principles or militated against national interests. Party had its purpose, but fundamental truth should ever be recognized, and recognized to influence and prevail. His devotion to his country came from no desire for emolument, but from a deep admiration of its Constitution and what it aimed to promote. A patriot and a politician were not correlatives; he held to the one and despised the other. American institutions were of too great value to the nation and the world at large to be used for human aggrandizement: they were ladders to a kingly service-the betterment of our common but much enslaved humanity. He believed that America was rapidly shaping the destinies of many of the downtrodden peoples of the earth, and therefore all sinister motives connected with the administration of its laws, all selfish and mere party legislation, should be promptly resisted; nor should anything whatsoever affecting her prosperity or integrity receive the least toleration.

General Spinner was a talker, not a speaker, and his judgment of men very accurate. It did not take him long to separate the false from the true and to divine a purpose as well as a principle. At times his language was vehement, but his honesty and sincerity were plainly apparent. In tenderness and sympathy his heart was in reality the heart of a child; it would sooner cease beating than conceive a wrong. The poor had in him a true friend, and his resources were always open to their honest needs. Not a few of the appointees in his office were from the large class of wounded soldiers, whose services he looked upon as worthier recommendations than simply political backing. Very few lived more truly the motto, "Do ye unto others as ye would have others do to you." In his manner he was brusque, but no one ever left his presence feeling offense. He was strong and abiding in his convictions, yet cheerfully yielded his opinion wherever he saw reason for change. At times his enthusiasm would kindle into a flame. On one occasion he rushed into the cashier's room in the treasury, and in tones quivering with emotion called out to all within the chamber, "Put that cash into the vault, boys, and get out from here as soon as you can. I want you all to yell! We've got Richmond." Method had for him many attractions, since he found it yielding him many fruits. He made a record of every important transaction, whether public or personal in its character. When a friend was surprised at his marvelous ease in recalling events, he observed, "It has been my custom to keep a record of everything, and I have a whole garret full of note-books in which is recorded every cent that I ever received or paid out since I was a boy over eighty years ago." His signature was unique and is a marvel among autographs. The paragrapher has suggested

whether, in the absence of more active bait, it could not be utilized by the piscatorial profession in alluring the slumbering fish of the deep. Be this as it may, it has defied the skill of the forger and long since taken high rank for complicated yet symmetrical penmanship. His own history of it is: "I first practiced it while in the sheriff's office about 1835; I used it while commissioner for building the asylum at Utica, and as cashier and president of the Mohawk valley bank, and for franking while in congress. It was brought to its highest perfection when I was treasurer."

His desire for knowledge followed him far into age, scientific research being his favorite study. After he had entered his eightieth year he became a vigorous student in Greek, and so long as his sight remained unimpaired he passed many hours in some form of intellectual labor.

But no love for knowledge was allowed to interfere with his physical well-being. He attributed his long life to systematic exercise and recreation, fishing and rowing being his special pleasures. He never lost his love for nature, in the open air, trees, shrubs; flowers were always his friends, and he loved their silent teaching. His religious creed was very brief, but that brevity included the authority of God, and a need for other salvation than what man could devise. He passed the closing years of his life in the sunny land of Florida, living in a tent that he might the more enjoy its balmy air. The irritation of a pair of spectacles ripened into a cancer upon the nose, and after suffering most heroically, terminated his life, December 31, 1890. Had his valued life been prolonged three weeks he would have rounded out eighty-nine eventful years, a period covering nearly all the important events in the history of his country after it had become a separate nationality. He was buried with military honors, and laid away for his final rest amid the very scenes where his youth and many of his maturer years were passed-scenes to him fairly fragrant with the most valued associations.

Bane & Bartley

THE HISTORIAN'S FIRST BOOK

SOME EXPERIENCES OF HUBERT HOWE BANCROFT *

The Native Races being my first book, persons have asked me if it paid pecuniarily; and when I answered "No" they seemed at a loss what to make of it. Samuel Johnson says: "No man but a blockhead ever wrote except for money." I will admit myself a blockhead to the extent that I did not write for money, but not so great a one as not to know, after a publishing experience of a quarter of a century, that work like mine never returns a money profit. And with due deference to the learned doctor I hold rather with John Stuart Mill, who says that "the writings by which one can live are not the writings which themselves live, and are never those in which the writer does his best. Books destined to form future thinkers take too much time to write, and when written come in general too slowly into notice and repute to be relied on for subsistence." Or as Mrs. Browning more tersely puts it, "In England no one lives by books that live."

Business experience had taught me that the immediate recognition, even of a work of merit, depends almost as much on the manner of bringing it forth as upon authorship. So easily swayed are those who pass judgment on the works of authors, so greatly are they ruled by accidental or incidental causes who form for the public their opinion, that pure substantial merit is seldom fully and alone recognized. I do not mean by this that the better class of critics are either incompetent or unfair, that they cannot distinguish a meritorious work from a worthless one, or that having determined the value of a production in their own minds they will not so write it down. Yet comparatively speaking there are few reviewers of this class. Many otherwise good journals, both in America and in Europe, publish miserable book notices.

Experience had told me that a book written, printed, and published at this date on the Pacific coast, no matter how meritorious or by whom sent forth-that is to say, if done by any one worth the castigating—would surely be condemned by some and praised coldly and critically by others. There are innumerable local prejudices abroad which prevent us from recognizing

* Extracts from the autobiographical reminiscences and comments of Hubert Howe Bancroft, in the thirty-ninth and last volume of his vast historical work.

VOL. XXV.-No. 3.-14

to the fullest extent the merits of our neighbor. Least of all would a work of mine be judged solely upon its merits. Trade engenders competition, and competition creates enemies. There were hundreds in California who damned me every day, and to please this class as well as themselves there were newspaper writers who would like nothing better than by sneers and innuendoes to consign the fruits of laborious years to oblivion. "This man is getting above his business," some would say. "Because he can sell books he seems to infer a divine mission to write them. Now, it may be as well first as last for him to understand that merchandising and authorship are two distinct things; that a commercial man who has dealt in books as he would deal in bricks, by count, weight, or dollars' worth, cannot suddenly assume to know all things and set himself up as a teacher of mankind. He must be put down. Such arrogance cannot be countenanced. If writing is thus made common our occupation is gone." All did not so feel; but there was more of such sentiment behind editorial spectacles than editors would admit even to themselves.

To local fame or a literary reputation restricted to California, I did not attach much value. Not that I was indifferent to the opinions of my neighbors, or that I distrusted Pacific coast journalists as a class. I had among them many warm friends whose approbation I coveted. But at this juncture I did not desire the criticism either of enemies or friends, but of strangers; I was desirous above all that my book should be first reviewed on its merits and by disinterested and unprejudiced men. By the verdict of the best men of the United States, of England, France, and Germany, the world's ripest scholars and deepest thinkers, my contributions to knowledge must stand or fall, and not by the wishes of my friends or the desire of my enemies. This is why, I say, a home reputation alone never would have satisfied me, never would have paid me for my sacrifice of time, labor, and many of the amenities of life. reach these results required a journey to the Eastern states. first work was ready for publication, and on its reception would depend in a measure my whole future. Not that the failure of the Native Races to sell would have discouraged me. This was the least that troubled me. It was altogether a secondary matter whether copies of the book were sold or not. I merely wished to assure myself whether mine was a good work well performed, or a useless one poorly done. I would have the book issued by first-class publishers in New York and Europe, for it must bear upon it the stamp of a first-class publication, but the people might buy it or not as they pleased. That was not what concerned me.

To

My

Crabbe was not more timorous in asking the generous Burke to look at

Not

his verses than I in begging critics to glance at my productions. every one can understand the feeling. Not every one would hesitate to show a book of which one might be proud, to men interested in such books. But there was the trouble with me. I did not feel sure that my work was sufficiently meritorious to awaken their interest, that I had done anything to be proud of, and I did not know whether or not they would be interested. It came up to me as a species of beggary in which to indulge was worse than starvation. I must appear before these literary lords as a western adventurer, or at best a presumptuous littérateur, coveting their praise—a rôle I despised above all others. I must appear as one asking favor for a product of his brain so inferior in quality that if left to itself it could not stand. But there was behind me work piled mountain high, and for the sake of the future I would undertake the mission.

I set out on my pilgrimage the 3d of August, 1874, taking with me my daughter Kate to place in school at Farmington, Connecticut. After a few days' stay at Buffalo with my two sisters, Mrs. Palmer and Mrs. Trevett, I proceeded to New York. . . . Besides seeking the countenance and sympathy of scholars in my enterprise it was part of my errand to find a publisher. At the New Haven railway station I encountered President Gilman, to whom I made known the nature of my mission and asked if he deemed it the proper thing for me to do. He thought that it was, and named several persons whom I must see. Further than

this, he spoke of a meeting of the scientific association to be held in Hartford the following Tuesday, and advised me to attend, saying that he would be there and would take pleasure in introducing me whose acquaintance might be advantageous. parted. .

I thanked him and we

In Hartford on Tuesday President Gilman introduced me to Professor Brewer of Yale, Dr. Asa Gray of Hartford, and others. He also spoke of me to several, among whom was Mr. Warner of the Courant, who, when I called upon him subsequently, treated me with scarcely anticipated kindness. I was then in a humor to be won for life by any man who would take the trouble. It may seem weak this super-sensitiveness, but I was in a feverish state of mind, and my nerves were all unstrung by long labor. I was callous enough to ignorance and indifference, for amongst these I had all along been working; yet intelligent sympathy touched me, and Mr. Warner's manner was so courteous, and his words so encouraging, that they sank at once into my heart where they have remained ever since. He entered warmly into my plans, gave me strong, decided letters to several persons, which proved of the greatest advantage, and on leaving his