ter.

Above Treves the Moselle is not navigable except by very small boats drawing a few inches of water. The valley of the Moselle is exceptionally rich in historical associations, commencing with the overthrow of the Treveri, a tribe of Belgic Gauls, by Julius Cæsar, B. C. 56, and running down through mediæval times, through the devastations of the Thirty Years' War, and in this century in connection with the Napoleonic occupation. In and about Treves are enduring traces of the Romans, and all along the river to the Rhine are gray ruins, mementoes of the feudal days and the later stormy times of the seventeenth century. These ruins, however, are not as frequent or as imposing as those of the Rhine, but, as along the larger river, these of the Moselle have each its legend.

Treves is the oldest of the German cities. It is supposed to have been established as a Roman colony in the first century of our era, during the reign of the Emperor Claudius. It subsequently became the capital of the Occident, and the center of Roman domination in Gaul, Spain, and Great Britain. Many of the Emperors, among others Constantius, Constantine the Great, Valentinius, Gratianus, and Maximus, had residences there. Christianity obtained a foothold there at a very early date, and was definitely established by an edict of Constantine in 313. Later it was joined to the Frankish monarchy. In 843 it was incorporated with Lorraine, but not long after was ceded to Germany, to which it has always since then appertained, except during the French occupation at the time of the revolution.

During the middle ages it was governed by Archbishops, subsequently by Electors. In 1634 the city was taken by the Spaniards, then by the French under Turrenne in 1645. In 1794 in was occupied by France, and by the Treaty of Lunéville in 1801 was ceded to that country. This domination, however, only lasted until 1814, when Prussia took possession, which possession was made definitive by the Treaty of Vienna of 1816. It will thus be seen that the city has had a long and checkered history. At present it contains about 22,000 in habitants, of whom perhaps one-tenth only are Protestants.

Early in the morning following my arrival I walked out through the narrow streets, toward

The roadway is lined with trees, and leads past a pretentious villa surrounded with pretty grounds. To the right the outlook between the trees is over rolling fields, which just then were covered with the yellow shocks of the newly cut grain; in the distance were pretty bits of wood. I turned to the left into the broad entrance of the Amphitheatre. Nothing is left but the lower parts of the solid brick walls. The arena is clearly defined; along up the circling sides, where the multitude sat, are trees and bushes, and up on the adjoining hill-side stands a cosy dwelling, supported on one side by a fragment of the upper wall. I walked across the arena and turned up the bank on the opposite side, and sat down where I could overlook the entire city, which lies upon lower ground, and also the ruins about me. I might easily have fancied myself in Italy. There was the soft, warm haze of August over the charming scene. In the background were those bluffs on the left bank of the river, the red sandstone gleaming out through the fringing and lacing of green, and contrasting with the white houses along their base. In the middle ground the brown, slated roofs of the city, out of which arose the massive towers of the old Cathedral; to the left the modern-looking brick Basilica, which it is true is partly renewed, but which in the main is fifteen centuries old; alongside it the Stadt - house, which, though less than two centuries old, looks in its degraded, fantastic style, tawdry, aged, and wrinkled. Away on the opposite side of the city are the massive gray remains of the Porta Nigra. Back of where I sat rise slopes covered with vineyards. Presently a soft chime of bells came across the housetops from the old dome. The deception was complete; it must really be a section of Italy, accidentally out of place. I heard the laughter of children and looked down into the grassy arena, from whence it came, and saw a half dozen youngsters pursuing butterflies. Two or three obvious reflections were suggested. One was the contrast between the sports of these boys and girls and those of the earlier days on this spot, where men had killed each other, or had fought wild beasts in order to gain the applause of the populace. Another was, how ineradicable is this disposition to capture and destroy; and, after all, is the difference between human nature to-day and two thousand years ago appreciable in its essence? However, the boys captured the butterflies, stuck pins through them, and amused themselves with the fluttering of the impaled insects, and I turned to again

enjoy the quiet beauty of the picture of city and vineyard.

The arena of this amphitheatre is oval-shaped, two hundred and ten feet long and one hundred and sixty feet wide. The entrances to the dens for the wild beasts and to the chambers for the gladiators are still plainly traceable, leading into the arena. Thirty thousand spectators could be accommodated on its benches, which is about one-third of the number which the Coliseum at Rome could hold. The Treveans of those early days were regaled with frequent and striking spectacles in the arena. It is recorded that thousands of captive Franks and Bructori were torn to pieces by wild beasts or sacrificed to amuse the people.

Not far distant at the corner of the city are the ruins of a Roman palace, showing remains of halls and chambers, heating-rooms, and even water-pipes and hot-air pipes. The best preserved, however, of these Roman remains, is the Porta Nigra, a two-story massive gateway on the west side of the city; the huge blocks of granite, now blackened with age, are clearly fitted and clamped together with iron, and the broad surface and great elevation are relieved with graceful arches of gateway and windowlike openings above, with solid pillars and cornices along the front.

There are also recently uncovered remains of an extensive bath. The Basilica is a massive brick structure, now restored and used for a church; formerly it was the Roman Court of Justice and Exchange.

The Cathedral is a noble monument of a later era. It is one of the oldest churches in Germany, its beginnings even going back into Roman times; and its different stages of growth and restoration, after partial destruction and decay though these many centuries, are plainly traceable in its huge irregular exterior. Within, the glare of day is softened by the oldest of painted windows, through which a soft light falls upon dozens of tombs and monuments of Electors and Archbishops, who at various times were mighty in the land. A little side door, not far from the altar, leads into remarkably beautiful and well preserved cloisters, which are supposed to have been built in the thirteenth century. In the center is a pretty garden, overshadowed on the south and west by the lofty, irregularly built side of the Dome, and by the adjoining graceful, gothic Liebfrauenkirche.

I rambled about the narrow, winding streets of the old city, watching the quiet life of the people, and then out on to the massive old Roman bridge, and had a glance up and down the Moselle; below, the red sandstone hights to the left, and the city to the right; above, the glassy

surface of the quiet river, making a graceful, sweeping bend toward the city, here and there boats moored to its banks, and in the distance the vine-covered hill-sides looking like distant cornfields.

I was loth to leave; but the traveler, like the tramp, must keep moving on; and so, after a couple of days in this quaint old city of Treves, I was flying along south, in the afternoon train, towards Metz, which is also on the Moselle. The country very soon opens out into broad, rolling fields on each side of the ever narrowing river. Metz is three hours by rail from Treves, and before one is two-thirds of the way the French speech begins to be heard about the railway stations and from passengers who come on the train. In other words, we come into the province of Lorraine, taken from the French ten years ago. The Germans now designate their conquest by the general name of ElsassLothringen. The railroad station at Metz is just outside the walls, and as I drove through the massive gateway, flanked on each side with cannon, and through the narrow streets, where every other passer was a soldier, I became vividly conscious that I was in a conquered fortification on the border of a nation with whom war is possible, and not really improbable, at any moment. Germany and France are under a constant military strain-the one is ready, and seeks to maintain herself alertly and effectively so; the other is quietly and persistently making herself ready.

Metz is really a German advanced post in an enemy's territory. The resident population is about 49,000, of whom perhaps one-quarter are Germans who have come in since the conquest; the remainder are French. It is said that the city has lost since 1870 about 17,000 of its old population, who have voluntarily abandoned it, rather than remain under German rule. The garrison consists of from sixteen to eighteen thousand men, and consequently officers and soldiers abound in every direction, and at all times there is the tramp of companies and regiments in the streets. The German officers and privates are much more soldierly in appearance, and, as far as one can judge casually, are, man for man, heavier and capable of greater physical endurance than the French. It is apparent on the surface that the discipline of the former is very much more rigid.

The fate of the war of '70-'71 was really settled in and about Metz. The subsequent capture of Sedan, the advance on Paris, and the siege and final capitulation, were but the finale of a drama whose veritable climax was reached when Bazaine, after the bloody day of Gravelotte retreated into Metz.

ons.

It will be recollected that MacMahon was badly defeated by the Crown Prince of Prussia on the 6th of August, 1870, in a decisive battle at Worth, and retreated rapidly toward ChalThere was then a large French force in and about Metz. Napoleon III. was in command of the whole army of the Rhine. The disaster at Worth spread dismay among the French, and Napoleon hastened to relieve himself from personal responsibility for further operations by delivering over to Marshal Bazaine the chief command, and retired toward the center of France. MacMahon's army was badly shattered. Part of it fled toward Strasbourg, but the larger number withdrew to Chalons, on the road to Paris, and there the effort was made to form a new army. The effect of this movement was to separate the French forces into two parts-one about Metz, the other at Chalons, over one hundred miles distant-and naturally the Germans hastened to concentrate themselves in between these two wings, in order to fight each separately rather than both together. On the other hand, the obvious policy of the French was to withdraw from Metz, which now, by the force of events, had become, as it were, only a side station on the line of the advancing enemy, and to concentrate at some available point in his front. A glance at the map will show that Metz lies a very little north of east from Chalons. Bazaine's army lay just east of Metz, and slowly commenced to move through the city and across the Moselle westward in the direction of Chalons. This slowness and delay proved fatal. The Germans pushed forward some corps under Steinmetz to hold Bazaine in check until they could advance and concentrate across the road to his destination. As, therefore, Bazaine's advance guard was crossing the Moselle on the west side of Metz, his rear guard, and, in fact, his main force, was attacked by Steinmetz on the east side. The French kept the enemy at bay, and the next day continued their march westward. But the Germans had gained their point, which was to delay the French movements at least one day, to give time to their other troops to move in advance.

The high road from Metz to Verdun, and thence to Chalons, runs westerly about five miles to the little village of Gravelotte; there it deflects a little to the south-west, and passes through the hamlets of Rezonville, Vionville, and the little town of Mars la Tour. In the center of Gravelotte a road turns at right angles to the north, then in a mile or so turns again toward the north-west to Sedan. On the morning of the combat east of Metz, August 14th, Napoleon and his son left Metz, slept at

Gravelotte, and the next morning early rode along this road to Sedan.

Bazaine's army moved slowly westward past Gravelotte as far as Rezonville in the direction of Verdun and Chalons. Here, on the 16th of August, they found the greater part, but not the whole, of the German army across their path. The French lines extended obliquely across the main road, with the center at Rezonville; the Germans were in front of them, with their left also across the road. The proposition on the French side was to get on to Chalons; on the German, to at least hold Bazaine where he was until there could be a further concentration of their forces, and more crushing blows could be given. Here, about Rezonville, a most obstinate and bloody battle was fought. The loss on each side was seventeen thousand men. When darkness closed the combat, little ground had been gained on either side. The Germans expected a renewal of the fight the next day, but in the night Bazaine gave the order to retire toward Metz, alleging the failure of provisions and munitions. On the 17th, new positions were taken by the French. Their left wing retired between two and three miles, while the main line was swung round at right angles to the old position.

On the morning of the 18th, the French lines were extended north and south, instead of east and west, as on the 16th, with the right and left wings retired somewhat toward the east. The German lines were parallel, with the strongest bodies of troops in front of the village of Gravelotte. In the interim, large additions were made to the German forces, so that they brought into the decisive struggle 230,000 men against 180,000 French. The line of battle extended over about ten miles. The fighting in front of Gravelotte was terrific, where the attempt at first was to cut through the French left wing; but finally, toward evening, the Saxons came up on the extreme right wing of the French, and rolled it back in confusion on the center and left, which had held their ground. Bazaine was defeated, and the next day retired. into Metz. The German loss was about 20,000 men, much heavier than that of the French, which numbered between 12,000 and 13,000. The operations of the Germans between the 14th and 18th of August had been in a general way to swing the French army completely round upon its left wing, as a pivot, into Metz. The city and the inclosed army were then invested, and they finally surrendered on the 29th of October. This most extraordinary capitulation delivered into the hands of the victors 173,000 men, including 71 generals, 6,000 other officers, and over 1,400 pieces of cannon. The history

On a warm August day I rode out over the battle-field of the 18th. The dusty road leads out through the suburbs, crosses the Moselle at Devant les Ponts, and gradually ascends to the plateau along which the French army lay, through what were then woods, but are now, for military reasons, cut away. Riding through the little village of Amanvillers, we came to the village of St. Privat, and, a little farther on, to the hamlet of Carriers de Jaumont. Around St. Privat and this last named hamlet was the right wing of the French, and where they were finally driven back by the Saxons. Naturally the fighting was hot, and the houses and walls still bear evidence of the rough storm of iron and lead that played around them. It must be recollected that a French village is not at all like one of ours. It is a collection of stone houses with tile roofs, crowded together, side by side, along one or two narrow streets, and the walls which surround the little gardens and inclosures around it are compact stone structures, laid in mortar and covered with a coat of plaster.

These wall are usually about five feet in hight, so that a village is like a little fortification to the troops in possession of it. The French troops had their lines for miles along the plateau, the center and left along and in front of the woods already mentioned. In front the open country falls away in a slight declination. One can look for miles across fields, which just now were being harvested, and were coated with the yellow stubble. Here and there are the huddled-together villages and hamlets, with their red-tiled roofs.

I then turned, and rode along a narrow road which ran along the rear of the German line, to Gravelotte, where I stopped for lunch at the little inn with the magniloquent name of the Horse of Gold.

it ran thus:

I found the people were watching a laborer digging up bones, skulls, and bits of shoes and clothing, and throwing them pell-mell into a long wooden box. The box was already nearly full, and yet he had not gone more than a foot below the surface. I was told that hundreds had been thrown into a pit here, and they were transferring the remains to another point. The spectacle was not a very pleasant one, and I soon turned away.

A little way out of Gravelotte toward Metz, about where was the center of the French left, I rode over a piece of road, bounded on one side by a ravine and on the other by a bluff bank, up which four hundred German cavalry charged to take a battery of mitrailleuse on the plateau on the top, and every man and horse was killed or wounded. All about this point the fighting was terrific, and all around are the monuments and crosses over the burial places of the fallen. My way back into Metz led through Ronzevilles, where the extreme left of the French was posted. It is not difficult on the ground for even an unmilitary person to see that the French had the advantage of position, and that the Germans, in order to attack all along the line with vigor, had to have many more men than their opponents, and in order to turn the right wing had to march a long distance over an open country, where there was no cover from the sweeping fire of batteries and infantry with long-range arms. One can, therefore, understand why the Germans lost so many men, and also can appreciate the obstinate nature of their onslaught.

My driver was an intelligent man, a native of Metz, and was there during the battles and siege. He expressed what the French universally assert, that Bazaine was grossly incompetent in the management of the campaign, and a traitor in surrendering his army. I inquired of him as to the feelings of the people toward

me, probably because I was a foreigner, that they were much embittered, and that their preferences were all for France. One great ground of complaint is the steady increase of the taxes, which seem, as he said, to be always mounting higher and will shortly become unbearable, and also the rigidity of the German conscription.

W. W. CRANE, JR.

Of course many different answers might be given, according to the place and time, the surrounding opportunities, the personal possibilities of the possessor, the claims of private duties, and so on. But an answer may be suggested which will at least mark out some general principles involved in any satisfactory reply. And, to make the inquiry as definite as possible, let us suppose it put by a man of our own time, in California (for example), who has by honest means accumulated a large fortune, through energy and prudence; and whose life has not been so narrow as to make him love money for its own sake, but has given him a genuine desire to see his wealth become the greatest possible power for good to his fellowmen. Such a man, looking about him, finds plenty of ways to give passing pleasure with his money, and perhaps would have little difficulty in making some part of it a means of happiness, so far as happiness depends on external circumstances, to this or that individual. But how to use the whole of it wisely for permanent good to the community and to mankind? For certainly nothing less than this aspiration will content a man of sufficient breadth and reach of mind to have gathered and successfully managed a vast property. He will not make the mistake of leaving that which might have been a blessing to the community to be a curse to his own children; if daughters, to make them the shining mark for designing villainy; and if sons, to ruin their careers and characters by an unlimited income unaccompanied by the energy and self-command that in his own case were gained by its very acquisition. History, or indeed any man's life-experience, is too full of examples that point the paralyzing and corrupting effect of the gift to a young man of unearned wealth. Plainly, a great fortune must either be wasted, or worse than wasted, or go to serve some high public purpose. But where, and how?

To begin with, two wholly different general plans at once suggest themselves: either to dis*By special request, and in order to give this article a wider

circulation than in its original form, it is here reprinted, with slight alterations by the author, from the last number of The Berkeley Quarterly.-EDITOR.

tain advantage in the former method, that in this way one can easily direct the details of every expenditure, suiting it to a given need, and avoiding all risk of misappropriation. But, on the other hand, all such scattered use of wealth is in one sense itself a misappropriation, since it wholly loses that peculiar power residing in any great sum of money employed as a unit. The successful business man, of all others, knows the almost magical increase of force that belongs to the very magnitude of large total sums. To throw away this enormous power of the aggregate amount is to make a single vast fortune of no more avail than ten insignifi

cant ones.

If, then, a fortune is to be used as a single sum, there are again two possible plans: either to add it as a contribution to some already existing enterprise or institution, or to found with it a wholly new one. Let us first consider the former plan, of contribution to some enterprise already existing.

Looking about over the world of manifold activities, we discover, after all, but few lines of deliberate effort for the generous service of humanity. These may be in the main divided into three groups, according to their proximate object: those which aim to increase men's comfort (as, most of what goes under the name of public charity), those which aim to increase men's morality (as, the churches), and those which aim to increase men's intelligence (as, the high schools, colleges and universities; these, rather than the lower schools in general, since the latter are largely the outgrowth of the aim to bring youth up to the average intelligence, only, in order to enable them to "get on in the world"). In other words, looking at the matter from the obverse side, the three groups of benevolent activities are those aiming to decrease human suffering, those aiming to decrease human wickedness, and those aiming to decrease human ignorance. The question then arises, which of these three groups of enterprises is it most necessary to society to foster: the charitable institutions so-called, the churches, or the higher educational institutions? Or, granting the importance of all of them, is there either one of them, which at the present moment, and