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except the death-mask in the Lawrence Hutton Collection at Princeton.

From these documents the structure of the head and face was studied. An old head was modeled on young shoulders. Then came the task of bringing it back to youth, of giving it the expression of boyish enthusiasm, without losing the high-arched brow, the prominent eyes, or the quizzical lines of the mouth, which afterward became fixed and characteristic of the old man. The lank, scanty locks of hair were given the luxuriance of youth, the crow's-feet were taken from the eyes, and the deep, heavy lines in the cheek, chin, and neck gave place to the smooth contours of adolescence. The head was raised, and an eager, questioning look was given to the eyes, while the lips were almost parted in a smile. We know from his exploits in walking and swimming that he was of sturdy build, which later ran to corpulency. Even at seventeen his frame must have been well-knit and strong. A model from which to study the pose was selected with this in mind. Weeks were spent in having him stride up and down the studio, sometimes nude, sometimes clothed, always with staff and bundle, pausing in various stages of the stride, while lines were studied and the composition was perfected. After this a figure about three feet high was modeled completely in the nude, that the action and movement might be thoroughly expressed.

In determining his probable costume, recourse was had through the good offices of John Bach McMaster to the newspapers of the time, the columns of which teemed with advertisements of such runaway apprentices, with elaborate descriptions of their clothing.

"I cut so miserable a figure," he says, "that I found by the questions asked me. I was suspected of being some runaway servant, and in danger of being taken up on that suspicion."

Much information was obtained from such sources, but far surpassing this, or even the recognized books on costume, was the comprehensive knowledge of colonial dress and the sympathetic interest shown by one whose archæological accuracy was surpassed only by his genius for illustration. Howard Pyle made sketch after sketch, now of the buttoning of a shirtcollar, again showing the fluff of a cuff or the buckle of a shoe. Colonial dress was a subject he had made peculiarly his own, and he generously shared his knowledge. From all these sources the square-toed, buckled shoes, the rough, home-knitted stockings, stockings, the long waistcoat, kneebreeches, and flaring coat were gathered, as well as the battered hat crowning the head. An extra shirt serves as a bag for his few belongings, and he uses a dead hickory branch, picked up in the woods, as a staff. The clothes may have been drenched by rain and creased, the shoes may have been wrinkled and muddy, but nothing can have interfered with the buoyant good nature of youth and high resolve.

The figure is mounted with dignity on the simple and beautiful pedestal designed by Paul Cret. It is approached by a flight of steps, and surrounded by a walk and a hedge. The front of the pedestal bears the inscription in raised letters, "Benjamin Franklin in 1723," and beneath the university seal are incised the words, "Presented by the Class of 1904, College." College." A thunderbolt in low-relief, prophetic of his later discoveries in electricity, is the only decoration. On one side is the dedication from the class, on the other an extract from Franklin's letter to his son, which voices the object of the statue and its setting:

I have been the more particular in this description of my journey that you may compare such unlikely beginnings with the figure I have since made there.

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I'

REMINISCENCES OF TOLSTOY

BY HIS SON, COUNT ILYA TOLSTOY

TRANSLATED BY GEORGE CALDERON

N the summer, when both families were together at Yásnaya, our own and the Kuzminsky's, when both the house and the annex were full of the family and their guests, we used our letter-box.

It originated long before, when I was still small and had only just learned to write, and it continued with intervals till the middle of the eighties.

It hung on the landing at the top of the stairs beside the grandfather's clock; and every one dropped his compositions into it, the verses, articles, or stories that he had written on topical subjects in the course of the week.

On Sundays we would all collect at the round table in the zala, the box would be solemnly opened, and one of the grownups, often my father himself, would read the contents aloud.

All the papers were unsigned, and it was a point of honor not to peep at the handwriting; but, despite this, we almost always guessed the author, either by the style, by his self-consciousness, or else by the strained indifference of his expression.

When I was a boy, and for the first time wrote a set of French verses for the letter-box, I was so shy when they were read that I hid under the table, and sat there the whole evening until I was pulled out by force.

For a long time after, I wrote no more, and was always fonder of hearing other people's compositions read than my own.

All the events of our life at Yásnaya Polyána found their echo in one way or another in the letter-box, and no one was spared, not even the grown-ups.

All our secrets, all our love-affairs, all the incidents of our complicated life were revealed in the letter-box, and both household and visitors were good-humoredly made fun of.

Unfortunately, much of the correspondence has been lost, but bits of it have been preserved by some of us in copies or in

memory. I cannot recall everything interesting that there was in it, but here are a few of the more interesting things from the period of the eighties.

THE LETTER-BOX

THE old fogy continues his questions. Why, when women or old men enter the room, does every well-bred person not only offer them a seat, but give them up his own?

Why do they make Ushakóf or some Servian officer who comes to pay a visit necessarily stay to tea or dinner?

Why is it considered wrong to let an older person or a woman help you on with your overcoat?

And why are all these charming rules considered obligatory toward others, when every day ordinary people come, and we not only do not ask them to sit down or to stop to dinner or spend the night or render them any service, but would look on it as the height of impropriety?

Where do those people end to whom we are under these obligations? By what characteristics are the one sort distinguished from the others? And are not all these rules of politeness bad, if they do not extend to all sorts of people? And is not what we call politeness an illusion, and a very ugly illusion?

LYOFF TOLSTOY.

Question: Which is the most "beastly plague," a cattle-plague case for a farmer, or the ablative case for a school-boy?

LYOFF TOLSTOY.

Answers are requested to the following questions:

Why do Ustyúsha, Masha, Alyóna, Peter, etc., have to bake, boil, sweep, empty slops, wait at table, while the gentry have only to eat, gobble, quarrel, make slops, and eat again?

LYOFF TOLSTOY.

My Aunt Tánya, when she was in a bad temper because the coffee-pot had been spilt or because she had been beaten at croquet, was in the habit of sending every one to the devil. My father wrote the following story, "Susóitchik," about it.

The devil, not the chief devil, but one of the rank and file, the one charged with the management of social affairs, Susóitchik by name, was greatly perturbed on the 6th of August, 1884. From the early morning onward, people kept arriving who had been sent him by Tatyána Kuzminsky.

was

The first to arrive was Alexander Mikháilovitch Kuzminsky; the second Misha Islávin; the third was Vyatcheslaf; the fourth was Seryózha Tolstoy, and last of all came old Lyoff Tolstoy, senior, accompanied by Prince Urúsof. The first visitor, Alexander Mikhailovitch, caused Susóitchik no surprise, as he often paid Susóitchik visits in obedience to the behests of his wife.

"What, has your wife sent you again?" "Yes," replied the presiding judge of the district-court, shyly, not knowing what explanation he could give of the cause of his visit.

"You come here very often. What do you want?"

"Oh, nothing in particular; she just sent her compliments," murmured Alexander Mikhailovitch, departing from the exact truth with some effort.

"Very good, very good; come whenever you like; she is one of my best workers."

Before Susóitchik had time to show the judge out, in came all the children, laughing and jostling, and hiding one behind the other.

"What brought you here, youngsters? Did my little Tanyítchka send you? That's right; no harm in coming. Give my compliments to Tánya, and tell her that I am always at her service. Come whenever you like. Old Susóitchik may be of use to you."

No sooner had the young folk made their bow than old Lyoff Tolstoy appeared with Prince Urúsof.

"Aha! so it's the old boy! Many thanks to Tanyítchka. It's a long time since I have seen you, old chap. Well and hearty? And what can I do for you?"

Lyoff Tolstoy shuffled about, rather abashed.

Prince Urúsof, mindful of the etiquette of diplomatic receptions, stepped forward and explained Tolstoy's appearance by his wish to make acquaintance with Tatyána Andréyevna's oldest and most faithful friend.

"Les amis des nos amis sont nos amis."

"Ha! ha! ha! quite so!" said Susóitchik. "I must reward her for to-day's work. Be so kind, Prince, as to hand her the marks of my good-will."

And he handed over the insignia of an order in a morocco case. The insignia consisted of a necklace of imp's tails to be worn about the throat, and two toads, one to be worn on the bosom and the other on the bustle.

LYOFF TOLSTOY, SENIOR.

SERGEI NIKOLAYEVITCH TOLSTOY

I CAN remember my Uncle Seryózha (Sergéi) from my earliest childhood. He lived at Pirogóvo, twenty miles from Yásnaya, and visited us often.

As a young man he was very handsome. He had the same features as my father, but he was slenderer and more aristocraticlooking. He had the same oval face, the same nose, the same intelligent gray eyes, and the same thick, overhanging eyebrows. The only difference between his face and my father's was defined by the fact that in those distant days, when my father cared for his personal appearance, he was always worrying about his ugliness, while Uncle Seryózha was considered, and really was, a very handsome man.

This is what my father says about Uncle Seryózha in his fragmentary reminis

cences:

“I and Nítenka1 were chums, Nikólenka I revered, but Seryózha I admired enthusiastically and imitated; I loved him and wished to be he.

"I admired his handsome exterior, his singing, he was always a singer, -his drawing, his gaiety, and above all, however strange a thing it may seem to say, the directness of his egoism.2

"I always remembered myself, was aware of myself, always divined rightly or wrongly what others thought about me and felt toward me; and this spoiled the joy of life for me. This was probably the

1 Dmitry. My father's brother Dmitry died in 1856; Nikolái died September 20, 1860.
2 That is to say, his eyes went always on the straightest road to attain satisfaction for himself.

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