Chapter V: Front Matter (5)

“It is certain, however, that lunatics and criminals are as much
manufactured articles as are steam-engines and calico-printing
machines, only the processes of the organic manufactory are so
complete that we are not able to follow them. They are neither
accidents nor anomalies in the world, in the universe, but come
by law and testify to causality; and it is the business of
science to find out what the causes are and by what laws they
work. There is nothing accidental, nothing supernatural, in the
impulse to do right or in the impulse to do wrong—both come by
inheritance or by education; and science can no more rest
content with the explanation which attributes one to the grace
of heaven and the other to the malice of the devil than it could
rest content with the explanation of insanity as a possession by
the devil. The few and imperfect investigations of the personal
and family histories of criminals which have yet been made are
sufficient to excite some serious reflections. One fact which is
brought strongly out by these inquiries is that crime is often
hereditary; that just as a man may inherit the stamp of the
bodily features and characters of his parents, so he may also
inherit the impress of their evil passions and propensities; of
the true thief, as of the true poet, it may indeed be said that
he is born, not made. That is what observation of the phenomena
of hereditary [_sic_] would lead us to expect; and although
certain theologians, who are prone to square the order of nature
to their notions of what it should be, may repel such doctrine
as the heritage of an immoral in place of a moral sense, they
will in the end find it impossible in this matter, as they have
done in other matters, to contend against facts.”

We have quoted the words of Dr. Maudsley at some length, in order to show to what unjustifiable lengths the recent advocates of heredity are inclined to go.

The argument employed by Dr. Maudsley is very weak—happily so, indeed; for were his conclusions correct man’s misdeeds would be neither punishable nor corrigible, any more than the blast of the tempest which strews the shore with wrecks and desolation. They would be the necessary outcome of his constitution. The trouble is that Dr. Maudsley pushes to excess a doctrine which has in it much that is true. We do not deny the doctrine of hereditary impulses; we know that some are more prone to evil than others, that the moral lineaments are often transmitted from parent to child to no less an extent than physical traits and resemblances; but we know that free will remains throughout, and that, no matter how strong the impulse to do a certain act may be, the power to resist is unquestionable. Habit and association may render the will practically powerless, but, unless a man has lost the attributes of his race, he never becomes absolutely irreclaimable. The allusion to grace and diabolical temptation is, to say the least, stupid. Dr. Maudsley knows as much about the matter, to all appearances, as the inhabitants of Patagonia. No theologian deserving the name ever asserted that man is swayed to good by grace alone, or equally moved to evil by the spirit of darkness, without any will-activity. The doctrine would be just as subversive of free-will and moral order as Dr. Maudsley’s, and consequently as absurd. The truth is that man’s will has been weakened by his fall (_labefactata ac debilitata_), is weaker in some than in others, but never becomes extinct, unless where the abnormal condition of insanity occurs. We regret that Mr. Dugdale accepts Dr. Maudsley as an authority and quotes approvingly the following words:

“Instead of mind being a wondrous entity, the independent source
of power and self-sufficient cause of causes, an honest
observation proves incontestably that it is the most dependent
of all natural forces. It is the highest development of force,
and to its existence all the lower natural forces are
indispensably prerequisite.”

This is simply scientific jargon. It conveys no meaning, and in reality substitutes new and more obscure terms for old and well-understood ones. We are told to reject the “wondrous entity” mind, and to consider instead all so-called mental operations as the outcome of force. In a previous article[9] we pointed out the great diversity of meanings annexed to the word force, and proved that none of those who so glibly use it have a clear conception of what it signifies. Mr. Dugdale further accepts the recent materialistic doctrine of Hammond, Vogel, and the so-called modern school of physiologists, who make will a mere matter of cerebral activity and cell-development.

His system of psychology is exceedingly brief and meaningless, and invites the social reformer to deal with the criminal as the watchmaker would deal with a chronometer out of repair, or as a ship-calker would attend to a vessel that had felt and suffered from the hard buffets of the ocean. Now, while we utterly repudiate the doctrine which views the criminal as a mere machine, we do not wish to reject any doctrine or theory which facts sustain, and we accept the doctrine of heredity in the sense we shall shortly mention, and contend that the facts justify its acceptance to no further extent.

In the first place, most people of good sense will admit that environment is a far more potent criminal factor than heredity, and that the constant similarity of environments where heredity exists disqualifies the observer for ascertaining the exact extent to which the latter operates. The children of the vicious for the most part grow up amid the surroundings which made their parents bad, and no child born of the most depraved mother will fail to respond to healthful influences early brought into play, unless an obviously abnormal condition exists. The advocates of heredity in the ordinary sense point to the vast army of criminals propagated from one stock, and claim this to be an incontestable proof of their doctrine. But right in the way of this argument is the fact that it ignores similarity of environment, and that it overlooks the diversity of crimes. If the law of heredity were strictly as stated by many writers, then the burglar would beget children with burglarious instincts, the pickpocket ditto, and so throughout the whole range of crime. But nothing of this sort is the case. The vicious descendant of a sneak-thief is as likely to be a highwayman or a housebreaker as to follow the safer paternal pursuits. No special propensities to commit crime are transmitted, but appetites are transmitted, and appetites beget tendencies and habits. Now, the two appetites which prove to be of most frequent transmission are the erotic and the alcoholic. The erotic precedes the alcoholic, and, indeed, excites it to action. Mr. Dugdale says (p. 37): “The law shadowed forth by this scanty evidence is that licentiousness has preceded the use of ardent spirits, and caused a physical exhaustion that made stimulants grateful. In other words, that intemperance itself is only a secondary cause.” And again: “If this view should prove correct, one of the great points in the training of pauper and criminal children will be to pay special attention to sexual training.”

It would appear, then, from this that heredity chiefly affects the erotic appetite, and through it the entire character. The impure beget the impure, subject to improvement through grace and will-power, and, despite of changed environments, the diseased appetite of the progenitor is apt to assert itself in the descendant, though it is not, of course, so apparent in the matter of the erotic passion as in the alcoholic. These are the facts so far as they justify the view of crime as a neurosis. This conclusion, while harmonizing with the data of observation, renders the solution of the question, What shall we do with criminals? comparatively easy, and points to the best mode of treatment. Until society holds that the virtue of purity is at the bottom of public morality, and that the custom to look indulgently on the wicked courses of young men is essentially pernicious, we cannot hope to begin the work of reform on a sound basis. _Corrumpere et corrumpi sœclum vocatur_ is as true to-day as eighteen hundred years ago, only now we call it “sowing wild oats.” And how is this change to be wrought? By education? Yes, by education, which develops man’s moral character—by that education which gives to the community a Christian scholar, and not a mere intellectual machine. Mr. Richard Vaux, ex-mayor of Philadelphia, who is a believer in Maudsley, and consequently an unsuspected authority, speaks in these significant terms:

“Without attempting to discuss the value of popular
instruction for the youth, or to criticise any system of
public or private education, we venture to assert that there
are crimes which arise directly out of these influences, and
which require knowledge so obtained to perpetrate. If the
former suggestion be true, that the compression of the social
forces induces to crime, then those offences which come from
education are only the more easily forced into society by the
possessed ability to commit such crimes. _If facts warrant
this suggestion, then education—meaning that instruction
imparted by school-training—is an agent in developing
crime-cause...._ It is worthy of notice that a far larger
number of offenders are recorded as having attended ‘public
schools’ than those who ‘never went to school.’”[10]

This is a startling exhibit, upheld, it seems, by undeniable figures. Is it possible that the state is engaged in “developing crime-cause,” and that it is for this purpose oppressive school-taxes are imposed? Alas! it is too true. The majority of those who get a knowledge of the three “Rs” in our public schools come forth with no other knowledge. God is to them a distant echo, morality a sham, and they finish their education by gloating over the blood-curdling adventures of pirates and cracksmen in the pages of our weekly papers. Mr. Dugdale proposes some excellent means for the reclamation and reformation of the criminal, but they come tainted, and consequently much impaired, by his peculiar psychical theories. On page 48 he says:

“Now, this line of facts points to two main lessons: the value
of labor as an element of reform, especially when we consider
that the majority of the individuals of the Juke blood, when
they work at all, are given to intermittent industries. The
element of continuity is lacking in their character; enforced
labor, in some cases, seems to have the effect of supplying this
deficiency. But the fact, which is quite as important but less
obvious, is that crime and honesty run in the lines of greatest
vitality, and that the qualities which make contrivers of crime
are substantially the same as will make men successful in honest
pursuits.”

These remarks are full of significance and point unmistakably to the necessity of supplying work to the vicious. Hard work is the panacea for crime where healthful moral restraints are absent. The laborer expends will-force and muscular force on his work, and has no inclination for deeds of violence or criminal cunning. But how absurd it is to suppose that, as an educational process, its whole effect consists in the changed development of cerebral cells, and not, as is obviously true, in the fatigue which it engenders! Mr. Dugdale thus sets forth the philosophy of his educational scheme for the reformation of the criminal (p. 49):

“It must be clearly understood, and practically accepted, that
the whole question of crime, vice, and pauperism rests strictly
and fundamentally upon a physiological basis, and not upon a
sentimental or a metaphysical one. These phenomena take place,
not because there is any aberration in the laws of nature, but
in consequence of the operation of these laws; because disease,
because unsanitary conditions, because educational neglects,
produce arrest of cerebral development at some point, so that
the individual fails to meet the exigencies of civilization in
which he finds himself placed, and that the cure for unbalanced
lives is a training which will affect the cerebral tissue,
producing a corresponding change of career.”

This is downright materialism, and is the result of Mr. Dugdale’s hasty acceptance of certain views put forward by a school of physiologists who imagine that their science is the measure of man in his totality. We admit that crime is closely connected with cerebral conditions, that the brain is the organ of manifestation which the mind employs, and that those manifestations are modified to a considerable extent by the condition of the organ. But this does not interfere with the character of the mind viewed as a distinct entity; indeed, it rather harmonizes with the facts as admitted by the universal sentiment of mankind. Mr. Dugdale makes a fatal mistake when he supposes that a changed cerebral state may be accompanied by a change in the moral character; for it is possible that a chemist may one day discover some substance or combination of substances which might supply the missing cells or stimulate the arrested growth. Man is not a machine; neither is he a mere physiological being. He is a rational animal, consisting of a soul and a body, two distinct substances hypostatically united; and until this truth is recognized no reform can be wrought in the ranks of the criminal classes by even greater men than Mr. Dugdale. If the “whole process of education is the building up of cerebral cells,” admonitions, instructions, and example are thrown away on the vicious. There is naught to do but to “build up cells” and stimulate “arrested cerebral development.” How false is this daily experience proves; for we know that a salutary change of prison discipline often converts brutal and hardened criminals into comparatively good men. Take as an instance what occurred in the _Maison de Correction de Nîmes_ in 1839. This prison was in charge of certain political favorites who were fitter to be inmates than officials. Mismanagement reigned supreme, and the excesses committed by the prisoners can scarcely be believed. The most revolting crimes were done in broad daylight, not only with the connivance but at the instigation of the keepers. At last things had come to such a pass that the government was compelled to interfere, and, having expelled the unworthy men in charge, substituted for them a small band of Christian Brothers under the control of the late venerable Brother Facile, when an amazing change soon ensued. There was no question with the brothers of studying the increase of cerebral cells or stimulating arrested development. They changed the dietary for the better; they separated the most depraved from those younger in crime; they punished with discrimination; they encouraged good conduct by rewards; they set before the convict the example of self-sacrificing, laborious, and mortified lives; and in three weeks they converted this pandemonium into the model prison of France.

Can these facts be made to accord with the statement that the whole process of education is “building up of cerebral cells”? If Mr. Dugdale would substitute the term “moral faculties” for “cerebral cells,” he would theorize much more correctly and to better practical effect. Speaking of subjecting the growing criminal to a system of instruction resembling the _Kindergarten_, he says:

“The advantage of the _Kindergarten_ rests in this: that it
coherently trains the sense and awakens the spirit of
accountability, building up cerebral tissue. It thus organizes
new channels of activity through which vitality may spread
itself for the advantage of the individual and the benefit of
society, and concurrently endows each individual with a
governing will.”

We agree with Mr. Dugdale that such a system of training is well calculated to bring about these results, but certainly not in the manner he indicates. Let us translate his language into that which correctly describes the process of improvement in the criminal, and we find it to be as follows:

Let the subject on whom we are to try the system of training in question be a boy of fourteen rescued from the purlieus of a large city. His education must be very elementary indeed. His intellectual faculties are to be treated according to their natural vigor or feebleness, but his moral faculties are especially to be moulded with care and watchfulness. He has been accustomed to gratify his evil passions and to yield to every propensity. The will, therefore, is the weakest of his faculties, and constant efforts must be made to strengthen it. With this view he should be frequently required to do things that are distasteful to him, beginning, of course, with what is easy and what might entail no discomfort on the ordinary boy. The will is thus gradually strengthened, both by this direct exercise and by the reaction upon it of the intellect, which is undergoing a concurrent training.

This is all that Mr. Dugdale means to convey when his words are translated into ordinary language. When he dismounts from his scientific hobby, however, he imparts counsel for the treatment of criminals which we heartily endorse. Thus, in speaking of industrial training, he says (p. 54): “The direct effect, therefore, of industrial training is to curb licentiousness, the secondary effect to decrease the craving for alcoholic stimulants and reduce the number of illegitimate children who will grow up uncared for.” He tells us that with the disappearance of log-huts and hovels—and, we might add, the reeking tenements of our cities—lubricity will also disappear. This is true to a great extent, but surely it is not all that is required. We might cultivate the æsthetic tastes to the utmost, we might have a population dwelling in palaces and lounging in luxurious booths, and be no better morally than those who, while enjoying those privileges, tolerated the mysteries of the _Bona Dea_ and assisted at the abominations which have made the city of Paphos the synonym of every iniquity. All attempts at the reformation of our criminal classes without the instrumentality of religion will prove unavailing. You may “make clean the outside of the cup and of the dish, but within you are full of rapine and uncleanliness.” These words will for ever hold true of those who inculcate and pretend to practise morality without religion. The attempt has often been made, and has as often signally failed, so that we regard the presentation of proof here superfluous. The student of the history of social philosophy is well aware of the truth of this principle, and none but the purblind or the unwilling fail to perceive it. Religion is the basis of morality, and morality the pivot of reform. Let the friends of the criminals recognize these fundamental truths, and they may then hope to make some progress in their work. Then it will be time to defend and demonstrate the merits of the congregate system of imprisonment; then we might with profit insist upon the proper classification of prisoners, the necessity of proportioning penalty to offence, and not blasting the lives of mere boys by sending them for twenty years to Sing Sing for a first offence, thus compelling them to consort with ruffians of the most hardened description during the period which should be the brightest of their lives. Then all those reforms which philanthropists are ever planning might be wisely introduced, but not till then can we hope for the millennium of true reform to dawn upon us.

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RELIGION IN JAMAICA.

The population of Jamaica numbers about half a million, of whom nearly four-fifths are blacks, one hundred thousand colored people, and only thirteen thousand Europeans. In addition to these there are several thousand Cubans and Haytians, who have been driven from their homes by political troubles, some thousands of Indian coolies, and a few Chinese and Madeira Portuguese.

Of this motley population only a few thousand are Catholics. The greater part of the English belong to the Church of England, which, however, has been disestablished in Jamaica for some years. These enjoy the full benefit of the usual High Church and Low Church party warfare. One of the leading clergy of this denomination has started a monthly paper in Jamaica, called the _Truth-Seeker_. It is to be hoped that he may be successful in his search. The last number which the writer saw contained arguments in favor of spiritualism, homœopathy, and Extreme Unction. The editor is a vegetarian and teetotaler, and is said to have employed in the communion service, as a substitute for wine, the juice of a few grapes squeezed into a tumbler of water. When the bishop was asked about it he made a wry face and expressed a hope that he might never receive the communion in his teetotal friend’s church again. This reminds us of an incident related by a Church of England parson. He arrived at Kingston by the mail steamer from England on a Sunday morning, and duly betook himself to a church. It happened to be communion Sunday, and he “stayed.” He noticed that most of the white people went up to receive first, and that the few who neglected to do so, and who communicated with the negroes, came back to their seats screwing up very wry faces. Our friend solved the mystery when, going up nearly last, he found that his black friends’ lips had imparted such a flavor to the cup that he did not lose the taste of it for hours!

But the most popular sect amongst the blacks is the Baptist. The Baptist ministers are credited with having been the cause of the insurrection a dozen years ago, which was attended with so much bloodshed. Their great recommendation to the people appears to consist in their teaching virtually that the country belongs to the black man, and that the whites endeavor to defraud them of their rights by giving them insufficient wages and by other means. The consequence is that the negroes frequently defraud their employers by theft, shirking work, injuring their property, and so forth.

The Wesleyans and Presbyterians have large followings. There are also some Moravian stations. After a certain term of years the Moravian missionary is judged worthy to be rewarded with connubial bliss, and a spouse is selected by the authorities in Europe and sent out to him. The Jews are numerous and opulent, a great part of the commerce of the country being in their hands. But they are said to be very indifferent as to their religion, Jewish ladies often marrying people of other religions and ending by professing none at all.

It is pleasant to turn from these conflicting sects to consider the Catholic Church. Kingston, the capital of Jamaica, contains forty thousand people, and of these seven thousand are Catholics. The Jamaica mission is in the hands of the Jesuits. They do not number more than half a score, and are consequently hardly worked. They have a convenient house, popularly called the “French College,” though there is only one French priest there. Attached to it is a small college for the education of Catholic youths, but several Protestants are permitted to benefit by the instruction there given. In the little chapel at the back of the house the Blessed Sacrament is reserved. Among the priests is a venerable man whose tall, ascetic figure commands universal respect. He was formerly a Protestant clergyman, a fellow of his college at Oxford, and one of that remarkable band of men who founded the Oxford or Tractarian party. His quiet, instructive sermons are of a very high order, simple, admirably expressed, and pregnant with matter. Equally beloved is a white-headed French priest who has labored in Kingston for thirty years, and who endeared himself to all by his indefatigable devotion to the sick and dying during a terrible epidemic of yellow fever which raged there some years ago. He is well acquainted with, and sympathizes in, the joys and sorrows of all the congregation, and, in spite of a strong French accent which renders his conversation nearly unintelligible to a stranger, all seem to understand him perfectly. There are several younger priests who conduct the college, and one devotes his energies especially to work amongst the Cubans. There is also an excellent lay brother, a convert from Protestantism, who presides over a school for the children of poor Catholics. The church, dedicated to the Holy Trinity, is a plain brick structure, like all the churches and chapels in Kingston, but it is distinguished from the others by crosses on the gable ends. There are two side altars in addition to the high altar. The latter is handsomely adorned, and above it is a rose-window of stained glass. There is a good attendance at the daily Masses, which are said from five to half-past six, the congregation consisting mainly of black or colored people.

Besides the large church there is a smaller one dedicated to St. Martin, and commonly called the “Cuban Chapel,” because it is employed especially for their use. Spanish sermons are preached there at the eight o’clock Mass on Sundays. At the commencement of the month of May a handsome new altar was built and High Mass celebrated, the church being crowded with devout worshippers.

Near the large church is a convent with a private chapel, the nuns devoting themselves to the education of a number of young ladies, mostly Haytians, who reside with them.

A mile from the town is the camp of the First West India Regiment, a corps of Black Zouaves. Some of them being Catholics, Mass is said there on Sundays by a priest from Kingston. Another goes on alternate Sundays to Port Royal, a few miles from Kingston, where the guard-ship, the _Aboukir_, is stationed, and says Mass for the Catholic seamen.

The whole of the remainder of the island is served by three priests, who lead a most arduous life, constantly riding or driving from one station to another. Newcastle, a beautiful place in the Port Royal mountains nearly four thousand feet above the sea, is the station of the Thirty-fifth Regiment of the Line, and Mass is said here on alternate Sundays by a young priest who has just arrived from England, and replaced a stalwart father who was formerly senior captain in his regiment. Another extensive district is served by a worthy Belgian father with venerable beard and simple manners. This apostolic man rides long distances, often having to ford dangerously swollen torrents, and frequently having no lodging but the sacristy of a rural chapel, and no food but a little yam and salt fish.

But the most experienced missionary in the island is the superior of the Jesuits, who is vicar-apostolic. He has travelled about Jamaica on missionary journeys for sixteen years, and boasts that he knows every road and track in the country. He is generally beloved by Catholic, Protestant, and Jew alike, his genial manners and cheerful conversation making him a welcome guest everywhere, and his medical skill (for he was a physician before he joined the Society of Jesus) having enabled him to confer material benefits on many suffering persons. He has always led an active life, and is especially fond of relating his reminiscences of the siege of Sebastopol, where he was senior Catholic chaplain to the British forces. He drives about in a buggy, with spare horses following under the charge of his servant, or “boy,” who rides on horseback. The Jamaica horses are small, poor-looking animals, costing little, and very hardy and inexpensive, but they are capable of a great deal of trying work.

To reach Kingston for the confirmation on Pentecost Sunday, the good father had to drive for some miles over a road on which the water had risen from a neighboring river to such an extent that it was as high as the axles, and sometimes even came into the buggy. Fording swollen streams on horseback in the rainy season is often very dangerous work. This father having one day with difficulty crossed such a stream, a negro, who had been watching him all the time, told him that he was the first person who had succeeded in crossing there for some days, three men who had attempted it having been drowned.

“Why didn’t you tell me, then?” asked the priest.

“My sweet minister, me want to see what you do.”

Not that the man bore him any malice, but these people seem to be totally reckless of human life.

If he can be said to have any home, the vicar-apostolic lives in a pretty little house on the northwest coast. It is about a mile from the sea, but some hundreds of feet above it, and commands a magnificent view of the well-wooded hills, the sea, and the numerous small islands covered with mangroves. Near the house is a small oratory, built as a coach-house. It is very plain, and yet unpaved, the congregation kneeling on small pieces of board placed on the earth. Attached to the house is a pen, or grazing farm, of about seven hundred acres. It is for the most part overgrown with bush, the property having been much neglected; but strenuous efforts are being made to set it in good order, and not without success. It is hoped that it will eventually realize sufficient to support four or five missionary priests, which will be a great advantage to the church in Jamaica, as the mission there is very poor. The property was left to the church by a Catholic gentleman who resided on it and died some few years ago. It now supports about one hundred head of cattle, besides which it is planted with a number of pimento, lime, and cocoanut trees, the fruits of which are of value.

A private chapel, which stands in the grounds of a gentleman who resides on one of the most beautiful pens in the island, is well worthy of mention. This gentleman is a convert and has done much for the church. His chapel is the most charming little rustic oratory imaginable, the chancel screen and other wood-work being made of rough twisted branches of trees, and the staircase to the gallery consisting of the trunk of a pine tree with steps cut in it. On the Sundays when Mass is said here the Catholics from eight or ten miles round drive or ride in, and the chapel is sometimes nearly filled. After Mass they take their dinner, which they have brought with them, and walk about and admire the beautiful garden, the hospitable proprietor and the ladies of the family saying kind words of welcome to their humbler friends. An hour after Mass there is rosary and benediction, after which the people return to their distant homes.

But not always can a church be had for Mass. In some places a room in a private house is all that can be obtained, and the Catholics of the neighborhood, having been warned by letter of the intended service, assemble at the appointed hour. The priest will sit in one room to hear confessions, whilst the people wait in an adjacent one, where a sideboard or table is prepared as an altar. After Mass will often follow baptisms, marriages, or confirmations. But the great work before the church in Jamaica now is to form stations with churches where Mass may be celebrated at stated times. Several such are already established, and things are better than formerly, when the Holy Sacrifice had often to be offered up in the houses of Protestants. But much has yet to be done, and there is good reason to hope that the time will come when the small Jamaica church will develop into a flourishing diocese. In spite of the prevalent indifference as to religion, some of the Protestants are beginning to see that truth is not to be obtained in their conflicting sects, and they are turning their eyes Romeward in search of peace.

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MARGUERITE.

“Frogs, fresh frogs! Buy a few frogs!” cried a sweet girl’s voice, which blended strangely with the other sounds and voices round about the little booth near Fulton Market. “Frogs, fresh frogs!”

“Ride up, gentlemen, ride up!”

“Move on quick, move on!”

“Look out, mister, or I’ll run over you!”

And on the ’buses and drays and express-wagons rumbled and rolled, and the policeman screamed himself hoarse trying to keep the great thoroughfare clear; the mud, which was knee-deep, flew in all directions, the jaded horses floundered and fell in the grimy slough, and ’twas Pandemonium indeed just here where pretty Marguerite’s frog-stand stood. But the girl, who was used to the bustle and din, went on quietly knitting a stocking and calling out, “Frogs, fresh frogs! Buy a few frogs!” while her words, like a strain of sweet music, floated away upon the muggy April air, heavy with oaths and villanous cries.

We have called our heroine pretty; yet this was not strictly true. Many a young woman passed through the market with more beautiful features than she had. Her nose was of no particular shape—we might term it a neutral nose—and her mouth was decidedly broad; while the tall, white cap she wore gave her a quaint, outlandish appearance that made not a few people stare and smile. But Marguerite’s eyes redeemed, ay, more than redeemed, whatever was faulty in the rest of her countenance. Oh! what eyes she had—so large and black and lustrous. Like two precious stones they seemed; and when she turned them wistfully upon you, you were fascinated and rooted to the spot, and if the girl ever sold any frogs it was thanks to those wonderful eyes.

Poor thing! at the age of seventeen to be left an orphan, alone and friendless in the big city of New York. Poor thing! From the Battery up to Murray Hill, and across from river to river, not a solitary being knew or cared about her; and had she died—died even a violent, sensational death—the coroner’s inquest would have taken up scarce three lines in the daily papers, after which, like a drop of water falling into the ocean, she would have passed out of sight and mind for ever.

But no, we are wrong; there was one who did care for Marguerite—one who had known her parents when they first came over from France, and had done everything she could to help them. But, alas! down in the whirlpool of poverty husband and wife had disappeared and died, and many a pang shot across Mother Catherine’s breast as she thought of the child left now to shift for herself like so many other waifs.

The girl’s home was in a tenement-house, and the room where she slept was shared by three other women, who would have made it a filthy, disorderly place indeed except for Marguerite. Every morning she swept the floor, opened the window to let in fresh air, and imparted a cosey look to what would otherwise have been the most squalid chamber in the building. By her mattress hung a crucifix, a gift from Mother Catherine, and near the crucifix was a piece of old looking-glass which Marguerite had found in a dust-barrel. Before this she would daily spend a quarter of an hour making her toilet. Her dark hair was neatly gathered up beneath her Norman cap—only one little tress peeping out; across her bosom was pinned a clean white kerchief; the mud-spots were carefully brushed off her tattered gown; then, after lingering a moment to admire herself, she would sally forth, the envy of all the slatterns in the neighborhood, and the boys would wink to one another and say: “What a nice-looking gal!”

Marguerite often wished that she had a better class of admirers than these. “But, alas!” she would sigh, “I am poor. Poverty like a mountain presses me down. If I could sell more frogs and get a new dress, then real gentlemen might notice me. But, alas! I must be thankful I have this old calico thing to cover me. But even this is falling in rags, and I may soon be without shoes to my feet.”

One day, while she was thus inwardly bemoaning her hard lot and crying out: “Frogs, fresh frogs! Buy a few frogs!” without having anybody come to buy even a dime’s worth, her attention was drawn to a middle-aged man, dressed in a faded suit of black, who had paused on his way up the street, and seemed to be listening with wonder to her cry.

He was not at all handsome, yet there was something very striking about him, and you would have marked him out in a crowd as one who did not follow in the beaten ways of other men.

When he first halted, his thin, wan face had assumed an air of surprise; but presently, advancing nearer to the booth, this changed to an expression of melancholy which caused the girl to feel pity for him.

“Are you selling frogs, miss—frogs?” he said, fixing his deep, sunken eyes upon her.

“Yes, sir. Would you like a few?” replied Marguerite, her heart fluttering with hope.

“Well, now, I thought I had eaten almost everything that is eatable; but upon my word this does go a little beyond my experience,” said Abel Day, as he bent down to examine the delicate white frogs’ legs, which were ranged in rows, tastefully fringed with a border of parsley leaves. “But are you sure they are what you say they are? No toads among them?”

“We don’t eat toads in France, sir,” returned Marguerite, the blood mounting to her cheeks.

“In France! Why, are you from France?”

“I am. _O la belle France!_ And father and mother used to keep a frog-stand in Rouen; and they had a fine mushroom garden there, too. But folks here don’t know what is good to eat. Oh! I wish my parents had never come to America; and so did they wish it before they died.”

“Well, what sort of a place is France?” inquired the other, who began to feel interested in the girl.

“I was very young, sir, when I left it; therefore I cannot describe it to you. But I know France is a beautiful country. It must be beautiful; no country in all the world can compare with it. Father and mother used to drink wine in France.”

“Well, people here drink wine, too, sometimes.”

“Do they? All those I know drink nasty water or else horrid whiskey,” said Marguerite, making a wry mouth.

“Humph! you are the first I ever met who didn’t like America,” pursued Abel Day. “However, I’ll not let this set me against you; so what is the price of your frogs?”

“How many do you wish?” inquired Marguerite, who hardly expected him to take over a quarter of a dollar’s worth at most.

“Let me have the whole lot.”

“Well, will four dollars be too much?” she said hesitatingly.

“Here is your money,” answered Abel, drawing forth the sum. “And now, while you are wrapping up these funny-looking creatures—verily, I might take ’em for little pigmies just ready for a swim—please tell me how business is.”

“Bad, sir. It always is with me; and I sometimes think of giving it up.”

“And trying something else? Well, now, take my advice—don’t. This business can be made to pay as well as any other. All that’s wanted is to know how to go about it.”

“Oh! I’d be only too thankful if you’d tell me what to do,” exclaimed Marguerite. “Too thankful; for I’m almost in despair.”

“Well, then, open your ears, and I’ll give you a ‘wrinkle’ that’ll set you on the highroad to prosperity.” Here Abel lifted his forefinger; then, after clearing his throat, “My young friend,” he went on, “you must know that the world is largely composed of fools. Of course it wouldn’t do to tell ’em so; nevertheless, it’s the truth, though they are not to be blamed for it—not a bit. We are born what we are; we don’t make ourselves. A pumpkin can be nothing but a pumpkin; a genius is a genius. And this makes the world all the more interesting, at least to me. Why, what a dull place ’twould be if we were all alike! Oh! I do love to look down upon the broad pumpkin-field of humanity, and feel how far, far above it some few men are elevated—some very few.”

“Like yourself,” interposed Marguerite, with an air of seriousness, only belied by a laughing gleam in her eyes.

“Please let that pass; no digressions,” said Abel, waving his hand. “But come back now to where we started from—namely, how to make the frog business pay.” Here he gave another cough. “In the first place, my young friend, this booth is altogether too small. It not only doesn’t allow your frogs half a chance to be seen, but you yourself are almost hidden inside of it. And, speaking of yourself, do not be offended if I observe that you have wonderfully attractive eyes, and a charming voice, and spirits which keep bright and cheerful no matter how cloudy the sky is. Yes, this much I know, though I never met you before. Well, now, here is the advice I give: Hire a small store close by; then have an immense sign-board hung over the entrance, with Frog Emporium painted on it in twelve-inch letters, and let every letter be of a different color, so that people will be attracted by it when they are a good block off. Then beneath the words Frog Emporium, and on the left-hand side, you must paint a fat, contented old mother frog, squatting, at the edge of a pond, watching a lot of merry tadpoles swimming about. This will represent maternal felicity. At the other end of the sign you may paint a hungry-looking man with mouth wide open, and Mr. Bullfrog taking a header down his throat, and screeching out as he goes down, ‘This fellow knows what’s good!’ You should likewise get a cooking-stove, so as to have a dainty dish of frogs all prepared for anybody who may come in and wish to taste them. There, now, is my plan; I submit it to your consideration. Carry it out, and you’ll soon find it difficult to supply all your customers.”

“Well, indeed, sir,” answered Marguerite, “I thank you from the bottom of my heart for the interest you take in me. But, alas! I am too poor to pay the rent of ever so small a store; why, I couldn’t even pay for such a sign-board as you describe. In fact, if you knew how very narrow my means are, you would wonder that I can manage to keep alive.”

“Is that so?” said Abel, in a tone of compassion. “Well, then, leave the sign to me; I will order it this very day, and the moment it is ready it shall be brought to you. I’ll also go security for your rent.”

At these words Marguerite’s eyes filled with tears, glad tears, and, clasping one of his hands, she pressed it warmly; while Abel thought to himself, “How full of sentiment she is! Poor creature!”

“Oh! what a blessed thing it is to be rich,” exclaimed the girl presently. “But all rich people, sir, are not like you—no, indeed.”

“Never mind my wealth,” said Abel; “we’ll talk about that some other time. Go ahead, now, and carry out my notion; put implicit trust in me. Everything will come out right in the end.”

Again Marguerite pressed his hand—her heart was too full for words—after which Abel Day went away, promising to return before the week was ended to see how she was getting on. The girl followed him with her eyes until he was lost to view, wondering who he could be. “Well, whoever he is,” she thought to herself, “he is a real gentleman. True, his clothes are rather worn; but we cannot judge a man by his clothes. Yes, he is a real gentleman, and different from any other that I have ever seen. He didn’t beat me down in my price; no, he bought all my frogs and paid me what I asked. Anybody else would have forced me to take three dollars and a half or three dollars. I might even have let them go for two and a half. But no, he isn’t like other rich persons. And, oh! may God bless him and make him happy; for I am sure from his looks there is something weighing on his heart.”

During the next few days Marguerite’s thoughts constantly turned upon her strange friend, who had evidently been in downright earnest and kept his word; for the sign-board was promptly sent to her, and she could not contain her delight when she saw it hanging above the doorway of the little store which she hired.

True to his promise, Abel Day came soon again to visit Marguerite, bringing money wherewith to pay her month’s rent in advance. It seemed to do him good to talk to her, and his face brightened when she told him how many people had already entered the Frog Emporium. “And every one, sir, who eats a plate of my frogs declares they are better than an oyster-stew. And they say, too, that the sign-board makes them roar with laughter and entices them in whether they will or no. O sir! how can I thank you enough for what you have done for me?”

“Don’t speak any thanks,” replied Abel. “No, don’t speak any; but show your thanks by being good and virtuous. ’Tis getting down in the world leads so many to the bad. Ay, misery is the devil’s best friend. Therefore, my dear girl, improve your condition as fast as you can. Put money in the savings-bank; then when you meet any poor wretch hard up, and you have the means to help him, do it.”

“Oh! indeed I will,” said Marguerite. “But now please, kind sir, let me know the name of my benefactor. I wish to know it, that I may tell it to the only other friend I have on earth—Mother Catherine. She’ll be sure to ask me who you are.”

“My name is Abel Day,” he replied.

“And you live—? Well, perhaps I shouldn’t ask that, sir. Though if I did know your address, I’d slip into your kitchen some morning bright and early, and cook you a nice mess of frogs for breakfast.” Then, arching her pretty eyebrows: “You live in Fifth Avenue—beautiful Fifth Avenue?”

“I do, and yet I don’t,” answered Abel. “I often see myself there, dwelling in a marble mansion; ’tis sure to happen—so sure that I may consider myself already in Fifth Avenue.” Here, observing a puzzled look upon Marguerite’s face, “Ah!” he added, “you do not understand me. Well, nobody else does, either. But never mind. The world will wake up some fine morning and find the name of Abel Day on every lip. And ’tis all coming out of here—here.” At these words he tapped his forehead. “My fortune will not be built on other men’s misfortunes; ’twill not come through gambling in stocks, through swindling, through falsehood, through dishonor. But out of my brain the great thing is slowly but surely taking shape and form which ere long will astound the world.”

“Well, truly, sir, I believe you. Oh! I do,” exclaimed Marguerite, who felt herself carried away by his own enthusiasm. “I knew from the first moment I laid eyes on you that you were an extraordinary man.”

“’Tis often thus,” pursued Abel musingly. “Genius is not seldom recognized by the humble ones of earth, when those who dwell in high places, with ears and eyes stuffed and blinded by prosperity, have only fleers and gibes to give.”

“And would it be showing too much curiosity,” inquired Marguerite, “if I were to ask what is this wonderful thing which I doubt not will bring you in riches and renown? And certainly no one deserves these more than yourself; for but for you, oh! I shudder to think what might have become of me. My future was dark—dark—dark.”

“And I have brightened it a little. Yet what is what I have done compared with what remains to be done!” said Abel, speaking like one who thinks aloud. “O mystery of life! Why is there so much misery around me?” Then, addressing Marguerite: “Well, if you like, I will be here at four o’clock this afternoon, when I shall make clear to you what now you do not comprehend. But, remember, it must be a profound secret; no other human being except yourself must know what I am inventing—no other human being.”

“You will find, sir, that I can keep a secret,” said Marguerite. “So please come at the hour you mention.”

Punctual to the minute Abel Day was at the Frog Emporium, which was so thronged with customers that he had to wait half an hour for the girl. But at length, the last frog being sold, off they went together; and as they took their way along the streets Marguerite wondered whither he would lead her. Would it be to some fashionable quarter of the city—to some place where quiet, well-mannered people dwelt? And as her companion did not open his lips, she was left to her own hopes and conjectures, and kept wondering and wondering, until by and by she found herself, with a slight pang of disappointment, in Tompkins Square. A few minutes later the girl was following Abel Day into a third-class boarding-house, and, observing several scrawny females making big eyes at her as she mounted up to his room, which was on the top story, he whispered: “They are jealous of you, my dear; but pay no attention to them, and above all do not reveal to any of these Paul Prys what I am going to show you.”

Presently they reached the door of his chamber, which he hastily unlocked, saying to Marguerite: “Pass in quick—pass in quick”; for Abel fancied he heard footsteps and voices close behind him.

Marguerite obeyed and made haste into the room; then, while Abel was stuffing paper into the keyhole, she threw her eyes about her in utter astonishment.

The apartment was barely half the size of her own at the tenement building; nor could it compare with it for order and neatness. Indeed, ’twas in the greatest disorder. Numberless slips of paper were strewn over the floor, with queer pencil-marks upon them, and the wall was covered by the same odd drawings, especially near the bed, as though Abel did most of his brain-work after he retired for the night and before he arose in the morning. On a shelf by the window lay a dust-covered manuscript, and beside it a cigar-box half full of buttons, dimly visible through a spider’s web.

But where was the wonderful machine he had told her about?

“Here it is,” spoke Abel in a semi-whisper and drawing something out from under the bed.

“Really! Oh! do let me see,” cried Marguerite, flying towards him.

“It is almost finished,” added Abel. “But pray lower your voice, for there are listeners outside—vile eavesdroppers.”

He now went on to explain what this curious object was, which looked like nothing so much as a big toy; for all the girl could perceive was a stuffed chicken sitting in a box, gaudily painted red, white, and blue.

“You must know,” said Abel, “that every time a hen lays an egg the very first thing she does is to turn and look at it, as if to make sure it is really laid. Well, now, this machine which you behold is the Magic Hen’s Nest. There is a spring bottom to it, so that the instant the egg is dropped it will disappear. Then, when the fowl turns to see if it is there—lo! she’ll find it isn’t there. Whereupon, concluding she must have made a mistake, like a good creature she’ll sit down again, and presently out’ll come egg number two, which will likewise vanish through the trap. And so on and on and on, until—well, really, I can’t tell what may happen in the end, for of course there is a limit to all good things: the hen may lose her wits. But if she doesn’t—if she keeps her senses, and if I can force her to continue laying and laying—why, my fortune is made sure, and I’d not change places with old Howe and his sewing-machine—no, indeed I wouldn’t.”

“Well, I declare!” ejaculated Marguerite when Abel was through with the explanation. “This is certainly a grand idea. Why, one hen will do the work of a score of hens.”

“Of five hundred,” said Abel solemnly. “And I wrote some time ago to a couple of my acquaintances on Long Island, advising them to sell off every hen on their farm except one. But they are not willing to follow my advice; and, what’s more, they both came here last week when I was out, and asked all kinds of questions about my health. The fools! But never mind; it’s all the worse for them, for just as soon as I get out my patent down will go the price of hens to zero.”

“Well, upon my word, this is wonderful, wonderful!” said Marguerite, kneeling and stroking the back of the stuffed chicken.