1840
Famous "hard cider and log cabin" campaign in the United States, ending in the defeat of Van Buren and the election of William Henry Harrison as President, with John Tyler as Vice-President. New Mexico declared itself independent of Mexico. Upper and Lower Canada reunited. Hawaii recognized as an independent kingdom.
On February 10 Queen Victoria was married to Prince Albert of Saxe-Coburg. Young Ireland movement started. Continuation of the war between China and England; England successful in many engagements. Khelat, in Baluchistan, lost by the British in July, regained in November. Chartist petition with a million and a quarter signatures presented to Parliament; demands refused. Sir James Brooke helped the Sultan of Borneo to quell a native uprising.
In France, Louis Napoleon landed at Boulogne and made another attempt at insurrection; captured and imprisoned in the fortress of Ham. Napoleon's body removed from St. Helena to Paris. Maria Cristina, Queen Regent of Spain, forced to leave the country; General Espartero made regent.
Among the celebrities who died in 1840 were Nicolo Paganini, Italian violinist; Marshal MacDonald, French soldier; Lucien Bonaparte, brother of the great Napoleon, and George Bryan, famous as Beau Brummel.
Hunting the Grizzly.
By THEODORE ROOSEVELT.
In this selection there are found many of the characteristics which have made President Roosevelt so popular. Here one notes that love of all that is natural and elemental, the open-air effect, and the healthy tastes of the normal man. The style in which the President narrates his adventures in the West is also eminently in keeping with his frank, open, and unaffected nature. He writes both with enthusiasm and with an utter lack of self-consciousness. His diction is simple; his sentences are short, forcible, and vividly descriptive.
They rouse in the reader that same love of adventurous sport which animates Mr. Roosevelt himself and which gives so keen a zest to his reminiscences of what he has experienced in the exciting pursuit of big game. The paragraph in which the killing of the bear is told is very striking in its command of expressive phrases.
"Scarlet strings of froth hung from his lips; his eyes burned like embers in the gloom.... Instantly the great bear turned with a harsh roar of fury and challenge, blowing the bloody foam from his mouth, so that I saw the gleam of his white fangs."
Here are two sentences which alone would show their author to be an unconscious artist in words; and the same qualities of style are to be found in his other books of adventure—"Ranch Life" and "The Rough Riders"—as well as in the more formal but not less spirited historical narratives, his "Naval War of 1812" and "The Winning of the West." Taken together, they admirably illustrate the President's versatility.
Reprinted, by permission of Messrs. G.P. Putnam's Sons, from "Hunting the Grizzly," by Theodore Roosevelt—Copyright, 1893.
I spent much of the fall of 1889 hunting on the head-waters of the Salmon and Snake in Idaho, and along the Montana boundary line from the Bighorn Basin and the head of the Wisdom River to the neighborhood of Red Rock Pass and to the north and west of Henry's Lake. During the last fortnight my companion was the old mountain man, already mentioned, named Griffeth or Griffin—I cannot tell which, as he was always called either "Hank" or "Griff." He was a crabbedly honest old fellow, and a very skilful hunter; but he was worn out with age and rheumatism, and his temper had failed even faster than his bodily strength. He showed me a greater variety of game than I had ever seen before in so short a time; nor did I ever before or after make so successful a hunt. But he was an exceedingly disagreeable companion on account of his surly, moody ways. I generally had to get up first, to kindle the fire and make ready breakfast, and he was very quarrelsome. Finally, during my absence from camp one day, while not very far from Red Rock Pass, he found my whisky-flask, which I kept purely for emergencies, and drank all the contents. When I came back he was quite drunk. This was unbearable, and after some high words I left him, and struck off homeward through the woods on my own account. We had with us four pack and saddle horses; and of these I took a very intelligent and gentle little bronco mare, which possessed the invaluable trait of always staying near camp, even when not hobbled. I was not hampered with much of an outfit, having only my buffalo sleeping-bag, a fur coat, and my washing kit, with a couple of spare pairs of socks and some handkerchiefs. A frying-pan, some salt, flour, baking-powder, a small chunk of salt pork, and a hatchet, made up a light pack, which, with the bedding, I fastened across the stock saddle by means of a rope and a spare packing cinch. My cartridges and knife were in my belt; my compass and matches, as always, in my pocket. I walked, while the little mare followed almost like a dog, often without my having to hold the lariat which served as halter.
The country was for the most part fairly open, as I kept near the foot-hills where glades and little prairies broke the pine forest. The trees were of small size. There was no regular trail, but the course was easy to keep, and I had no trouble of any kind save on the second day. That afternoon I was following a stream which at last "cañoned up," that is, sank to the bottom of a cañon-like ravine impassable for a horse. I started up a side valley, intending to cross from its head coulées to those of another valley which would lead in below the cañon.
However, I got enmeshed in the tangle of winding valleys at the foot of the steep mountains, and as dusk was coming on I halted and camped in a little open spot by the side of a small, noisy brook, with crystal water. The place was carpeted with soft, wet, green moss, dotted red with the kinnikinic berries, and at its edge, under the trees where the ground was dry, I threw down the buffalo bed on the mat of sweet-smelling pine-needles. Making camp took but a moment. I opened the pack, tossed the bedding on a smooth spot, knee-haltered the little mare, dragged up a few dry logs, and then strolled off, rifle on shoulder, through the frosty gloaming, to see if I could pick up a grouse for supper.
For half a mile I walked quickly and silently over the pine-needles, across a succession of slight ridges, separated by narrow, shallow valleys. The forest here was composed of lodge-pole pines, which on the ridges grew close together, with tall slender trunks, while in the valleys the growth was more open. Though the sun was behind the mountains there was yet plenty of light by which to shoot, but it was fading rapidly.
At last, as I was thinking of turning toward camp, I stole up to the crest of one of the ridges, and looked over into the valley some sixty yards off. Immediately I caught the loom of some large, dark object; and another glance showed me a big grizzly walking slowly off with his head down. He was quartering to me, and I fired into his flank, the bullet, as I afterward found, ranging forward and piercing one lung. At the shot he uttered a loud, moaning grunt and plunged forward at a heavy gallop, while I raced obliquely down the hill to cut him off. After going a few hundred feet he reached a laurel thicket, some thirty yards broad, and two or three times as long, which he did not leave. I ran up to the edge and there halted, not liking to venture into the mass of twisted, close-growing stems and glossy foliage. Moreover, as I halted, I heard him utter a peculiar, savage kind of whine from the heart of the brush. Accordingly, I began to skirt the edge, standing on tiptoe and gazing earnestly to see if I could not catch a glimpse of his hide. When I was at the narrowest part of the thicket, he suddenly left it directly opposite, and then wheeled and stood broadside to me on the hillside, a little above. He turned his head stiffly toward me; scarlet strings of froth hung from his lips; his eyes burned like embers in the gloom.
I held true, aiming behind the shoulder, and my bullet shattered the point or lower end of his heart, taking out a big nick. Instantly the great bear turned with a harsh roar of fury and challenge, blowing the bloody foam from his mouth, so that I saw the gleam of his white fangs; and then he charged straight at me, crashing and bounding through the laurel bushes, so that it was hard to aim. I waited until he came to a fallen tree, raking him as he topped it with a ball, which entered his chest and went through the cavity of his body, but he neither swerved nor flinched, and at the moment I did not know that I had struck him. He came steadily on, and in another second was almost upon me. I fired for his forehead, but my bullet went low, entering his open mouth, smashing his lower jaw and going into the neck. I leaped to one side almost as I pulled the trigger; and through the hanging smoke the first thing I saw was his paw as he made a vicious side blow at me. The rush of his charge carried him past. As he struck he lurched forward, leaving a pool of bright blood where his muzzle hit the ground; but he recovered himself and made two or three jumps onward, while I hurriedly jammed a couple of cartridges into the magazine, my rifle holding only four, which I had fired. Then he tried to pull up, but as he did so his muscles seemed to give way, his head drooped, and he rolled over and over like a shot rabbit. Each of my first three bullets had inflicted a mortal wound.
It was already twilight, and I merely opened the carcass, and then trotted back to camp. Next morning I returned and with much labor took off the skin. The fur was very fine, the animal being in excellent trim, and unusually bright-colored. Unfortunately, in packing it out I lost the skull, and had to supply its place with one of plaster. The beauty of the trophy, and the memory of the circumstances under which I procured it, make me value it perhaps more highly than any other in my house.
This is the only instance in which I have been regularly charged by a grizzly. On the whole, the danger of hunting these great bears has been much exaggerated. At the beginning of the present century, when white hunters first encountered the grizzly, he was doubtless an exceedingly savage beast, prone to attack without provocation, and a redoubtable foe to persons armed with the clumsy small-bore, muzzle-loading rifles of the day. But at present bitter experience has taught him caution. He has been hunted for sport, and hunted for his pelt, and hunted for the bounty, and hunted as a dangerous enemy to stock, until, save in the very wildest districts, he has learned to be more wary than a deer, and to avoid man's presence almost as carefully as the most timid kind of game. Except in rare cases he will not attack of his own accord, and, as a rule, even when wounded, his object is escape rather than battle.
Still, when fairly brought to bay, or when moved by a sudden fit of ungovernable anger, the grizzly is beyond peradventure a very dangerous antagonist. The first shot, if taken at a bear a good distance off and previously unwounded and unharried, is not usually fraught with much danger, the startled animal being at the outset bent merely on flight. It is always hazardous, however, to track a wounded and worried grizzly into thick cover, and the man who habitually follows and kills this chief of American game in dense timber, never abandoning the bloody trail whithersoever it leads, must show no small degree of skill and hardihood, and must not too closely count the risk to life or limb. Bears differ widely in temper, and occasionally one may be found who will not show fight, no matter how much he is bullied; but, as a rule, a hunter must be cautious in meddling with a wounded animal which has retreated into a dense thicket, and has been once or twice roused; and such a beast, when it does turn, will usually charge again and again, and fight to the last with unconquerable ferocity. The short distance at which the bear can be seen through the underbrush, the fury of his charge, and his tenacity of life make it necessary for the hunter on such occasions to have steady nerves and a fairly quick and accurate aim.
It is always well to have two men in following a wounded bear under such conditions. This is not necessary, however, and a good hunter, rather than lose his quarry, will, under ordinary circumstances, follow and attack it, no matter how tangled the fastness in which it has sought refuge; but he must act warily and with the utmost caution and resolution, if he wishes to escape a terrible and probably fatal mauling. An experienced hunter is rarely rash, and never heedless; he will not, when alone, follow a wounded bear into a thicket, if by the exercise of patience, skill, and knowledge of the game's habits he can avoid the necessity; but it is idle to talk of the feat as something which ought in no case to be attempted.
While danger ought never to be needlessly incurred, it is yet true that the keenest zest in sport comes from its presence, and from the consequent exercise of the qualities necessary to overcome it. The most thrilling moments of an American hunter's life are those in which, with every sense on the alert, and with nerves strung to the highest point, he is following alone into the heart of its forest fastness the fresh and bloody footprints of an angered grizzly; and no other triumph of American hunting can compare with the victory to be thus gained.
These big bears will not ordinarily charge from a distance of over a hundred yards; but there are exceptions to this rule. In the fall of 1890 my friend Archibald Rogers was hunting in Wyoming, south of the Yellowstone Park, and killed seven bears. One, an old he, was out on a bare table-land, grubbing for roots, when he was spied. It was early in the afternoon, and the hunters, who were on a high mountain slope, examined him for some time through their powerful glasses before making him out to be a bear. They then stalked up to the edge of the wood which fringed the table-land on one side, but could get no nearer than about three hundred yards, the plains being barren of all cover. After waiting for a couple of hours Rogers risked the shot, in despair of getting nearer, and wounded the bear, though not very seriously. The animal made off, almost broadside to, and Rogers ran forward to intercept it. As soon as it saw him it turned and rushed straight for him, not heeding his second shot, and evidently bent on charging home. Rogers then waited until it was within twenty yards, and brained it with his third bullet.
In fact bears differ individually in courage and ferocity precisely as men do, or as the Spanish bulls, of which it is said that not more than one in twenty is fit to stand the combat of the arena. One grizzly can scarcely be bullied into resistance; the next may fight to the end, against any odds, without flinching, or even attack unprovoked. Hence men of limited experience in this sport, generalizing from the actions of the two or three bears each has happened to see or kill, often reach diametrically opposite conclusions as to the fighting temper and capacity of the quarry. Even old hunters—who indeed, as a class, are very narrow-minded and opinionated—often generalize just as rashly as beginners. One will portray all bears as very dangerous; another will speak and act as if he deemed them of no more consequence than so many rabbits.
I knew one old hunter who had killed a score without ever seeing one show fight. On the other hand, Dr. James C. Merrill, U.S.A., who has had about as much experience with bears as I have had, informs me that he has been charged with the utmost determination three times. In each case the attack was delivered before the bear was wounded or even shot at, the animal being roused by the approach of the hunters from his day bed, and charging headlong at them from a distance of twenty or thirty paces. All three bears were killed before they could do any damage.
There was a very remarkable incident connected with the killing of one of them. It occurred in the northern spurs of the Bighorn range. Dr. Merrill, in company with an old hunter, had climbed down into a deep, narrow cañon. The bottom was threaded with well-beaten elk trails. While following one of these the two men turned a corner of the cañon and were instantly charged by an old she-grizzly, so close that it was only by good luck that one of the hurried shots disabled her and caused her to tumble over a cut bank where she was easily finished. They found that she had been lying directly across the game trail, on a smooth, well-beaten patch of bare earth, which looked as if it had been dug up, refilled, and trampled down. Looking curiously at this patch they saw a bit of hide only partially covered at one end; digging down they found the body of a well-grown grizzly cub. Its skull had been crushed, and the brains licked out, and there were signs of other injuries. The hunters pondered long over this strange discovery, and hazarded many guesses as to its meaning. At last they decided that probably the cub had been killed, and its brains eaten out, either by some old male grizzly or by a cougar, that the mother had returned and driven away the murderer, and that she had then buried the body and lain above it, waiting to wreak her vengeance on the first passer-by.
Old Tazewell Woody, during his thirty years' life as a hunter in the Rockies and on the great plains, killed very many grizzlies. He always exercised much caution in dealing with them; and, as it happened, he was by some suitable tree in almost every case when he was charged. He would accordingly climb the tree (a practise of which I do not approve, however), and the bear would look up at him and pass on without stopping. Once, when he was hunting in the mountains with a companion, the latter, who was down in a valley, while Woody was on the hillside, shot at a bear. The first thing Woody knew the wounded grizzly, running up-hill, was almost on him from behind. As he turned it seized his rifle in its jaws. He wrenched the rifle round, while the bear still gripped it, and pulled trigger, sending a bullet into its shoulder; whereupon it struck him with its paw, and knocked him over the rocks. By good luck he fell in a snow-bank and was not hurt in the least. Meanwhile the bear went on and they never got it.
Once he had an experience with a bear which showed a very curious mixture of rashness and cowardice. He and a companion were camped in a little teepee or wigwam, with a bright fire in front of it, lighting up the night. There was an inch of snow on the ground. Just after they went to bed a grizzly came close to camp. Their dog rushed out and they could hear it bark round in the darkness for nearly an hour; then the bear drove it off and came right into camp. It went close to the fire, picking up the scraps of meat and bread, pulled a haunch of venison down from a tree, and passed and repassed in front of the teepee, paying no heed whatever to the two men, who crouched in the doorway talking to one another. Once it passed so close that Woody could almost have touched it. Finally his companion fired into it, and off it ran, badly wounded, without any attempt at retaliation. The next morning they followed its tracks in the snow, and finally found it a quarter of a mile away. It was near a pine-tree, and had buried itself under the loose earth, pine-needles, and snow; Woody's companion almost walked over it, and putting his rifle to its ear blew out its brains.
In all his experience Woody had personally seen but four men who were badly mauled by bears. Three of these were merely wounded. One was bitten terribly in the back. Another had an arm partially chewed off. The third was a man named George Dow, and the accident happened to him on the Yellowstone about the year 1878. He was with a pack animal at the time, leading it on a trail through a wood. Seeing a big she-bear with cubs he yelled at her; whereat she ran away, but only to cache her cubs, and in a minute, having hidden them, came racing back at him. His pack animal being slow, he started to climb a tree; but before he could get far enough up she caught him, almost biting a piece out of the calf of his leg, pulled him down, bit and cuffed him two or three times, and then went on her way.
The only time Woody ever saw a man killed by a bear was once when he had given a touch of variety to his life by shipping on a New Bedford whaler which had touched at one of the Puget Sound ports. The whaler went up to a part of Alaska where bears were very plentiful and bold. One day a couple of boats' crews landed; and the men, who were armed only with an occasional harpoon or lance, scattered over the beach, one of them, a Frenchman, wading into the water after shell-fish. Suddenly a bear emerged from some bushes and charged among the astonished sailors, who scattered in every direction; but the bear, said Woody, "just had it in for that Frenchman," and went straight at him. Shrieking with terror he retreated up to his neck in the water; but the bear plunged in after him, caught him, and disemboweled him. One of the Yankee mates then fired a bomb lance into the bear's hips, and the savage beast hobbled off into the dense cover of the low scrub, where the enraged sailor-folk were unable to get at it.
The truth is that while the grizzly generally avoids a battle if possible, and often acts with great cowardice, it is never safe to take liberties with him; he usually fights desperately and dies hard when wounded and cornered, and exceptional individuals take the aggressive on small provocation.
BALZAC'S VIEWS OF WOMEN.
Honoré de Balzac (1799-1850) has been pronounced by many eminent critics the most truly great of all the writers of fiction that France has produced. This judgment has been questioned at times by admirers of Hugo and Dumas, but on one point all students of French literature agree—that as an analyst of human character Honoré de Balzac never has had a peer.
As might have been expected of such a profound student of human nature, Balzac on various occasions attempted to analyze the character of woman. Many millions of men had essayed this task before Balzac's time and had failed, as millions of other men have been failing ever since. Philosophers have been the first to despair, for they contend that no woman ever thoroughly understands herself or any other member of her sex—in short, that she is to be understood only by the angels. But it is generally believed that Balzac came nearer the truth in his estimate of woman than any other novelist has done. Naturally his views were conflicting. The Scrap Book herewith presents some of them.
When a woman pronounces the name of a man but twice a day, there may be some doubt as to the nature of her sentiment—but three times!
In courting women, many dry wood for a fire that will not burn for them.
No man has yet discovered the means of successfully giving friendly advice to women—not even to his own.
A man who can love deeply is never utterly contemptible.
Women are constantly the dupes, or else the victims, of their extreme sensitiveness.
A man must be a fool who does not succeed in making a woman believe that which flatters her.
A woman when she has passed forty becomes an illegible scrawl; only an old woman is capable of divining old women.
A woman full of faith in the one she loves is but a novelist's fancy.
The mistakes of a woman result almost always from her faith in the good and her confidence in the truth.
Woman is a charming creature, who changes her heart as easily as her gloves.
The man who can govern a woman can govern a nation.
In the elevated order of ideas, the life of man is glory; the life of woman is love.
Marriage has its unknown great men as war has its Napoleons and philosophy its Descartes.
The Indian axiom "Do not strike even with a flower a woman guilty of a hundred crimes," is my rule of conduct.
Most women proceed like the flea, by leaps and jumps.
When women love us, they forgive us everything, even our crimes. When they do not love us, they give us credit for nothing, not even for our virtues.
Marriage should combat without respite or mercy that monster which devours everything—habit.
There is one thing admirable in women: they never reason about their blameworthy actions; even in their dissimulation here is an element of sincerity.
THE WORLD'S RICHEST HUNDRED.
Of the Five Score Men and Women Among Whom $6,760,000,000 is Divided Fifty
are Citizens of the United States—England is Represented by Thirteen—Oil
Yielded the Largest Individual Fortune.
When the average present-day millionaire is bluntly asked to name the value of his earthly possessions he finds it difficult to answer the question correctly. It may be that he is not willing to take the questioner into his confidence. It is doubtful whether he really knows.
If this is true of the millionaire himself, it follows that when others attempt the task of estimating the amount of his wealth, the results must be conflicting. Still, excellent authorities are not lacking on this subject, and the list of the world's richest hundred persons, which is printed herewith, has been compiled from the best.
| Rank. Name. | Country. | How Made. | Total Fortune. |
| 1—John D. Rockefeller | United States | Oil | $600,000,000 |
| 2—A. Beit | South Africa | Gold and diamonds | 500,000,000 |
| 3—J.B. Robinson | South Africa | Gold | 400,000,000 |
| 4—Czar Nicholas II | Russia | Inherited | 350,000,000 |
| 5—Andrew Carnegie | United States | Steel | 300,000,000 |
| 6—W.W. Astor | United States | Real estate | 300,000,000 |
| 7—Prince Demidoff | Russia | Inherited | 200,000,000 |
| 8—Emperor Franz Josef | Austria | Inherited | 185,000,000 |
| 9—J. Pierpont Morgan | United States | Finance | 150,000,000 |
| 10—William Rockefeller | United States | Oil | 100,000,000 |
| 11—H.H. Rogers | United States | Oil | 100,000,000 |
| 12—W.K. Vanderbilt | United States | Railroads | 100,000,000 |
| 13—Senator Clark | United States | Copper | 100,000,000 |
| 14—John Jacob Astor | United States | Real estate | 100,000,000 |
| 15—Duke of Westminster | England | Real estate | 100,000,000 |
| 16—Lord Rothschild | England | Banker | 100,000,000 |
| 17—Baron E. de Rothschild | France | Banker | 100,000,000 |
| 18—King Leopold | Belgium | Inherited and acquired | 100,000,000 |
| 19—Grand Duke Vladimir | Russia | Inherited | 100,000,000 |
| 20—Russell Sage | United States | Finance | 80,000,000 |
| 21—H.C. Frick | United States | Steel and coke | 80,000,000 |
| 22—D.O. Mills | United States | Banker | 75,000,000 |
| 23—Marshall Field, Jr. | United States | Inherited | 75,000,000 |
| 24—Henry M. Flagler | United States | Oil | 60,000,000 |
| 25—James J. Hill | United States | Railroads | 60,000,000 |
| 26—Archduke Frederick | Austria | Inherited | 60,000,000 |
| 27—The Sultan | Turkey | Inherited | 50,000,000 |
| 28—Prince Lichtenstein | Austria | Inherited | 50,000,000 |
| 29—Baron Bleichroder | Germany | Banker | 50,000,000 |
| 30—M. Heine | France | Banker | 50,000,000 |
| 31—Lord Iveagh | Ireland | Brewer | 50,000,000 |
| 32—Señora Cousino | Chili | Inherited | 50,000,000 |
| 33—Sir Jervin Clark | Australia | Sheep | 50,000,000 |
| 34—John D. Archbold | United States | Oil | 50,000,000 |
| 35—Oliver Payne | United States | Oil | 50,000,000 |
| 36—J.B. Haggin | United States | Gold | 50,000,000 |
| 37—Harry Field | United States | Inherited | 50,000,000 |
| 38—Duke of Devonshire | England | Inherited | 50,000,000 |
| 39—A. Brehr | Austria | Banker | 45,000,000 |
| 40—James Henry Smith | United States | Inherited | 40,000,000 |
| 41—Henry Phipps | United States | Steel | 40,000,000 |
| 42—Alfred G. Vanderbilt | United States | Railroads | 40,000,000 |
| 43—H.O. Havemeyer | United States | Sugar | 40,000,000 |
| 44—Mrs. Hetty Green | United States | Finance | 40,000,000 |
| 45—Thomas F. Ryan | United States | Finance | 40,000,000 |
| 46—Lord Strathcona | Canada | Finance | 40,000,000 |
| 47—Miss Bertha Krupp | Germany | Steel | 40,000,000 |
| 48—Grand Duke Michael | Russia | Inherited | 40,000,000 |
| 49—Mrs. W. Walker | United States | Inherited | 35,000,000 |
| 50—George Gould | United States | Railroads | 35,000,000 |
| 51—Prince Henry of Pless | Germany | Inherited | 35,000,000 |
| 52—J. Ogden Armour | United States | Meat | 30,000,000 |
| 53—E.T. Gerry | United States | Inherited | 30,000,000 |
| 54—Robert W. Goelet | United States | Real estate | 30,000,000 |
| 55—Don Luis Wizperrazas | Mexico | Mines | 30,000,000 |
| 56—Earl of Derby | England | Inherited | 30,000,000 |
| 57—Count Henckel | Germany | Inherited | 30,000,000 |
| 58—J.H. Flagler | United States | Finance | 30,000,000 |
| 59—Claus Spreckels | United States | Sugar | 30,000,000 |
| 60—W.F. Havemeyer | United States | Sugar | 30,000,000 |
| 61—Bishop Kohn | Austria | Inherited | 30,000,000 |
| 62—F. Schwarzenberger | Austria | Inherited | 30,000,000 |
| 63—Jacob H. Schiff | United States | Banker | 25,000,000 |
| 64—P.A.B. Widener | United States | Street cars | 25,000,000 |
| 65—George F. Baker | United States | Banker | 25,000,000 |
| 66—Duke of Sutherland | Scotland | Real estate | 25,000,000 |
| 67—Duke of Bedford | England | Real estate | 25,000,000 |
| 68—Duke of Portland | England | Real estate | 25,000,000 |
| 69—Baron A. de Rothschild | England | Banker | 25,000,000 |
| 70—Baron L. de Rothschild | England | Banker | 25,000,000 |
| 71—Duc d'Arenberg | Belgium | Inherited | 25,000,000 |
| 72—Angelo Quintieri | Italy | Inherited | 25,000,000 |
| 73—M. Nobel | Russia | Oil | 25,000,000 |
| 74—Baron Leitenberger | Austria | Inherited | 25,000,000 |
| 75—Prince Yusupoff | Russia | Inherited | 25,000,000 |
| 76—Lord Mountstephen | Canada | Real estate | 25,000,000 |
| 77—Queen Louise | Denmark | Inherited | 25,000,000 |
| 78—Grand Duke of Hesse | Germany | Inherited | 25,000,000 |
| 79—Prince Anton Radziwill | Germany | Inherited | 25,000,000 |
| 80—August Belmont | United States | Finance | 20,000,000 |
| 81—James Stillman | United States | Banker | 20,000,000 |
| 82—John W. Gates | United States | Finance | 20,000,000 |
| 83—Norman B. Ream | United States | Finance | 20,000,000 |
| 84—Joseph Pulitzer | United States | Journalist | 20,000,000 |
| 85—James G. Bennett | United States | Journalist | 20,000,000 |
| 86—John G. Moore | United States | Finance | 20,000,000 |
| 87—D.G. Reid | United States | Steel | 20,000,000 |
| 88—Frederick Pabst | United States | Brewer | 20,000,000 |
| 89—William D. Sloane | United States | Inherited | 20,000,000 |
| 90—William B. Leeds | United States | Railroads | 20,000,000 |
| 91—James B. Duke | United States | Tobacco | 20,000,000 |
| 92—Anthony N. Brady | United States | Finance | 20,000,000 |
| 93—Geo. W. Vanderbilt | United States | Railroads | 20,000,000 |
| 94—Fred. W. Vanderbilt | United States | Railroads | 20,000,000 |
| 95—Duke of Northumberl'd | England | Inherited | 20,000,000 |
| 96—Lord Armstrong | England | Inherited | 20,000,000 |
| 97—Lord Brassey | England | Inherited | 20,000,000 |
| 98—Sir Thomas Lipton | England | Grocer | 20,000,000 |
| 99—Ex-Empress Eugenie | France | Inherited | 20,000,000 |
| 100—Queen Wilhelmina | Holland | Inherited | 20,000,000 |
| ——————— | |||
| Total | $6,760,000,000 | ||
WIT OF THE ANCIENT GREEKS.
A Garnering of Old Jokes from the Classics Impresses the Reader with the Fact that
Modern Wit Isn't as New as It Ought to Be.
We moderns find it hard to improve on the ancients, except in such insignificant conveniences as speed in traveling. Even our humor is in large part no more than the re-tailored mummies of Roman, Greek, and Egyptian humor—which means, of course, that those ancients merely resurrected the jokes of their own dim ancestors. Humor comes before speech.
The Greeks had a pretty wit. And how modern the old Greek jokes do sound!
A truly didactic saying is attributed by Aelian to the Spartan magistrates. "When certain persons from Clazomenæ had come to Sparta and smeared with soot the seats on which the Spartan magistrates sat discharging public duties; on discovering what had been done and by whom, they expressed no indignation, but merely ordered a proclamation to be made, 'Let it be lawful for the people of Clazomenæ to make blackguards of themselves.'"
A number of apothegms, proverbs, or sayings of more or less wit occur in the collected works of Plutarch, although Schneidewin does not hesitate to attribute most of them to some impostor usurping his name. At any rate, they are handily classified, and form a bulky addition to Mr. Paley's translated specimens.
Here is a brief and bright saying which this writer attaches to King Archelaus, when a talkative barber, trimming his beard, asked him, "How shall I cut it?"
"In silence," replied the king.
The anecdote recalls one of Charles II's bragging barbers, who boasted to him he could cut his majesty's throat when he would—a boast for which he was only dismissed; though for a like rash vaunt, according to Peter Cunningham, the barber of Dionysius was crucified.
To return to Plutarch, he tells the following stories, both good in their way, of Philip of Macedon.
In passing sentence on two rogues, he ordered one to leave Macedonia with all possible speed, and the other to try to catch him.
No less astute was his query as to a strong position he wished to occupy, which was reported by the scouts to be almost impregnable.
"Is there not," he asked, "even a pathway to it wide enough for an ass laden with gold?"
Philip, too, according to Plutarch, is entitled to the fatherhood of an adage which retains its ancient fame about "calling a spade a spade."
Another story tells how Philip removed a judge, because he discovered that the man's hair and beard were dyed.
"I could not believe," Plutarch reports the king as saying, "that one who was false in his hair could be honest in his judgments."
Another sample of a witty saying from Plutarch's mint is one attributed to Themistocles, that his son was the strongest man in Greece.
"For," said he, "the Athenians rule the Hellenes, I rule the Athenians, your mother rules me, and you rule your mother."
Yet another is a retort attributed to Iphicrates, the celebrated Athenian general. Harmodius, a young aristocrat who bore a name famous in the early history of Athens, had reproached Iphicrates, who was the son of a cobbler, with his mean birth.
"My nobility," the soldier replied, "begins with me, but yours ends with you."
Another Athenian general, Phocion, was a man who preferred deeds to words. He compared the eloquent speeches of one of his political opponents to cypress-trees.
"They are tall," he said, "but they bear no fruit."
Elsewhere Plutarch tells of a man who plucked the feathers from a nightingale, and, finding it a very small bird, exclaimed:
"You little wretch, you're nothing but voice!"
And again, the repartee of a Laconian to a man of Sparta who twitted him with being unable to stand as long as himself on one leg.
"No," replied the other, "but any goose can."
An anecdote of Strabo gives a vivid picture of the clashing of a harper's performances with the sounding of a bell for opening of the fish-market. All the audience vanished at once save a little deaf man.
The harper expressed himself unutterably flattered at his having resisted the importunity of the bell.
"What!" cried the deaf man, "has the fish-bell rung? Then I'm off, too. Good-by!"
Tournament Scene From "Ivanhoe."
By SIR WALTER SCOTT.
Sir Walter Scott (1771-1832) was the first of the great romantic writers of modern England. As a boy he showed an extraordinary fondness for collecting and learning by heart the legends and old-time ballads which were current in that part of Scotland where he was born. Grown older, he found equal pleasure in studying the records and traditions of early English and Scottish history.
From childhood he had a remarkable gift for story-telling, and would weave together strange and curious bits of antique lore for the delight of his companions. Later, he became for a while the most popular poet in Great Britain by publishing a series of romantic poems, among which "Marmion," "The Lady of the Lake," and "Rokeby" have endured the test of time.
In 1814 Scott turned from poetry to prose and published anonymously the historical novel "Waverley," which took the whole English reading world by storm. This triumph was repeated in the splendid novels which followed in rapid succession. Between 1815 and 1825 twelve of these so-called Waverley novels came from his pen. They were translated into all the languages of Europe and exercised a profound influence upon the whole subsequent history of European fiction.
The Waverley novels may be grouped under two heads—novels of Scottish life, and novels based upon incidents of English history. Of the former, the greatest are "Guy Mannering," "Rob Roy," "The Heart of Midlothian," and "Old Mortality." Of the latter, the most famous are "Kenilworth," "Ivanhoe," and "The Talisman."
Scott may be said to have created the historical novel, and to have quickened by means of it the national pride of his countrymen. At the time of his death he was recognized as a great public character, so that when in his last illness he went abroad in search of health the British government placed a man-of-war at his disposal.
The romance of "Ivanhoe," from which this selection has been taken, is the most spirited and stirring picture of the age of chivalry that English literature contains.
The lists now presented a most splendid spectacle. The sloping galleries were crowded with all that was noble, great, wealthy, and beautiful in the northern and midland parts of England; and the contrast of the various dresses of these dignified spectators rendered the view as gay as it was rich, while the interior and lower space, filled with the substantial burgesses and yeomen of merry England, formed, in their more plain attire, a dark fringe, or border, around this circle of brilliant embroidery, relieving, and at the same time setting off, its splendor.
The heralds finished their proclamation with the usual cry of "Largesse, largesse, gallant knights!" and gold and silver pieces were showered on them from the galleries, it being a high point of chivalry to exhibit liberality toward those whom the age accounted at once the secretaries and the historians of honor.
The bounty of the spectators was acknowledged by the customary shouts of "Love of Ladies—Death of Champions—Honor to the Generous—Glory to the Brave!"—to which the more humble spectators added their acclamations, and a numerous band of trumpeters the flourish of their martial instruments.
When these sounds had ceased, the heralds withdrew from the lists in gay and glittering procession, and none remained within them save the marshals of the field, who, armed cap-a-pie, sat on horseback, motionless as statues, at the opposite end of the lists.
Meantime, the enclosed space at the northern extremity of the lists, as it was, was now completely crowded with knights desirous to prove their skill against the challengers, and, when viewed from the galleries, presented the appearance of a sea of waving plumage, intermixed with glistening helmets, and tall lances, to the extremities of which were, in many cases, attached small pennons of about a span's breadth, which, fluttering in the air as the breeze caught them, joined with the restless motion of the feathers to add liveliness to the scene.
At length the barriers were opened, and five knights, chosen by lot, advanced slowly into the area; a single champion riding in front, and the other four following in pairs. All were splendidly armed, and my Saxon authority (in the Wardour Manuscript) records at great length their devices, their colors, and the embroidery of their horse-trappings.
It is unnecessary to be particular on these subjects. To borrow lines from a contemporary poet, who has written but too little—
The knights are dust
And their good swords are rust,
Their souls are with the saints, we trust.
Their escutcheons have long moldered from the walls of their castles. The castles themselves are but green mounds and shattered ruins—the place that once knew them knows them no more—nay, many a race since theirs has died out and been forgotten in the very land which they occupied with all the authority of feudal proprietors and feudal lords. What, then, would it avail the reader to know their names, or the evanescent symbols of their martial rank!
Now, however, no whit anticipating the oblivion which awaited their names and feats, the champions advanced through the lists, restraining their fiery steeds, and compelling them to move slowly, while, at the same time, they exhibited their paces, together with the grace and dexterity of the riders.
As the procession entered the lists the sound of a wild barbaric music was heard from behind the tents of the challengers, where the performers were concealed. It was of Eastern origin, having been brought from the Holy Land; and the mixture of the cymbals and bells seemed to bid welcome at once, and defiance, to the knights as they advanced.
With the eyes of an immense concourse of spectators fixed upon them, the five knights advanced up the platform upon which the tents of the challengers stood, and there separating themselves, each touched slightly, and with the reverse of his lance, the shield of the antagonist to whom he wished to oppose himself.
The lower orders of spectators in general—nay, many of the higher class, and it is even said several of the ladies—were rather disappointed at the champions choosing the arms of courtesy. For the same sort of persons who, in the present day, applaud most highly the deepest tragedies were then interested in a tournament exactly in proportion to the danger incurred by the champions engaged.
Having intimated their more specific purpose, the champions retreated to the extremity of the lists, where they remained drawn up in a line; while the challengers, sallying each from his pavilion, mounted their horses, and, headed by Brian de Bois-Guilbert, descended from the platform, and opposed themselves individually to the knights who had touched their respective shields.
At the flourish of clarions and trumpets they started out against each other at full gallop; and such was the superior dexterity or good fortune of the challengers that those opposed to Bois-Guilbert, Malvoisin, and Front-de-Bœuf rolled on the ground.
The antagonist of Grantmesnil, instead of bearing his lance-point fair against the crest or the shield of his enemy, swerved so much from the direct line as to break the weapon athwart the person of his opponent—a circumstance which was accounted more disgraceful than that of being actually unhorsed; because the latter might happen from accident, whereas the former evinced awkwardness and want of management of the weapon and of the horse.
The fifth knight alone maintained the honor of his party, and parted fairly with the knight of St. John, both splintering their lances without advantage on either side.
The shouts of the multitude, together with the acclamations of the heralds and the clangor of the trumpets, announced the triumph of the victors and the defeat of the vanquished. The former retreated to their pavilions, and the latter, gathering themselves up as they could, withdrew from the lists in disgrace and dejection, to agree with their victors concerning the redemption of their arms and their horses, which, according to the laws of the tournament, they had forfeited.
The fifth of their number alone tarried in the lists long enough to be greeted by the applause of the spectators, among whom he retreated, to the aggravation, doubtless, of his companions' mortification.
A second and a third party of knights took the field; and although they had various success, yet, upon the whole, the advantage decidedly remained with the challengers, not one of whom lost his seat or swerved from his charge—misfortunes which befell one or two of their antagonists in each encounter. The spirits, therefore, of those opposed to them seemed to be considerably damped by their continued success.
Three knights only appeared on the fourth entry who, avoiding the shields of Bois-Guilbert and Front-de-Bœuf, contented themselves with touching those of the three other knights who had not altogether manifested the same strength and dexterity. This politic selection did not alter the fortune of the field; the challengers were still successful. One of their antagonists was overthrown, and both the others failed in the attaint—that is, in striking the helmet and shield of their antagonist firmly and strongly, with the lance held in a direct line, so that the weapon might break unless the champion was overthrown.
After this fourth encounter there was a considerable pause; nor did it appear that any one was very desirous of renewing the contest. The spectators murmured among themselves; for, among the challengers, Malvoisin and Front-de-Bœuf were unpopular from their characters, and the others, except Grantmesnil, were disliked as strangers and foreigners.
But none shared the general feeling of dissatisfaction so keenly as Cedric the Saxon, who saw in each adventure gained by the Norman challengers a repeated triumph over the honor of England. His own education had taught him no skill in the games of chivalry, although with the arms of his Saxon ancestors he had manifested himself, on many occasions, a brave and determined soldier.
He looked anxiously to Athelstane, who had learned the accomplishments of the age, as if desiring that he should make some personal effort to recover the victory which was passing into the hands of the Templar and his associates. But, though both stout of heart and strong of person, Athelstane had a disposition too inert to make the exertions which Cedric seemed to expect from him.
"The day is against England, my lord," said Cedric in a marked tone; "are you not tempted to take the lance?"
"I shall tilt to-morrow," answered Athelstane, "in the mêlée; it is not worth while for me to arm myself to-day."
Two things displeased Cedric in this speech. It contained the Norman word mêlée (to express the general conflict), and it evinced some indifference to the honor of the country; but it was spoken by Athelstane, whom he held in such profound respect that he would not trust himself to canvass his motives or his foibles. Moreover, he had no time to make any remark, for Wamba thrust in his word, observing, "It was better, though scarce easier, to be the best man among a hundred than the best man of two."
Athelstane took the observation as a serious compliment; but Cedric, who better understood the Jester's meaning, darted at him a severe and menacing look; and lucky it was for Wamba, perhaps, that the time and place prevented his receiving, notwithstanding his place and service, more sensible marks of his master's resentment.
The pause in the tournament was still uninterrupted excepting by the voices of the heralds exclaiming, "Love of ladies, splintering of lances! stand forth, gallant knights, fair eyes look upon your deeds!"
The music also of the challengers breathed from time to time wild bursts expressive of triumph or defiance, while the clowns grudged a holiday which seemed to pass away in inactivity; and old knights and nobles lamented in whispers the decay of martial spirit, spoke of the triumphs of their younger days, but agreed that the land did not now supply dames of such transcendent beauty as had animated the jousts of former times.
Prince John began to talk to his attendants about making ready the banquet, and the necessity of adjudging the prize to Brian de Bois-Guilbert, who had, with a single spear, overthrown two knights and foiled a third.
At length, as the Saracenic music of the challengers concluded one of those long and high flourishes with which they had broken the silence of the lists, it was answered by a solitary trumpet, which breathed a note of defiance from the northern extremity. All eyes were turned to see the new champion which these sounds announced, and no sooner were the barriers opened than he paced into the lists.
As far as could be judged of a man sheathed in armor, the new adventurer did not greatly exceed the middle size, and seemed to be rather slender than strongly made. His suit of armor was formed of steel, richly inlaid with gold, and the device on his shield was a young oak-tree pulled up by the roots, with the Spanish word Desdichado, signifying Disinherited. He was mounted on a gallant black horse, and as he passed through the lists he gracefully saluted the prince and the ladies by lowering his lance.
The dexterity with which he managed his steed, and something of youthful grace which he displayed in his manner, won him the favor of the multitude, which some of the lower classes expressed by calling out: "Touch Ralph de Vipont's shield—touch the Hospitaler's shield; he has the least sure seat; he is your cheapest bargain."
The champion, moving onward amid these well-meant hints, ascended the platform by the sloping alley which led to it from the lists, and, to the astonishment of all present, riding straight up to the central pavilion, struck with the sharp end of his spear the shield of Brian de Bois-Guilbert until it rung again. All stood astonished at his presumption, but none more than the redoubted knight whom he had thus defied to mortal combat, and who, little expecting so rude a challenge, was standing carelessly at the door of the pavilion.
"Have you confessed yourself, brother," said the Templar, "and have you heard mass this morning, that you peril your life so frankly?"
"I am fitter to meet death than thou art," answered the Disinherited Knight; for by this name the stranger had recorded himself in the books of the tourney.
"Then take your place in the lists," said Bois-Guilbert, "and look your last upon the sun, for this night thou shalt sleep in paradise."
"Gramercy for thy courtesy," replied the Disinherited Knight; "and to requite it I advise thee to take a fresh horse and a new lance, for by my honor you will need both."
Having expressed himself thus confidently, he reined his horse backward down the slope which he had ascended, and compelled him in the same manner to move backward through the lists till he reached the northern extremity, where he remained stationary in expectation of his antagonist. This feat of horsemanship again attracted the applause of the multitude.
However incensed at his adversary for the precautions which he recommended, Brian de Bois-Guilbert did not neglect his advice, for his honor was too nearly concerned to permit his neglecting any means which might insure victory over his presumptuous opponent. He changed his horse for a proved and fresh one of great strength and spirit. He chose a new and a tough spear, lest the wood of the former might have been strained in the previous encounters he had sustained.
Lastly, he laid aside his shield, which had received some little damage, and received another from his squires. His first had only borne the general device of his rider, representing two knights riding upon one horse, an emblem expressive of the original humility and poverty of the Templars, qualities which they had since exchanged for the arrogance and wealth that finally occasioned their suppression. Bois-Guilbert's new shield bore a raven in full flight, holding in its claws a skull, and bearing the motto, Gare le Corbeau.
When the two champions stood opposed to each other at the two extremities of the lists, the public expectation was strained to the highest pitch. Few augured the possibility that the encounter could terminate well for the Disinherited Knight, yet his courage and gallantry secured the general good wishes of the spectators.
The trumpets had no sooner given the signal than the champions vanished from their posts with the speed of lightning, and closed in the center of the lists with the shock of a thunderbolt. The lances burst into shivers up to the very grasp, and it seemed at the moment that both knights had fallen, for the shock had made each horse recoil backward upon its haunches.
The address of the riders recovered their steeds by use of the bridle and spur; and having glared at each other for an instant with eyes which seemed to flash fire through the bars of their vizors, each made a demivolte, and, retiring to the extremity of the lists, received a fresh lance from the attendants.
A loud shout from the spectators, waving of scarfs and handkerchiefs, and general acclamations attested the interest taken by the spectators in this encounter; the most equal, as well as the best performed, which had graced the day. But no sooner had the knights resumed their station than the clamor of applause was hushed into a silence so deep and so dead that it seemed the multitude were afraid even to breathe.
A few minutes' pause having been allowed, that the combatants and their horses might recover breath, Prince John with his truncheon signed to the trumpets to sound the onset. The champions a second time sprung from their stations and closed in the center of the lists, with the same speed, the same dexterity, the same violence, but not the same equal fortune as before.
In this second encounter the Templar aimed at the center of his antagonist's shield, and struck it so fair and forcibly that his spear went to shivers, and the Disinherited Knight reeled in his saddle. On the other hand, that champion had, in the beginning of his career, directed the point of his lance toward Bois-Guilbert's shield, but, changing his aim almost in the moment of encounter, he addressed it to the helmet, a mark more difficult to hit, but which, if attained, rendered the shock more irresistible.
Fair and true he hit the Norman on the vizor, where his lance's point kept hold of the bars. Yet, even at this disadvantage, the Templar sustained his high reputation, and had not the girths of his saddle burst he might not have been unhorsed. As it chanced, however, saddle, horse, and man rolled on the ground.
To extricate himself from the stirrups and fallen steed was to the Templar scarce the work of a moment, and, stung with madness both at his disgrace and at the acclamations with which it was hailed by the spectators, he drew his sword and waved it in defiance of his conqueror. The Disinherited Knight sprung from his steed and also unsheathed his sword. The marshals of the field, however, spurred their horses between them, and reminded them that the laws of the tournament did not, on the present occasion, permit this species of encounter.
"We shall meet again, I trust," said the Templar, casting a resentful glance at his antagonist; "and where there are none to separate us."
"If we do not," said the Disinherited Knight, "the fault shall not be mine. On foot or horseback, with ax, or with sword, I am alike ready to encounter thee."
More and angrier words would have been exchanged, but the marshals, crossing their lances between them, compelled them to separate. The Disinherited Knight returned to his first station, and Bois-Guilbert to his tent, where he remained for the rest of the day in an agony of despair.
Without alighting from his horse, the conqueror called for a bowl of wine, and opening the beaver, or lower part of his helmet, announced that he quaffed it "to all true English hearts, and to the confusion of foreign tyrants." He then commanded his trumpet to sound a defiance to the challengers, and desired a herald to announce to them that he should make no election, but was willing to encounter them in the order in which they pleased to advance against him.
The gigantic Front-de-Bœuf, armed in sable armor, was the first who took the field. He bore on a white shield a black bull's head, half defaced by the numerous encounters which he had undergone, and bearing the arrogant motto, Cave, adsum. Over this champion the Disinherited Knight obtained a slight but decisive advantage. Both knights broke their lances fairly, but Front-de-Bœuf, who lost a stirrup in the encounter, was adjudged to have the disadvantage.
In the stranger's third encounter with Sir Philip Malvoisin, he was equally successful, striking that baron so forcibly on the casque that the laces of the helmet broke, and Malvoisin, only saved from falling by being unhelmeted, was declared vanquished like his companions.
In his fourth encounter, with De Grantmesnil, the Disinherited Knight showed as much courtesy as he had hitherto evinced courage and dexterity. De Grantmesnil's horse, which was young and violent, reared and plunged in the course of the career so as to disturb the rider's aim, and the stranger, declining to take the advantage which this accident afforded him, raised his lance, and, passing his antagonist without touching him, wheeled his horse and rode back again to his own end of the lists, offering his antagonist, by a herald, the chance of a second encounter. This De Grantmesnil declined, avowing himself vanquished as much by the courtesy as by the address of his opponent.
Ralph de Vipont summed up the list of the stranger's triumphs, being hurled to the ground with such force that the blood gushed from his nose and mouth, and he was borne senseless from the lists.
The acclamations of thousands applauded the award of the prince and marshals, announcing that day's honors to the Disinherited Knight.
NICKNAMES OF OUR STATES AND TOWNS.
Yankee humor and high-flown oratory are responsible for most of the nicknames by which the States and many of the cities in the United States have come to be known. As these nicknames are frequently encountered by readers, it may be just as well to recognize the fact that a knowledge of them is more or less of a necessity. For this reason the accompanying list is given:
STATES.
Virginia, the Old Dominion,
Massachusetts, the Bay State.
Maine, the Border State.
Rhode Island, Little Rhody.
New York, the Empire State.
New Hampshire, the Granite State.
Vermont, the Green Mountain State.
Connecticut, the Land of Steady Habits.
Pennsylvania, the Keystone State.
North Carolina, the Old North State.
Ohio, the Buckeye State.
South Carolina, the Palmetto State.
Michigan, the Wolverine State.
Kentucky, the Corn-cracker.
California, the Golden State.
Indiana, the Hoosier State.
Illinois, the Sucker State.
Iowa, the Hawk-Eye State.
Wisconsin, the Badger State.
Florida, the Peninsular State.
Texas, the Lone Star State.
CITIES.
Philadelphia, the Quaker City.
Boston, the modern Athens; the Hub.
New York, Gotham.
Baltimore, the Monumental City.
Cincinnati, the Queen City.
New Orleans, the Crescent City.
Washington, the City of Magnificent Distances.
Chicago, the Garden City.
Detroit, the City of the Straits.
Cleveland, the Forest City.
Pittsburgh, the Smoky City.
New Haven, the City of Elms.
Indianapolis, the Railroad City.
St. Louis, the Mound City.
Keokuk, the Gate City.
Louisville, the Falls City.
Nashville, the City of Rocks.
Hannibal, the Bluff City.
THE LAST WORD—POET TO POET.
JOAQUIN MILLER'S FAREWELL TO BRET HARTE, HIS FAMOUS
CONTEMPORARY IN THE LITERATURE OF THE FAR WEST.
From his cabin on the heights back of Oakland, California, the gray poet of the Sierras, Joaquin Miller [pronounced "Hwah-keen">[, looks down across San Francisco Harbor and through the Golden Gate.
When word came to Joaquin Miller, in May, 1902, that his friend, Bret Harte, was dead, he embalmed his grief in the wonderful poem of farewell here printed. He pictured the somber ship of death traveling silently at sunset out through the Golden Gate.
The poem originally appeared in the Overland Monthly for September, 1902. The issue was devoted to the memory of Bret Harte, and included reprints of "The Luck of Roaring Camp," "The Outcasts of Poker Flat," "Plain Language from Truthful James," and other of Harte's best work.