~Sunset on the Marshes.~ From the painting by _George Inness_ Facing page 824
~Trade of the World Papers, The~ _James Davenport Whelpley_ XVIII. The Foreign Trade of the United States 886
~T. Tembarom.~ _Frances Hodgson Burnett_ 929 Drawings by Charles S. Chapman.
~White Linen Nurse, The~ _Eleanor Hallowell Abbott_ 857 Pictures, printed in tint, by Herman Pfeifer.
~Year, The Most Important~ _Editorial_ 951
~Husband Shop, The~ _Oliver Herford_ 956 Picture by Oliver Herford.
~Mother, The~ _Timothy Cole_ 920 Picture by Alpheus Cole.
~Myself,” “I Sing of~ _Louis Untermeyer_ 960
~Parents, Our~ _Charles Irvin Junkin_ 959 Pictures by Harry Raleigh.
~Socratic Argument.~ _John Carver Alden_ 960
(TO BE COMPLETED IN FOUR LONG INSTALMENTS)
Red Hill drowses through the fleeting hours as though not only time, but mills, machinery, and railways were made for slaves. Hemmed in by the breathing silences of scattered woods, open fields, and the far reaches of misty space, it seems to forget that the traveler, studying New England at the opening of the nineteenth century through the windows of a hurrying train, might sigh for a vanished ideal, and concede the general triumph of a commercial age.
For such a one Red Hill held locked a message, and the key to the lock was the message itself: “Turn your back on the paralleled rivers and railroads, and plunge into the byways that lead into the eternal hills, and you will find the world that was and still is.”
Let such a traveler but follow a lane that leads up through willow and elderberry, sassafras, laurel, wild cherry, and twining clematis--a lane alined with slender wood-maples, hickory, and mountain-ash, and flanked, where it gains the open, with scattered juniper and oak, and he will come out at last on the scenes of a country’s childhood.
At right angles to the lane, a broad way cuts the length of the hill, and loses itself in a dip at each end toward the valleys and the new world. The broad way is shaded by one of two trees, the domed maple or the stately elm. At the summit of its rise stands an old church the green shutters of which blend with the caressing foliage of primeval trees. Its white walls and towering steeple dominate the scene. White, too, are the houses that gleam from behind the verdure of unbroken lawns and shrubbery--all but one, the time-stained brick of which glows blood-red against the black green of clinging ivy.