Although, no doubt, both faculties and temperament did turn to the course for which they were most eminently fitted, it was not at any rate with precipitation. In 1863, for him a date of new departure, he had been for nine years "an efficient and popular Cambridge don," thoroughly identifying himself with the traditions of his college and forming cordial intimacies with the ablest resident members of the University. The genius of the place and time, the newer currents of thought and speculation as represented by Mill, Spencer, Darwin, the newer spirit of Liberalism in politics which would now be called "thoughtful," as in fact it was, were thoroughly congenial to him, and by the end of the nine years led to some effective consequences. His tutorial fellowship at Trinity Hall had carried with it the obligation of taking holy orders. "Stephen experienced no misgivings on ordination." (As to this matter, I prefer to choose the words of his friendly, but not too friendly biographer in the Times.) But in 1863 "Stephen was conscientiously impelled by his intellectual development to take a step which seemed at the moment to imperil his fortunes. He resolved to abandon holy orders," to the loss of his fellowship. He avowed that his departure from the Church was no great distress to him; he found that he had entered it with a too uninquiring mind. He was an agnostic, and so remained without a moment's vacillation or a moment's bitterness to the last. The Church being done with, there was a time when it seemed that he might pass into a political career, as his friend Fawcett had, and in the same field, but soon found, as I can but think he half suspected from the first, that here was no endurable pursuit for him. The next turning led to literature, and he passed on to it, most happily and with ever-increasing honor and success; though there was one mistake which

he had plentiful reason to regret, however much we may have profited by it.

Like many others, Stephen found his way to literature as a profession through journalism; at that time a more inviting pursuit to the man who wished to make his voice heard than ever it was before, and far more, certainly, than it has since become. Not that Stephen had much to say in public affairs. He had in him a firm body of Liberal doctrine, such as became a man so perceptive, discriminating and humane, but I do not know that after 1865 he ever imparted it to the public press in set form. Like the poetic inspiration of his childhood, it passed in diffusion into his ethical, historical and literary criticism advantageously. The Saturday Review and the Pall Mall Gazette were the journals in which he wrote (exclusively, I believe), his themes being literary and social (or both in one), such sports as stand foremost at the Universities, and, above all, in that way mountaineering. In Switzerland, as I found out for myself, he had a reputation precisely corresponding with that which was given to him at home: admiration touched with endearment was his portion, there as here. To a common friend and member of the Alpine Club I was indebted for the information that Stephen walked from Alp to Alp like a pair of 1-inch compasses over a large-sized map. As a writer in those days, his humor was his predominant characteristic: humor with just enough bite in it at all times, and for the rest keen, buoyant, illuminating, and apparently as effortless as the springing of a fountain. That quality too, remained in his writing to the last-but again in diffusion. I believe myself able to say that even in that good time for journalism there was no more welcome "contributor" than Leslie Stephen. He was never more disappointing than coin of the realm. The sensation of the

editor when he broke open an envelope and caught a glimpse of Stephen's neat, small handwriting in the customary long lines was as that of the man who spies a bright bank-note in a similar situation. The one regret was that he did not write often enough, and that he ceased to be a contributor so soon. Stephen refrained from journalism altogether, I fancy, when he took the editorship of the Cornhill Magazine in 1871. From that time he became more publicly, and with ever-growing distinction a man of letters. That, however, he might have become with an equal meed of "approbation from Sir Hubert Stanley," without being so beneficent a writer as he was in whatever field of labor his pen moved. ΤΟ

The Pilot

philosophy, to biography, to the criticism of character, to belles-lettres disquisition-no matter what-he not only paid his dues in strength, clearness, and grace of diction, but wrought in conspicuously all the moralities of literary workmanship. Much might be said on that point, and should be said: for there we see a merit by no means common, yet always, where it does appear, of great and much-needed effect. But I have already over-run my allotted space, and can only add this. The character of Leslie Stephen, being as well worth knowing as his work, see a likeness of it drawn by that sure hand, George Meredith's, in "The Egoist": Vernon Whitford.

Frederick Greenwood.

Herbert Spencer's autobiography is definitely promised by the Appletons for March 25.

These are days when the publishers are hurrying out new books upon the far East and new editions of old books. The Macmillans announce new editions of Mrs. Hugh Fraser's "Letters from Japan," Mr. Gerrare's "Greater Russia," and Mr. Archibald R. Colquhoun's "The Mastery of the Pacific."

Little, Brown & Co. announce a collection of short stories by Henryk Sienkiewicz, the well-known Polish author. These stories have been translated by Jeremiah Curtin, the translator of the author's earlier works. The title of the book is "Life and Death and other Legends and Stories." The title story is the author's latest work.

The tenth volume of Mr. Archer Butler Hulbert's series of monographs upon

Historic Highways of America is devoted to the Cumberland Road. This road, the first and only road constructed under the auspices of the national government was authorized in 1806, begun in 1811 and completed in 1818. It extended seven hundred miles from Cumberland on the Potomac to Wheeling on the Ohio. It is difficult now when four or five great transcontinental railway systems divide among them an enormous traffic, and the western as well as the eastern states are gridironed with railways to realize all that the Cumberland road meant in the first half of the last century to the energetic settlers and traders to whom it furnished a thoroughfare. Mr. Hulbert has gathered the materials for his monograph from contemporary narratives and records, and has woven them into a volume of moderate compass but great interest. The reproduction of three maps of the years 1749, 1766 and 1804 affords an opportunity for instructive comparisons. The Arthur H. Clark Company.

Two months after the horrible massacre at Kishinieff, which has been kept alive in our memory by the recent trial, the town was visited by the celebrated Russian novelist, Korolenko, who made an exhaustive inquiry into the details of the tragedy. The notes of this inquiry have been issued by him under the title of "House No. 13," and are here given to Eng

lish readers.

Korolenko was born in 1853, in the province of Volga. His father dying when he was quite a lad left him very poor; but by dint of giving lessons he contrived to finish his University course, and graduated with honors. This accomplished, he repaired with seventeen roubles in his pocket to the Higher Technical Institute at St. Petersburg, supporting himself as best he could, and thence to the Agricultural Academy at Moscow. Being, however, an ardent Liberal and humanitaran, he offended the police by joining in an address to the University Council, and ultimately refused to take the oath of allegiance, and was sent for three years to Siberia. He has travelled widely in his own immense country, and written a book on the Great Famine. He is in the habit of studying not so much the sensational tragedies of fiction, as the

everyday trials and sufferings which he sees around him. This explains his investigation of the painful events of Kishinieff, which he recounts under the responsibility of a writer of established reputation.

I arrived at Kishinieff two months after the massacres had taken place, when the echo of those horrors was still freshly thrilling and reverberating throughout the whole of Russia. The Kishinieff police had taken the most drastic measures, but in spite of their zeal it was difficult to efface all traces of the deeds of blood. Even in the principal streets broken doors and windows were still to be seen; whilst in the outskirts of the town there were still more traces of the same sort. At St. Petersburg a Jew, Daschefsky, struck M. Kroushevan with a knife; but, strange to say, another Jew came forward prepared to give first aid to the wounded man. Kroushevan repelled this proffered aid with a movement of disgust, and wrote later that "Daschefsky's soul was forfeit to him." Together with M. Koumaroff he demanded that sentence of death should be passed on Daschefsky, for the spe

cific reason that he, M. Kroushevan, was not a private person, but a "man representing a principle of State." Two or three days after my arrival at Kishinieff, three unknown young men at tacked a Jewish youth returning from school, one of them stabbing him in the side with a dagger. The dagger was better aimed than was the knife of Daschefsky, and though the blow was weakened by the weapon coming in contact with a book, tightly buttoned up inside the boy's jacket, he did not escape unwounded. This Jewish youth, returning from school, could not of course be said to represent "a principle of State," and consequently, neither Koumaroff, nor Kroushevan, nor the editor of the local paper of Bessarabia took any notice of the occurrence (at least during my stay at Kishinieff), though the Jews of the town discussed the matter with a sense of uneasiness which may well be understood. Amongst other things it was reported that the blow struck at the student was a reply to the outrage committed by Daschefsky. Foolish as this may seem, it may possibly be the truth. Anything may happen in the town of Kishinieff, where the moral atmosphere is still surcharged with fiery animosity and hatred. The ordinary life of the town is at a standstill; building operations have stopped; the Jewish inhabitants are tense with fear, and with uncertainty about the morrow.

II.

It was whilst things were in this condition that I arrived at Kishinieff. Bent on attempting to find some explanation for the horrible and incomprehensible drama which had unrolled itself but a few weeks before, I wandered through the town, its suburbs, streets and markets, interrogating both Jews and Christians on the subject of the recent events. I cannot, of course, pretend

to give any complete explanation, in the following short account of this terrible affair, of the incidents which resulted in the rapid, almost immediate, disappearance of the ordinary restraints of civilization, so that there unexpectedly burst forth something bordering on elemental bestiality. "There is nothing hidden that shall not be made known." It is quite possible that the hidden springs which put in motion this criminal attack will some day be disclosed, when the whole affair will be as plain as is the machinery of a clock that has been taken to pieces. But possibly there will even then remain circumstances difficult to explain in the light of certain known and attested facts. One of the problems that constantly obtrudes itself is, how an average, everyday and fairly decent man, with whom intercourse under ordinary circumstances is not unpleasant, can be suddenly transformed into a wild beast, forming part of a crowd of other wild beasts? Much time and work, and very wide and careful study would be needed in order to present a picture of what took place in all its fulness of color. It is not possible for me to accomplish this; and perhaps the time for doing so has not yet come. I wish I could hope that the Court of Enquiry would do it, but I have cause to fear that they will not. . . . My desire is to place before my readers some reflection of the feeling of horror which overcame me during my short stay at Kishinieff two months after the massacres. In order to do this, I will endeavor to depict as calmly and as exactly as I can one single episode. It is the story of the house in Kishinieff now become celebrated under the name of House No. 13.