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and back on my way to work. Nor have I tiguous temples and ruins. That wonderin all my experience ever had a more ful tea-rose marble, with its stains of burnt competent, obliging, and companionable sienna marking the flutings of endless guide-always excepting my beloved Luigi, broken columns needs no varnishing of who is not only my guide, but my protector moisture to enhance its beauty. That will and friend as well.
do for the facade of Burlington House with It was then that I blessed the dust. its grimy gray statues, or the moss-enGreen things, wet things, soggy things— crusted tower of the Groote Kirk, but such as mud and dull skies have no place in never here. It was this fear, perhaps, that the scheme of the Parthenon and its con- kept me at work, haunted as I was by the bogy of “Rain to-morrow. It always superb chamber that held the statue the comes, and keeps on for a month when it gods loved-none of these things interstarts in.” Blessed be the weather clerk! ested me do not now. What I saw was It never started in—not until I reached an epoch in stone; a chronicle telling the Brindisi on my way back to Paris; then, if I story of a civilization; a glove thrown down remember, there was some falling weather to posterity, challenging the competition of -at the rate of two inches an hour. the world.
I might as well confess that my two And with this came a feeling of reverence weeks' study of the Acropolis, beginning at so profound, so awe-inspiring, so humbling, the recently uncovered entrance gate and that I caught myself speaking to Panis in ending in the Museum behind the Par- whispers—as one does in a temple when thenon, added nothing to my previous the service is in progress. This, as the sun knowledge--meagre as it had been. Where sped its course and the purple shadows of the Venetians wrought the greatest havoc, the coming night began to creep up the how many and what columns were thrown steps and columns of the marvellous pile, down; how high and thick and massive its pediment bathed in the rose-glow of the they were; what parts of the marvellous fading day, was followed by a silence that ruin that High Robber Chief Lord Elgin neither of us cared to break. For then the stole and carted off to London, and still wondrous temple took on the semblance of keeps the British Museum acting as “fence”; some old sage, the sunlight on his forehead how wide and long and spacious was the the shadow of the future about his knees.
By Grace Fallow Norton
All through the village we are still;
We wait for him to pass.
They turn and turn the glass.
He is a stranger-fair, they say,
And young. The young should live!
Deep into life should dive
And breast its waves and buoyant swim
Alas-he drifts to port.
Beyond the billow-sport,
Beyond the harbor, past the hill,
Beneath the churchyard grass. ...
All through the village we are still.
We wait for him to pass.
EN years after General decades had passed, one of his children Sherman attained the gave the public in 1904) a liberal portion height of his military of the life-long correspondence between the achievement he pub- General and his brother, the Hon. John lished in 1875) his Sherman. Both the “Memoirs" and the "Memoirs," an out- “Sherman Letters” brought to the readers
spoken record of his ca- of such books an animating knowledge of reer in peace and war. Ten years later he General Sherman as a writer-forcible, inrevised the “Memoirs" in the light of the dividual, fearless, the very counterpart in abundant comment and criticism which expression of everything which the history they called forth. When nearly two more of his country records of him in action.
Now the Civil War is in its fifth decade career as a soldier was at an end." In 1853 behind us, and the time has come for draw- he resigned from the army, with encouraging upon the last considerable collection of ing prospects of success in banking. InGeneral Sherman's writing to which the stead, the ill-starred time brought him dispublic may expect even a limited admis- appointments and losses in California, New sion. These are the letters which he wrote York and St. Louis. Yet everywhere came to Ellen Boyle Ewing, who, in 1850, became occasions for playing the part of a man, and his wife. To the house of her father, the everywhere he played it manfully. EveryHon. Thomas Ewing, of Ohio, he went to where, too, the unpublished letters, like the live as a son upon the death of his own “Memoirs,” reveal him making the most of father in 1829. The first of the letters bears all opportunities for self-improvement. As the date of 1837, the year in which the boy early as 1842, when he was only twentyof seventeen left his adopted, and adopting, two, we see him, for example, cultivating at home to become a cadet at West Point. Fort Moultrie, S. C., his gift for painting. Mr. Ewing was then Secretary of War, and In 1844 he utilizes the leisure of the same to him young Sherman owed his appoint- Southern post by reading law. This activity ment to the military school. This debt, he of mind and spirit shows itself again and would have been the first to say, was quite again. One is not surprised at finding him secondary to that of the whole-souled boy- receiving a lawyer's license in Kansas, in and-girl relationship which grew into the 1858, without examination, “on the ground vital devotion and confidence of man and of general intelligence." * The entire autowife. In and out of the army Sherman was biographic record speaks, always indirectly, of necessity long and often separated from for the rare accumulations not only of inthe domestic centre in which his strong af- telligence, but of the fruits of character fections were deeply rooted. His letters which Sherman brought to the last employhome, therefore, were always the frank and ment he undertook before the outbreak of authentic records of the events which most the Civil War. nearly concerned him. The historic im- This was the superintendency of the portance of these events would of itself jus- Louisiana State Seminary of Learning tify the publication of the letters. But to and Military Academy, which opened its this must be added their biographical sig- doors to pupils on January 1, 1860. It nificance. Through their fresh illumina- must have been partly “on the ground of tion of the Civil War period, with which the general intelligence" again that Sherman present series will particularly deal, and was selected for this work. Certainly he through their spontaneous revealing of the had had no special training for the conduct more intimate human qualities of Sherman of an institution of learning. But the school himself, they belong to the annals both of was more than that. Its founders had beAmerican history and of American biog- fore their eyes the model of such an acadraphy.
emy as the Virginia Military Institute, Sherman was no exception to the rule which in turn looked to West Point for that the men whose names were most many of its ideals; and Sherman's military closely linked with glory when the Civil education and experience were, of course, War was done were at its beginning virtu- an important element in his equipment for ally unknown to fame. His military oppor- the new task. Had either he or the Louitunities had been few and unimportant. siana authorities known that secession and The Southern posts, to which he was or- war were impending it is obvious that a dered after graduating at West Point, were soldier so devoted to the Union would never cramped arenas for distinction. The Mex- have gone into the South with the mission ican War brought him nothing better which took him there. What he experienced than quiet service in California. In his in handling a difficult administrative prob"Memoirs” he wrote: “I felt deeply the lem, what he gained in the clarifying of his fact that our country had passed through a own outlook upon national issues, in a word, foreign war, that my comrades had fought what he learned in his brief period of teachgreat battles, and yet I had not heard a hos- ing—all this is set forth in the letters about tile shot. Of course, I thought it the last and from the Seminary of Learning and and only chance in my day, and that my "Memoirs" (1885), I, 168.