that attic, and a pillow-fight of unusual proportions immediately developed. As is usual on such occasions, sides were soon formed, and one side quickly demonstrated its superiority over the other, the defeated party being driven gradually down three flights of stairs, and up the village street from end to end. Finally, overcome with laughter and with the unwontedly early exercise, the combatants called a truce, and returned amicably to their night's quarters in search of more ample raiment, for the early morning air from the forest was chill, and nightgowns and pajamas afforded but meager protection. Having clothed ourselves at leisure we strolled across the street to the common salle à manger for the matutinal rolls and coffee. The first man whom I met in the courtyard was Stevenson, who, I thought, looked rather hollow-eyed and weary. It appeared that he and Mrs. Stevenson had passed the night in the chamber directly beneath the one occupied by our hilarious. band. The early morning bombardment. to which they had been subjected can therefore be readily imagined. "I had forgotten, Harrison," he said, with a wan smile, "that we were ever such reptiles." With the unfailing instinct of the true artist Stevenson made a mental note of this incident, and he used it later in one of the most interesting chapters of "The Wrecker." The duration of the Stevensons' stay in France during this, their last visit to the Old World, was comparatively short, and before many weeks they had returned once more to San Francisco, and thence to the South Seas and Samoa. Some years later chance sent me also to the South Pacific, but several attempts to arrange a meeting were unsuccessful. The Fates were against me, and I never saw Stevenson again. I Nothing but Uppers To-night By FREDERICK LEWIS ALLEN REVEL in sleeping-cars. I like to think of the original Mr. Pullman, or whoever it was whose mind first conceived the modern sleeping-car, as a philanthropist, a missionary who had a vision of the joy of life, and labored to bring it into our prosy existence. He looked upon his fellow-men, and found them civilized. Because some savage, gloriously dirty, had had the temerity to take a bath and had relished the sensation of cleanliness, cleanliness had become a convention of our century. Because another savage, a little later, had encircled his neck with a starched collar and had enjoyed the esteem which this invention drew from the collarless plebeians, he found the people of our enlightened age slaves to collars and all that collars stand for. Now, he knew in his heart that his friend Jones would once in a while like to dispense with shaving, let his hair grow, and march to his office, unbathed, in his pajamas. Instead of satisfying this human craving for change in such a pleasantly normal way, Jones waited for his two-weeks' vacation, and then hied himself to the woods, where, with fishing or hunting or communion with nature as a pretext, he could be dirty and uncivilized to his heart's content. But vacations, reasoned Mr. Pullman, are fleeting. And then he slapped his thigh and cried, "Eureka! "I shall conventionalize discomfort," he said. "Everybody has to travel by night sometimes; Jones often does. I shall de vise a form of travel utterly uncomfortable and barbarian. I shall invent a car in which there are no beds, but shelves reached only by a step-ladder or gymnastics. In it there shall be a wash-room in which washing is a difficult adventure and shaving a gamble with death. I shall man it with porters who leave the lights on and waken one at the wrong stations; I shall have the whole car in constant vibration, and shaken up like a medicinebottle once every hour; sleep will thus become as impossible as it is to the camperout on his bed of pointed balsam-twigs. When the traveler arrives at his destination he will feel as if he had n't slept or washed or consorted with the civilized for a fortnight. He will sing in his bath once more, and put on his starched collar with a thankful heart." So Mr. Pullman drew his plans; and he looked upon the car of his making, and it was uncomfortable. Those who travel in sleeping-cars may be divided into two classes: people with foresight and people without it. The former engage their accommodations two days in advance and are assigned lower berths, which have, for those resigned to wakefulness, a view. Members of this class tell me that to raise one's head from the pillow and see the moonlit country fly by, or to pass a train-yard and see the locomotives tossing their plumes of steam against the blackness of the sky, or to follow the progress of the dawn in an endlessly varying motion-picture, is a joy so that attic, and a pillow-fight of unusual proportions immediately developed. As is usual on such occasions, sides were soon formed, and one side quickly demonstrated its superiority over the other, the defeated party being driven gradually down three flights of stairs, and up the village street from end to end. Finally, overcome with laughter and with the unwontedly early exercise, the combatants called a truce, and returned amicably to their night's quarters in search of more ample raiment, for the early morning air from the forest was chill, and nightgowns and pajamas afforded but meager protection. Having clothed ourselves at leisure we strolled across the street to the common salle à manger for the matutinal rolls and coffee. The first man whom I met in the courtyard was Stevenson, who, I thought, looked rather hollow-eyed and weary. It appeared that he and Mrs. Stevenson had passed the night in the chamber directly beneath the one occupied by our hilarious band. The early morning bombardment to which they had been subjected can therefore be readily imagined. "I had forgotten, Harrison," he said, with a wan smile, "that we were ever such reptiles." With the unfailing instinct of the true artist Stevenson made a mental note of this incident, and he used it later in one of the most interesting chapters of "The Wrecker." The duration of the Stevensons' stay in France during this, their last visit to the Old World, was comparatively short, and before many weeks they had returned once more to San Francisco, and thence to the South Seas and Samoa. Some years later chance sent me also to the South Pacific, but several attempts to arrange a meeting were unsuccessful. The Fates were against me, and I never saw Stevenson again. Pist se ad the ished ess ha tury. had hed co CO this plebe lighter at collar he k Jones W with arch to h The Pension Chevillon, the center of the artist colony at Grez Inste ing for mal wa vacati woods, commu could b 3 conte 1 And I Nothing but Uppers To-night By FREDERICK LEWIS ALLEN REVEL in sleeping-cars. I like to think of the original Mr. Pullman, or whoever it was whose mind first conceived the modern sleeping-car, as a philanthropist, a missionary who had a vision of the joy of life, and labored to bring it into our prosy existence. He looked upon his fellow-men, and found them civilized. Because some savage, gloriously dirty, had had the temerity to take a bath and had relished the sensation of cleanliness, cleanliness had become a convention of our century. Because another savage, a little later, had encircled his neck with a starched collar and had enjoyed the esteem which this invention drew from the collarless plebeians, he found the people of our enlightened age slaves to collars and all that collars stand for. Now, he knew in his heart that his riend Jones would once in a while like to spense with shaving, let his hair grow, dmarch to his office, unbathed. in his amas. Instead of satisfying this hucraving for change in such a pleasy normal way, Jones waited for his -weeks' vacation, and then hied himto the woods, where, with fishing or ng or communion with nature as a t. he could be dirty and uncivilized heart's content. vise a form of travel utterly uncomfortareached only by a step-ladder or gymnasble and barbarian. I shall invent a car in which there are no beds, but shelves tics. In it there shall be a wash-room in shaving a gamble with death. I shall man which washing is a difficult adventure and it with porters who leave the lights on bration, and shaken up like a medicineand waken one at the wrong stations; I shall have the whole car in constant vibottle once every hour; sleep will thus become as impossible as it is to the camperout on his bed of pointed balsam-twigs. When the traveler arrives at his destinawashed or consorted with the civilized tion he will feel as if he had n't slept or for a fortnight. He will sing in his bath with a thankful heart." once more, and put on his starched collar So Mr. Pullman drew his plans; and he divided into two classes: people with vacations, reasoned Mr. Pullman. the pillow and see the mooni'r countr, y ng. conventionalize discomfort." he 1gainst the Everybody has to travel by night low- e dawn n an endPure s a joy o |