evil, when drink- ing is made their prominent feature. "If any of your readers," writes a friend, " ever attended Gorham (Me.) Academ^^, they will remember Eev. Caleb Bradlee of Scarborough, — Parson Bradlee as we bo^^s used to call him. He would make us a visit two or three times a term and talk to us in old ' South Hall.' We always expected something funn}^, and we alwa3's got it. Once he told us during a certain Democratic presidency that if we were good boys, we should make good men. ' Some of 3'ou,' said the parson, ' ma}^ make a Washington or a Jeflerson, and the Lord knows 'most any of you might make a Polk.' " 192 CAUSERIE. In a long and somewhat rambling letter com- plaint is made that when a letter is received by a member of the family, every other member ex- pects to be informed of its contents, and that when this is not imparted it is immediatel}^ as- sumed that the missive contains something of a secret or private nature, so much so that in sheer self-defence the person receiving the letter hands it over to be read b}' others, when, as a matter of choice, she would much prefer to keep its con- tents to herself. A remed}^ for this sort of thing is wanted. The first suggestion to be made is, that in a really well-bred and well-regulated house- hold no such difficulty should exist. Everybody has a right to have friends, and everybody has a right to converse with such friends without any obhgation to repeat the conversation to any one. The same rule apphes to correspondence, which is neither more nor less than conversation on paper. It is needless to say that there are cases in which it is not considered proper for persons to enter into familiar correspondence ; but, that right once granted, it becomes their own private and individual affair, to pry into which is at once CA USERIE. 193 foolish and impertinent, — foolish, because means always can and alwa3'S will be taken to circum- vent it ; and impertinent, because — well, because curiosit}" concerning the affairs of others is alwaj^s impertinent. The best wa}' to treat people who seek to know the contents of 3'our letters is to make it an invariable rule never to gratify their curiosit3^ Stand squarety on 3'our rights. Read your letters b}" 3'ourself and to 3'ourself; put them awa}' in a safe place, — or, better still, de- stroy them, — volunteer no information, and, if questioned, say that 3'ou do not feel at liberty to repeat what is said to 3'ou. Do this in every case, whether the letter received be an important one or merel3' a trivial note. It will not be long before your tormentors will come to understand 3'our position, and respect it ; and when once that point is gained, 3'ou can afford to be more lenient, and communicate the contents of such letters as you choose, reserving others for 3'our own e3'e onl3\ Idle curiosit3' and a certain suspiciousness of disposition are to blame for all the trouble in the matter ; and a little vigorous treatment such as has been outUned above will be found to work 13 194 CAUSERIE. wonderful cures. "But," it is suggested, "sup- pose a gentleman is permitted to correspond with a lady on condition that her mother shall read his letters. What then?" What then? Why, that is part of the contract, and must be carried out. But it would be simpler if he should corre- spond with the mother direct. The man who can't be trusted to write to a lady unless her mother sees his letters, can't be trusted to talk with her — except in her mother's presence. Such a man had better neither be talked to nor writ- ten to. *** " When I was a 3'oung man," said Colonel B., "we lived in Illinois. The farm had been well wooded, and the stumps were pretty thick. But we put the corn in among them, and managed to raise a fair crop. The next season I did my share of the ploughing. We had a ' sulky ' plough, and I sat in the seat and managed the horses, four as handsome bays as ever a man drew rein over. One day 1 found a stump right in my way. I hated to back out, so I just said a word to the team, and, if you '11 believe it, they just walked CAUSERIE. 195 that plough right through that stump as though it had been cheese." Not a soul expressed sur- prise. But Major S., who had been a silent listener, remarked quietl}', "It's curious, but I had a similar experience m3'self once. My mother alwaj's made our clothes in those days, as well as the cloth they were made of. The old lady was awful proud of her homespun, — said it was the strongest cloth in the State. One day I had just ploughed through a white-oak stump in the wa}' you speak of, Colonel. But it was a little too quick for me. It came together before I was out of the way, and nipped the seat of my trousers. I felt mean, I can tell you ; but I put the string on the ponies, and, if you'll beheve it, they just snaked that stump out, roots and all. Something had to give, 3'ou know." A FAIR correspondent wants a word of reproof said to those 3'oung men of Massachusetts who, by going to other parts of the country to live, help to increase the female majority in this State, and add Insult to injury- by actually finding wives 196 CAUSER IE. outside the State and bringing them home with them. It is a shame ; but how is it to be helped? Young men find it hard to get an}' thing to do here, and, becoming impatient, seek their fortunes in the newer parts of the countr3\ There they find maids as fair and as fond as any that even the Old Bay State can boast, and their hearts are entangled before the}' know it. They need sym- path}', not censure, poor fellows. They can't help it. They mean to be loyal, but "the lips that are near" have the advantage, and prove too much for them. Words of reproof will do no good. Either means have got to be found to keep the young men at home, or else the girls must, like them, seek out their fortunes in parts of the country where the disproportion between the sexes is not so great. As it is, the 3'oung men have things too much their own wa}' in the East, and the young women have things altogether too much their own way in the West, and some- thing ought to be done about it. But what? CA USERIE. 197 In an old barn at the foot of the garden, dis- used save by the Uttle folks, for whose entertain- ment it had been fitted up with a swing or two, the children had been busy for a week. Stray boards disappeared. Hammers and nails were in use, — that much was certain. Consultations, carried on in whispers, were frequent. There were visits to the village store for calico, green cambric, and wall-paper. The younger neigh- bors were in the secret. At last it all came out. There were to be charades, — all the children were to take part, and all the grown folks were to be invited. The eventful day came. All repaired to the barn, where the "manager" was found at the door, taking up the tickets. The green cur- tain worked wonderfull}^ well, the scenery and properties answered ever}' purpose, and the act- ing was excellent. It pleased the grown folks, and it was a gi'eat occasion for the little ones, who, when they become men and women, with the cares that manhood and womanhood bring, will look back with no little pleasure to that August afternoon in the old barn at the foot of the garden. 198 CAUSERIE. It was in a Pullman '' sleeper" between Albany and Buffalo. Among the passengers were a mid- dle-aged couple, evidentl}^ on their first journey, and a sour- faced old maid, rather desiccated in her general effect, who was travelling alone. The couple had an upper berth, and the " maiden well stricken in 3'ears " the upper berth in the adjoin- ing section. In the same car were a couple of frolicsome youths, ready for an}'' sort of mischief. Bedtime came, and all hands retired. But the husband could not sleep. Whether it was because of the motion of the cars, the noise, or the novelty of the situation, he could not tell, but, tr^^ as he would, he could not sleep. At length it occurred to him that he was thirsty. The more he thought of it, the more thirsty he got. So he called the porter, who brought the ladder, and helped him down. Now, while he was gone for the water, one of the ' ' boys " stepped out of bed and shifted the ladder so that it rested against the berth in which the ancient maiden was sleeping, and then returned to his bed to note the result. In a mo- ment or two the husband returned, and crept quietly up the steps, anxious to make as little CA USERIE. 199 noise as possible so as not to awaken his wife. The occupant of the berth, thus rudely intruded upon, awoke with a start, and screamed. The husband, supposing it to be his easily frightened wife, tried to reassure her, and said, " It is onl}' me." " Only 3'ou, you old scoundrel," said the venerable maiden, "I'll teach 3'ou a lesson," and with that she seized him by the hair of his head and screamed for help. Then he howled with pain. Then his wife, awakened by the noise, discovered where her husband was, and raised her voice in lamentation, heaping reproaches upon her faithless spouse. Then the passengers all got up, and demanded an explanation of the commotion, and foremost among them was the wretch who had caused it all. Then the husband, covered with confusion, and utterly unable to account for what he had done, climbed down from his perch, and slunk awa}' to bed, where he was soundly lectured for his faithlessness. Altogether it was a most uncomfortable though ludicrous situation, and the glances of defiance that were exchanged between the wife and the old maid all through the next da}^ were a study. The cause of all the trouble 200 CA USERIE. leaked out, but it never reached the ears of those chiefly affected by it. *** During- the Rebellion, the law school at Cam- bridge was presided over by Professors Parsons, Parker, and Washburn. The}^ were divided in their political views, and each did his best to maintain his opinion. Professor Parker was one day asked, " How do you get along on politics at the law school?" "Nicely," he answered, "we are equall}^ divided." " But how can that be," continued the inquirer, ' ' there are three of 3'ou ? " " Easy enough," replied the professor ; " Parsons writes on one side and I on the other, and Wash- burn, — he speaks on one side and votes on the other." It has been well said that it does not pay to spend too much time lamenting over a friend's idiosyncrasies, which are very apt to be harmless, after all. He may be vain, he may be pompous, he may be egotistical. What of it? Talking about it will not change him, dwelhng upon it will CA USERIE. 201 not make you an}' happier or him any better. You have got to take men as you find them in this world, and it will not do to let inconsequential defects blind 3'ou to what is good in men. There are men of large acquaintance, large experience, and varied learning, whose society would, it is true, be more enjoj'able if the}^ would communi- cate what the}^ have to say without making self quite so obtrusive ; but it is far better to overlook that, and fix the attention on what is good and substantial in them. This way that some have of constantly keeping themselves in the foreground is more a habit than a vice, and the best way is to look entirely over them into the real view be3'ond. It will often be found well worthy of examina- tion, for it not seldom happens that such people are the ver}" ones who have the most interesting and instructive experiences to relate. If a man think himself big, let him. It does not make him so. *** "A MANY years ago" two young men, John and James, Boston bo3^s both, were fellow-clerks on Kilb}' Street. John went to Chicago in its 202 CAUSERIE. muddy days, prospered, married, raised a family, and, ere his hair was gray, became a well-to-do, substantial citizen, open-handed and open-hearted. James remained at home. He, too,- prospered, married, raised a family, and became one of the " soKd men of Boston." Now it fell out that when John's eldest son — the}' called him Jack — was twenty-one, he visited Boston, bearing a letter to his father's old friend, whom he found in a dingy Pearl Street counting-room, deep in the '"Advertiser." Jack presented the letter, and stood, hat in hand, while the old gentleman read it twice. " So you're John's son?" he said. " You don't look a bit like your father." Then there was a pause. Jack still standing. "What brought 3'ou to Boston?" he was asked. "Well, sir," said Jack, ' ' father thought I 'd better see his old home and get a taste of salt air." " Going to be here over Sunda}'?" " Yes, sir." " My pew is No. — at Trinity. Hope to see you there. Glad to have met 3"0u." And there the interview ended. Now it chanced that, not long after, James's son, roving through the West, reached Chicago. He remembered his father's friend by CAUSERIE. 203 name, and hunted him up in his office. "Well, my son," said a pleasant voice, before he had closed the door. " M}^ name is James , sir, and I thought" — "What? You don't mean to say that — Of course you are. I might have known it. Where's 3'our baggage?" "At the hotel, sir." "At the hotel? We'll go and get it, and take it right up to the house," answered the genial old gentleman, closing his desk with a vigorous slam. ' ' We '11 go right up now. There 's plenty of time for a drive, this afternoon. This evening you can go to the theatre with my girls, and to-morrow you and I will take a run out on the C. B. & Q., and have a look at the countr}'. Then I want to take jo\x out to the stock-3'ards, and have a trip on the lake, and " — " But, sir," broke in the overwhelmed young man, " I must go home to-morrow." " Tut, tut, my bo}', don't talk that wa3^ You can't begin to see this city under a week, and 3'ou 're going to sta3' that long, an3'how." And he did. In fact, he 's there now. He married one of those " girls." THE END. 719 \VJ -^^ 9 I ^ N ^ ^.'N* 0^ ^\^«^. % ^^' 1 % '0 C' ^^^^- O o>* 0^ . - ' A'^ cP- '''ot^ ^* .0 \ V ^'^'^ ■^' xV ^^ : - - ,^-1-0. %''