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teresting as is the statue itself, to the eye of the artist and the lover of art, the large and novel pedestal of North River blue stone, with its modelings in low relief, will be, perhaps, still more interesting. In this, the architect Stanford White was the co-worker with Saint-Gaudens. The pedestal proper (on which we find a design of waves crossed by a sword) is flanked on each side by a curving wall, beneath which is a seat (in shape like the classic elliptic exedra). Each of the two arms of the seat is formed by the curved back of a sea-fish cut in relief. The walls, on each side of and next to the pedestal proper, have large allegorical figures in low relief, and the spaces beyond the figures are completely filled with long inscriptions, the lettering of which is so modeled as to play an important part in the general decorative effect. The architect has thus given the sculptor an opportunity to lavish upon the monument a wealth of sculpturesque decoration which renders it at once beautiful in detail and imposing in mass.
The manner in which Saint-Gaudens has
-in this sailor and admiral may be found the peculiar character of a race: the tenacious and clear-sighted will, and along with large experience of life, a boldness of conception, and an initiative force, which are peculiar to Americans and of which Farragut was a living example. In the large and simple execution all these traits appear, and show that Mr. Saint-Gaudens ens was worthy of the task. In the exercise of an art new to his nation he has been able, while profiting by the instruction of our school, to preserve native qualities of strength and spontaneity-qualities which could not have had a better employment than here."
In "L'Art," M. Paul Leroi wrote as follows:
"Mr. Augustus Saint-Gaudens is a New Yorker, but of French descent, and his talent has a foreign flavor, which is not by any means displeasing. At the Salon he had a colossal statue of Admiral Farragut, ordered by his native city. It was, in the fullest strength of the term, the incarnation of the sailor; better cannot be done. I am more than sorry for the exceedingly slender attention which was given to this monument: it is one of serious value,— it was taken for a mere Government work. That was a mistake, and I have felt the greatest pleasure in hearing Mr. Eugène Guillaume describe in detail the exceptional qualities of the statue by Mr. SaintGaudens. The young artist also exhibited medallions and bass-reliefs in bronze, among others the portrait of M. Bastien Lepage; I found them again at Florence, where I was better able to appreciate once more the fineness of their modeling, their individual accentuation, and their great distinction. The reward they won at Paris is ratified by all those who study them."
One of the medallions above referred to is engraved for the article on Bastien Lepage in the present number of SCRIBNER'S. See page 576, SCRIBNER'S MONTHLY for February, 1878, for engraving of Saint-Gaudens's "Angels," in Trinity Church, New York.
handled the lettering is a matter worthy of consideration. Should it be popularly considered successful, we are likely before long to find any number of more or less fortunate imitations. If we observe his medallions, the pedestal of the Woolsey bust, and other works, we shall find that for years the subject of lettering has occupied the sculptor's attention; in the present work he has carried out his ideas to the fullest and, as we believe, the most successful extent. Through the study of the ancient coins, medallions, and monuments, he has brought about, in his own work at least, a renascence of decorative lettering. When one remembers what opportunities there are for improvement in this respect, in connection with our coinage as well as our monuments, and our decoration generally, this will not be thought a matter of trifling importance.
In looking at the monument, the observer is struck by the appropriateness to the subject, not only of the whole, but of all the different parts. The fish, the wave, the bronze crab in the pavement, all these smack of the But it is easy to invent or appropriate symbols of such a kind. But notice how well the slightest parts are made to enhance the naval and heroic character of the structure! The whole monument has, so to speak, a sea-swing! and yet there is nothing violent, nothing strained or overdone. Another point to be observed is the highly imaginative character of the figures of "Loyalty" and "Courage." Large in conception, and massive and simple in modeling, they suggest an imaginative power in the artist only awaiting opportunity for a fuller illustration. Another point, which will appeal especially to artists, is the masterly and exquisite modeling of every detail of the monument. Again, the horizontal lines of the sustaining masses are repeated and enforced in the reliefs with agreeable insistence. We cannot, in writing before completion, speak so confidently of the whole as of the parts, but it is evident that the collaboration of sculptor and architect has been entirely sympathetic; nor should we omit to name Louis Saint-Gaudens, a talented younger brother of the sculptor, who from the beginning has been his principal assistant.
The Farragut memorial adds one more to the small number of creditable public monuments in New York-such as Brown's "Washington" and Ward's "Indian Hunter." Let us hope that it marks the beginning of an era when we shall no longer import for our streets and parks the work of second-rate
THE aquatic "tramp" seems to me the only perfect idler. When he embarks he leaves on shore the duties and drudgeries of life, and his world becomes the clear water, the breeze, the sunshine. He floats by dusty toilers as simply a spectator of life, a recipient of Nature's bounty in pleasure.
During a canoe-cruise from New York City along the north shore of Long Island, I was such a loafer as this; and, true to my character of vagabond, I fear I have collected very little of worth. The reader must, in spirit, join my crew of idlers, and content himself with the water, the breeze, and the sunshine; or, what will be still better, let my account draw him out to the region itself.
The north shore of Long Island has many peculiar charms of its own. The is frequently indented with small harbors, running far into the land between
rolling hills. Forests cover almost all the country-even here, close to the largest city in America; but village spires and farms appear here and there among the trees. The shores are still further diversified by bluffs and rocky points, by tongues of white sand shooting into Long Island Sound, by pretty ponds and old mills, and by orchards and meadows coming down to the water's edge. But these common features of water scenery are made unusually attractive by the quiet, charming sentiment that seems to cover the region. Under this feeling you note an exquisite harmony in the lines of the bays, many beautiful details of picturesque old houses under venerable oaks, and mossy mills by crystal ponds; and, more than all, you relish the simple and warm-hearted humanity that fills the region with still deeper interest.
The first port the Allegro made was
its knolls crowned with groves and villas, along the shaded streets, and in its nurseries and greenhouses; and the air of this populous bower was full of the songs of birds and the perfume of flowers; and all the glories of a perfect summer day were mingled with the sounds of quiet conversation floating out of the windows.
The waves of the Sound were a little dreary after my social hour with the strangers of Flushing. But I was soon skimming over the water in a gleeful mood, past Whitestone, Fort Schuyler, Willet's Point, and the Bay of Little Neck. The panorama of the shores was a continual enjoyment, with its endless variety of beaches,
with the glistening fish, and the water was still alive with them. But this abundance gave me a sense of pity rather than satisfaction in such wholesale destruction. The men stopped their work for a minute to chat, and wonder at the canoe; and as I got under weigh the skipper called out, I say, Cap'n, you'd better get in the house. with that thing-it's goin' to rain." The sky was indeed overcast; and now that I looked, it seemed uncommonly threatening. As the day was nearly gone, I laid my course for Hempstead Harbor, some miles eastward, and paddled with a will. I could not tarry at Sands' Point, but I took a look at the old Sands house, on the edge of
meadows, hills, bays, and bluffs. As my water-cask was by this time empty, I put into Port Washington for supplies. The village spring bubbling up under the roots of a great beech was a delightful place for an hour's rest on the grass.
As I paddled out of Manhasset Bay, I came to a fishing-smack hauling a net full of menhaden. Two long boats formed a triangle with her port side, and supported a net in the water between them. The net was a great hopper, full of squirming fish; a man stood knee-deep among them, and filled a scoop-net that was lowered over the sloop's side, and then hoisted aboard by a tackle made fast to the gaff. The deck was heaped VOL. XXII.-15.
the salt meadow. It was a place of some importance during the Revolution, in the secret service of passing money and news from the patriots on Long Island to the Federal army on the mainland. The place rendered another important service, more closely related to the present day. Captain John Sands bought the estate in 1695; but he continued to follow the sea, and ran a trading schooner between New York and Virginia. On one of these trips he brought home a quantity of young locust-trees, and planted them along this shore. They grew so well, and the timber was recognized as so valuable, that other people soon planted them from his stock. Thus Long Island
MORE'N A HUNDRED YEARS OLD.
and New England derived their supply of this wood from Sands' Point. Many a locality is far-famed for much less service. I resumed my way toward the stern, steadfast light-house, where the lawns were covered with groups of summer loungers. Just then the ill-fated steam-boat Seawanhaka landed at the dock, soon moving off again toward the Sound. While listening to the rhythmical blows of her paddle-wheels, I suddenly found myself passing over huge bowlders that lie on many of the points of the north shore. Although their heads were but just covered, yet they lay in from one to two fathoms of water. I found it necessary to proceed with caution; but when the swells of the steamer began to wash among them, off on the Point, I was anxious to get away before I was either capsized or stove by the seas dashing me on them. I took the chances of going at full speed; twice the rocks raised their grim heads out of the water around me; but I reached open water without accident.
The gloom of evening was already settling over the water, and the still more impressive gloom of a storm covered the
heavens as I beached the boat on Mott's Point, opposite Glen Cove. I soon had her converted into a sea-side hotel. The fire made a cheerful nook among the huge bowlders and under the blackness of night; and the isolation of the sea-shore was considerably softened by the fumes of supper. Before turning in I stowed everything away, fastened down the hatches, and prepared for heavy weather.
When I awoke the next morning, a northeast rain-storm drove straight on the Point; so I turned over for another nap, and blessed the Allegro for her dry, warm shelter, as much as I often had for her speed and stanchness on the water. But you cannot sleep over eleven hours at a stretch, even with the rain pattering on a roof only six inches above your nose. I finally sat up and
looked out of the tent-door. Sheets of rain veiled the opposite shore of Glen Cove and shut out the farther Sound, and great swells rolled in from the invisible distance and broke heavily on the beach. The Point was strewn with huge bowlders, many of them covered with long, shaggy locks of brown sea-weed; the surf dashed over these with foam, and left them dripping. The sands were washed out by the rain till the shells and chips of drift stood up on little knolls, protected under their shelter. The trees on the high bank above the beach writhed and tossed their arms in the wind. The loud boom of the surf, the splash of the waves about the bowlders, the fine hiss of the foam on the sand, and the soughing of the forest, all flooded upon me; and the Allegro lay alone on the rugged Point, drenched with the rain and shaken with every gust. I know some who would think the situation mournful; but if they could look into the inmost interior of the Allegro, they would change their minds, for the captain has the whole of life in a nut-shell. The little cabin of oiled muslin, five feet long, two feet six inches wide, and four feet high, is dry, even though the rain beat on it so heavily that every drop makes the roof shake. The captain sits on a comfortable seat, wrapped in his blanket, warm and secure against the storm. Everything is "quite adjacent," for every domestic idol is within reach from his seat. There he sits, with breakfast cooking between his knees on a little kerosene stove made of the lantern, and hums an accompaniment to the kettle's song and pities the slaves of luxury and exacting fortune. The day passed in reading and writing, in listening to the gale,