Chapter XII: Part 12

“AND I can only say,” remarked Irving, as we left the White House together, after his first interview with the President, “that, if his reëlection depended on my vote, he should have it. I know nothing about the political situation; but the man we have just left has evidently several qualities that I should say fit him for his office,—foremost among them is patience. I would also say that he has the virtue of self-denial, and he is certainly not impulsive. A kind-hearted man, I am sure, capable of the highest sentiment of friendship, of a gentle disposition, and with great repose of character.”

“You have made quite a study of him,” I said; “and I am glad you like him, for I am sure he likes you.”

They had had a long chat at the White House. Mr. Congressman Phelps accompanied Irving, and introduced him to the Secretary of the Navy, and to other ministers who came and went during the first part of the informal reception. The President talked of plays and general literature; regretted that Washington, which had so many fine buildings, did not yet possess a theatre worthy of the city.

“A beautiful city, Mr. President,” said Irving. “I had heard much of Washington, but am agreeably surprised at its fine buildings, its handsome houses, its splendid proportions; and the plan of it seems to be unique.”

“The original design was the work of a French engineer,” said the President, “who served under Washington. His idea, evidently, was that a republic would have continually to contend with revolutions at the capital. He, therefore, kept in view the military exigencies of the government. The main streets of the city radiate upon a centre that is occupied by the legislative and executive buildings, like the spokes of a wheel, so that they could be dominated by artillery. This was the French idea of the dangers and duties of that republican form of government, which has never been contested here, nor is ever likely to be. While but a village Washington was laid out for a great city, and, without any seeming prospect of the grand idea being realized, the original lines have, nevertheless, always been adhered to.”

“And with glorious results,” said Irving. “Washington is one of the most beautiful cities I have ever seen. There is no reason why the highest architectural ambition should not be realized in such broad avenues and boulevards, and with such a site.”

IV.

“MANY Americans underrate the beauty of Washington,” I said. “Comparatively few of them have seen it, and hundreds who criticise it have not been south for a number of years. The growth of Washington is not only modern, it is of yesterday. The city was really little more than a village up to the date of the late war; and it was only in 1871 that the impetus was given to the public enterprise that has covered it with palaces, private and public. It is the only city of America in which the streets are kept as cleanly and as orderly as London and Paris. The streets are asphalted, and you may drive over them everywhere without inconvenience or obstruction. There is an individuality about the houses that is one of Washington’s most notable architectural characteristics.”

“Yes,” said Irving, “that is a great point. New York is lacking in that respect, the reason being, I suppose, its want of space. Some of the houses in Washington suggest Bedford Park, Fitzjohn’s avenue, and the street of artists’ houses at Kensington. The same may be said of portions of Chicago and Boston. The so-called Queen Anne order of architecture is very prevalent in Washington,—take Pennsylvania avenue, for instance. On a fine summer’s day it must be a picture, with its trees in leaf and its gardens in bloom.”

Irving went more than once to the White House, and was greatly impressed with the dignified informality of one of its evening receptions.

“No ceremonious pomp, no show, and yet an air of conscious power,” he said; “the house might be the modest country-seat of an English noble, or wealthy commoner, the President the host receiving his intimate friends. No formal announcements; presentations made just as if we were in a quiet country-house. Soon after supper, when the ladies took their leave, and most of the gentlemen with them, I and one or two others went into the President’s room, and chatted, I fear, until morning. It was to me very enjoyable. President Arthur would shine in any society. He has a large acquaintance with the best literature, dramatic and general, is apt at quotation, an excellent storyteller, a gentleman, and a good fellow. When I had said good-night, and was on my way to the hotel, I could not help my own thoughts wandering back to thoughts of Lincoln and Garfield, whose portraits I had noticed in prominent positions on the walls of the executive mansion. I remember Mr. Noah Brooks, of New York, telling us the story of Lincoln’s death, and how he was to have been in the box with him at the theatre that same night, and how vividly he recounted the chief incidents of the tragedy. And Garfield,—I can quite understand that terrible business making his successor prematurely old, called as he was into office under such painful circumstances, and with so great a responsibility. A distinguished American was telling me yesterday that only the wisest discretion and personal self-denial in regard to the filling of offices saved America from the possibilities of riot and bloodshed. He said Arthur’s singularly quiet administration of affairs—the one necessity of the time—would be taken into account at the polls, if he is nominated for reëlection.”

V.

WASHINGTON society made itself most agreeable to both Irving and Miss Terry, though “Portia, on a trip from the Venetian seas,” to quote the New York reporter, made her visit to the capital an opportunity for rest. Electing this city for a holiday, being relieved of a week’s journey through New England, she remained at the capital on a visit to her friend, Miss Olive Seward, the adopted daughter of the famous minister of Lincoln’s administration.

Among the social entertainments given in Irving’s honor were two notable little suppers,—one at the Metropolitan Club, by Mr. H. L. Nelson, Secretary to the Speaker, and a journalist of well-won renown. There were present, the Speaker (the Hon. John G. Carlisle), Senator Bayard, Representatives Dorsheimer (ex.-Lieut. Governor of the State of New York), T. B. Reed, Dr. George B. Loring (Commissioner of Agriculture), and Messrs. John Davis (Assistant Secretary of State), and F. E. Leupp. The other “evening after the play” was spent at Mr. Dorsheimer’s house, in Connecticut avenue, where the guests included several distinguished judges, senators, and government officials. The conversation on both occasions was chiefly about plays. It was a great relief from law and politics, one of the learned judges said, to discuss Shakespeare and the stage. They all talked well upon the drama; some of them had known Forrest; others, the elder Booth. Irving was more than usually talkative in such congenial company. He related many reminiscences of the English stage, none of which interested his Washington friends more than his anecdotes of Macready. Several instances of apt Shakespearian quotations were given; but they were all capped by a story which Nelson told of Judge Jeremiah S. Black, Mr. Buchanan’s Attorney-General and Secretary of State. Judge Black was holding court at Chambersburgh, Pa., when he was on the circuit in that State, forty years or more ago. His manners were rough, but more from absent-mindedness than any other cause, for he was one of the kindest of men. He would almost invariably find the strong point in a cause that was on trial before him, and go on thinking about it without reference to the point which counsel might be considering; so that his questions often seemed impertinent to the bar. One of the lawyers of Chambersburgh was a man of the name of Chambers, a soft-spoken, mild-mannered kind of man. Chambers suffered especially from what he supposed was Black’s intentional rudeness to him, and, one day, he came to the conclusion that his burdens were intolerable; therefore he stopped in the midst of his argument, and expostulated with the judge, telling him that he always tried to treat the court deferentially, but the judge did not reciprocate. The judge sat smiling through Chambers’s long reproof, and briefly answered:—

“Haply, for I am _black,_
And have not those soft parts of conversation
That _chamberers_ have.”

During the week Irving visited the capitol, and was introduced to the highest officers of state. He heard debates in both houses, visited the law courts, and received many kindly attentions, public and private. The theatre was crowded every night. On the first night the President sat in the stalls, and the Russian ambassador contented himself with quite a back seat. Mr. Bancroft, the white-haired historian, was a constant attendant. Mr. Charles Nordhoff (whose graphic stories are not sufficiently well known) was in the stalls; so, also, were the authors of “Democracy.” (It is rumored that they are a society syndicate; but there is more authority in the statement that they are two, and I could give their names. I forbear, for the sake of the American lady who was pointed out to me in London, last year, as the undoubted author of the “scurrilous burlesque”). Mr. Blaine (one of the most famous and learned of American statesmen) was also present, and he was one of the prominent men who showed Irving much social attention.[55] A list of the distinguished people present, would include a majority of the great personages at Washington during the season of 1884. All the plays were enthusiastically received.[56]

Called on, as usual, to speak when the curtain had gone down for the last time (after three recalls), Irving thanked the audience for the kind reception and liberal patronage which had been accorded himself and his company. They had during the past few months appeared in all the leading cities of the country, and he felt that this cordial welcome in the beautiful capital of the Union might fairly be regarded as the crowning engagement of a most happy and prosperous tour. He returned heartfelt thanks, not alone for himself, but for his company; and especially for his fair comrade and friend, Miss Ellen Terry, of whom he felt he could heartily say: “She came, she saw, she conquered.” He said farewell with the greater ease in the expectation of having the privilege of again appearing in Washington early in the coming season. Again returning thanks, and saying good-by, Mr. Irving bowed himself off the stage amid very demonstrative applause.

VI.

IT was quite like a council of war to see Irving, Loveday, Palser, and Stoker, bending over a map of the United States, during the journey from Washington to New York, _en route_ for several New England cities. The chart was scanned with careful interest, Irving passing his finger over it here and there, not with the intensity of the overthrown monarch in “Charles the First,” but with a close scrutiny of routes. The chief was sketching out his next tour in America.

“No more long journeys,” he said.

“They are not necessary,” Loveday replied.

“No jumping from Brooklyn to Chicago, and from Chicago to Boston. This sort of thing may have been necessary by our relinquishment of the one-night places set down for us in the original plan of the tour; but we’ll reform that altogether.”

Then all the heads went down upon the chart; and pencil-marks begin to appear, dotting out a route which began at Quebec, and traversed, by easy stages, Canada and the United States,—from Quebec to Toronto, from Toronto to New York, and thence to Chicago, and, by easy calls, back again to the Empire city.

An hour or two later and the route was settled, Palser remarking, “It is the most complete and easiest tour that has ever been mapped out.”

“And we will begin it in the autumn of this year. We have sowed the seed; we are entitled to reap the harvest. All my American friends say so; and the great American play-going public would like me to do so. I am sure of it. My pulses quickened at the great cheer that went up at Boston when I said I hoped to come back this year. Let us consider it settled. We will come in September.”

The map was folded up, and the work of organizing the next tour was at once commenced. Telegraphic “feelers,” in regard to “dates,” had already been sent to the leading theatres. The best of them were ready to accept for the time proposed; and a week or so later the business was settled.

Meanwhile we arrived at New York (the trees in Washington and Union squares, and Fifth avenue were crystal trees; every house was coated with ice that sparkled under the electric lamps), and the next day “Louis XI.” was given at New Haven. The week was spent between this picturesque city and Worcester, Springfield, Hartford, and Providence. Only “Louis XI.” and “The Bells” were played, Miss Terry taking a week’s rest at Washington. The New England audiences were as cordial at these cities as they had been at Boston; the critics interpreted their sentiments. At Hartford, Mark Twain (S. L. Clemens) entertained Irving under his hospitable roof, and at Springfield there was a memorable gathering at the Springfield Club,—in fact, Irving was welcomed everywhere with tokens of respect and esteem. One regrets that these pages and the time of the patient reader are not sufficiently elastic to allow of one devoting a volume to the New England cities, so interesting as they are, historically and otherwise, from American as well as English points of view.

VII.

FOLLOWING the New England cities come the last of the return visits,—Philadelphia, Brooklyn,[57] New York. They reindorsed the previous successes, and fully justified the decision of a second visit next season.

One of the most interesting incidents of the second visit to Philadelphia was Irving’s entertainment in the new rooms of the “Clover Club.”[58] Accustomed to play the host, the club found itself in a novel position when it accepted that of guest. The occasion was one not likely to be forgotten in the annals of an institution which interprets the best and highest social instincts of an eminently hospitable city. The club-room was decorated with its characteristic taste.

Mr. Dion Boucicault, in a brief address, spoke of the beneficent change which Irving had wrought in the methods of the English stage; Mr. McClure, the popular and powerful director of the “Times,” thanked him, in the name of all lovers of art, for extending that reformation to the American stage; Col. Snowden depicted his high place in the history of the best civilization of America; and Irving, while accepting with pride the honors which had been conferred upon him, defended the great actors of America’s past and present from the criticism of several speakers, who complained of their adherence to what Boucicault called “the pedestal style” of acting Shakespeare. Irving described to them how, in years gone by, both England and America had possessed provincial schools of acting, in the stock companies that had flourished in such cities as Boston, New York, Philadelphia, Chicago, and other cities on one side of the Atlantic, and Bristol, Bath, Manchester, Birmingham on the other; how these had been broken up by “combinations” in travelling companies; and how the leading actors of America had thus been disabled from presenting the dramas of the great masters in a manner they would, no doubt, have desired to present them. He said he had found similar difficulties in his own country; but, actuated by the resolute purpose of a sense of duty to his art, and a devoted love for it, he had overcome them. For some eight or ten years he had worked with a company, trained with the object of interpreting, to the best of their ability, the work of the dramatist. They subordinated themselves to the objects and intentions of the play they had to illustrate, and only by such self-abnegations to the harmony of the entire play, he said, could anything like an approach be made to the realization of a dramatic theme. He disclaimed any such ambition as to be ranked foremost among the great actors whose names had been mentioned; but he confessed to a feeling of intense satisfaction that America should have accepted with a generous, and he must say a remarkable, spontaneity, the methods which he had inaugurated at the Lyceum Theatre.

Among other “sight-seeing” and calls which we made together in Philadelphia was a visit to Mr. Childs, at the “Ledger” office, and an hour or two spent at Independence Hall. Irving was much interested in the new private office of Mr. Childs. Decorated in the so-called style of Queen Anne, it is a fine example of the progress in art which America has made within the past few years. “It contains many precious reminiscences of the Centennial Exhibition. A screen in front of the street windows is not the least artistic feature of the apartment. It is formed by six square pillars, with arched openings, which, save the centre, are closed to the height of three feet from the floor, the space between the back of these and the windows forming a kind of recess, where have been gathered some very valuable specimens of plastic and mechanical art. Over the screen, or arcade, are ten painted glass panels; the centre one contains the portraits of Gutenberg, Faust, and Sch[oe]ffer, inventors of the art of printing with type; the other four contain figures representing the art of bookmaking. The left-hand panel contains a sitting figure, intently engaged on an article for the press, which, with two figures, a man and a boy, the latter of singularly fine action, forms the second panel. Passing over the centre, the story is continued by the proofreader, and concluded in the last panel, which represents a standing figure perusing the finished book in the shape of a Bible, chained to a lectern. The centre panel of five smaller panels, over those just mentioned, exhibits Mr. Childs’s motto, ‘_Nihil sine labore_,’ and on the remaining four, in old English, is painted the command, ‘Let there be light, and there was light.’”

Mr. Childs is one of the best-known and one of the most popular journalists in the United States. His name is familiar to the newspaper men of England, and his offices are models, both as regards the mechanical departments and the rooms set apart for his editorial associates and writers. Mr. Cooke, the able and trusted correspondent of the “London Times,” is the financial editor of the “Ledger.”

The porter at Independence Hall was glad to get the English actor’s signature in the visitor’s book. From the moment that Irving entered the place he attracted more attention than even “the bell of liberty” itself. Long before American independence was even dreamed of, this bell (originally cast at Whitechapel, London, and afterwards recast in Philadelphia) bore the inscription, “Proclaim Liberty throughout all the Land, to all the Inhabitants thereof!” Having taken in the historic room which was formerly the Judicial Hall of the English colony of Pennsylvania, Irving said, “How English it all is! how typical of the revolt the portraits of these great fellows who headed it!” Then he traced likeness to living Englishmen in several of the pictures. “One hundred and thirty portraits by one artist!” he exclaimed. “He has done wonderfully, I think, to get such variety of style, and yet so much individuality.” In modern days this chamber has been the scene of the lying-in-state of several prominent statesmen, on the way to burial. Among them were John Quincy Adams, Henry Clay, Abraham Lincoln.

American history proudly recalls that “here, on the 3d of November, 1781, twenty-four British standards and colors, taken from the army under Cornwallis, which had surrendered at Yorktown, were laid at the feet of Congress, amidst the shouts of the people and volleys of musketry, for they had been escorted to the door of the State-House by the volunteer cavalry of the city, and greeted by the huzzas of the people.” “But let us not forget,” said an American speaker, discoursing on this theme at an Irving entertainment, “that we were all British until we had signed that Declaration of Independence!”

XXI.

“BY THE WAY.”

“My Name is Mulldoon, I live in the Twenty-fourth Ward”—Protective Duties and the Fine Arts—“The General Muster”—A Message from Kansas City—American Cabmen—Alarming Notices in Hotels—The Chicago Fire Service—What a Fire Patrol can do in a few Seconds—Marshalling the Fire Brigades—William Winter—“Office Rules”—The Reform Club and Politics—Enterprising Reporters—International Satire—How a Man of “Simple and Regular Habits” Lives—Secretaries in Waiting—The Bisbee Murders—“Hunted Down”—Outside Civilization—“The Bazoo”—The Story of a Failure—A Texan Tragedy—Shooting in a Theatre—Evolutions of Towns.

I.

“YES,” said Irving, “I, too, have made a few notes of ‘things to be remembered,’ as we passed together some of the last proofs of these chronicles and impressions. For instance, here is a memorandum, ‘Politics’; and it refers to General Horace Porter’s anecdotical illustration of ward politics, and to Mr. Millett’s letter on art and tariffs.”

“Let us take the story first,” I suggested.

We both remembered it; so, likewise, will several American friends of that excellent _raconteur_, Horace Porter, one of New York’s brightest post-prandial orators.

Irving had been making inquiries about the city government of New York, and remarking upon the curious little wooden houses away up at the further end of New York city.

“Oh,” said Porter, “those places belong to the last of the Manhattan squatters. Most of them are occupied by families, who, as a rule, pay little or no rent at all. They are on the outskirts of progress. As the city extends into their district they disappear, seeking ‘fresh woods and pastures new.’ Nevertheless some of them become quite firmly established there. They are included, for voting purposes, in the Twenty-fourth ward of the city. The houses, as you have observed, are not architecturally beautiful. All the inhabitants keep fowls and animals in their basements or cellars. As a rule nobody repairs or attends to their abodes. Occasionally in wet weather they could bathe in their cellars. Recently one of the most important men in the district was a Mr. Mulldoon, whose very practical views of city politics will be gathered by the story I am going to tell you, which also illustrates the local troubles from a sanitary point of view. Mulldoon’s premises were flooded. He was advised to apply to the Commissioner of Public Works on the subject, and to use his political influence in the matter; and he did. Entering the office of the commissioner, he said:—

“‘My name is Mulldoon. I live in the Twenty-fourth ward; I conthrol forty votes there; I kape hens; the wather has inundated my cellar, and I want it pumped out at the public expinse.’

“‘We have no machinery to do that kind of work; it does not belong to our department,’ said the officer.

“‘And be jabers if I don’t get that wather removed it will go hard wid the party. I’ll cast thim forty votes for a Dutchman.’

“‘You had better go to the fire department.’

“‘Divil a bit; it’s the wather department I’m afther.’

“‘The fire department have appliances for pumping, we have not; I recommend you to see the fire department.’

“He does so.

“Arrived at the proper officer’s desk, he says, ‘My name is Mulldoon; I live in the Twenty-fourth ward; I conthrol forty votes there; I kape hens; the wather has inundated my cellar, and I want it pumped out at the public expinse.’

“‘The work does not belong to this department, Mr. Mulldoon; we put out fires, not water. I’—

“‘Indade,’ said Mulldoon, calmly; “thin let the party look to it, for I’ll rather cast thim forty votes for a nigger than Tammany Hall shall get wan o’ them.’

“‘I was going to say, when you interrupted me, that you had better see the mayor, and get an appropriation for the sum necessary to be expended, and then you’ll have the business done right away.’

“‘An appropriation, is it? Thank ye! I’ve niver gone ag’in’ my party; but I object to having my hens drowned under my very roof.’

“Going straight for the mayor, he said, ‘Mr. Mayor, sorr, my name is Mulldoon; I live in the Twenty-fourth ward; I conthrol forty votes there; I kape hens; the wather has inundated my cellar, and I want it pumped out at the public expinse.’

“‘I am sorry I cannot help you, Mr. Mulldoon; but’—

“‘Not help me!’ exclaimed the chief of the little caucus in the Twenty-fourth ward; ‘then, by my soul, I’ll cast them forty votes for a hathen Chinee’—

“‘If you had not interrupted me, I was going to say that’—

“‘Oh, then, I beg Your Honor’s pardon; it is only just my bare rights that I am saking.’

“‘If you go to the Board of Aldermen and get an appropriation, and bring it to me, I will see that the work you claim shall be done.’

“‘Very well, then, and thank Your Honor,’ said Mulldoon, who in due course presented himself before the principal officer of the board, an Irishman like himself, and having considerable power.

“‘My name is Mulldoon; I live in the Twenty-fourth ward; I conthrol forty votes there; I kape hens; my cellar is inundated, and I want it pumped out at the public expinse. The mayor’s sent me to you for an appropriation, and, by St. Patrick! if you refuse it, divil a wan o’ them votes will ye ever get. I’ll cast them for a native American first!’

“‘I don’t see how I can get you an appropriation, Mr. Mulldoon.’

“‘You don’t; well, then, the party may go to the divil, and Tammany Hall wid it! I’m ag’in’ the lot o’ ye!’

“‘Don’t lose your temper, Mr. Mulldoon, I’ll see what can be done for you; but, in the meantime, will you allow me to suggest that it would be less dangerous for the party, considering the situation of your residence, if, in the future, _you would arrange to keep ducks_!’”

II.

“WE have not talked much about politics, eh? And a good thing, too. One only got really well into the atmosphere of political life at Washington; and then, after all, one heard more about literary copyright than anything else. I find I have made a note of a letter I read somewhere recently from an American painter, in support of taxing importations of fine art, more particularly pictures. It seems to me this is a grave mistake. I had no idea that protection, as it is called, existed so generally in America.”

“You have here,” I said, “the extreme of protective duties, as we in England have the other extreme of an unreciprocal free trade.”

“I can understand a reasonable protective tariff for a commercial industry; but art should surely go free. For a country that as yet possesses no great school of painting nor sculpture of her own, to obstruct, nay, almost prohibit, the entry of foreign work, must be to handicap her own rising genius. The examples of the famous masters of Greece and Rome, of France, and Holland, and England, are necessary for the American student, and free traffic in the works of great modern artists would have an elevating tendency on public taste.”

“As a rule American artists are favorable to the free importation of foreign pictures. They favor it from your own stand-point, the educational point of view,” I said.

“Moreover, I can quite imagine American artists who are permitted all the privileges of the art schools and galleries of Europe, and who sell their pictures in the Old World without let or hindrance, being annoyed at the inhospitality of their own country in this respect,” he replied; “Boughton, Bierstadt, Whistler, and other well-known American painters, for example.”

“And so they are, no doubt.”

“As a matter of fact public opinion in the United States, if it could be tested, would, I imagine, be on the side of admitting pictures, _bric-à-brac_, and books without duty; though the progress of what is called the modern free-trade movement is likely rather to retard than advance the interests of a free importation of fine-art productions.”

“In what way?” he asked. “The leading idea of a great reduction of tariffs is in the direction of abolition for protective purposes, a tariff for revenue only. In that case luxuries only would be heavily taxed, and the so-called free-traders, who support this view, would probably count in pictures and _bric-à-brac_ with luxuries.”

“I should call them necessities,” Irving replied; “for the mind and the imagination require feeding just as much as the body. Besides, how are the Americans going to judge of the work of their own painters without comparison, and current daily comparison too, with foreign artists? The stage is as much of a luxury as paintings. Why let the English actor and his artistic baggage and belongings come in? It is a pleasant thing to remember that, under all circumstances, whatever the troubles between the two countries, America has always welcomed English players, and that has given her some of the best theatrical families she has,—the Booths, Jeffersons, Wallacks, and others. If the same enlightened policy in regard to painting, pottery, and _bric-à-brac_ had been carried out in the matter of the stage, we should have seen just as fine an art appreciation applied to pictures as to plays and players. I am sure of it. If the musician and his works, if the opera, had been handicapped as art in other directions is, would America hold her high place in respect of choral societies, orchestral bands? And would she enjoy, as she does, the grand operas that are now produced in all her great cities? No. While, as you know, I claim no other credit for my method of presenting Shakespeare and the legitimate drama upon the stage than a performance of managerial duty, I am quite sure that, had European stage-art and artists been hampered for twenty years by restrictive taxes and other fiscal obstructions, the Lyceum Company and work would not have been welcomed as they have been, wherever we have pitched our tent. The same freedom for paintings would have made Watts, Millais, Tadema, Leighton, Pettie, Leader, Cole, Long, not to mention the works of earlier masters, as familiar here as at home, and would have crowded American homes with examples, original and copies, of the best schools of Europe. Would not that have helped American painters? Of course it would.”

III.

“YOUR work among New England cities,” I said, on his return visit to Brooklyn, “should impress upon you the grim quaintness of the story Mr. Emery Storrs told you concerning the annual festival called the ‘General Muster.’”

“Yes; a queer story, was it not? And, no doubt, characteristic of some of the more remote little towns.”

This is the story:—

The militia muster, once a year, is a celebration peculiar more particularly to New England. It is called the “General Muster.” Each little town comes in with its quota of militia; the bands as numerous as the troops. They make a holiday of it. One afternoon an old couple on the hill-side of the little town go out to catch a glimpse of the festivities. They are old and alone, managing to drag a mere subsistence out of the sour soil. Their children have gone West,—a son here, a daughter there. They are content to spend the winter of their days in the old, hard nest where they have reared their young; old folks, so old!—parchment faces, bony hands. They totter to the town, and rest on the way in the cemetery, or church-yard, and look at the graves as such grizzly veterans will. One of the militia fellows, going home,—he had got fuddled rather earlier than usual,—sees them. “Hello!” he shouts. “Go right back, right back, my friends; _this is not the general resurrection, it is the general muster_!”

“By the way,” said Irving, “did I tell you of the amusing incident that occurred at Philadelphia? It was on the last night of the first visit. We were playing ‘The Belle’s Stratagem.’ You know how difficult it is sometimes to keep the wings clear of people,—goodness knows who they are! Well, my way was continually blocked by a strange-looking crowd. I remonstrated with them once, and they moved; but they were back again. The cue for my entrance during the mad scene was at hand, as I said to these fellows, ‘Who are you? What do you want?’ ‘Baggage!’ exclaimed two of them, both in a breath. I did not know what the deuce baggage meant; whether the reply was a piece of information or a piece of impertinence; so I thought I would astonish them a little. Getting my cue on the instant, I stepped back a yard or two, and dashed in among them, yelling my entrance line, ‘Bring me a pickled elephant!’ They scattered right and left, and fell over each other; but before they had time to defend themselves from what they evidently thought was a furious attack I was on the stage.”

IV.

I HAVE referred to the “theatre parties” of ladies and gentlemen who travelled many miles by railway to be present at the Irving performances. Several invitations to visit distant cities were also given, with guarantees of financial profit. Among these the most interesting and complimentary was a requisition from Kansas City, which is worth printing. I append it, with Irving’s reply:—

WARWICK CLUB, KANSAS CITY, MO., Jan. 4, 1884.

MR. HENRY IRVING:—

_Dear Sir_,—We, the citizens of Kansas City, respectfully request that you honor this city and the West with a professional visit before your return to London. We hold in profound admiration your great histrionic ability and success in the legitimate drama, and your reputation as the leading representative of the English stage.

We will endeavor to make the season both pleasant and profitable to yourself and Miss Terry, the brilliant and accomplished tragedienne. On behalf of one hundred members of the Warwick Club,

Yours, respectfully,

T. C. TRUEBLOOD, _President._

F. E. HOLLAND, _Secretary_.

Alden J. Buthen, “Kansas City Journal”; Morrison Mumford, “Kansas City Times”; George W. Warder, John Taylor, Smith & Rieger, Holman & French, Robert Keith, Cady & Olmstead, D. Austin, George H. Conover, M. H. Shepard, W. B. Wright, John H. Worth, Woolf Bros., C. J. Waples, John Cutt, John Walmsley, John Sorg, J. V. C. Kames, Jos. Cahn, H. N. Eps, Milton Moore, R. O. Boggers, Gardiner Lathrop, B. R. Conklin, W. R. Nelson, Homer Reed, Albert C. Hasty, L. E. Irwin, The Irwin & Eaton Ckg. Co., Meyer Bros. Drug Co., Charles L. Dobson, Fred Howard, James Scammon, A. Holland, H. T. Wright, Jr., N. W. McLain, W. B. Grimes and W. B. Grimes Dry Goods Co., Charles S. Wheeler & F. H. Underwood, Merchants’ Nat’l Bank, A. W. Atmour, W. H. Winants, Henry J. Lotshaw, Web. Withers, W. A. M. Vaughan, B. O. Christakker, F. B. Nopinger, John W. Moore, W. H. Miller, Charles E. Hasbrook, H. H. Craige, Levi Hammersleigh, B. R. Bacon, Morse Bros. & Co.

MY DEAR SIR,—Your invitation, on behalf of one hundred members of the Warwick Club, is one of the most gratifying incidents of a very pleasant tour. I cannot sufficiently thank you for the compliment it conveys to myself, to my sister in art, Miss Terry, and to my entire company. We shall all of us treasure it as a delightful memory of the West, and, for my own part, I shall never be content until I can respond to it as I wish. I hope the day is not far distant when I may be able to visit you and your interesting city. I regret, however, that, so far as the present tour is concerned, Mr. Abbey finds it impossible to change our programme so as to make it fit your most kind and hospitable invitation.

With sincere thanks and good wishes, in which Miss Terry joins,

I am,

HENRY IRVING.

ST. LOUIS, January 7.

V.

“ONE thing I notice about the American cabmen and drivers generally,” said Irving,—“they do not chaff each other as the London men in the same positions do. They don’t appear to be cheerful; don’t discuss among themselves the news of the day; they treat each other as if they were strangers. English people, as a rule, complain of the cab-fares here; but they forget, on the other hand, to say that the cabs, or _coupés_, as they call them, are beautifully appointed vehicles; private broughams, in fact. The only inconvenience is, that unless you make a bargain with a driver beforehand he may charge you, it seems, what he likes. Against that, again, is this set-off: you can order your cab at your hotel, or your club, and have it charged in your bill, and in that case there is no extortion. Each leading hotel and club has telephonic communication with livery stables; and what a comfort that is! Then the messenger system,—one almost wonders how we do without it in London. If London can give New York ‘points’ in some things, New York can certainly return the compliment.”

Asked by a Boston journalist “how he considered he had been treated by his American critics,” Irving said, “I am exceedingly gratified by the intelligent and fair manner in which I have been treated by the press wherever I have gone. The Boston critics have been just and generous to me. Of course I read what the press has to say of my work, and, while I think it is not the proper province of an actor to criticise his critics, I will say generally that I have been pleased to note in how very few instances I have had to encounter on this side of the Atlantic anything in the nature of personal or petty feeling. I have been struck, too, by the power, vigor, and critical acumen which your leading papers, both here and elsewhere, have displayed in passing judgment upon my work and that of my company. I have a feeling that an actor should be content with what he gets, and that it is his duty to accept patiently any reproach, and to profit by it if he can. After all, criticism, if unjust, never harms a man; because any final appeal is always to the public, and, if any wrong is done, their ultimate judgment invariably corrects it.”

VI.

THE “Southern Hotel,” at St. Louis, displayed prominently engraven upon a tablet, near the principal staircase, the dates when it had been burned down and rebuilt. The “Tremont,” at Chicago, recorded on its handsome new building the fact that it had been destroyed by fire, Oct. 27, 1839; July 9, 1849; and Oct. 9, 1871. “Having dwelt upon these dates with a little misgiving,” said a member of Mr. Irving’s company, “some of us felt almost alarmed when, on closing our bedroom doors, a card headed ‘Fire!’ printed in red ink, attracted our attention. I have asked permission to carry one of them away with me, thinking you would like to have it.” The notice is as follows:—

_FIRE! FIRE! FIRE!_

There have been placed in the halls of the Tremont House GONGS, which will be rung by electricity, as an

ALARM IN CASE OF FIRE.

They are under control of the office, and will be set going INSTANTLY, on the slightest alarm, and continue to ring.

This ringing, with the system of calling each room by watchmen stationed on the floors, will insure the speediest alarm to guests it is possible to give in case of accident.

On being awakened, guests and employés will protect themselves, each other, and property, to the greatest possible extent.

There are four RED LANTERNS in each hall, at the corners, showing the Stairways, and at the End of every Corridor outside the building there are IRON LADDER FIRE-ESCAPES to the ground.

Passage along the halls and corridors, if dark and filled with smoke, can be made by crawling close to the floor with the face covered, to prevent the inhalation of smoke and consequent suffocation.

From the Roof and the three stories below it there is access from the service stairs to the tops of the adjoining buildings, making a Way of Escape over the roofs, from Dearborn to State street,—a full block.

JOHN A. RICE & Co.

The fire service at Chicago is, no doubt, the finest and most complete organization in the world. Situated as the city is, on a vast plain, with prairie winds and lake winds that sweep the entire country for hundreds of miles without obstruction, the fire department has to consider, not only the question of extinguishing a conflagration, but protecting the property adjacent to a fire from ignition, in regard to which it has a series of wise precautionary measures. In former days Chicago, like many other American cities, was largely built of wood, and there are still outlying districts of timber houses. There are also enormous lumber-yards in Chicago, which are a source of danger during fires that rage when a high wind is blowing. Not long since Capt. Shaw gave an exhibition to a royal party in London, demonstrating how quickly the engines and fire-escapes can be signalled and despatched to a fire. So far as I remember the time was about fifteen minutes. In Chicago they take less than as many seconds to complete a similar operation. The system of fire-alarms in all American cities is superior to ours, and the arrangements for starting ensure far more expedition. We have a less number of fires in England, many conflagrations taking place in America through carelessness in connection with the furnaces that are used for heating the houses; then shingle roofs are not uncommon in America; and in England the party-walls that separate houses are, as a rule, thicker and higher. This was the explanation which the American consul gave me at Birmingham, England, recently, for the fact that during a whole year in Birmingham (with a population equal to Chicago) every fire that had occurred had been extinguished with a hand-engine and hose; it had not been necessary in a single case to use the steam-engines. In Chicago and other cities the electric signal announcing a fire at the same time releases the horses that are tethered close to the engines, alarms the reclining (sometimes sleeping) firemen in their bunks above, withdraws the bolts of trap-doors in the floor; and by the time the horses are in the shafts and harnessed the men drop from their bunks upon the engine. From a calm interior, occupied by an engine with its fire banked up, and one attendant officer, to a scene of bustle and excitement with an engine, fully equipped, dashing out into the street, is a transformation sufficiently theatrical in its effect to make the fortune of an Adelphi drama.

I once engaged to time the operation with a stopwatch, and before I was fairly ready to count the seconds the engine was in the street and away. These exhibitions of skill, speed, and mechanical contrivance can be seen every day at the quarters of the Fire Insurance Patrol. Chief Bulwinkle is one of the most obliging of officers, and many a famous English name has been inscribed in his visitor’s book.[59]

The method of marshalling the forces of the various brigades in case of a serious fire is interesting. Marshal Swenie explains it in a few words, in answer to a journalistic inquiry:—

“‘There is at each fire-station a running-card in connection with a particular fire-alarm box. All these brigades act on the first alarm. If the fire is in the crowded and costly part of the city not only do the nearest companies go to the fire, but the companies farther off move up. Suppose, for instance, that there is a fire at State and Madison streets, and there are four engine-houses in a straight line, extending in any direction to the city limits, and a mile apart. We will call the company nearest the fire No. 1, the next, No. 2, the next, No. 3, and the one farthest away, No. 4. Now, when No. 1 goes to the fire, No. 2 goes to the engine-house of No. 1 and takes possession; No. 3, in like manner, takes possession of No. 2’s house, and No. 4 of No. 3’s house. If there is a second alarm, No. 2 goes to the fire; No. 3 takes No. 1’s house, and No. 4 takes No. 3’s house. If there is a third alarm, No. 3 goes to the fire, and No. 4 takes No. 1’s house. Moreover, what is done in that one direction is done in every direction.”

“‘What is the object of this?’ asks the interviewing reporter from whom I borrow Marshal Swenie’s information.

“‘The object is to watch most closely the most valuable part of the city. A fire in the heart of the city destroys a hundred times as much property in a given time as a fire in the outskirts; therefore we arrange things so that if any part is to be left without protection it shall be the sparsely settled part.’

“‘Who directs the operation of extinguishing a fire?’

“‘The captain of the company that arrives first on the ground takes command of all the companies that arrive after his until a chief of a battalion arrives; and the chief takes command until the marshal or assistant marshal arrives.’

“‘What is the position of the commanding officer at a fire?’

“‘In front of the fire. By the front I mean to the leeward. A fire is always driven by the wind in one particular direction, and the marshal or commanding officer will always be found, therefore, where the fire is the hottest.’

“‘How do you communicate your orders in such a noise and excitement as there were, for instance, at the Bradner Smith & Co. fire?’

“‘Partly by messengers and partly by signals. The signals, however, are very few, and are made with a lantern. If the lantern is moved up and down it means that more pressure is needed on the stream; if it is moved horizontally it means that less is needed; and if it is swung around in a circle it means “take up,” or stop work altogether.’

“‘What does the whistling of the engine mean?’

“‘It means that they need more coal. They take with them fuel enough to last them half an hour, and by that time the coal-wagons are due.’

“‘Do you ever have any difficulty with your men on the score of cowardice?’

“‘Not any; but I have a world of difficulty in the other direction. The ambition, rivalry, and _esprit du corps_ of the force are so great that I have the greatest difficulty in restraining the men from throwing away their lives in the most reckless manner. If I ever need to have a man go into a very dangerous position all I have to do is to send two there. As soon as they start each one insists on going a few feet farther than the other, and the result is that both of them become willing to walk into the fire. There is also very little shirking in the force. Once in a long time a man gets suspected of shirking, and the way that is cured is, he is given the pipe to hold at every fire, and four men are put behind him to shove him in.’

“‘What are the greatest obstacles to be overcome in extinguishing a fire?’

“‘Smoke and hot air. I have known the air in burning buildings to get so hot that two inhalations of it would kill a man. As to smoke, we use a kind of respirator; but it doesn’t do a great deal of good. Our main hope is in ventilating the premises and letting out the smoke. If it wasn’t for the smoke it would be very easy to put out fires.’

“‘Do you find that a fireman is short-lived?’

“‘I can’t say I do. So far as I can see they are a healthy, long-lived class, when they don’t get mangled and killed at their work.’”

VII.

“DO you remember the poetic speech, in verse and prose, that William Winter[60] made at the banquet in Lafayette place?” I asked.

“Yes, indeed,” Irving replied. “The two stanzas with which he introduced it were singularly musical, I thought.”

“Here they are. I wanted him to write out the heads of his speech for me; but he had only written down his verses, and here they are, as dainty as they are fraternal.

I.

“‘If we could win from Shakespeare’s river
The music of its murmuring flow,
With all the wild-bird notes that quiver
Where Avon’s scarlet meadows glow;
If we could twine with joy at meeting
Their prayers who lately grieved to part,
Ah, then, indeed, our song of greeting
Might find an echo in his heart!

II.

“‘But since we cannot in our singing
That music and those prayers entwine,
At least, we’ll set our blue-bells ringing,
And he shall hear our whispering pine;
And there shall breathe a welcome royal,
In accents tender, sweet, and kind,
From lips as fond and hearts as loyal
As any that he left behind.’”

Among the curious notices, serious and humorous, which were posted in the offices and dressing-rooms of the various theatres, the following satirical regulations are somewhat incongruous when considered with the handsome furniture which generally belongs to managerial rooms in America:—

OFFICE RULES.

1. Gentlemen entering this office will please leave the door open.

2. Those having no business should remain as long as possible, take a chair and lean against the wall,—it will prevent it falling upon us.

3. Gentlemen are requested to smoke, particularly during office hours. Tobacco and cigars will be furnished.

4. Spit on the floor,—the spittoons are merely for ornament.

5. Talk loud or whistle, particularly when we are engaged; if this does not have the desired effect, SING.

6. Put your feet on the table, or lean against the desk; it will be a great benefit to those who are using it.

7. Persons having no business with this office will please call again when they can’t stay so long.

VIII.

“WILL you please tell me about the report, cabled from London to the American press, that you propose to stand for Parliament, in the Liberal interest, on your return to England?” asked a journalistic interviewer, at Boston.

“I can only say that the report is entirely unfounded. It arose, I imagine, from my election to the Reform Club. You know they do occasionally elect out-of-the-way fellows, such as I am, in the matter of politics. The welcome news reached me last night in my dressing-room at the theatre. To be elected in my absence adds to the pleasure of the thing. I have only that interest in politics which all honest men should have, but it exists only under my own roof. I do not think artists should mix up in politics. Art is my vocation, and I confine myself to it.”

“Then, I assume, you have never cherished political aspirations.”

“Oh, no, never! In fact I should be totally unfit for Parliament. I am not eloquent, and should be unfit in other ways. We do not look upon politics in England as you do here. Here political life is an avenue to office and to emoluments, in a broader and deeper sense than is possible in England, and many choose the law as a profession with a view to politics. Do they not? It is not so with us. A seat in the House of Commons, as a rule, involves great expense, as well as a claim upon a man’s time; and he may sit there all his life, if he is returned often enough, and spend every year a large income, socially in London, and locally on charities, hospitals, reading-rooms, churches and chapels, among his constituents. We do not pay our representatives salaries; and I believe, particularly in the country, the constituencies watch with the greatest jealousy every vote a member records. The House of Commons is not a bed of roses.”