get out.

This, then, is the "Gate of Baidar," where our itinerary has told us we are to lunch. Miss and I hurry forward to secure places for the party, while the Student and the Matron follow more slowly. Another house, another stable, more carriages, fellow-passengers in groups upon the road and on the rocks, a great archway of stone spanning the roadway, so large that its top constitutes a platform big enough to hold tables for over a hundred to sit down at lunch together, a score or so of our fellow-passengers already seated there or getting their seats, through the archway and

It is impossible to record what I saw. It was so like an impossible vision which might disappear in a moment that I forgot my purpose to secure seats for our party, and turned back to hurry the Student and the Matron forward, lest the picture should vanish before they arrived. We were on the top of a cliff eighteen hundred or two thousand feet high; above us rose peaks three or four hundred feet higher; below us, at our feet, lay the Black Sea; upon its waters our steamer could be discerned, looking like a launch for size; half-way down the cliff, on a promontory of rock jutting out over the sea, a Greek church; zigzagging down the cliff to this platform, and from it thence along the base of the cliff and about midway between its precipitous wall and the edge of the sea, the road we were to traverse. That picnic lunch will, I think, never be forgotten: on the top of the great stone archway, the peaks above us, the wall of rock extending for miles before us, the sea below us, glimpses here and there of the road which presently we were to follow for twenty-five miles further to our restingplace. The lunch itself, which had been provided by Cook and sent out to this mountain solitude in advance for our coming, amazed us all by the variety of the viands and their appetizing and even luxurious character, where very simple food and plain service might have been expected. Fish with much-spiced dressing, fish in jelly, cold meats pressed and jellied, cold chicken, vegetables prepared in ways new to me, cakes, and fruit, with bread, butter, and cheese, were given in an abundance which matched even the

German appetites. Tea, mineral water, wine, and beer were there also to be

bought at fair prices, and the supply seemed inexhaustible.

Twenty

But the drive that followed! five miles of Gibraltar-no! of one Gibraltar piled upon another, with a road clinging to the side of the cliff midway between the summit and the sea; and yet this, too, is inexact. Let me try to recall it more accurately--as if that were possible. Perpendicular palisades, from one to two thousand feet in height; piled at their base a mass of rock composed apparently of débris fallen from the cliffs and extending another thousand feet or so down to the sea; the sea, vast, illimitable, suggestive of boundless space, the only horizon the line where sky and sea meet and melt into each other, indistinguishable, inseparable; then between this sea and these palisades a shore line, sometimes scarcely less perpendicular than the cliffs above, sometimes sloping gently to the sea at its base, sometimes so narrow that our read seemed to hang over the sea, with no spot below large enough for a tree to find root or a blade of grass to grow, sometimes so broad as to afford a resting-place for terraced gardens and vineyards, or a bit of pasture, or even an occasional village; sometimes naked, grim, desolate, terrible, sometimes fruitful, efflorescent, fragrant; through this scene of desolation and of fertility, of mountain precipice and blue sea, of alternately exquisite beauty and awful grandeur, a road constructed at the foot of the cliff, but far above the edge of the sea, winding in and out in endless curves and up and down in endless undulations to meet, evade, or overcome the difficulties of the way; at intervals the most primitive of villages, with swarthy Tartars looking curiously at us as we passed, sometimes with contemptuous amusement depicted on their faces, sometimes with jeering greetings as we drive by; in many cases the perpendicular face of a precipitous rock constituting the sole back of their houses, which seem as though they were plastered on the rock like the nests of some gigantic and ingenious bird-such were the features, or some of the features, of the most romantic drive I have ever taken or ever conceived of. It is nearly or quite seven o'clock when we at last turn around the edge of a promontory we have been long approaching and see

far down, a thousand feet below us, the lights of a considerable town glittering along the shore and the lights of our steamer in the open sea near by--for there is no harbor; and our driver points with his whip and says, "Yalta," and our tired horses, taking new courage from an instinctive sense that their work is nearly done, begin the long descent on a run which would terrify us had not our hearts lost the capacity for further sensation. The wind has risen as the sun has gone down; it is growing cold and dark, and we are growing hungry, and the prospect of being on board our yacht and sitting down to her well-equipped dinner cheers our hearts. We do not care how soon we are there. Now we are driving by a long wall, over which we get glimpses of fruit trees in blossom, and occasionally of garden beds and walks; now by a great gateway, with gorgeously gilded doubleeagles perched on standards, and again our communicative driver points his whip and says, "Livadia "--the summer garden of the King, which we are to visit tomorrow. Now we are trotting in a long procession along the quay, where the waves -from the sea are breaking with such force as now and again to send the spray over usinteresting embarking this is going to be, but no matter, we have good officers, all will be safe, and a romantic embarkation will form a fitting culmination to a romantic. day. Halt! The carriages fill the street from curb to curb. Others come rolling up behind us. What is this? The hotel? But why do we stop at the hotel? Why do we not drive on to the landing-place? No one who knows can speak English. No one who can speak English can find out. Presently it begins to be rumored that we cannot embark to-night; there is no harbor, and the sea is too high. What shall we do? We will wait a few minutes to see if the rumor be true and to get directions from the men who have charge of the excursion. Presently the rumor is verified, but simultaneously it is made to appear that no one regards himself in charge of the excursion. There is with us an agent of the steamship, but it is not his business to take care of us on shore. There are two of Cook's agents here, but they do not think it their busi ness to take care of us after the drive is over. It dawns on me that it is a

clear case of everybody for himself. The Student and I start to look up accommodations. Hotel number one is already taken. Hotel number two is equally full before we reach it. Hotel number three proves to be a lodging-house only, which furnishes rooms, but not meals-a not uncommon type, I believe, in Russia. All the hotel clerks are running about distracted; all the passengers are running about distracted after them. The passengers cannot understand the clerks, nor the clerks the passengers. To show that

I want a bed I put my head on my hand and shut my eyes; to show that I want two beds I hold up two fingers. Two roubles? ($1.08). I nod my head; but also two rooms-and I put my head on my hand twice. Then two fingers are held up twice and something added. I distinguish roubles and something else unintelligible. I nod. I will pay three roubles if necessary, and two roubles and something will be less than three roubles. With some difficulty we make this clear and are taken up to see the rooms. They seem clean but barren, one bed in each, with a mattress but no bedding. We make it clear that we want another bed in each, take the keys that no one else may get them, and go after the Matron, content to have assurance that she will not have to sit up in a chair or sleep on the floor. Except for one provident couple, there was not, I think, so much as a toothbrush in the entire company. A few persons more energetic than the rest shopped for toilet conveniences and night-garments, but most of us settled down to what we had; for the ladies, hairpins and side combs answering for their "coiffure," and chewed match-ends for toothbrushes. As to robes de nuit, they were not to be thought of.

and I

How the Student, Miss went out to get some supper for ourselves and some provisions for the Matron, who needed rest even more than supper; how at the primitive restaurant we had to divide rations for one among two or three, and go ourselves to the room adjoining the kitchen for bread and butter; how the Matron stayed at the lodging-house, and by signs made the porter understand that she wanted a fire in the great Rus sian stove, and got it at last, after much waiting, but could get heat from the big

stove only by sitting immediately in front of the open door to the sort of oven in which the wood was burning; how grad ually the furnishing for the night was brought in-parts of an iron bedstead at intervals, then, in succession, with waits between, a mattress, bedclothes in installments, water for washing, bottled water for drinking, and, last of all, some towels; how all we could bring her home for her frugal supper was some bread and butter, a little fruit, and some Russian chocolates; how we slept on hard beds, and whenever we wakened heard the noise of the waves dashing up against the sea-wall outside; and how when my bill came in I found I had to pay for light, attendance, bedding, and making up the bed, so that my rooms were four roubles each instead of two, I need not recall here more in detail. This was not an imposition, as I was at first inclined to suppose. We had landed in a house characteristic of Russia and of Oriental countries, in which the landlord furnishes the room and the bedstead, and leaves the traveler to fur nish his own bedclothes, which he ordinarily brings with him.

The next morning the problem how we were to get on board our steamer presented itself. The wind, rattling the shutters and blowing open the French windows of our room, gave us no hope of a quiet sea, and I was not surprised to see the yacht moving up and down-in more ways than one-a half-mile or more from the shore. I succeeded by signs in getting from the landlord of the lodginghouse a glass of tea and some bread and butter for the ladies, and then started out to reconnoiter. At seven o'clock I was at the chief hotel, but no one knew what was to be done, and every new passenger I met had a new rumor to repeat or a new plan to propose. We must ride back to Sevastopol; the horses were exhausted and the drivers would not take us; we must wait here until the sea goes down; we are going to be taken to the steamer in launches, etc., etc. At length it began to be reported, though still no official notice was given, that there was a Russian local steamer inside the breakwater, that we were all to go on board of her, that she was to take us back to Sevastopol, and that we were to embark on the Prinzessin in the harbor there. This

arrangement was in fact made, I believe. by the captain of our steamer through the intermediary of the first officer. We had nothing to pay on the steamer, except for luncheon if we chose to take it. So far as I know, not till all the arrangements were consummated and most of the passengers had gotten word and were on board, or preparing to go on board, did the agents of the Cook Company appear again. Whether they kept out of sight because they did not know what to do, or because they wanted to avoid for Cook all responsibility for the predicament in which we were placed, I do not know.

Generalizations from a single experience or a brief series of experiences are not very safe; but the results of our experiences on this trip confirmed Mr. -'s advice to me; before I left New York he said: "Buy your circular tickets of Cook; occasionally you can use him to advantage in especial carriage trips-but avoid the 'personally conducted tour." In fact, we paid a good price at Sevastopol in order to have all care taken off, and when the crisis came it all tumbled back on us again; we paid for a third day's excursion to the garden of the Czar-which we never had, and had not only to pay our bills at Yalta, to which I do not especially object, but had to shift for ourselves under circumstances of no little perplexity, while our personal conductors disappeared from the scene, not to appear again until all the trouble and perplexity were passed.

To our surprise, the Russian steamer, though primarily for freight, had very comfortable provision for passengers, and we, with unexpected steadiness, steamed back over the water which we had looked down upon the day before, our “yacht” accompanying us all the way. Although we lost our promised view of the palaces and the splendors they contain, we gained a new view of the marvelous cliffs along which we had driven. We are now at home again on the Prinzessin. Our time on the yacht is growing short, and we begin to wonder whether after the exchange to land traveling we shall be as comfortable. But there is a pleasant thought in the idea of longer time in our stoppingplaces and larger space for manipulating our luggage to compensate for the luxuries we shall leave.

L. A.

Τ

Such payments were not definitely agreed upon in advance, nor, as a rule, were they made in money. They consisted, generally, of some commodity, or article of merchandise, such as a barrel of flour or a pair of boots, which, after the election, was given to the voter as a sort of present or reward for having supported the party at the polls. This, of course, was a demoralizing practice, and it gradually familiarized a certain class of the people with the idea that loyalty to party was a thing that entitled the loyal partisan to a reward; and that votes, consequently, had a certain market value dependent upon the exigency of the political situation. From rewarding the faithful partisan after the election to buying up the uncertain voter before the election was only a step, and that step was soon taken. Even before the Civil War both political parties were buying votes, when it seemed expedient to do so in closely contested elections, and each party attempted to excuse itself by alleging that the other began the practice, and that the resort to fire, as a means of fighting fire, was a justifiable exercise of the right of selfprotection. The buying of votes at that time, however, was on a comparatively small scale, and the voters purchased were generally poor men, of weak or dubious character, to whom money was

1 See editorial comment elsewhere in this issue.

After the Civil War, when the negroes were enfranchised, the Democrats found themselves confronted by a new and threatening situation, due to the acquirement of political rights by a class that had before been ignored. The colored population in the two lower counties already had considerable numerical strength, and there was no doubt that it would vote solidly for the party that had given it the ballot. Fearing this accession to the Republican ranks, and believing that the negroes were unfit, in point of character, education, and training, to exercise the right of franchise, the Democrats tried in various ways to eliminate them from the political situation; and, as a means to that end, they finally enacted what was known as the " Delinquent Tax Law.” This law provided, in substance, that every man who failed to pay his taxes within a certain specified time should lose the right to vote, and should not again be qualified as a voter until his arrears of taxes had been fully paid. Although this law, ostensibly, was not aimed particularly at the negro, and made no color-line distinction, its practical effect was to disfranchise a considerable part of the colored population. The negroes constituted the poorest and most improvident class; they were sometimes unable to pay their taxes; and many of them were so shiftless, careless, or indifferent that they neglected to pay them within the specified time, even when able to do so. It is charged, furthermore, by the Republicans, that the Democrats, who had control of the levy courts and all the taxing machinery, carried their own delinquents on the roll of voters while excluding all others; and that by spiriting away the tax-collectors they often made it impossible for

Republicans to pay their taxes, even when the latter were ready and anxious to do SO. It was not an unusual thing, just before an election, to see large numbers of Republican voters hunting vainly for a Democratic tax-collector who had mysteriously disappeared; and it is said that, in one case, a party of determined Republicans, who wished to pay their taxes so that they might have the privilege of voting, chased a fugitive tax-collector all the way to Philadelphia, and there dragged him out of bed, where he had sought refuge with all his clothes on, and insisted that he should take their money and give them receipts.

Coincident with this abuse of the delinquent tax law, there was more or less buying of votes by the Democrats—and probably by their opponents-in all parts of the State; and the poorer adherents of both parties were getting more and more into the habit of "charging something" for their votes.1

66

The corruption fund," at that time, was not large in either party; but it seems to have been included regularly in the campaign budget, and party nominees of all grades were expected to contribute to it. Twenty years ago," said a prominent Democratic leader to me, "I went to Thomas F. Bayard and asked him for a contribution to this fund. It was wrong, of course; but we did that sort of thing in those days. He said to me,' Mr. XI'll give you money for any legitimate campaign expense for hall rent, for speakers, for printing, for flags, or for bands of music; but I won't give you a cent for the purchase of votes. This practice of buying votes is corrupting and demoralizing the people, and preparing the way for some rich man to step in and buy up the State.""

The words of Senator Bayard were prophetic, and the shadow of the "rich man" who would attempt to" buy up the State" was already falling across the northern boundary line of Newcastle County.

In 1877 John Edward Addicks, who was then a young married man and a

'This expression I found still in use in Kent and Sussex Counties. A man who sells his vote is said to

charge for it while a man who goes to the polls unbought, or without promise of reward, "votes his sentiments." Speaking of a certain exceptional citizen in Dagsboro, a Sussex County man said to me, "He doesn't charge anything for his vote; he votes his sentiments."

well-to-do flour merchant of Philadelphia, became financially embarrassed, and found it necessary to reduce his expenditures and live, for a time, as economically as possible. He determined, therefore, to go out of the city and seek a residence in some small suburban village, where his housekeeping expenses would not be so great. He happened to have, in Philadelphia, a friend named Joseph Barnard Wilson, who lived in the Delaware village of Claymont, just across the Pennsylvania line, in the county of Newcastle. The wives of the two men were close friends, and it was probably through the influence of the Wilsons that Mr. Addicks bought, in Claymont, a country place of about eight acres known as "Riverview" (afterward called "Miraflores"), and, in 1877, went there with his wife and his daughter to live. In this manner he acquired a residence in the State of Delaware. He continued to do business in Philadelphia; but his home was in Claymont, and he went back and forth, night and morning, by train. In the Claymont house the Addicks family lived for a period of about eight years, maintaining close friendly relations all the time with their neighbors the Wilsons.

In 1885 Mr. Addicks, who in the meantime had acquired wealth as a speculator, promoter, and organizer of gas companies, closed his "Riverview" house at Claymont and moved with his family to Boston, where his business interests then centered. He had at that time manifested no Senatorial aspirations, and it is quite possible that he might have sold the Claymont house and given up his residence in Delaware if he had not felt a strong friendly interest in the Wilsons, and if Mr. Wilson had not died early in the following year. When that event occurred, Mrs. Wilson was left in rather straitened circumstances, and Mr. Addicks helped her out of her financial difficulties by paying her two hundred dollars a month for board, and going there to stay, for a day or two, whenever business called him to Philadelphia.

At the time of Mrs. Addicks's marriage, in 1869, her father, Washington Butcher, of Philadelphia, gave to her, as a wedding present, the furnished house No. 2115 Spruce Street, where she lived with her husband for a period of two or three