There was a long pause. Then with studied indifference of inflection he continued:—

"I reckon my leetle bisness with the young 'squire kin wait without mouldin' over night. I thes reckon hit wouldn't be edzackly bes' fer ter discuss hit with nobody else," and he inserted the straw between his teeth with great care and precision, and took his high stepping way toward the Ridge, secure in his self-esteem and approbation in that not even the wiles of a lady of the position of the young 'squire's mother could betray him into divulging his secret. For, after all, she was but a woman, and—well—this whole matter was a question of "proppity," and therefore quite beyond her capacity.

As he disappeared over the hill, his straw havelock flapping gently in the wind, and his vest spread wide against his pendent arms, the young 'squire's mother laughed gently and said:—

"Poor Sabrina, she is a little weaker minded than Jeb, and Jeb is a kind soul in his way. We must let the judge know the trouble, and see if some honest and capable person cannot be found to handle that 'proppity' and not squander, too recklessly, the two dollars and eleven cents in the months that are to come. The life of an heiress is, indeed, beset with pitfalls even among the Ridgers."



THE BROOK.

BY P. H. S.

I love the gentle music of the brook, Its solitary, meditative song. On every hill Some stream has birth, Some lyric rill, To wake the selfish earth, And smile and toss the heavens their shining look, Repeat and every flash of life prolong. In spite of play, Along its cheerful way It turns to rest beneath some sheltering tree In richer beauty; Or at call of duty Leaps forth into a cry of ecstacy, And sings that work is best, In brighter colors drest Runs on its way, Nor longer wills to stay Than but to see itself that it is fair,— Thou happy brook, true brother to the air.

I fear the steady death-roar of the sea, Its sullen, never-changing undertone; Round all the land It clasps its heavy strength, A liquid band Of world-unending length, And ever chants a wild monotony, A change between a low cry and a moan. The earth is glad, The sea alone is sad; Its swelling surge it rolls against the shore In mammoth anger; Or, in weary languor, Beaten, it whines that it can rage no more, And sinks to treacherous rest, While from the happy west The sun is glad; The sea alone is sad. Its voice has messages nor words for me, All, all is pitched in one low minor key.

Then take my heart upon thy dancing stream, O tiny brook, thou bearest my heart away. Run gently past The breaking of the stones, Nor yet too fast; And on thy perfect tones Bear thou my discord life that I may seem A harmony for one short hour to-day. Why wilt thou, brook, Not check thy forward look? Why wilt thou, brook, not make my heart thine own? The wild commotion Of the frantic ocean Will madden thee and drown thy sorry moan, And none will hear the cry; Then run more slowly by— Nay, for this nook Was made for thee, my brook, Stay with me here beneath this silver shade And think this day for thee and me was made.

Thy present sweetness will be turned to brine; Thou'lt hardly make one petty, paltry wave. Lovest thou the sun? He will not know thee there. Is't sweet to run, Know thine own whence and where? 'Tis here thy joy, thy love, thy life are thine; There thou wilt neither be, nor do, nor have. The mighty sea Will blindly number thee To bear the ships, send thee to shape the shore That thou art scorning; Or some awful morning, Set thee to pluck some sailor from his oar And drink his weary life; O fear this chance of strife! Or what may be Else, dead monotony. Give o'er thy headlong haste, dwell here with me, Why lose thyself in the vast, hungry sea?

These thoughts I cast into the wiser stream, And lay and heard it run the hours away; And then above The beauty and the peace, It sang of love; And in that glad release I knew my thoughts had run beyond my dream, Had seen the laboring river and the bay. "'Tis joy to run! Else life would ne'er be done, I ne'er should know the triumphing of death, Nor its revealing; Nor the eager feeling Of fuller life, the promise of the breath That fleets the open sea: All this was given to me Once as I won My first great leap; the sun I knew my king, and laughed, and since that day I run and sing; he wills, and I obey."



EDITORIAL NOTES.

OPTIMISM, REAL AND FALSE.

Much has been written of late about the pessimistic spirit pervading modern reformative literature. When an earnest writer presents a gloomy picture of life as it really is, he is frequently judged by that most shallow of all standards, "Is it pleasing or amusing?" His fidelity to the ideal of truth is often overlooked or dismissed with a flippant word. We all know that great and dangerous evils exist and menace our civilization. They are growing under the fostering influence of the "conspiracy of silence"; yet we are seriously informed that we must not expose them to view; that there is so much tragedy in real life that society should not be annoyed by sombre pictures in fiction or the drama. "Prophesy to us smooth things or hold thy peace," is the tenor of much of the criticism of the hour. Optimism is at present a popular Shibboleth, hence many thoughtlessly echo the cry against every exposure of growing evils. Writers who are popularly known as optimists belong mainly to three classes. Those who after a general survey of life become thorough pessimists, believing that the social, economic, religious, and ethical problems can never be justly or equitably solved; that in the weary age long struggle of right against might, of justice against greed, of liberty against slavery, of truth against error, the baser will win the battle, because there is more evil than good present in the world, and therefore, it being useless to break with the established order, assume a cheerful tone, crying down all efforts to unmask the widespread and ever-increasing evils which are festering under the cover of silence, and in substance urge us to eat, drink, and be merry, taking no thought for the morrow or for the generations which are to follow us.

A second class, comparing the ignorance, superstition, brutality, and inhumanity of the past with life to-day, arrive at the conclusion that the nineteenth century is the flower of all the preceding ages, which is true. That the present, registering the high-tide water-mark of the centuries, is to be extolled rather than assaulted, and all efforts to create discontent are unwise, and should be frowned upon. The mistake of these individuals lies in the fact that they fail to see that the chief cause of humanity's triumphs is found in the works performed by those thinkers who in all ages have corresponded to the persons flippantly characterized pessimists at the present time: they who have assailed the existing order of things, who have thrown into the congregation of the people the shells of doubt; who have confronted the priests and potentates of conventionalism with a disturbing "Why"; who have compelled the people to think.

A third class of writers who pitch their thoughts in a hopeful key, appreciate the injustice of much that is accepted by conventional thought as right, or which is tolerated by virtue of its antiquity, but seeing the profound agitation which a thoughtful and earnest presentation of the evils of the hour produces in the public mind, they have become alarmed, fearing lest the rising tide of angry discontent sweep away much that is good, true, and beautiful, in its blind attempt to right existing wrongs, and inaugurate an era of justice. Old institutions, ancient and revered thought, accepted lines of policy, even when palpably unjust, are safer, they urge, than the sudden blinding light of justice, the instantaneous widening of the horizon of popular thought. The strong light of a new era thrown suddenly upon the foul, monstrous and iniquitous systems in vogue, the awakening of the public mind to the enormity of the injustice, hypocrisy, and immorality of respectable conservatism of to-day will turn the brain of the people—they will become mad; a second French Revolution will ensue—such is their fear, and from a superficial view their apprehensions seem reasonable. Their error lies in the fact that the horrors of the French Revolution were the legitimate result of a policy exactly analogous to what they are pursuing. It arose from justice long deferred; from wrongs endured for generations. It was the concentrated wrath of the people who for many decades had been oppressed by Church, by nobility, and by the crown. Though the motives are entirely different, these writers, in striving to procrastinate the feud of justice against entrenched power and established customs, are acting on the lines of Louis XV., who, when told that a revolution would burst forth in France, inquired, "How many years hence?" "Fifteen or twenty, sire," was the reply. "Well, I shall be dead then; let my successor look out for that." So in seeking to put off just and rightful demands, these short-sighted philosophers lose sight of the fact that the longer justice is exiled from the throne of power, the more terrible will be the reckoning when it comes. Yet history teaches no lesson more impressively, unless it be that a question involving justice once raised will never be settled until right has been vindicated.

Those reformers, on the other hand, who have been popularly credited with sounding a pessimistic note in all their writings, by virtue of their fidelity to actual conditions and prevailing customs, are chiefly optimists in the truest sense of the word. They are men and women who believe profoundly in the triumph of right, liberty, and justice. Their faces are set toward the morning. The glorious ideals that float before and beyond the present have beamed upon their earnest gaze. They have traced the ascent of humanity through the ages; they have noted the slow march, the weary struggle from age to age of the old against the new, of dawn against night, of progress against conservatism, but they have also seen that the trend has been onward and upward, and what is far more important, they have noted that the prophets, sages, and reformers,—in a word, the advance guard, who have blazed the pathway and opened the vista to broader and nobler conceptions of justice and liberty, have been those who have assailed the popular conventionality of their times; who have been denounced as enemies to social order, as dangerous pessimists and wreckers of civilization. But they have also observed that these honest and far-sighted spirits have set in motion the thought that has borne humanity upward into a more radiant estate. Furthermore, they realize that only by a fearless denunciation of existing evils, by faithful though gloomy pictures of life as it is, by raising the interrogation point after every wrong or unjust condition sanctioned by virtue of its antiquity and conservatism and by appealing to the reason and conscience of the people has humanity been elevated. They have studied the problem of human progress profoundly; they have strong faith in the triumph of justice, but they realize that victory can never be attained as long as conventionalism lulls to sleep the public conscience. They know that only by bringing the truth effectively before the people, only by raising questions and stimulating the mind can reforms be inaugurated. The present calls for honest thought, for true pictures, for brave and earnest agitators. Give us these, and humanity will soon take another of those great epoch making strides which at intervals have marked the ascent of man.

THE PESSIMISTIC CAST OF MODERN THOUGHT.

Much of the best thought of to-day necessarily takes on a gloomy cast, because the most wise and earnest reformers keenly realize the giant wrongs that oppress humanity. They see the splendid possibilities floating before mankind, even within the grasp of the rising generation, if the heralds of the coming day are courageous and persistent; if they sink all hope of popularity, all thought of self-interest; if they are loyal to their highest impulses, regardless of what may follow.

The era of the questioner has arrived. Soon mankind will refuse to accept anything simply because others believed it. Traditions and ancient thought, though weighed down with credentials of past ages or dead civilizations, will be cast aside. All problems will be weighed in the scales of the broader conception of justice which is daily growing in the mind of man. The twilight is passing, the dawn is upon us, and to-morrow will be indebted chiefly to these true brave men and women whom the superficial call pessimists, for the glorious heritage which will fall to humanity; for they are related to the manifold reforms which crowd upon the present, as were Copernicus and Galileo related to the science of astronomy, as Luther was to the Reformation, Jefferson to modern Democracy, as Wilberforce in England and Garrison in America to the overthrow of black slavery. They denounce the iniquity of the present hour; they unmask the carefully concealed evils which are undermining public morals; they demand a higher standard of life. If they aim to destroy the old wooden building, it is because they see around them not only the quarried stone, the mortar and iron beams, but a million hands waiting to erect upon the ruins of the old a nobler structure than humanity has yet beheld.



Transcriber's Note: The page numbers in the Table of Contents have been converted to issues in the following way:

Issue Pages June, 1891 1-128 July, 1891 129-256 August, 1891 257-384 September, 1891 385-512 October, 1891 513-640 November, 1891 641-768 Index to 4th Volume 769-771

Please note that the November issue's Contents are as printed, although the issue does have more articles than stated.

Also, the illustrations are shown in the correct issue, but may be in a slightly different order than that listed.

THE END