She stood still a moment. Her arms dropped helplessly at her sides. The tears came into her eyes. Heinrich led the horse to the barn. There was a lump in his throat.

That evening she came to him. "Thank you for what you did for my brother. You were very kind. I thought he was getting better!" she broke out, too tired to care whether the sympathy she perceived was from an equal or not. "He had a relapse ten days ago. It has been such a hard summer!"

"You were nursing him, then, while you were taking care of me?"

"Yes."

Heinrich turned away, and leaned his head on his hand. "She would put backbone into a jellyfish," he thought. "I have been weak, contemptibly weak.” "It preys on him so not to be able to use his eyes. He never complains." "He keeps himself under on your account."

"How do you know? If I thought that That is what I came out for. He wants you to sit with him. He says " -Miss Gilray's upper lip twitched — "he says he is glad to see a man on the place. He says it makes him feel less cheap. Will you come?"

Heinrich started for the house. Miss

Gilray turned around in the path and faced him.

"I am trusting you a great deal, Heinrich."

"You are doing right, Miss Gilray." It was not the answer she expected, and it puzzled her not a little, but she leaned on him from that moment.

So it came to pass that this man, who ten days before had slept fasting under the stars, brought help to a stranded household. For the time his problem was, not "How shall I earn my bread?" but "How can I serve? He chopped wood, he made fires, he ran up and down on errands. He spoke little, but he proved to have a soothing way with his hands. Helen grew more and more perplexed in her sociological study, and owned it frankly in her notes.

"I had an interesting conversation with Heinrich while we were arranging flowers. (It is nonsense to say that taste is necessarily the result of culture; his eye for form and color is as good as mine.) He said he once believed that if a man failed to get work it was something in himself. He had changed his mind, because there were other factors at work besides the man: there was the other man. 'He may want the job done, and not want me,' he said. 'Feelings have something to do with it. If I were the only man who could do the job, it would be different, but that is n't the case.' Cold comfort if one were starving. ing. I wonder if it is this impersonality, this how shall I put it? - this loss of teeth and claws, that makes it hard for him to get along? This raises a very interesting question. He admits that he has had some education. Suppose he should be a man of higher position under a cloud? If he were an escaped convict, I would keep him here so long as he did Bert good; but Peter would n't. Dogs often adore weak people, but Peter despises a rascal."

"I should like to have you go to town this morning, Heinrich," she said, a few

days afterward. "You will telephone to Hartford for the cook they promised to send me. Stop at the grocery store, too, please, and get a codfish; pick out a good large one."

"Certainly," answered Heinrich; and then, blushing and hesitating, "Will you be kind enough to advance me a little of my wages, Miss Gilray?"

Helen's face darkened. "Now, Heinrich, I cannot have you spend your hardearned money on beer."

"But I don't want beer!" exclaimed Heinrich. "I want it is only thirtyfive cents that I want. Not unless you are willing, though."

Partly reassured, she gave him the money. Heinrich telephoned to Hartford, and found that the cook was on her way. In the grocery store he picked out a codfish, a good large one. It was so large that the supply of paper in the store seemed to be inadequate, and the clerk tied it up in a roll, with the tail outside. "There! I guess you can carry it well enough," he said.

Heinrich guessed he could, and started back, after stopping at the drug store for a toothbrush. He whistled as he walked home. He had begun to call it "home." As he drew near the house, a tall girl, pushing her bicycle up the hill he had once climbed, approached him. She scrutinized him a moment, and, walking toward him quickly, extended her hand, exclaiming: "Why, Professor Heinrich! I did not expect to meet you here."

Heinrich hoisted the codfish higher under his arm, and lifted his hat. "And I did not expect to see you, Miss Van Duzen," he said, with perfect truth.

"Are you staying in town? Oh, a walking trip, I see. Men are so free! Well, call on us at the Birch Trees Inn, if you pass."

"Thank Heaven, she's gone!" thought Heinrich fervently, watching her and her wheel to a safe distance.

He entered the gate, and confronted

a frowning Alruna-maid who had risen from a seat under the trees.

"I overheard what you said. That girl called you 'professor.' Is it true?"

"It is true," answered Heinrich, standing before her, with his hat in one hand and the codfish in the other. "Adolf Heinrich."

"Professor Adolf Heinrich, of Maldon House, who wrote The Poor in Country Towns?"

"Rubbish!" said the professor impatiently. "It was rubbish!”

"And you let me think you a tramp, and never explained your real position?"

"Don't be angry, — don't.” "I am I am why, I don't know what I am!" Helen laughed, and it sent a shiver of delight through her hearer. He began to realize that up to this time he had seen her under a strain ; the every-day girl was humorous and gay. "You brought home that codfish?"

"Why not?" asked the professor. "I would n't let you have your wages

"Oh, do not apologize," said Heinrich, with great earnestness. "If all were like you, there would be no labor problem." It is certain that he meant it. "You took me in, a stranger. There are things that sink deep."

He turned his back on her abruptly. She saw his emotion, and, like a woman, ran away from it.

"Sit down, and tell me all about it." "There is so little to tell," he answered, seating himself beside her. "I wanted to see if I could earn my bread with my hands. Other men have tried it and succeeded; I have failed, that is the difference. For a time I got on fairly well. I got a job at haying, afterward at cutting tobacco. The farmer was n't satisfied. He said it took brains to cut tobacco. The hired man I roomed with borrowed my toothbrush Sunday evening that riled me! I am nothing but a tenderfoot, anyway. Then I fell

"I will go."

sick. Nothing takes the starch out of a man like sickness. The day I came here, as I stopped to get my breath before climbing the hill, I was ready to toss the whole thing up; but to go back to my men with the consciousness that in the primitive struggle between man and the universe I had been a failure "But what makes you think you have failed?" she asked. "You have shown great persistence. Entire success might have hardened you. You would have said that a man was sufficient unto himself. Now you will know better, and others will gain from it. Our failures are a source of strength and inspiration!"

"I go," he repeated after dinner, when Helen said good-by to him on the veranda, "but I shall sometime come back. I shall come back as Adolf Heinrich," he added firmly, and raising her hand suddenly to his lips he kissed it.

Helen went up the stairs in deep thought.

"Where were my eyes, that I could live in the same house with him day after day and not see that I had a gentleman to deal with? I did know it; I felt he was a gentleman the moment my hand touched his pulse; but I would not trust my instincts. I had to be scientific; I had to reach my conclusions by cold-blooded analysis."

She pushed away her Sociological Notes. As she did so, her eye came within range of a small brown object on the mantel. She laughed out suddenly, and gave it a friendly pat.

"At least, he has left me his pipe," she said.

Margaret L. Knapp.

IN one of Mr. W. E. Henley's hospital poems, a sailor, "set at euchre on his elbow," tells in twenty lines what he saw from the wharf at Charleston when

he was there off a blockade runner, near the end of the American Civil War. Professor John C. Schwab, of Yale, after long and patient investigation of many obscure sources, has written a financial and industrial history of the South during the war which exhibits every characteristic of the most painstaking school of economic historians. His paragraphs are so meaty with facts,

1 The Confederate States of America. 18611865. A Financial and Industrial History of the South during the Civil War. By JOHN

his references so abundant, his method so consistently scientific, his work, in a word, is so thoroughly well done, that it is hard to see how industry and intelligence could have gone farther.

Yet it is a question whether The Confederate States of America or Mr. Henley's verses will prove the more serviceable to the ordinary reader, trying to get a notion of what was inside the shell that crackled to pieces before the great armies of Grant and Sherman. Such is the complexity of civilized societies, so many and so artificial are the CHRISTOPHER SCHWAB. Scribner's Sons. 1901.

New York: Charles

forms which the ordinary processes of production and distribution, buying and selling, borrowing and lending, come to take, so constantly does the play of human motives disarrange the machinery of industry and government, and so wide a margin of error must the student allow in his observations, that failure in one sense is always predicable of an enterprise like Professor Schwab's. The work will of necessity be incomplete, for to reconstruct a civilization by setting one stone upon another is beyond the industry of a lifetime; and it will not be rounded out by the reader himself, for it is not supplemented by his sympathetic understanding, it does not stimulate his imagination. The difference between Professor Schwab's treatment of the dead Confederacy and what a poet, a novelist, a literary historian, might do with it, is like the difference between an artist's and an anatomist's treatment of a human body. We do not judge the artist's work by the number or even by the truth of its details; its aim is to make us see and understand the whole by virtue of a quality common to us and it. On the anatomist or the anatomist-historian our demand is different. His work is unfinished until the last tissue of the body or the body politic is dissected into its minutest cells. Neither anatomy nor political science can ever attain its object completely, as painting and poetry do sometimes attain theirs. Mr. Henley's sailor man might not more enlighten us if his glimpse from the wharf were widened into a vision of the whole harassed South. Professor Schwab's book will be the more valuable for every correction he may make in his tables of prices and note issues, for every newspaper file he may in a future edition make a footnote to refer us to.

completeness and tend to surfeit: that is to say, if one has regard for the reader's limitations. There is a point beyond which the writer cannot go without disregarding the "reader" altogether, not in the matter of his mere interest and pleasure, but in the matter of his attention and memory, of his ability to carry a mass of facts in his head long enough to connect them with what may follow. Of course, there are readers and readers, but it should be no harder to gauge the average mind in this than in many other of the respects in which one must gauge it in books and in life, and to stop short of the line beyond which, for the average mind, scarcely a single general principle or important relation of cause and effect will stand out through the haze to reward the effort which the reading of such a book requires.

Of course, too, it is not the "reader" but the student that books like this are meant for, yet the reader also has some claims. There are questions which every intelligent person would like to ask about the Confederacy, and here are the answers; but one may miss them altogether if the results of the investigation are set forth too abstrusely, or too cautiously, or too minutely. Professor Schwab and another scientist, Professor E. A. Smith, of Allegheny College, who limits himself, however, to a study of the Confederate treasury,1 come forward from their dissection of a defunct state, and we wish to know of them, not what discoveries or confirmations they have to report to their brother scientists, but what was the strength that sustained the Southern Confederacy while it lived and what disease or wound or weakness it died of. Perhaps it may be practicable to extract from their reports, restrained as they are, and resolutely void of gossip and conjecture, some satisfaction of our unenlightened curiosity.

Southern History Association, 1901, vols. i.-iv. Washington, D. C.

Our question is not meant to cover the military struggle. With the main features of that, educated Americans and many Englishmen as well, now that they have books like Colonel Henderson's Stonewall Jackson are reasonably well acquainted. But it seems nowadays to be generally conceded that while the armies on both sides were composed almost entirely of volunteers, and so small that the North's superiority in wealth and numbers had not begun to tell, the South's advantages of fighting on interior lines and of possessing more good riders and good shots did tell heavily. It would perhaps be conceded also that the South had men enough, if she could have kept them in the field well armed and well clothed and well fed, to withstand even the vast numbers which the North did put in the field and liberally equip and sustain. We all understand, too, that after the first few months the blockade forced the Confederates to rely on their own resources far more nearly altogether than the Southern leaders in secession had apprehended. Were the available resources inadequate, or were they neglected or wasted? Why were the Southern armies always ill armed, ill clad, ill fed, ill paid? How far was the outcome, inevitable though it may have been, immediately attributable to faults and errors?

If we disregard the already accomplished effects of slavery on Southern industry, it was probably of advantage to the Confederates that the laborers in their fields were of a class less easily demoralized by war than a free white peasantry would have been. There is nothing to indicate that, until the country was overrun by Union troops, the blacks on the farms and plantations were less efficient than in peace. They made no move to rise. It was not found necessary to exempt from military service more than one owner or overseer for every twenty slaves, and the exemption did not keep more than five or six thousand men out

of the army. Here was an agricultural labor system, defective, no doubt, but which did not need to be adapted to the emergency, and which, when it was diverted from cotton-growing, - partly by the loss of the market for cotton, and partly by concerted purpose, was capable of producing a food supply adequate to all wants, save that certain foods in common use, but not absolutely indispensable, could not be produced in the South at all. For some of these, like tea and coffee, passable substitutes were contrived; the insufficiency of salt and of various medicines was the difficulty most nearly insuperable. There was, besides, a good part of the four and a half million bales of cotton of the crop of 1860, the entire four million of the crop of 1861, the million or more of 1862, the half million each of 1863 and 1864. The South had sufficient food, and it had in abundance a principal raw material of clothing. Tobacco was plentiful, — no mean item in war, as veterans both of the Civil War and of the Spanish War will testify. Tanneries were commoner than any other sort of manufactories, and the supply of leather, though scant, could be eked out with various substitutes. There were vast resources of timber, and all the raw material for making iron; contrary to the general notion, the great deposits of iron ore in northern Alabama were known before the war, and tentative attempts to exploit them had been made.

But it was simply impossible to build the furnaces and mills and railroads which were necessary to an effective use of these resources. The fact that the manufactories and railroads were not brought up to the requisite development is the best of reasons for believing that they could not have been, with the labor and the capital that were available; for such manufactories as were set up, such railroads as were already built, some of them were extended with government aid, were extremely profitable. The motives of self-interest and patriotism,