Page images
PDF
EPUB

I think then, I should wish to stand
This evening in that dear, lost land,
Over the sea the thousand miles,
And know if yet that woman smiles
With the calm smile; some little farm
She lives in there, no doubt: what harm
If I sat on the door-side bench,
And, while her spindle made a trench
Fantastically in the dust,

Inquired of all her fortunes-just
Her children's ages and their names,
And what may be the husband's aims
For each of them. I'd talk this out,
And sit there, for an hour about,
Then kiss her hand once more, and lay
Mine on her head, and go my way

So much for idle wishing-how

It steals the time! To business now.

GETTING STARTED AS A LAWYER 1

From THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. BY PAUL LEICESTER FORD

The morning after his first day in New York, Peter Stirling called on his friend, the civil engineer, to consult him about an office. Mr. Converse shook his head when Peter outlined his plan.

"Do you know any New York people," he asked, "who will be likely to give you cases?"

"No," said Peter.

"Then it's absolutely foolish of you to begin that way," said Mr. Converse. "Get into a lawyer's office, and make friends first before you think of starting by yourself. You'll otherwise never get a client." Peter shook his head. "I've thought it out," he added, as if that settled it.

Mr. Converse looked at him, and, really liking the fellow, was about

1 Reprinted by permission of Henry Holt and Company.

to explain the real facts to him, when a caller came in. So he only said, "If that's so, go ahead. Locate on Broadway, anywhere between the Battery and Canal Street."

Anywhere between the Battery and Canal Street represented a fairly large range of territory, but Peter went at the matter directly, and for the next three days passed his time climbing stairs, and inspecting rooms and dark cells. At the end of that time he took a moderate-sized office, far back in a building near Worth Street. Another day saw it fitted with a desk, two chairs (for Peter as yet dreamed only of single clients) and a shelf containing the few law books that were the monuments of his Harvard law course, and his summer reading.

On the following Monday, when Peter faced his office door he felt a glow of satisfaction at seeing in very black letters on the very newly scrubbed glass the sign of:

PETER STIRLING

ATTORNEY AND COUNSELLOR-AT-LAW

He had come to his office early, because he believed that early hours were one way of winning success. He was a little puzzled what to do with himself. He sat down at his desk and thrummed it for a minute. Then he rose, and spread his books more along the shelf, so as to leave little spaces between them, thinking that he could make them look more imposing thereby.

After that he took down a book—somebody "On Torts"—and dug into it. In the Harvard course, he had had two hours a week of this book, but Peter worked over it for nearly three hours. Then he took paper, and in a very neat hand, made an abstract of what he had read. Then he compared his abstract with the book. Returning the book to the shelf, very much pleased with the accuracy of his memory, he looked at his watch. It was half-past eleven. Peter sat down at his desk. "Would all the days go like this?" he asked himself. He could not read law for more than four hours a day and get anything from it. What was to be done with the rest of the time?

He went down the two flights of stairs to the street. Even that had the deserted look of summer. He turned and went back to his room.

Sitting down once more at his desk, and opening somebody "On Torts" again, he took up his pen and began to copy the pages literally. He wrote steadily for a time, then with pauses. Finally, the hand ceased to follow the lines, and became straggly. Then he ceased to write. He laid his head down on the blotter, and the erect, firm figure relaxed. There is no more terrible ordeal of courage than passive waiting. Most of us can be brave with something to do, but to be brave for months, for years, with nothing to be done and without hope of the future! So it was in Peter's case. It was waiting-waiting-for what?

Days passed. When Peter finished somebody "On Torts," he went through the other law books of his collection. Those done, he began to buy others, and studied them with great thoroughness and persistence. In one of his many walks, he stumbled upon the Apprentices' Library. Going in, he inquired about its privileges, and became a regular borrower of books. Peter had always been a reader, but now he gave three or four hours a day to books, aside from his law study. Although he was slow, the number of volumes he not merely read, but really mastered was marvellous.

Books which he liked, without much regard to their popular reputation, he at once bought; for his simple life left him the ability to indulge himself in most respects within moderation. Before the year was out, he was a recognized quantity in certain book-stores, and was privileged to browse at will both among old and new books without interference or suggestion from the "stock" clerks. "There isn't any good trying to sell him anything," remarked one. "He makes up his mind for himself."

In his long tramps about the city, to vary the monotony, he would sometimes stop and chat with people—with a policeman, a fruit-vender, a longshore-man or a truckster. It mattered little who it was. Then he often entered manufactories and "yards" and asked if he could go through them, studying the methods, and talking to the overseer or workers about the trade.

When the courts opened, Peter kept track of the calendars, and whenever a case or argument promised to be interesting, or to call out the great lights of the profession, he attended and listened to them. He

tried to write out the arguments used, from notes, and finally this practice induced him to give two evenings a week during the winter mastering shorthand. It was really only a mental discipline, for any case of importance was obtainable in print almost as soon as argued.

Such was the first year of Peter's New York life. He studied, he read, he walked, and most of all he waited. "How much longer will I have to wait? How long will my patience hold out?" These were the questions he asked himself, when for a moment he allowed himself to lose courage. One day his attention was called to the death of several children in his ward caused, the doctor said, by drinking bad milk. Peter realized at once that the National Milk Company from whose wagon the milk was bought, should be prosecuted. The same day he freshened his mind upon certain municipal laws, and began to collect evidence for the trial. He had found his first case.

WHERE EDIBLE BIRDS' NESTS ARE GATHERED 1 From WANDERINGS AMONG SOUTH SEA SAVAGES. By H. WILFRED WALKER

I had just returned down the river with Richardson from Tangkulap. Tangkulap is a journey of several days up the Kinbatangan River in British North Borneo. Richardson was the magistrate of the district, and his rule extended over practically the whole of this river, Tangkulap being his headquarters.

Richardson and I determined to visit the wonderful Gomanton birds' nest caves, from which great quantities of edible birds' nests are taken annually. Very few Europeans had ever visited them, though they are considered among the wonders of the world. We left Batu Puteh in Richardson's canoe early one morning, and reached Bilit that evening. The next morning we were off before sunrise. After leaving the village, we walked about an hour and a half until we came to a small river, the Menungal. "Gobangs" (canoes) were speedily launched, we both getting into the leading one. We were followed by three others, in one of which was an influential Hadji.

Toward evening the river got exceedingly narrow, and fallen trees

1 Reprinted by special arrangement with Witherby and Company, London.

obstructed our way, so that we had sometimes to lie flat on our backs to pass under them, and at other times we had to get out while our canoe was hauled over the mud at the side. Just before we reached our destination for the night, the Hadji and all his men proceeded to wash their faces in the river. This they did to ensure success in their nest-collecting.

We stayed the night in one of two half-thatched huts. It poured all night, and when we started off on foot the next morning we found the track in the forest a regular quagmire. After about three hours' hard tramping, I caught sight of a high mass of white limestone gleaming through the trees. It made a pretty picture in the early morning, the white rock peeping out of luxuriant creepers and foliage. It rises very abruptly from the surrounding forest, and at a distance looked quite inaccessible to a climber. We waded through a stream of clear water, washing the horrible forest mud from us, and soon found ourselves in a most picturesque village at the base of the rock.

After some breakfast we started off to see the near lower cave, which was one of the smaller ones. We followed a very pretty ferny track by the side of a rocky stream for a short distance. The sky overhead was thick with swallows, in fact one could almost say the air was black with them. These, of course, were the birds that make the nests. The mouth of the cave partly prepared me for what I was to see. I had expected a small entrance, but here it was, I should say, sixty feet in height and of great width, the entrance being partly overhung with a curtain of lux- ̄ uriant creepers. The smell of guano had been strong before, but here it was overpowering.

Extending inside the cave for about one hundred yards was a small village of native huts used chiefly by the guards or watchers of these caves. Compared with the vastness of the interior of the cave—I believe about four hundred and eighty feet in height-one could almost imagine that he was looking at a small model of a village. The vastness of the interior of this cave impressed me beyond words. One could actually see the very roof overhead, as there were two or three openings near the top (reminding one of windows high up in a cathedral) through which broad shafts of light forced their way, making some old hanging rattan ladders high up appear like silvery spider webs.

As for the birds themselves, this was one of their nesting seasons, and

« PreviousContinue »