Indianapolis Journal, Indianapolis, Marion County, 15 December 1883 — Page 9

BRITISH COLLEGE BOYS. A Visit to a University Town and Its Seventeen Colleges. How tlie Sour of tlie English Aristocracy Conduct Themselves at Cambridge—- .< Money-Lenders and Proctors.

' /Correspondence of tlio Indianapolis Journal. London, Dec. I. —Your readers shall have a glimpse, this week, of English university life. We will go to Cambridge, as that place enjoys a degree of social prominence over Oxford just nowon account of having among its undergraduates Prince Albert Victor, the eldest son and heir of the Prince of Wale3. "Where there are three thousand young bloods, most of them belonging to the aristocracy, and many having a great deai more money than sense, we are sure to find something to interest, if not to instruct us. The chief features of the town are its narrow streets and the seventeen colleges it contains. An English writer would descant rapturously upon the river that runs through it, but looking at this narrow stream with American eyes we cannot regard it as being anything but an ordinary creek. Its banks, however, are beautifully kept, and besides affording boating facilities to the students, it gives an air of picturesqueness, such as a wider stream could not, to the college grounds. One thing about Cambridge will shock you, and that is the names, derived, of course, from the colleges, giveu to some of the streets and public places. The regular habitues may see nothing wrong in such titles, but it seems awful to the visitor to walk through Jesus’s Lane, to see the town children disporting on Christ’s Pieces and a match played by “children of a larger growth” on Corpus Christi football grounds! You will soon know by the street scenes that

you are in a great center of high-ciaas education. In the forenoon, about every _ other man you meet will have on a black gown and mortarboard hat, and in the afternoon you will see an equal number who have exchanged this toggery for some fantastic sporting suit and are now hastening to their favorite rendezvous for a few hours’ of play. At certain times of the day you will be reminded of your whereabouts by even the vehicles of the streets, for most of those will contain dishes and ample cans, and will be pushing about through tlie town with the meals of the students who have private apartments. Only a limited number can room in the colleges, and these get in by priority of application; the rest must lodge elsewhere. But the dons, it appears, exercise control over the stomachs of tlie young men, as well as over tlieir minds. In other words, the townspeople may “sleep” these young hopefuls, but they are not allowed to "eat” them, as the old woman expressed it, for their hash and other delicacies are sent regularly from the colleges.

It takes three years to get n degree at Cambridge, and the examinations both for admission and graduation are very stiff. Up to a few years ayo none were reccivotl oithor here or at Oxford except adherents of the Church of England. The colleges are still under the control of that church, but dissenters now have equal privileges with others. Indeed, greater privileges, for they are excused, if they desire, from the chapel services, to which the others must go three or four times a week and twice on Sunday. In their enjoyment of this privilege the dissenting boys are greatly envied by their chums of the orthodox faith, and I should not he surprised to hear of converts being made, for one of their number assured me that chapel duties are in geueral disfavor among the students and are shirked whenever possible. There are three terms during the year, covering about eight months. They have a month for kicking up their beets at Christmas and a long vacation of about three months in the summer. These periods of rest and refreshment, I need hardly say, are very popular. With the exception of the few deserving young men who have to stay here to earn the money necessary for the next term, the students all “go down” at vacation times, and the old town looks like a deserted village. The lectures cost about two guineas n course, the total expenditure in this direction depending upon the number of subjects the student goes in for. Board amounts to from fifteen to twenty guineas a term, a guinea being equivalent to a five-dollar bill. Those who have rooms outside pay from ten to fifteen guineas a term for them. lam told that one w'ho is economical and virtuous can get all the advantages of this magnificent university,‘with a large amount of innocent sport thrown in, for about forty guineas a term, which would aggregate only S6OO a year. But you may be sure that only a very few get off with anything like so low a figure as that.

EXPENSES OF STUDENTS. The legitimate expenses are only a fraction of what the majority spend. I hear of as much as $2,500 being dropped by some of them over a single game of cards; for cardplaying is allowed, even in the rooms of those who live at the colleges, and, of course, it is impossible, under those circumstances, to prevent gambling. I hear, too, of enormous’ bills run up by some for wine, clothing and carriage hire. The tradespeople of the town are forbidden to trust the students, and those ■who lend them money are objects of special malediction on the part of the college authorities. But many do both, and there are numbers of men in Cambridge who liave grown rich on the interest derived from loans of the needful. A hundred per cent, is a common rate for these local Shylocks to charge for such accommodation.'and very needy applicants, with great expectations and little brains, have often been fleeced to the tune of 200 and 300 per cent. The fines paid for infraction of the University rules make up a considerable proportion of the expense bills ot many of the students. Every such breach that is detected depletes the pocket-book to the extent of from $2 to $4, and it is a proverbial saying here that some of the young fellows get receipts enough from the proctor in the course of the year for money paid out in this way to paper their rooms with. The proctor, by the way, is the nightmare of university life. But for him the students would liave the nicest time in world. They do not object to reading and attending lectures; it is when the dons, as represented in the august personage in question, throw restrictions about their private lives and place their conduct on the streets under surveillance, that the shoe pinches. This awful individual parades the thorough fares at the most inopportune hours, accompanied by bis “bull-dogs,” a couple of men who act as his detective and police officers, and when a young man is caught napping he is at once baited and mulcted in a fine, and, should he take to his heels, the "dogs” follow at full tilt and bring him back. Such occurrences as this happen quite frequently. If the young men would onlv consent to have their moral and social conduct made to order, according to the pattern marked out by their superiors,

they would be just too proper and good for anything. You would never, in that case, see them out after dark without their caps and gowns, and 10 r. m. would always find them tucked in bed, or at least in the safe inclosure of their own apartments. They would not smoke on the streets, nor frequent taverns, nor consort with females of questionable character. But many, unfortunately, iionor these rules more in the breach than in the observance, and some systematically break them all with the utmost impunity. If a student is out after 10, the lodging-house keeper must report the fact; otherwise, if the omission be discovered, the house will be. tabooed. But those who imagine that this rule is not often broken, and that when it is the authorities are always duly notified, must form a poor estimate both of tlie ingenuity of the young men and of the susceptibility to bribes of the ordinary landlady. As to smoking, there are only a few who do not indulge whenever the fancy takes them, and of course the number of fines are wholly out of proportion to the number of ofiense3 in this line. The regulations forbid students from being seen on the streets with females of any description—young or old, good, bad or indifferent. Os course, if a young fellow’s cousins or aunts come up to see him, he can get a special license for a sidewalk promenade; but he must be sure that the proctor and his bull-dogs know the circumstances, or, just when their tete-a-tete reaches its sweetest heigh is they may all be pounced upon and made the subjects of a humiliating street scene. Some painful mistakes of this kind have been made, leading to bad blood, not to say bloody noses. The penalty for being found in the company of abandoned females is dismissal from the university, and the females are sent for a term of imprisonment to a local reformatory known for some inexplicable reason as the "Spinning House.” But few are dismissed, and it is not often that lost feminine virtue airs its woes within the confines of this university bastile. Human nature may be very bad, but it is likewise very ingenious, and tlie boys here furnish a fine illustration, in this as in other matters, of the sage saying that “where there’s a will there's a way.” Those who get introduced into the best female society of Cambridge are objects of peculiar envy to the less fortunate, and they escape many perils. It can be truthfully said, however, that the moral atmosphere surrounding this English university is far superior to that which envelops similar institutions on the continent, and despite its blemishes and social snags the life of the students flows on almost as smoothly as the peaceful river that winds through the place, its current set, doubtless, in the main, toward purity and sound learning.

THE UNIVERSITY AND THE TOWN. The university, of course, gives character to the town. In many of the affairs of this municipality the vice-chancellor has co-or-dinate authority with the mayor. Notably is this the case in regard to the amusements permitted. Not many years ago the town had no theatre, and only the very best of plays are allowed under the more liberal regime which now tolerates such places. Once a year Greek plays are rendered by the students in the original language. At the present time ‘The Birds of Aristophanes” are on the boards. The extent to which these two thousand representatives of the flower and strength of English youth devote t hemselves to the characteristic sports and pastimes of their native land, can be easily imagined. Boating lias the largest number of votaries, at least one-half of the young men pursuing this exercise with the regularity and assiduity with which a monk says his prayers. One of the results of this passion ior rowing,is witnessed in the magnificent contest which takes plate aqnuajlv nn the Thames, an object ot interest ancr uengi.g’ds the whole world. Other and more beneficial results are seen in the fine physical development and remarkable powers of endurance acquired by the devotees. Cricket, foot-ball, hockey, racquets and lawn-tennis all have their followers, and the university’ annually turns out those who are as expert in these various games as in wrangling within the arena of mathematics. To ail outside observer there appears to be more sport than study here. But the authorities are evidently of opinion that all work and no play would make Jack a dull boy, and some of the students, taking advantage of the latitude allowed, seem bent on showing that all play and no work wiil just as certainly make him an idle Turk. But I must not forget the Prince. There are several of this rank at the university who come from India and have the dark skins peculiar to that elime. But your readers will only care to hear about that fairskinned and light haired youth of nineteen summers, who, if lie lives long enough, and his father dies soon enough, will one day sit upon the throne of England. His features are those of the Prince of Wales in embryo, but he will be taller. If lie possess also the engaging gentlemanly manners that now so happily distinguish his father, and can manage to get through early manhood without sowing quite so many wild oats, we may confidently predict for liim a career of great usefulness and unbounded popularity. At present he makes the impression of a modest, well-bred hoy, fond of his books, and with just enough regard for outdoor sports to save him from effeminacy. Racquets and hockey are his favorite pestimes, though he occasionally takes a spurt on the river. He has no carriage, but keeps several horses and with his young friend, Lieutenant Henderson, often goes out riding. He is not much lionized by his fellow students, for many of these are not much inferior to him in rank, and, besides, an English University is a little republic in which all are equal. But oil how the Cambridge girls dote on this scion of royality! There is no danger, however, of any of them capturing him, for the wives of the dons have taken him in charge, and no single woman who might aspire to set her cap for him is allowed to come near. And now wishing the young Prince and all the other young fellows long life and much happiness! we bring this brief sketch of English university life to a close. H. T.

The Irrepressible Boy, Milwaukee Sentinel, It is easy to point out that parents are to blame when boys go wrong. In a measure, perhaps, they are. But there is that about some boys, children of splendid and careful parents, which seems to make them wholly intractable. There is a period when a boy of fipe traits will break loose, and all tlie care of all his family only serves to make him worse. Then there is a period, further on, when he is the most intolerable little devil it is possible to conceive. He knows it all. Father and mother are slow and ignorant, and the young man finds it impossible to conceal his contempt for their lack of “go.” This is the period of breeziness, when a father feels sorely tempted to club the young rascal into his proper place. It requires wonderful finesse sometimes to carry a boy safely through these critical periods—an immense amount of forbearance, an affectation of sympathy, and even ail appearance of belief, sometimes, in the boy’s assumption of greatness. The remarkable thing is that so few boys are wrecked during these periods of savage lawlessness and budding manhood. A Street-Cur Episode. Boston Journal. In one of our horse ears a small buy was observed to be suddenly agitated, uut regained iiis self-control after a few moments. Soon after the conductor appeared and asked for fares. When lie stood before the small boy there was a slight pause, and the passengers were surprised to hear the following: "Pleathe charge it to my papa. I’ve thwalloweu the money.” Suppression ot the menses may be relieved by n dose of AVer’s Pills, which produce the desired effect through sympathetic actum.

THE INDIANAPOLIS JOURNAL, SATI/ItDA'S, DECEMBER id, ISS3.

“HOME, SWEET HOME.” A Day at Aril move, the Home of Robert J. Burdette —Tlie “Lair” of tlie Funny Mail. Written for the Indianapolis Journal. I am just back into the city here, after a delightful day and night with Burdette at his home in Ardmore—a quiet, lulling, pastoral little town, out of the clang and worry of the city, but still, as our managing editor might remark, in his simple and sententious way, in “close propinquity” to the metropolis, where every half hour through the day the trains go dancing in with such exact promptness and certainty that the Jester very seriously asserts that he never winds' his watch up when at home. And what a very tranquil, happy, perfect little picture of a home it is! Securely alienated from the rush and wrangle of the cars, and sitting smug within the center of a smooth square lawn, it looks, in its quaint architecture, porticos and gables, like a picturesque design in some bit of tinted worsted work that women please their cunning fingers building; and then, to carry out the simile, the trim sward has a lace- I like fence to edge it, with “open-work” at either corner, where the carriage of “Her little Serene Highness” flashes and semi-

circles in and out on every sunny day. For in their new home Mrs. Burdette is more improved in health, and in contentment, too, than when, by travel, up to a year ago, she sought relief from her long suffering. “For this is home!” she said, glancing proudly and most fondly round the twinkling parlor, “and although I can’t skurry up and down it with a dust-pan and a broom, I can lean back here and leisurely devise all sorts of things to do, and have them faithfully and promptly done—since,” she naively added—“being helpless myself, you know, the blessed household humors me, with such patience and good-nature, that I half believe sometimes I’m not exacting after all!” And then we all laughed, and she as heartily as any, which merriment in some odd way reminded her eccentric husband of numerous examples of her “tyranny,” “submissively endured,” he meekly said, “through an arid waste of wedded bliss ten years in length—twice that in breadth, and a century in circumference.” But all the time the speech consumed the little wife smiled on unwaveringly, appreciating fully the perfect beauty of the fabrication, and, like tlie doll’s dressmaker, with a sage look, back of all. suggestive of Llmt oracle’s pet phrase, “Oh! I know your tricks and your manners, iny fine gentleman!”

And the Burdette home is filled with other music than the Jester’s laugh. There is tiie piano and the flute and violin—the latter, now, however, he seldom touches, since his wife’s affliction—she having always in "the day’s lang syne” accompanied his violin with the piano, and now, the once deft finders shut in the close grip of her relentless malady, his own refuse to caper up and down the strings. But they sing together still —and her bright sister. Miss Garrett, with them —and “the Prince,” as well, who, by the way, is so brimmed witli melody lie of his ‘\lrfM* l '-wrteu with vocal scamperings of the "Three Blind Mice,” or the staccattoed echoes of the tinklingsof the hoof-tips of “Old Kriss Kringle’s” reindeer on the roof. And again, in memory, listening to veritable specimens of all this summer melody at Ardmore, a voice of some kind sings to me like this: Forever ttie birds are there, Aud ever the song of the birds, And ever the exquisite, intricate air or laughter and loving words; Ami ever the l-oblu trills— In the winter as well as the spring. Ami even the nest that the white snow Alls Holds ever tile birds that sing. O, ever the birds are there! Singing so Clear and strong. That the melody of the joy they share Is one with the angels' song; And the wee bird wakes in the nest To twitter and pipe and call. Till the world of sighs is a world unguesseil, And the world ol aoug Is all. And the artistic talents of “the Prince” are - onderiul. "Keeps bis thumb parboiled turning the leaves of books for pictures,” said the enthusiastic father, whose early youth as well as the son’s must have dogseared many a pictured volume, as one could but surmise, seeing him deftly "set a copy” for the boy to reproduce; and, again, ushered above into the "lair” of the versatile author, one could but acknowledge the conclusive evidence of his artistic skill, in crayon, paint and pencil, as in ink.

"The lair” is a cozy earner room, a south window looking down upon “my neighbor’s truck patch,” of which the Jester went on to sav, that, as insignificent a libel on a farm as it appeared to be, a stranger glancing at it could have no idea of how much produce the old man pulled out of the ground there annually. “And ttiis western window,” he continued, moving toward it, "gives out, you will observe, upon the back lot of the baronial demesne, and— a goat, whose unfortunate temperament you may find suggested by his being tied to the fence. At considerable expense,” he went on, smiling, “I secured that goat, a year ago, to amuse the Prince; and, later, I securer him to save the boy from an ignominious ent. But—hut” —he continued, gravely, “let me not speak further in the presence of machildeof a subject that can but recall to him the pangs of memories better bnried in the past forever!” At the conclusion of this speech the expression of the Prince’s face grew dubious, and he hinged out at the door witli a rebuking air that brought a look of genuine remorse to the father's eyes, as he hurried to bring back the truant and reinstate himself in royal favor. On either side of the writer’s desk, which

occupies the center of the room, stand two home-made boob-cases, filled with miscellaneous works, among which the more prominent are Hawthorne, Dickens, Thackeray, Harte and Twain, Longfellow, Holmes, Hood, Keats and Tennyson. And then there is a scattering number of simply humorous versifiers, together with compilations of the odds and ends of all the American wits,front Darby down to Bill Nye, of the Boomarang. On the top shelves are heaps of curious mementoes, gifts from admiring friends, souvenirs and triHes of every conceivable kind and from all parts of the world—lndian relics, crystals, corals, shells, mosses, ores, stalactites and what-not indescribable. And on the walls; First., a legend in Hebrew, Greek or Scandinavian —I couldn’t tell; anyway, some biblical quotation, traced by the skillful band of the humorist’s missionary brother, now over seas and ministering in some far orieut in his chosen life-work. And near this is a life-sized portrait of Mrs. Burdette, painted a short while after her marriage, while directly over it, and trailing its silken tassels against the frame below is the old starred and scarred flag of Burdette's regiment, when long ago lie stilled his boyish laughter, and went forth, with square jaws and uncurved lips and face set straight against the leaden sleet of battle, until the glad sunlight of victory broke through the clouds and gave him newer right to laugh, and lent his country iife to join his merriment. On the panels of the doors are artisticallyarranged portraits of notables in his own

line, fellow-editors, newspaper men, etc., . with tlie centra! positions given to such heads as Bryant’s, Greeley’s, Weed’s, Bennett’s and the like. The walls, wlierev,er one may turn, are filled with pencil and pen sketches—some frome applausive professionals in art, some from bright amateurs—all clever, keen and thoroughly appreciative of tlie crisp and wholesome humor of the jolly themes of their inspiration—and many of the very brightest of the lot, I was "overjoyed to learn were from the pencil of a “Hoosier” artist. Miss M. C. McDonald, of Cainden. And so it is, I may parenthetically add, that in whatever State I find myself, I find, as well, some happy cause to “toss my ready cap in air” and shout for In’diana. And not the last in worth of all these sketches are many from the humorist’s own conceit and skillful finish. Around the margin of the ceiling lie is now painting a frieze of comic pictures of his own design, such as a kennel scene of sleeping pups, a truant fisherboy, a howling, cowering, chained Newfoundland dog and a goat rampant on a field belligerent. But for all the bewildering fascinations about him everywhere, the charm of the presence of the presiding genius of the place is always foremost in the interest of the visitor. And here it was, down at "tlie pink edge of the day” that I gave a lotliful farewell to the happy house—“ The Jester” trying to be serious—“ The Prince” indiscriminately shaking hands with everybody, and “Her Little Serene Highness” with her patient eyes waiting upon the fuller glory of tlie sunset. James Whitcomb Riley. Philadelphia. Dec. 12.

SHERIDAN’S RIDE. The Facta About That Ramons Incident.— How Read's Poem Came To Be Written. Correspondence Philadelphia Press. It was the night before tlie battle of Cedar Creek. In the war office at Washington sat Mr. Stanton in close conversation with (general Phil. Sheridan. Tnere were some grave questions being discussed between them, for the talk lasted long past midnight. General ThomasT. Eckert, superintendent of military telegraph lines, was in an adjoining room watching for sounds of alarm from the front or important telegrams from any of the armies in the field. Anew day was fast approaching tlie dawn, and the war minister and tlie general still continued their earnest conversation. A click of the instrument caught General Eckert’s ear. It was Winchester calling the war office. His skilled hand touched the kev in ready response, and a moment later the words came: “There is danger here. Hurry Sheridan to the front."

Quick as a flash the message was handed to the two men in the next room in close consultation about the campaign in the Shenandoah valley. Sheridan went to the instrument, and there was a moment of hurried talk over the wires between him and his headquarters, when Secretary Stanton gave directions to Gen., Eckert to telegraph the railroad authorities of the Baltimore & Ohio to clear the road and to at once provide relays of special engines to take Sheridan to the scene of the coming battle as fast as ‘•team could carry him. General Eckert worked the wires himself, and gave hurried directions to the railroad officials as to what to do in this emergency. While he sat witli his hand on the key, perfecting the train arrangements. Stanton aud Sheridan had a few hurried final ™h counearnestness, not unmingled with anxiety. The train schedule was soon made, Sheridan -left the War Office, and was driven to the station with all possible speed. A panting engine had just backed in as he arrived, and, jumping aboard, the engineer, instructed to make the Relay House in the shortest possible time, pulled the starting-bar and away sped the train. It had a clear track and reached its destination, thirty miles away, in much less than an hour. Here an engine of the main line stood waiting to take him to Harper’s Ferry, seventy miles beyond. There were no obstructions all the way up. Every moving train had been side-tracked and every other precaution taken to prevent accident to the on-rushing engine bearing Sheridan to the camp where his army lay. While the train was making its run ail was anxiety in the war office. Every telegraph station" reported its progress to General Eckert, and be to Secretary Stanton, who still lingered that he might know when Sheridan reached his destination.

Three hours passed—dull, anxious hours to those waiting, every moment of which seemed laden with lead. Harper’s Ferry at last reports Sheridan’s arrival, and a fresh Migine stood waiting to take him to Winchester, thirty miles up the valley. Not a moment is lost at the hamlet among the rocks when Sheridan boards the waiting messenger, and, an hour later, word speeds over the wires: “Sheridan just readied Winchester.” The run had been made in the quickest time sver known on the road, and the worn and anxious officials at the war office breathed a sigh of relief as the click of the telegraph announced that the journey had been #oui-ph-ted.

Eighteen or perhaps twenty miles of turnpike stretched away up the charming valley that had been made desolate by the torch and tramp of armies. As that charming region, clad in the garb of summer, lay between the mountains, its bright colors reflected in the rays of a beautiful sunshine, it was but a sad reminder of the once great granary tiiat for more than three years of conflict had furnished untold supplies to the confederate army. Sheridan had laid it waste. He had clinched with and beaten Early at Winchester, and while lie was being carried with all possible speed back to the scenes of his operations, the tide of battle was ebbing and flow-

iug upon anew field, and the fate of the day hung trembling in the balance. For several weary, doubtful hours the two armies had been in deadly conflict. When Sheridan arrived at Winchester the roar of artillery and the roll of musketry could be distinctly heard from the field of carnage along Cedar creek. Down the valley came the awfui din, echoing louder and louder through the still summer air as the battle grew fiercer. There was but short delay at Winchester, the chief town in the lower valley.. There Sheridan mounted his favorite war horse, a large, beautiful, sinewy, black charger, who had borne bis master through tiie heat of many conflicts. He is dead now and his body has been preserved, that men yet to come may see the animal whose endurance has been recorded in verse. Through the town and out over the turnpike which leads up th e Shenandoah, Sheridan rode. Who, knowing the man, or aught of his character, cannot picture the restless rider urging his hgrse to the best to reach the field where the fate of his army was still pending in the hazard of war? He had only covered a few miles when the moving mass of debris that always surges to the rear off a battle-field when the conflict is severe and doubtful, met his trained eye and told more plainly than words what was going on in front. It wasa signal of distress, aid none knew it better than he. The sight tired his heart anew and only added fresh impetus to his foaming horse. He reached the field lifter a sleepless night and a terrific journey, and the battle of Cedar Creek was won. This is the true story of Sheridan’s ride —l might almost sav official story. If be did not stop to gather the stragglers. as a poet’s license has pictured, he did carry back the tide that wits Moating to the rear, became l his presence had given fresh stamina to some wavering battalions. The manner of the man, bis dash and courage, his reputation and successes, all combined to give heart to

those who had drifted back, believing the battle had been lost. I have been sitting face to face to-dav, the whole afternoon, with the man who vouches for the above written words. He is a strong, positive character, just passing three-score-and-ten, years crowded with wonderful experiences. As he told this story, lie warmed with the fire of the event, and his blood was hot with indignation, for he had just read a statement that Sheridan got drunk at Winchester and did not go to the battle-field, where the poet’s pen has pictured hiiu. “All, but I’ll put an end to all cavil about this story,” said lie. “What I have told you I got directly from General Eckert himself, who sat with his hand on tlie key, arranged and watched everv stage of Sheridan’s ride from Washington to Cedar Creek. He now manages tlie Western Union Telegraph Company, and wifi bear witness to these facts. But I have a letter from Sheridan. He and I were then, and are now, friends. When I heard of the ride, I wrote to ask him about it and to inquire if I had not ridden tlie same horse that carried him tip the valley while witli him at Chattanooga. Mr. Murdock soon found among iiis papers the identical letter which General Sheridan wrote in reply. "I need not tell you how highly it is prized,” said the veteran, “for you will see how; carefully it has been kept through all these years.”

“Who is there who has read this country’s history that does not know James E. Murdoch—tlie actor, tne reader, tlie man? Ir is he who tells tiiis story and furnishes this clinching evidence of the truthful foundation of T. Buchanan Read’s poem. Thousands who have watched his matchless representation of Hamlet, or sat under the spell of liis dramatic readings, will be glad to know that, although he is passing seventythree, he is still in excellent health and spirits. He is a tall, robust man, with a clean-shaven face that shows the broad, distinct lines of his strong countenance to the best advantage. His wealth of iron-gray hair and his general carriage combine to make him a very striking character. Although an old man when the war was going on, he spent a great deal of time with the army in connection with the sanitary commission and in the hospitals. He was a favorite at tlie headquarters of many generals, and witnessed a great deal of the inner features of army life.

The story of Sheridan’s ride, above written, was but a tithe of the good things he told me. Tiie recital of this matter naturally led up to all the incidents connected witii it. “I was not witli Sheridan.” lie said, “at this time, but was at the headquarters of tlie Army of the Cumberland. Soon after the battle of Cedur Creek I came up so Cincinnati, and was visiting Mr. Cyrus Garrett, whom we called ‘Old Cyclops.’ He was T. Buchanan Read’s brother-in-law. and with him the poet made iiis iiorue. The ladies of Cincinnati had arranged to give me a reception, ttiat finally turned into an ovation. I ! had given a great many readings to raise I funds to assist tlieir Soldiers’ Aid Society, and they were going to present me with a silk flag. Pike’s Opera-house hail been secured, the largest place of amusement in the city, and they had made every arrangement to have the reception a very dramatic event. The morning of the day it was to take place Read and I were, as usual, taking our breakfast late. We had just finished, but were still sitting at the table chatting, j Mr. Garrett, the brother-in-law, who was a I business man and guided by business habits, came in while we were tints lounging. He wore an air of impatience atul carried a paper in his hand. He walked directly up" to Read, unfolded a copy of Harper’s Weekly, and held it up before the man so singularly gifted as both poet and painter. “Tiie whole front of the paper was covered front acionU of Must "“thaY" rolled" “front the highway as he dashed along, followed by a few troopers. “‘There,’ said Mr. Garrett, addressing Read, ‘see what you have missed. You ought to have drawn tiiat picture yourself and got the credit for it; it is just in your line. The first thing you know somebody will write a poem on that event, and then you will be beaten all round.’

“Read looked at the picture rather quizzically. a look which I interrupted by saying: ‘Old Cyclops is right, Read, the subject and the circumstance are worth a poem.’ “ ‘Oil no,’ said Read; ‘that theme has been written to death. There is “Raul Rtvere’s Ride,” “Lochinvar,” Tom Hood’s “Wild Steed of the Plains,” and half a dozen other poems of like character.’ “Filled with the idea that this was a good' chance for tiie gifted man, l said; ‘Read, you are losing a great opportunity. If I had sucii a poem to read at my reception to-night it would make a great hit.’ * ‘But, Murdoch, you can’t'f ter a poem as you would a coat. 1 can’t write anything in a few hours that will do either you or me any credit,’ he replied rather sharply. “I turned to him and said: ‘Read, two or three thousand of the warmest hearts in Cincinnati will be in Pike’s Opera-house tonight at that presentation. It will Vie a very significant affair. Now, you go and give me anything in rbj’me, and I wilt give it a deliverance before tiiat splendid audience, and you can then revise and polish it before it goes into print.’ This view seemed to strike him favorably, and lie finally said: ‘Well! well! we’ll see what can be done,’ and he went up stairs to his room.

"A half hour later Hattie, his wife, a brilliant woman, who is now residing in Philadelphia, came down and said: “ Tie wants a pot of strong tea. He told me to get it for him and then he would lock the door and must not be disturbed unless the house was alire.’ “Time wore on, and in our talk on other matters in the family circle, we had almost forgotten the poet at work up stairs. Dinner had been announced, and we were about to sit down, when Read came in and beckoned me to come. When I reached the room, he said: " ‘Murdoch, I think I have about what yon want.’ He read it to me, and with an enthusiasm that surprised him, I said it is just the thing. “We dined, and at the proper tune Read and I, with the-family, went to Pike’s Operahouse. The building was crowded in every part. Upon the stage were sitting 200 maimed soldiers, each with an arm or a leg off. General Joe Hooker was to present me with the flag the ladies had made, and at the I time appointed we marched down the stage toward the footlights, General Hooker bear- j ing the flag, and I with my arm in His. Such | a storm of applause as greeted the appear- j anec I never heard before or since. Behind j and on each side of us were the rows of i crippled soldiers, in front tiie vast audience, cheering to the echo. Hooker quailed before the warm reception, and, growing nervous, said to me in an undertone: “ 'I can stand the storm of battle, but this is too much for me.’ “ 'Leave it to rue,’ said I: ‘I am an old hand behind the footlights. I will divert tiie strain from you.’ So quickly I dropped upon my knee, look a fold of the silken flag and pressed it to ray lips. This by-play created a fresh storm of enthusiasm, but it steadied Hooker, and he presented the flag very gracefully, which I accepted in lilting words. I then drew the poem Read had written from my pocket, and, with proper introduction, began reading it to the audience. The vast assemblage became as still as a church during prayer time, and I read the three first verses without a pause, aud then read the fourth: ••Under tiis spurning feet flic road lake an arrowy Alpine river flowed. And the landscape flowed away behind, I lake au ocean living before the wind: And I lie steed, like a bark, fed wltti Inrnace-ire, ‘ Swept on with Ills wild eyes full of tire; But In! lie is Hearing Ins Heart’s desire, |He is snuffling tlie smoke of the roaring fray, I Wuli Sheridan only live mileß away. “As this verse was finished the audience

; broke into a tumult of applause. Then I j read with all the spirit I could command: “The first that ilie (ien.-ral saw were the groups Or stragglers, and ttm retreating troops; What was (lone—what to do—a glance told film both, And sinking hi* sour* with a terrible null), He dashed down the lines ’mid a storm of hurra Its. And the wave of retreat checked its or. Ill'S A there, because The sight of the master compelled it to pause. Witli foam and with dust the Clack charger was gray, By tlie flash of iiis eye and his nostrils play lie seemed to tlm whole great army to say, •T have brought you Sheridan all tlm way From Winchester town to Rave tlie day.. “The sound of my voice uttering the last word find not died away when cheer after cheer went up from the great concourse that shook the building to its very foundation. Ladies waved their handkerchiefs and men tlieir hats, until worn out wi'h the fervor of the hour. They then demanded tlie author’s name and I pointed to Read, who was sitting in a box, and lie acknowledged tiie verses. In such a setting and upon such an occasion as . I have been able only faintly to describe to you, the poem of Sheridan’s ride was given to tiie world. It was written in about three hours, a.id not a word was ever changed after 1 read it from tlie manuscript, except bv tlie addition of the third verse, which records the fifteen-mile stage of the ride: “Bat there's a road from Winchester town, A good, broad highway leading down; Aim there, tliro’ tlie II mil of tlm morning light, A steed as black as the steeds of night Was seen to pass as with eagle flight. As if ho knew the terrible need, H stretched away with the utmost speed; Hills rose and fell—but his heart was gay, With Sheridan fifteen miles away. “This Mr. Read wrote while on his way, shortly after I first read tlie poem, to attend a birthday reception to William Cullen Hryant. “Mr. Read read the poem, thus completed, at Mr. Bryant’s birthday party. The great old man listened to every line of it, and then, taking tlie younger poet by tlie hand, said, with great warmth: “‘Tiiat poem will live as long as Lochin var.’ ”

the nude in art. Opinion of William Sai-tahi, President ot tlie New York Art Club, on the Vexed (Jui’Ktimi. New York Graphic. Anything beautiful done for the sake of beauty and not. intended to appeal to sexuality is necessarily pure and ennobling. Tlie representation of "the nude is more elevating than draped figures, because-it is a higher and finer form of beauty. Yet an ignorant class will not accept such pictures, though they will representations of society life, where tlie broadest innuendo is the subject! I’riests reading lascivious books and enjoying them heartily; coquettish women, scantily dressed. waiting in suspicions resorts—these are subjects tiiat some people accept who are shocked at nude figures of the greatest purity and innocence. Whoever feels offended at such subjects shows unmistakable signs of being himself incapable of pure delight in art, or lie is a crank. The actual representation of vice even may be of the purest influence when done in tlie spirit of art and moralitv.

Is “The Scarlet Letter" an immoral book? It has for its subjectcertainly an immorality, but art renders it perfectly pure and ennobling. As to the representations of the nude in the graphic arts the opinion of artists is absolutely without exception in favor of its propriety and utility. To maintain that tllia witness is not to be accepted is simply to maintain the monstrous assertion that the artists are in a mass of lower morality than other people. To assert that, such pictures sometimes do harm is like asserting that it lead some people to become'dislidnest to obtain the means of indulging in them. The entire body of sensible people are not going to be interfered with hv cranks who appeal to the cases where the display has caused someone to become a thief. The intention to be obscene is reprehensible, and should exclude such works from sale. But tiie obvious aim for tiiat end should alone be tiie test.

Tiie Managing Editor of a St. Louis Paper. Chicago News. When a very mad man rushes into tiie St Louis Chronicle office with a club, and expresses in emotional tones an ambition to annihilate somebody, he is politely referred to Miss Fannie Baghy, the managing editor. It is not hard to imagine the sensations of a person, frothing at the mouth and thirsting for a human life, upon being introduced into the presence of a shy young girl, whose fair checks reek with timid blushes, and in whose startled eyes comes the look of a frightened fawn. The murderous man collapses in a chair, ami his hideous weapon of death falls to the floor. The man thinks himself a brute tfl have thus boisterously thrust himself into the presence of a shrinking woman, and lie begins to stutter out apologies, while the beautiful young editor continues blushing and trembling in a delirium of dismay. Yet in reality she is no coward Emergencies have arisen in which this fair jonrnalisto has demonstrated her pluck and agility. It is to her credit that she never goes armed, and she will not even adopt the precaution of keeping a pistol in the drawer of her desk. But she can slap and scratch with marvelous dexterity, and huge, hulking men have been seen tottering out of her presence with their eye-bails hanging out on their cheeks, and their noses split open like a quail on toast.

The Mother of Charlie Rons. A correspondent of the Pittsburg Advocate reports these words as falling from the lips of Charlie Ross’s mother at an experience meeting: “Long ago I consecrated my all to God, and learned to lean upon Him as no other sister here lias ever been called to do. Shortly after my conversion God gave me such a burden to bear lor all my life as only God could enable me to bear. It is unlike any of your burdens, for no one of you can sympathize with me in my experience. One lifdy here may say, I lost my only child, aiui through the affliction I was led so and so;’ another one says: ‘Sister, I know all about your trouble, for death came to me and took mine also,’ and perhaps everyone here has been afflicted in a similar way. But I awake often in the morning anil think, ‘tiie burden is too heavy; it will crush tue beiore the day closes!’ but I turn to mv Father in heaven for strength, and he always grants it. Why this great weight of sorrow was given me I shall never know in this world—ner.bups I ought not to know —but I liave newer, through it all, never, lost my trust in God. It is all that sustains me, and I believe that in some way —I don’t know how —it is for good.”

Never Tim Late !o Learn. Socrates, at an extreme old age, learned to play on musical instruments. Cato, at eighty years of age, began to study the Greek language. Plutarch, when between seventy and eighty, commenced to study Latin, Boccaccio was thirty years of age when ha commenced his studies in light literature; vet lie became one of the greatest masters of the Tuscan dialect, Dante aud Plutarch being the other two. Sir Henry Spellman neglected the sciences in his youth, but commenced the study of them when he was between fifty ami sixty years of age. After this time lie became a most learned antiquarian and lawyer. Dr. Johnson applied himself to the Dutch language but a few years before his death, A prudent man tsltke a pin, his head prevents him from going too tar. To prevent a cough from going too far wo should say, use Dr. Bud's I’ongli Syrnp.

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