ALIF-LAILA.

THE ORIGIN OF THE "SERIAL."

The monthly magazine, as known to our Western civilization, dates, of course, from a period this side of the re-invention of printing in Europe, or of what Bishop Whately wisely calls the introduction of paper in the West. Our sets of monthlies, bi-monthlies, and semi-monthlies only run back a hundred or two years, therefore—to the joy of librarians, to whom, be it confessed, they bring misery untold.

But in the East, where printing has existed so long that the memory of man goes not to the contrary, it is almost impossible to say how far back was the introduction of the monthly literary magazine. This publication was accompanied with certain advantages and certain disadvantages, which sprang from the peculiarities of the Eastern calendar. The Eastern month being lunar, the magazine, if accuracy were consulted, had to be issued once in twenty-nine days, twelve hours, and forty-four minutes. On the other hand, the people of the East are less exacting or precise than we are in their estimates of time; and in the long run, if they had thirteen monthlies in one year, and twelve in each of the next two years, it generally proved that subscribers were satisfied.

There is a story of two of these early magazines—universally known through the East, where, indeed, it is told in many exaggerated and impossible forms—which is worth repeating for Western readers not yet familiar with it. It gives both instruction and warning in an age in which every boy in college, and every girl in a "female seminary," regards magazine-writing as the chief end of man and of woman,—an age in which editors are feeling round, somewhat blindly, to know what their rights may be, or whether, in fact, they have any rights, which is doubtful. The story simply told, without any of the absurd adornments which are put upon it in the East, teaches all men how some of the most difficult editorial questions were decided there, and what are the delicate relations between contributors and the public.

Far back in the period of mythical history in the East two brothers, men of spirit, tact, shrewdness, and literary culture, conducted at the same time two monthly magazines. The offices of publication were so far from each other, and the "constituencies" were so different, that the two journals did not in the least interfere with each other. Those were in the happy days when there were no mails; and each magazine had its own staff and its own contributors, the one set skilled in the language and literature of Tartary, and the other in those of India. Though the two brothers loved each other, they seldom exchanged letters, and the chosen contributors of one journal never sent articles to the other.

One of these magazines, called the "Friend of the City," in their queer Eastern way, was published at Delhi. The other, called the "King of the Age," was published at Samarcand. Each of them achieved great popularity, and, by virtue of its popularity, great power. At Delhi, in particular, the editor became the real controlling power in the city, and in what we call the kingdom. Not but what there was some kind of a sachem or mikado, who in after ages would have been called a sultan or an emperor, who did not edit the magazine, but was kept for or by his sins in a certain prison, which he called a palace, which stood where Shah Jehan long after built his magnificent abode. But this poor dog of a mikado had nothing to do with the real government. He had to put his seal to a good many documents, and he had to settle a horrible mess of quarrels among his servants and harem people every day; and sometimes he had the bore of turning out in the hot sun, with umbrellas and elephants and bands of music, and so on, to receive some foreign embassy. This he called reigning, and a very stupid life it was, and very hard work did it bring upon him. But all the fun of command, all the real disposition of the forces of Delhi and that country, and all the comfort of life which comes from success and the "joy of eventful living," these came, not to this poor shah, mogul, sultan, emperor, or sachem, or whatever you choose to call him, but to the editor of the "Friend of the City." He drove his span of horses when he chose and as he chose, he sent the army where he chose when he chose, and he dictated the terms of the treaties with the foreign powers. All this he did because he had a large subscription list and he edited well.

With similar success, though with some difference in form, his younger brother edited the "King of the Age" at distant Samarcand. Now you ought to know, dear reader, what I am sorry to say you do not know, that Samarcand is far, far away from Delhi. It is more than a thousand miles, were a carrier-dove flying to his love in Delhi from his cage in Samarcand; and when you come to tedious travelling by camels and horses and asses—why, there are rivers and mountains between, and the ways, such as they are, turn hither and thither, so that the journey is two thousand miles or more. All the same, the editor of the "Friend of the City" dearly loved his brother who edited the "King of the Age"; and after they had been parted twenty years, he felt so strong a desire to see this brother that he directed his chief assistant editor to repair to him at Samarcand and to bring him.

Having taken the advice of this sub-editor, who was a more practical person than he was, he gave orders to prepare handsome presents, such as horses adorned with costly jewels, and mamelukes and beautiful virgins, and the most expensive stuffs of India. He then wrote a letter to his brother, in which he told him how eager he was to see him; and having sealed it and given it to the sub-editor, together with the presents, he bade him strain his nerves and tuck up his skirts, and go and return as quickly as possible. The sub-editor answered, "I hear, and I obey." He packed his baggage and made ready his provisions in three days, and on the fourth day he departed and went toward the wastes and the mountains. He travelled night and day. The different news-agents in the provinces where he stopped came forth to meet him with costly presents and gifts of gold and silver, and accounts of sales and orders for back numbers and bound volumes, and each news-agent accompanied the sub-editor one day's journey. Thus he continued until he approached the city of Samarcand, when he sent forward a messenger to the editor of the "King of the Age" to inform him of his approach. The messenger entered the city, inquired the way to the office, and introducing himself to the editor, kissed the ground before him, and acquainted him with the approach of his brother's sub-editor. On this the editor ordered all his staff, with the proof-readers and publishers, to go forth a day's journey to meet him, and they did so. And when they met him, they welcomed him and walked by his stirrups till they returned into the city. The messenger from Delhi then delivered his chief's letter. The Samarcand editor took it, read it, and understood its contents. "But," said he to the messenger, "I will not go till I have entertained thee three days." He therefore lodged him in a palace befitting his rank, accommodated all his suite in tents, and appointed all things requisite in food and drink, and for three days they feasted. His New-Year's number was just printed, and having got that off his hands, on the fourth day he equipped himself for the journey, and collected presents suitable to his brother's dignity.

Having completed these preparations, he left the charge of the magazine with his chief of staff, and set out for his visit to his brother. As is the custom in the East, the caravan encamped a mile from the city to make sure that nothing was forgotten. It occurred to the Samarcand brother, after his evening meal, that it would be well to take with him an early copy of the New-Year's number in advance to his brother, as they were not yet delivered to the trade. He mounted his horse, therefore, and rode back to the city, and to save himself from going to the office, he stopped near the gates, at the house of one of his chief contributors—a young lady of great promise, whose reputation had been manufactured, indeed, by the "King of the Age"—to ask her, for the "early copy" which had been sent to her because she had some verses in it.

What did he see as he entered the house but that this false woman was giving a sealed letter to a negro slave. He seized it, he tore it open, and found that it was a copy of verses which she had written and addressed to the "Fountain of Light," which was the rival magazine in Samarcand. On beholding this, the world became black before his eyes. He said to himself, "If this happens when I have not departed from the city, what will not this vile woman do while I am sojourning with my brother?" He then drew his cimeter and cut off her head, as she fell at his knees for pardon. He took from her table the early copy of the "King of the Age," gave orders for departure, and journeyed to the city of Delhi.

As they approached Delhi, the "Friend of the City," or the editor of that journal, came out to meet them, and welcomed his brother with the utmost delight. He then ordered that the city should be decorated for the occasion. But the mind of his brother was distracted by reflections upon the conduct of his favorite contributor. Excessive grief took possession of him, and his countenance became sallow and his frame emaciated. His brother observed these symptoms of a mind ill at ease, and asked him the cause. "O my brother," he replied, "I have an inward wound"; but he explained not to him the cause. His host then proposed a great press excursion on the Jumna, which he hoped might cheer his brother's mind. But after all the preparations had been made, he was destined to suffer disappointment, his brother being so ill that the party proceeded without him.

After they had gone, the poor sufferer from Samarcand sat in his beautiful apartment in his brother's palace, and to divert his mind, looked out into the garden. Scarcely was the excursion party gone, when a gay, laughing party of young men and women came into the garden, whom he recognized at once as being the contributors to his brother's magazine, all of whom had been introduced to him at a collation the day before. He was interested to see their proceedings. They entertained themselves in the garden; and the favorite contributor of all, a lady celebrated through India for her short stories, sat down by a fountain, clapped her hands, and cried, "Masoud! Masoud!" Now Masoud was the editor of the "Pearl of Wit," which was an upstart magazine, the hated rival of the "Friend of the City." In a moment he came in, led by two mamelukes, who made prostrations before him; and he bowed to the chief contributor, and sat at her feet. Then she drew from her pocket a little roll of vellum, and read to him and to all the others a short story of only six thousand words. And all the contributors applauded, some from sympathy and some to conceal their jealousy. But Masoud applauded most of all, and took the roll, and hung around her neck a necklace of diamonds. Then all the other contributors read articles in turn; and Masoud took an article from each, and to each he gave either a purse of gold or a bracelet or a diamond, according to the reputation before the public of each contributor. Now all these reputations had been made by the advertising clerk of the "Friend of the City."

When, therefore, the Samarcand editor saw from his window these shameless proceedings, his heart warmed gladly within him. "By Allah!" he exclaimed, "my affliction is lighter than this affliction!" His grief was soothed, and he no longer abstained from food and drink.

And so it fell out that when, after five days, his brother returned from the excursion, he was delighted to find that his brother guest was cheerful and well. His face had recovered its color, and he ate with appetite. "O my brother," he cried, "how is this change? Acquaint me with thy condition." Then his brother took him on one side, away from the staff, from the mamelukes and the publishers, and told him all. The Delhi editor could not believe the tale. But the next day he made as if he would go on an excursion with the Board of Trade; and no sooner had the party left the city than he returned to his palace in disguise, and then, looking from the window as his brother had done, he saw a like sight: the contributors were all reading their articles, and selling them to Masoud and other editors of rival magazines.

As soon as the editor saw this, he wrote a note to the chief contributor, and asked her to call at the office the next day. So soon as she entered, he charged her with her guilt; and before the miserable creature could reply, he drew his cimeter and cut off her head. He then sent shorter notes to the lesser contributors; and as each one entered the office, he explained briefly that he knew all, and, with his own hand, beheaded him. He then ordered the porters and janitors to throw the heads and bodies into the Jumna, and, with his brother's assistance, he called in a new circle of new contributors, and made up the next number of the "Friend of the City" from their poems and articles. The director of advertisements and of press criticisms manufactured reputations for them all, and the number was pronounced the most brilliant number of the "Friend of the City" which had ever been published.

Then the editor sent advance copies to each of these contributors, and asked them to call at the office the next morning. As each one called, the editor drew his cimeter and cut off the contributor's head. He then called the porters and janitors, and bade them throw the carcasses and heads into the Jumna, and proceeded to make up the next number. And thus he did for three years.

As the third year passed, however, the assistant editors began to observe that there was a certain difficulty in collecting poems and articles. Nay, it was even whispered that in the publication office they feared that the magazine was losing popularity. The rumors from the publication office were not often permitted to exhale in the editorial rooms. But still there was a suspicion that from the homes of the authors, who had been cut short so summarily, there was going out a sort of public opinion unfavorable to the renewal of subscriptions. As for authors, for some time they presented themselves freely. Each poet and each story-writer was quite sure that her communication was so much better than anything which had ever been written before that they all moved up to the fatal edge of publication with serenity, each quite sure that for herself the rule would be reversed, and each quite sure that the others deserved decapitation. But, as has been said, after three years the steady supply of articles was a little checked, perhaps because a rumor was put in circulation by the conductors of the "Pearl of Wit" that the editor of the "Friend of the City" was crazy, and could not if he would, and would not if he could, tell a bad article from a good one.

All these rumors and contingencies made the position of the sub-editor very uncomfortable as the third year drew to a close. He had to make up each number all the same, and he had to direct the chief of the advertisements how to make the reputations of the authors. But really the authors were so short-lived now that the reputations were scarcely worth the making.

Of this remarkable man the name unfortunately is lost. But, happily for literature and for posterity, he had two remarkable daughters, of whom the eldest has won an extraordinary reputation in the East, where she stands, indeed, at the very head of literature. At the period with which this history deals she was young and beautiful. She had a courage above her sex, remarkable penetration, and genius unbounded. She had read everything, and her memory was so wonderful that of all she had read she forgot nothing. She had studied history, philosophy, medicine, and the arts, and her verses were acknowledged to be better than those of the most distinguished poets of her time. As has been said, her beauty was ravishing, and her amiability and her virtue rivalled her wit, her memory, her prudence, her accomplishments, and her personal loveliness.

One day, when the sub-editor had white paper before him, wondering how he should make up the "schedule" for his next number, this lovely girl came to him and said, "Papa, grant me a boon!" and she kissed him.

And he said, "A thousand, my darling."

"Though they should cost you the half of your kingdom, papa?"

"Though they should cost me the whole, my darling," said the fond father rashly.

The girl clapped her hands and cried, "Victory! victory! Papa, I want to write the first article for the next number of the 'Friend of the City.'"

Oh, how agonized was her poor father! How he begged her to release him from his fatal promise! but in vain. The girl was determined. She had her father's word, and she would not let him go.

"Dear child," he said, "have you lost your senses? You know that the chief cuts off the head of each contributor as soon as she has received the advanced copy of the magazine. Do you really ask me to offer you to the knife?"

"Yes, papa," said the brave girl; "I know all the danger that I run, and it does not deter me. If I die, my death will be glorious. If I live, I save my country."

And at last the wretched father, driven to a partial consent by his daughter's firmness, went to the editor-in-chief with the schedule of the number for his approval, and showed to him that the first article on the fatal list, namely,

"THE TRAVELLING MERCHANT,"

was

"BY SCHEHEREZADE."

The editor knew the name full well, and he knew that the author was the sub-editor's daughter.

"Dog," said he, "do you suppose that because I am fond of you and use you, I shall spare your cursed house more than any other house in Delhi?"

The poor sub-editor, all in tears, said that he had no such hope.

"Be not deceived," said the editor. "When you bring to me your daughter Scheherezade's article, you take her life with your own hands."

"Sir," said the sub-editor, "I hear and I obey. My heart will break, but I shall obey you. Nature will murmur, but I know my place, and you will see that the proofs are well read and that my hands do not flinch." The editor accepted his promise, and bade him bring the article when he pleased.

Quite in time for the first or illustrated form, the sub-editor brought in the article, with a series of spirited illustrations, drawn on the block by Dinarzade, the sister of the virgin martyr Scheherezade. This celebrated article has never been fully printed in Western journals till now, although it has attained great celebrity all over the world, and has often been printed in abridged forms. The following is a more complete and correct version of it than we have found elsewhere:—

THE TRAVELLING MERCHANT.

Once upon a time there was a rich merchant, wonderfully successful in his dealings, who had great store of goods of all sorts, of money also, and of women, children, and all sorts of slaves, as well as of houses, warehouses, and lands. And he had this wealth not only at home, but in all the countries of the world. He had to make journeys sometimes, so that he might see his factors and correspondents face to face. And once, when he was obliged to go and collect some money, he took his scrip or travel-bag, and packed in it some biscuit and some dates of Mecca for provision for the journey, because he would have in some places to pass over deserts. And so he mounted his horse and set out upon his journey. God gave him good success in his travelling. He came prosperously to the place he sought, he finished his business prosperously, and prosperously he set out upon his return.

After he had travelled three days toward home, the fourth day was very hot. And the merchant was so much distressed by the heat that he turned aside into a garden by the wayside to rest himself under the shade of some trees he saw there. He made his resting place under the shade of a large nut-tree, he fastened his horse so that he could not run, and then opening his scrip, he took out one or two biscuits and a few dates to make a meal. He ate the biscuits and the dates, and threw the date-stones right and left upon the ground. Then, having satisfied himself with his frugal repast, he stood up and washed himself, and then knelt down and said his prayers.

He had not finished his prayers, but was still upon his knees, when he saw before him an immense genie, so large that while his feet were on the ground, his head was in the clouds, and so old that he was white with age. He held in his hand a long drawn sword, and before the merchant could move, the genie cried out to him,—

"Stand up, that I may kill you with this sword, as you have killed my son!"

When the merchant heard these words of horror he was terrified by them as much as he had been at the sight of the monster; but in the midst of his terror he stammered out, "O my lord, what is my crime? why do you kill me?"

Then the genie replied again, "I will kill you, as you have killed my son."

Then the merchant said, "Who has killed your son?"

And the genie answered, "You."

"O my lord," said the poor merchant, "I never saw your son, and I do not know who he is."

But the genie said, "You have killed him."

Then the merchant said, "My lord, by the living Allah, I have not killed him. How and where and when did I kill him?"

The genie answered him, "Did you not lie down when you came into the garden? Did you not take dates out of your travel-bag, did you not eat the dates, and did you not throw the stones about, some on the left side and some on the right?"

"It is true, my lord," said the merchant; "I did as you say."

"Very well," said the genie, "and so you killed my son; for my son was passing by just then, and as you threw the date-stones, one of them struck him and killed him. Does not the law say, 'Whoso killeth another, shall be killed in turn'?"

"Verily, this is the law," said the merchant; "but indeed, indeed, my lord, I did not kill your son; or, if I killed him, I call upon Allah to witness, without Whom is no might and no wisdom, that I did it unwittingly. Forgive me, my lord, oh, forgive me if I have done this thing!"

"No," said the genie; "surely you must die."

So saying, he seized the merchant and threw him upon the ground. Then he lifted his great sword into the air again and held it ready to strike. The poor merchant thought of his home and family, of his wives and his little ones. He thought he had not a moment more to live, and he shed such floods of tears that his clothes were wet with the moisture.

He cried again, "There is no power nor might but with the infinite Allah alone!" and then he repeated the following verses:—

When the merchant had finished these verses, and had wept to his heart's content, the genie, who had waited through it all, said, "It is enough; now I must kill you."

"What!" said the merchant, "will nothing change you?"

"Nothing," said the genie. "You must die."

TO BE CONTINUED.

These last words were emblazoned in a beautiful scroll of Dinarzade's most perfect designing.

The editor of the "Friend of the City" was not accustomed, himself, to read manuscripts, proofs, or revises, unless the articles were his own. He first saw the articles of the sub-editor and contributors in plate-proof. When the plate-proofs of this number were brought to him he began at once on the story of the merchant. He read it with unaffected, not to say unwonted, interest. When he turned the last page, he said to himself, "However will she wind it up in so few lines?" And when he came to the masterpiece of Scheherezade's success and of Dinarzade's art, he laid down the sheets with a mingled feeling not easily described. His cruelty was foiled. But of that he thought little. His curiosity was piqued. A jaded editor of twenty-three years' experience was curious for adénouement. But of this he thought little. For not one moment did he think of taking the author's blood. He saw too clearly the future of the magazine. In short, every other emotion sank within him before the profound awe which overwhelmed his being. The editor looked down the ages. He saw that his magazine might last forever. For in that series of plate-proofs the SERIALwas born.

From that moment the position of the lovely Scheherezade and her accomplished sister Dinarzade on that magazine was secure. That single serial ran twenty-seven years, through one thousand and one numbers, and was known through the East as "Alif-Laila." Long before it ended, other serials had been begun, and no citizen of Delhi or the neighborhood ever subscribed for the "Friend of the City" but he continued his subscription for generation after generation.

The tales of Scheherezade have been collected, as is well known, in endless editions, and translated into all languages. The languages of the East are so little understood that the names of the magazines have in time been transferred to the two editors. The "Friend of the City" in Arabic is "Shahriar," and that name in varied spelling is generally given to the editor of that print. His brother, by a similar oversight, is usually called "Shahzeban," which word means the "King of the Age."

But these names are forgotten, as they should be. The name which is remembered is that of the lovely and virtuous Scheherezade, the savior of her country, who, to her other titles to the gratitude of men, adds this,—that she invented the Serial.

President Madison was fond of telling the story of a visit made to him by one of his supporters. After due introductory discussion of the weather and the state of parties, the voter explained to the President that he had called upon him to ask for the office of Chief Justice of the United States.

Mr. Madison was a little surprised; but, with that ready tact which he had brought from his diplomatic experience, he concealed his astonishment. He took down the volume which contained the Constitution of the United States, and explained to this Mr. Swearingin—if that were his name—that the judges held office on the tenure of good behavior, and that Judge Marshall, then the ornament of the bench, could not be removed to make place for him.

Mr. Swearingin received the announcement quietly; and, after a moment, said he thought he should like to be Secretary of State.

The President said that that was undoubtedly a place where a man could do good service to the country; but that Monroe, like Mr. Swearingin and himself, was a Virginian; and he did not like to remove him.

"Then," said Mr. Swearingin, "I will be Secretary of the Treasury."

Unfortunately, the President said, the present incumbent was a Pennsylvanian: it was necessary to conciliate Pennsylvania; and he could not remove him.

"Then," said Mr. Swearingin, "I think I will go abroad. I should like to go to France."

"Do you speak French?" asked the President kindly.

"No, no; I speak nothing but Old Dominion English,—good enough for me, Mr. President."

"Yes, yes; and for me. But I don't think it will do to send you to the Mounseers, unless you can speak their language."

"Then I'll go to England."

"Ah, Mr. Swearingin, that will never do! King George might remember how often your father snapped his rifle at Lord Cornwallis."

So Europe was exhausted. And Mr. Swearingin fell back on one and another collectorship, naval office, district-attorneyship; but for each application, the astute President had his reply.

"I think, then, Mr. President, I will be postmaster at our office at home."

Mr. Madison had forgotten where that was; but, learning that it was at Slate Creek, Four Corners, Botetourt County, Virginia, he sent for the register. Alas! it proved that the office was in the hands of one of Morgan's veterans. Impossible to remove him!

"Truly, Mr. Madison," said Mr. Swearingin, "I am obliged to you for your attention to my case. I see the difficulties that surround you. Now, seeing you cannot give me the chief justice's place, nor Mr. Monroe's, nor the Treasury, nor any of those others, don't you think you could give me a pair ofold leather breeches?"

Mr. Madison thought he could,—did better; gave him an order on his tailor for the breeches; and Mr. Swearingin went happily on his way.

I have changed the name in this story, but tell it much as Mr. Madison told it. Something of that kind has happened every day in Washington, from 1800 to 1880. And it is of the career of one of these very civil servants of the state, who are so easily pleased if only you give them something which they have never earned, that I now am writing. I am by no means sure that our hero is not the grandson of the very man whom, by a pair of leather breeches, James Madison made happy.

The first epoch of his life is the great success, as his young friends thought it, when, before he was of age, he received an appointment as clerk in the War Department in Washington. It was then that he entered the "Civil Service," and became a "civil servant" of the United States. Why was he appointed? Why? Because there was nothing else for him to do. He had grown up shiftlessly, the oldest son of a widow, who had not a firm hand enough to keep him at school. He threw his Latin Grammar into the fire the day it was bought for him, and refused to go to college. One of his uncles offered him a farm at the West; but he did not choose to be a farmer: he said he thought he would rather be a gentleman. The same prejudice interfered with his being apprenticed to learn the printer's trade or the painter's or the carriage-builder's, or any of the other methods by which hand-laborers subdue the world; so an effort had been made, with a good deal of solicitation to back it, to put him into a wholesale importing house. But it turned out, the first day, that his figures were so dubious that no one could tell by his memoranda whether he had counted two hundred and fifteen bales of gunny cloth or 2,015. And when, on the second day, he gave to a teamster an order for two bundles of pine kindlings, which was so written and spelled that the next day one hundred bundles of pine shingles were found encumbering the stairway of the warehouse, and when this blunder was traced home to Master John's handwriting, he was notified that the firm of Picul, Sapan, & Company had no further need for his services. Then his much-enduring uncles, by much letter-writing and vigilant attendance at many congressional district conventions, got him nominated by their member of Congress to a cadetship at West Point. This gentleman was calledtheir memberbecause they hadquoad hocbought him by such services. But when Master John presented himself for examination at West Point, he was so uncertain whether eleven times eleven were a hundred and seven, or whether it were not a hundred and seventeen, that he was passed by, and a little Irish boy, named Phil Sheridan, who had no uncles that were ever heard of, was taken in his place. How much the country lost in that substitution can never be told. After a similar experience as to a midshipman's berth, Master John had been left to follow up his own views in the training for a gentleman. Sometimes, in terrible pinch for pocket-money, he would shovel sidewalks for the neighbors. He was always ready, in summer, to burn a good deal of powder in shooting beach-birds; but he had attained the age of twenty without the knowledge of any handicraft, mystery, or profession except that of catching flounders from the wharves of the seaport village where he lived.

It was, therefore, as I have said, welcomed as a special providence, almost, that a benignant government at the demand of the uncles aforesaid, was able to give to Mr. John Sapp a desk in the War Department.

The duties of this post he was told, and he found, were such as would "explain themselves" to him. The first duty was to come in at nine, and the second was to leave at three. Mr. Sapp soon learned the second duty very well, and even assisted in arrangements by which, at noon every day, the in-door clock of the department was crowded forward ten minutes so as to make duty number two the easier. As for the first duty, he was never perfect. But, as he justly said, it made no sort of difference whether he were there early or late. The truth is, that it was an economy to him to come late; because he then needed fewer cigars to go through the morning. After he did arrive, he had the "National Intelligencer" to read, and the "Madisonian," and the "Globe"; he had such letters to acknowledge as had been sent down open to his room; and he had to get rid of the time till three o'clock, as amended, came.

All this was very comfortable for many years, while it lasted. It might have lasted till now, but for a little accident. It happened, one day, that a woman with a black veil came into the room where Mr. Sapp was reading, with his feet on the mantelpiece, and handed him a letter. "Take a seat," said he; "I am engaged just now." So the widow took a seat, while Mr. Sapp finished an account of a prize fight in the "Madisonian." He then left her, and went upstairs to settle his bets on this fight with one of the gentlemen there; and the widow waited an hour. Then he came back; and she asked him if he would look at her letter. He looked at it, and told her she had come to the wrong office, and wrote a memorandum, which directed her to go to the head-quarters of the army. The poor woman said she had been there, and they had sent her to him. By this continued importunity she wearied Mr. Sapp; and he said, with some warmth, that he would be damned if he would be bullied by her or by anybody; that he knew his business, if at the head-quarters they did not know theirs, and that she had better leave the office, and that very quickly, too. And so Mr. Sapp relapsed to his cigar.

Now it happened that this lady was the widow of a major-general, and the sister of another who was acting as assistant-adjutant on the general staff. She was attending to a mere piece of detail, drawing the money due to her son, who had died in service. It was merely for her own convenience that she had stopped at the department herself; and, in an hour more, she had reported at head-quarters, as bidden by Mr. Sapp.

In twenty-four hours more, therefore, Mr. John Sapp had his arrears of pay paid up to him, was dismissed from the service of the government, and Mr. Dick Nave was appointed to the vacant desk. This gentleman was the next on the list; that was the reason he was appointed.

Mr. John Sapp was free of the world.

But, from that moment, Mr. Sapp had found his profession. He was, as you have seen from what he did and said to the widow, what is called a "civil servant." He had seen the color of Uncle Sam's money. It was paid in coin in those days: and Mr. Sapp knew how regular were the quarter days, and how bright the quarters and the halves. If he were prejudiced before against the meaner professions, in which one receives his pay from his fellow-men, how much more was he prejudiced against them now, when he had learned how well Uncle Sam pays, even if he pays but little, and how easy it had been for him, till this misfortune came, to do even less than he was paid for. A civil servant had Mr. John Sapp begun in life; and a civil servant he would remain.

So he returned home. But he did not return before two or three "own correspondents" had announced in the "Buncombe True Eagle" and the "Bobadil True Flag" that our distinguished fellow-citizen, Mr. John Sapp, having pressed a series of reforms in the War Department which cut off the perquisites of some of the epaulette wearers who were parading on Pennsylvania Avenue, had been hunted down by them with relentless hostility, and at last had been driven from the post which he had so bravely maintained. The "Eagle" intimated that the least sop thrown to these hungry beagles by Mr. Sapp would have silenced their howl. But he was not the man to bribe. He preferred to go down with his colors flying, although the yellow flag of corruption should be flaunted in the hot sirocco of political and party tergiversation; and, with this talisman of integrity wrapped about his form, he would present himself in his native town for the verdict of the people whose rights he had maintained. In this cloud of mixed metaphor, Mr. Sapp returned to Shirk Corners, and took up his quarters at the village hotel.

On consultation with his friends, Mr. Sapp offered himself as candidate for the legislature,—the great mistake of his life, as he afterwards declared. Uncle Sam, he said, required little, if he paid little; paid well what he paid; and, if a man's politics were right, asked no questions. But when a man offered himself for the legislature, there were a thousand questions; "and a feller did not understand; and then what could a feller do?" But this was after he had learned what was what. While he was learning, his friends advised him to be seen freely among the people, and to attach the young men to him, and to gain the respect of the solid men. So Mr. Sapp became a fine member of the Light Infantry, and paid the entrance fees. He joined the Silver Fountain Division of Sons of Temperance, and attended their meetings. He invited all gentlemen of respectability into the private office of the Shirk House, and treated to champagne and cigars. He took a half pew in the Methodist Church, and generally attended the occasional and evening services at the Church of the Disciples. He looked in at the editorial office of the "Spy" in the morning; and if he got a good letter from Washington in the afternoon, he sent it to the editor of the "Informer." He joined the reading-club, and made himself agreeable to the ladies. He subscribed to the Orphans' Home, so that he might win the suffrages of orphans. He held yarn for those who knit at the ladies' sewing society, and spun yarns for those who would listen. He was faithful in his attendance at primary meetings. He sat through the speaking of the boys at the quarterly school exhibitions. He permitted himself to be made a director of the Horse-Thief Association, and when there was a fire, he worked at the brakes of the engines till he was spelled. These little occupations I mention only by way of illustration. He said himself that this set of duties was endless, and that anybody who knew what hard work a feller had before he could go to the legislature, would never envy any man his seat. "For his part, he was sure that a civil servant did more mean work than any nigger of them all."

If he is to be the standard, I am sure I agree with him.

At last the time for nomination came, and Mr. Sapp was nominated by the old Whig line, which was then in the majority in Buncombe County. Had the Democrats been in the majority, Mr. Sapp would have solicited their nomination. "It's best to be on the winning side," he said. In times of long peace, the army and the navy are generally unpopular; and the impression that Mr. Sapp had been snubbed by shoulder-strapped men was enough to bring him into favor. "We shall walk over the track," said Mr. Hopkirk, his principal backer; and Mr. Facer, though not so confident, offered three to one in betting on him.

But alas! the Democrats named a candidate; and some thorny come-outers named another: so there was no walking over the track. And, by the same ill luck which made our civil servant insult Mrs. Gen. Armitage, he happened to ask Deacon Whitman, the Most Grand Worthy of the Sons of Temperance, to step into his room on a cold day and try some hot punch he had been brewing. Who could ever have thought that a jolly-looking old cove like that was a deacon? The deacon published this invitation in the next "Water-Bucket." He added some comments, which drew forth some dozen lies from Mr. Hopkirk the next day in the "Spy." "The deacon's letter lost us all the temperance vote; and Mr. Hopkirk's lost us all the liberal vote,"—so was the vote of the liquor houses and their coteries called. Then one day, at a conference meeting, Brother Sapp was asked pointedly if he believed in the objectivity of the atonement. "How is a feller to know?" he said afterwards to Mr. Facer. And poor Mr. Sapp, not knowing, told the truth, and said that under certain circumstances he did, and other circumstances he did not. He said this in such a way as to offend the class-leader, who was a man of courage, and in the habit of saying yes for yes, and no for no. After a dozen other such pieces of ill-luck as this, it is no wonder that John Throop, the Independent, stood at the head of the poll; Reuben Gerry, the Democrat, came next, and John Sapp last of all. But he had all the liquor bills of his friends, all the printing of the canvass, and half of the bets upon it to pay.

By this time, John was thrown back upon his uncles again. As for them, worthy men, they had written so many letters of introduction in his favor that they began to believe their own words, and regarded him as a much abused man, and themselves as worse abused than he.

The earliest form of this letter which I have found is simply this:—

DEARSIR,—I take the liberty to introduce to you my nephew, Mr. John Sapp, who will explain to you the object with which he calls. Respectfully yours,

PHILEMONPLAICE,orAILANTHUSPLAICE,as the case might be.

But after the uncles became indignant themselves with the public's dulness, and especially after they found they were paying John Sapp's bills, the letters became eloquent enlargements on these themes.

MYDEARFRIEND,—The bearer, my nephew, Mr. John Sapp, is a young gentleman who has been very hardly treated in the public service. He calls to ask your advice and interest in an application he is making for—

For whatever it might happen to be; as, the post of superintendent of oil lamps;

Of chief marshal of the Kossuth procession;Of county surveyor (duties done by proxy);Of assistant marshal for the census;Of assistant assessor;Of pilot commissioner;Of librarian of the Archæological Institute;Of messenger in the State House;Of head of the lamplighting bureau in the City Hall;Of ticket-seller at the Coliseum;Of lecturer for the Free Trade League;Of trustee of the Protectionist Fund;Of secretary to the Board of Health;Of auditor of the Alabama claims;Of secretary to the commissioners at Vienna;Of clerk to the inspectors of Ward 2;

Or whatever other function might prove to need a functionary. Indeed, the Messrs. Plaice soon persuaded themselves that he had special fitness, in turn, for any and all posts which fell vacant:—

For inspector of fish, because his father went on a mackerel voyage when he was a boy.

For toll-keeper of the Potomac bridge, because his mother was of a misanthropic turn of mind.

For firewarden, because he was blown up with gunpowder when he was a child. And with each rebuff in Mr. John Sapp's line of applications, his uncles were the more indignant for the ingratitude of the world.

So was Mr. Sapp; but none the less did he push his traverses towards the works of what he called the common enemy.

He was at one time urging his claims to be employed inspector of Orange Peel, as it was found on sidewalks,—a post for which he was specially fitted, because a boy with whom he went to school was our consul at Fayal. Some one who met him said, very unkindly, that John Sapp's life seemed to be a very easy one; and the phrase came to John's ears. "Easy?" said he. "I should like to know what is hard. This fellow thinks all you have to do is to ask to be appointed Inspector of Orange Peel, and then to begin to draw the salary. Shows what he knows of our business.

"Now see; this inspector is appointed by the county commissioners. Have to find out who they are. Make no mistake. Get the names right first,—all the letters right. William Claflin and Tennie Claflin's husband not the same man,—very different men. Then find out their friends,—where they go to church, who's the minister, who's the doctor, what bank they're in, and so on. Then find out who knows the friends. See?

"Then begin. Speak first to John Jones at the barber's or post-office quite accidentally. Get John Jones to give you letter—see?—to introduce you to David Dodder. See? Simple letter,—general letter. 'Friend Mr. Sapp,—little matter of business.' Then call on David Dodder—see?—after dinner, when he's good-natured. Ask him to introduce you to William Belcher,—'important matter of business, necessary for public benefit.' See? Then go to William Belcher,—best coat on, clean shirt, shaved on purpose,—and ask him for letter of introduction to county commissioners,—knows 'em all,—see?—something like this:—

"'My dear Mr. Sheriff,—Will you present to the county commissioners my friend Mr. John Sapp, who is a candidate for the Inspection of Orange Peel? I do not personally know Mr. Sapp, whose public service has been mostly at Washington; but my friend, Mr. Dodder, on whose judgment I rely, &c., &c. See?

"Now," said Mr. Sapp, when he explained this, "what man says it is easy to get those letters together? What man says I did not earn this inspectorship by hard work? And when a fellow's got it, I'll be hanged if the Know-nothings did not come in before I had been in office a week, and before I had any chance to join them; and I was turned out before I had inspected one orange!"

Mr. Carlyle says that the hatter of the present day, instead of exerting himself to make good hats, exerts himself to write good advertisements of hats, or to make the largest hat that can be made of lath and plaster, to be carted round the streets of London upon wheels, bearing advertisements of his hat store. The evil is not a new one. The cat in Æsop told the fox that she had but one way to save her life, if the enemy should come. "How sad!" said the fox. "I have a hundred; and I will explain them to you." Just as he began to explain, the hounds dashed upon them. The cat ran up a tree, and was safe; but the fox, at the end of his hundredth turn, was devoured. Mr. John Sapp was as badly off as the fox. He was fit for a hundred places, but he never could stay in one of them. Had he known how to do one thing, he could have done it his life long.

For, when a crisis comes, or anything like a crisis, the world has a hopeless fashion of jamming its old stout felt hat over its ears, tying a stout scarf above it, and going out to battle in the storm, and forgets, in the fight, the lath-and-plaster hat which has dragged the street yesterday. It trusts a proved friend, though his felt be a little rough, and his braid a little frayed. And while Mr. John Sapp's portfolio of recommendations grew larger and larger, and showed he was good for everything, from a post on the Board of Health round to the janitorship of the public library, the public, when it was on its mettle, had a brutal way of appointing what he called "new men," who had made no application, or what he called "old fogies," who had been trained by experience to understand their duties. And it must be confessed that Mr. Sapp held back very modestly from the places which involved danger to-day, or which required preparation in years bygone. When the war came, he made no offer of service in the field, but was quite sure there must be some place as storekeeper that he should like. When Kansas was to be settled of a sudden, he did not think of emigrating; but he thought there might be some place for him in the office that sent the emigrants. I happen to remember that forty-nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine other men of his age thought much the same thing. Having, indeed, been educated for nothing in particular, Mr. Sapp was always on the front list of applicants for places where there was nothing in particular to do.

I have had a great many such men to examine, sooner or later. If Mr. Sapp had come before me, sitting as county commissioner, or inspector of prisons, the question I would have put him first would have been, "What can you do best in this world? What do you think you are most good for? What do you like to do?" It is pathetic to see how disappointed men break down under that question. I once asked a foreign missionary what he would do if he hadcarte-blanche,—had a hundred thousand dollars to expend in the next year?

"I—I—I think, ah, ah—you had better ask the advisory board," he said.

There was nothing in particular that he wanted to do; and so he did nothing. I used to ask young men what they were reading, but I do not now, unless I am quite sure of them. So many men said, "Oh,—really, you know,—the newspapers, you know,—and the magazines, you know,—'Littell's' and 'Old and New' and the 'Atlantic,' you know—must keep up with the times, you know." I did not know any such thing. They read nothing in particular, and practically read nothing at all. Now, the people,—who are, on the whole, wiser than we think,—when their moments of crisis come, sweep all such Jacks-of-all-trades by. They light on some one man, who has done some one thing well. He has made fish leap up the falls at Lowell into the Merrimack. He has taught the waves to obey his bidding, and sheer off the shore at Chicago. He has administered a railroad, so that no widow weeps when she hears its name, no orphan curses the recklessness of its managers. The grateful people know such men. And when a crisis comes, that voice of the people, which is as the voice of God, says to such a man,—

"Thou hast been faithful in a few things: I will make thee ruler over many things. Thou hast been faithful in a very little. Have thou authority over ten cities!"

But Mr. Sapp heard no such order to come up higher. The truth is, that, in three cases out of four, official life with us is not a good training for business in any other work. And Mr. Sapp's office at the War Department had been one of those three cases. It had taught him to file letters, to note their contents in an alphabetical index, to refer them respectfully to somebody else, to write back in an invariable form to the authors that they had been respectfully referred, and, once a week, to send a volume of letters to the binder. But this was all that it taught him. The consequence was that when he was appointed to any function with any different duties, he functioned ill.

Thus he was a poor librarian at the Archæological; and the directors voted not to have any librarian. They appointed a superintendent; and Mr. Sapp was discharged.

He lectured ill for the Free Trade League, so that the people stayed at home. Now, as Lord Dundreary says, "How can a feller lecture, if people will not listen?"

He inspected orange peel ill, so that, whether the Know-nothings had come in or not, he would have gone out. In truth, he was, as I said, trained to do nothing in particular; and the only place he was fit for, therefore, was some place where there was nothing in particular to do.

In the English civil service there are many such places; but in that of America there are very few.

The last time I saw Mr. Sapp, he was standing rather ruefully at the door of Dr. Chloral's office. Dr. Chloral, you remember, is the celebrated dentist of that name, with the striking sign on Cambridge Street, where a gutta-perch mouth, propelled by Cochituate, opens and shuts to slow music, as if it were listening to a lyceum lecture two-thirds done. Fortunately for me, Mr. Sapp did not see me.

At that moment he was laying his lines for an inspectorship in the Custom House. He had no letter of introduction which he thought would move Judge Russell, the collector. But he knew, or thought he knew, that Dr. Chloral and Judge Russell were intimate; so he stood at Dr. Chloral's street-door till some patient might come in whom Mr. Sapp could engage to introduce him to the dentist, who in his turn could then introduce him to the collector.

An admirable plan! Well, many patients came, you may be sure. Ladies came in carriages with their children, from Chester Square. Students came in the Union cars from Cambridge. Laboring men came up from North Street. Later in the day, toothaching bankers came from State Street, and neuralgic aldermen from City Hall. But hour passed after hour; and no man came whom Mr. Sapp could ask for an introduction to Dr. Chloral. Hour passed after hour. The clock struck three, when Mr. Sapp knew that office hours were over for that day. The hard-worked doctor, released at last, came running down to take his walk before dinner, when lo, one more patient on the stairway!

It was poor John Sapp. Failing other introduction, he had, with the promptness of genius, invented a toothache.

He met Dr. Chloral, and acted agony so well, that he compelled the doctor to return.

"But there's nothing the matter with that tooth, man! It is sound for thirty years."

"O," said Mr. Sapp, "I wish I thought so!"

"Why, man, I wish it were in my head!" said the doctor.

"O," said Mr. Sapp, "I wish it were!"

"Well," said Dr. Chloral, "if you say so, here goes"; and in a moment he pulled as honest a tooth as ever ground gristle or tendon.

"Now rinse your mouth here, sir; here's a towel, sir; I'm rather late, sir"; and then, as Mr. Sapp loitered,—

"What else can I do for you?"

"Could not you,—Dr. Chloral,—could not you write me a line of introduction to Mr. Collector Russell at the Custom House?"

"And after all, do you think," said Mr. Sapp,—"after all, Judge Russell appointed a one-legged soldier, who had served in the war; and I lost my tooth for nothing."

After this repulse, Mr. Sapp became low in his mind. His uncles were dead,—that is, his real uncles were; and he carried to his other uncles most of his portable property for pawn. At last he got up a paper which many men signed—without reading it. They hoped, perhaps, it was a petition to the governor that he would give Mr. Sapp a place, holding for good behavior, in the state-prison. Itwasa recommendation to the benevolent to subscribe for his relief. With this paper he called, as it happened, on Mrs. Gen. Armitage, who was spending the summer at the sea-shore at Shirk Corners. Mrs. Armitage was interested in the fate of the worn-out office-seeker. She gave him a chair, a piece of cake, and a glass of water, and made him tell his whole story. To her dismay, she found thatshehad been the arbiter of his fortunes. She had long since forgotten his rudeness, and he had never known her name. But Mrs. Armitage gave him five dollars; and, thinking that she had, perhaps, some influence still in Washington, wrote a confidential note to a very, very, very high authority, to know if there was really no place, with ever so little salary,—in which a man could just live,—which Mr. Sapp could have. "Some place, you know," said she, "where there is nothing in particular to do, but where you just want a single man, who does not drink, and who, I believe, does not steal."

The answer, alas! was—as it always is—that nothing was vacant but the consulate at Fernando Po. The quarter's fees there were never more than fifty-seven dollars. How much they would be in a year, no one knows; for no consul has ever survived that climate more than four months. But it is thought that the fees may be larger now; for no one has applied for the place since the last consul died, seven years ago. This is the only place in the gift of the government that no one has applied for.

Mrs. Armitage showed this letter to Mr. John Sapp. "Have you ever lived in a warm climate?" said she kindly. "There can be no danger of rheumatism there."

No, there could be no danger of rheumatism; but, for all that, Mr. Sapp declined the offer. It did him good to decline it. He wrote a letter on square letter-paper, and sealed it with his father's seal-ring. It was the first thing in life he had ever declined!

I think that seal touched them in Washington. They are hard-hearted, but sealing-wax—real red sealing-wax—touches them when rhetoric is powerless.

I think so. For the next week came this letter, autograph from the very, very, very high authority:—

WASHINGTON, April 1, 18—

DEARMRS. ARMITAGE,—We must send at once, without noise, a trusty man to take possession of the Island of St. Lazarus, one of Aleutian group, west of Alaska, in the name of the United States. It will be some years before we establish a post there; but meanwhile the flag must be kept flying. Would your friend like this? There is a sealer's hut there; and he will have his passage free, full rations, and stationery. I think he also has the franking privilege for all official correspondence. I will inquire at the post-office. He will be commissioned as Governor-General of the island; but there are no inhabitants except the seals, unless he chooses to take his family with him.

This was a long letter for the very high authority. "He forgets," said Mrs. Armitage, "that I told him that Mr. Sapp was a single man!" And from that time she bore that grudge against the very high authority which a woman always bears against a man who does not read her letters twice through.

Mr. Sapp was delighted. He had been appointed confidentially to an office for which he had never applied. It was a secret office. No man knew of it. He accepted the appointment, for no bondsmen were required. He was distressed to find that no oath was to be taken. He went to Washington to receive his instructions, which was quite unnecessary. He drew on the navy yard at Charlestown for stationery, and he drew for a great deal. There was one large tin box filled with red tape, which was his especial glory.

He was landed at St. Lazarus prosperously; and, with the assistance of a boat's crew, they got the flag flying. They cleared out the sealer's house. They carried up ten barrels of salt junk, twelve of salt pork, thirteen of potatoes, fourteen of flour, fifteen of sour-krout, and sixteen of white beans. These were the supplies Mr. John Sapp was to subsist on for a year. They carried up four reams of foolscap paper, ruled and margined, for his official reports to the War Department; four of quarto letter-paper, for his reports to the Navy; four of royal octavo, for his reports to the Smithsonian; four of large congress note, for his reports to the Weather Bureau; four of small congress note, for his reports to the Treasury; and four of gilt-edged note, with initials J. S., for his private correspondence. They carried up eleven pounds of red sealing-wax, the tin box of red tape they carried up; and so they bade him good-by. The boat returned to the ship. Then it proved that his dog and cat and parrot and umbrella were still on board; and the captain's gig was sent with them. So Mr. Sapp was not left alone.

Here was aplace. It was a place with nothing particular to do; and Mr. Sapp was left to do it.

He kept no diary. Nothing, therefore, is known of his experience for the year, but when, the next year, the store-ship landed his stores, the boatswain in charge ran up the beach, and met a grave man in seal-skins, who made a military salute.

The boatswain saluted him, and was about to speak, when old Sealskin, as he afterwards called him, said, "Have you passed quarantine!"

"Quarantine? No, sir!"

"Take your boat round into the South Cove, and see the health officer, and bring me his permit."

The boatswain, from habit of obedience, obeyed,—took the boat round in half an hour's pulling. Health officer! There were some stupid seals who jumped off the rocks; and that was all.

The captain of the store-ship, meanwhile, had seen this manoeuvre with amazement, and sent a second boat ashore. With this boat, he sent his second officer. He also met the lonely Robinson, and saluted.

"Have you passed quarantine?"

"All right, my man," said the friendly sailor; and Sealskin turned, and walked with him to his hut. A moment more, and the boatswain followed. He could find no health officer, he said.

"It must be past his office hours," said Mr. Sapp gravely. "They close at eleven there. You shall be examined to-morrow."

The boatswain stared at this postponement of quarantine; but then, on a word from his superior officer, he produced a bag of papers and letters for Mr. Sapp, which he had been afraid to offer him before.

"They will be respectfully fumigated and respectfully referred," said Mr. Sapp.

And he hung them to the crane in the chimney.

Then he lifted off a pot of bean-soup, and filled a bowl for each of the wondering men. He produced hard-tack from a closet, and whiskey and water. And then, still asking no question, he took down the smoky letters, and opened them slowly.

But, to the men's amazement, he did not read one.

He folded the first with a steel letter file, two inches and a quarter wide, and docketed it,—"Received June 11. Respectfully referred to Next Friday, Esq., P.M."

When the boatswain heard of Mr. Friday, he thought it was surely Robinson Crusoe.

But the next letter, unread, was filed and docketed—"Respectfully referred to Next Saturday, Esq., A.M."

"P.M. and A.M.," cried the boatswain; "they have masters of arts here as well as postmasters."

"Not at all," said the governor severely; "A.M.—Ante-Meridiem; P.M.,—Post-Meridiem"; and without reading the next letter, he filed it, and indorsed it,—"Respectfully referred to Next Sunday, Esq., M."

"Young man," said he, "I shall examine and file this letter on Friday afternoon; this one on Saturday morning; this on Sunday noon. Let all things be done regularly and in order."

The mate and boatswain were alarmed. They hastily finished their bean-soup and fled to the boat, returning with six men, who rolled a barrel of junk up the well-kept gravel walk.

"Invoice?" said the governor.

There was no invoice.

"Prepare an invoice."

And the meek boatswain obeyed.

"My man, take this to the inspector," said Mr. Sapp to one of the crew, after he had indorsed it,—"Respectfully referred to the Inspector-General."

The sailor was a Portuguese,—understood no English; bobbed his head, and waited for light.

Mr. Sapp led him to the door, and pointed to a bearded walrus,—who sat on a rock above the landing,—bidding him take the invoice to him, and land nothing more without his orders.

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