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The Founder of Rotary

This Rotarian Age

My Road to Rotary

The Founder of Rotary

Paul P. Harris

1928

[The cover, opening pages and forward by Ches Perry are found separately.]

1. The Founder of Rotary Part I  -- Page 7
2. Part II Newspaper Experience -- Page 43
3. Part III Begins the Practice of Law  --  Page 80
4. Part IV A Wife and a Home --  Page 109

THE FOUNDER OF ROTARY
PAUL P. HARRIS

PART I
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ON THE shore of Lake Michigan, the second largest of North America’s great inland seas, sixty miles north of Chicago and twenty-five miles south of Milwaukee, lies a small city called Racine. It is known throughout the United States because it is the home of several nationally important manufacturing industries. The people of Racine, however, are not entirely devoted to manufacture; there are cultural interests of which Racine College is the center.

The second mayor of the city and one of the two most prosperous citizens was Henry Bryan, a lawyer whose father had been one of the early settlers of the western part of the State of New York, whose grandfather was born and raised in Massachusetts, and whose great grandfather had emigrated from Ire land, incidentally and for reasons unknown to the writer, emasculating the family name which had been O’Brien.

Henry Bryan organized, financed, and led a gold mining expedition to California in the feverish days of ‘49, and as a result of this ad venture, when Henry died he had naught to leave his widow except a family. The youngest daughter, Cornelia, married George H. Harris, a merchant, the son of Howard Harris of Wallingford, Vermont.

The first child of the union of George and Cornelia was named Cecil; the second Paul, who was born April 19, 1868. They played together and also with the boys of the neighborhood, Cecil generally having the frequently intractable Paul in charge. They often strayed from home down the steep river bank to the railroad and on such occasions the task of dragging Paul up the bank called for most of the boy power of the neighborhood.

To Paul the middle of the street was the best of all playgrounds. Traffic regulation had not at the time become a necessity, so Paul

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made rules of his own, invariably giving boys preference over vehicles. Cecil, realizing the error of his younger brother’s conclusions, sometimes found it necessary to snatch him from beneath the hoofs of passing horses, and to the shame of Paul be it said that Cecil was not infrequently severely scratched for his pains.

Of all charges which might have been made against George and Cornelia, parsimony would have stood the least chance. They were both royal spenders. The idea of a family budget would have met with prompt and emphatic disfavor. The most approved plan was to spend the money and earn it—if possible, thereafter. The system was enjoyable while it lasted and it was made to endure far longer than it otherwise would have done, through the simple expedient of a long series of checks which were endorsed by George, but signed by his thrifty and indulgent father, Howard Harris, of Wallingford, Vermont. The officers of The Manufacturers’ National Bank of Racine, early learned to admire the signature of the silent partner.

But all good things must come to an end

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and so did the residence of the Harris family in Racine, Wisconsin.

One July evening in 1871, George Harris took the two boys to Milwaukee, where they embarked on the “Oneida,” a steamship bound for Buffalo. They were on their way to the home of the father’s parents. Cornelia remained in Racine, took temporary lodgings, and planned to care for the baby, Nina May, who in later years became the wife of the late Lucien Abbott of Denver. 

 

[Please see a check, written to his sister, Nina May, in 1941]

 

Cornelia bore the burdens which adverse circumstances threw upon her with courage and with nobility of purpose worthy of her fine lineage.

A New England Home

 

As long as life lasts there will remain in the minds of the two boys the hallowed memories of the first night in Wallingford. Grandfather met the little group as they alighted from the eleven o’clock train from Rutland. There were no other passengers to alight, the station master had long since gone to bed, and darkness enveloped all except a little circle in

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the center of which was a lantern and grand father.

It was a solemn occasion and the solemnity was emphasized by the stillness and darkness of that first night in the peaceful valley nest ling between two parallel ranges of the Green Mountains. Paul little fist was held in the biggest, firmest, warmest hand he had ever felt —that of his grandfather. The light of the swinging lantern formed fantastic figures on a white fence as the group marched up the silent street of the little village.

Then came another scene which was ever lastingly etched on the sensitive film of memory. She who was to mother the younger of the two boys stood in the doorway holding a kerosene lamp and peering out into the night. She was a wee bit of a dark-eyed woman weighing precisely eighty-nine pounds and, she looked incongruous when she stood beside grandfather, blue-eyed towering in the lantern light.

She greeted her son and her son’s children affectionately though anxiously. Will a story be written of the homecoming of sons who have been vanquished in life’s battle?

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Motherhood is at its best when the tender chords of sympathy have been touched.

Grandmother knew that milk was good for tired, hungry little boys and in the center of the dining-room table she had placed a huge pan of it and alongside the milk-pan was another dish, the contents which the boys could not see, but which proved to be blueberries fresh from the mountainside. On each of the three plates stood a yellow bawl; one seemed formidable, the other two looked friendly and benignant to the eyes of the two little boys. Still another treat awaited them, their first introduction to grandmother’s home-made bread. It is astonishing just how much vacant space there is inside of hungry boys, a fact of which grandmother was well aware, but which was made known that night to two kind hearted yellow bowls!

The boys slept on the fattest bed they had ever seen and father explained that it had been stuffed especially for them with fresh clean straw. After prayers had been said, the boys were placed on top and all that Paul can remember before grandmother awoke him, with a kiss, to the blessedness of a good home

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in the mountains, was a hazy dispute between himself and the bed as to which had been stuffed with bread, milk and blueberries, and which with straw.

Neighbor Coolidge

Seventeen miles over the east mountain in another peaceful valley another little boy was sleeping that night, making blood and bone to use in service as chief executive of a great nation. His name was Calvin Coolidge.

Declaration of War

The day broke clear and bright and there was nothing to indicate that then and there in that peaceful home was to be waged a conflict, but it had to come. Paumothl was three years of age and -. never until then had been known to lower his colors to an enemy unless per chance the “enemy” happened to be his father or his mother.

On the morning in question another personality began to present itself, helpful to be sure and a genius on bread and milk and blueberries, but imperative and commanding—his grandmother. Paul’s idea of the way to help

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a boy to dress was to say nothing and to at tend to business, and yet this miniature old lady, almost a stranger, repeatedly issued orders. It was—”Paul, put your foot up here so I can lace your shoes”—”Do this and do that”—until he felt very much in the spirit of him of whom the poet said: “Burned Marmion’s swarthy cheek like fire and shook his very frame in ire.”

When he at last felt that the business had passed the point of human endurance, he looked his grandmother straight in the eye and threw down his ultimatum, “I am not going to mind you. You are not my Mamma.” There was a note of asperity in the voice of grandmother as she said, “We shall see.”

Straightway she went to father and bringing him to the scene of trouble said: “This little boy says he won’t mind me, Papa; that I am not his Mamma. How is that?”

Father said: “Young man, mind every word your grandmother says to you and it will be well for you to remember what I am now telling you because anytime you happen to forget, you and I will have to make a little journey to the woodshed.”

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The Armistice

Paul’s perception was reasonably keen. He understood his father, particularly when his father spoke in that way. The game was up and he knew it. What did he do? He did what any sensible citizen of his size would have done under similar circumstances. He beat a hasty retreat without especial regard to its order, and later in the day—I relate this even at the hazard of Paul’s being thought a shame less sycophant—after having climbed into her lap, he drew his grandmother’s face to his— then he deliberately kissed the enemy.

I relate this commonplace incident at considerable length because it reveals a characteristic which continued in his later life, a characteristic the influence of which was felt even by the great organization which he was later to found. He has never permitted himself to nurse grievances or cherish bitterness toward his enemies of whom, in the course of events, he has not had many.

Boyhood Days

Days of interesting discoveries followed: the beloved Lake Michigan was wanting, but

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there was a wonderful yard with its apple, pear, and butternut trees; the old cow and her youngest daughter; the chickens, the orchard with its ample garden and bit of hay land and in the distance were the splendid mountains. The garden didn’t look very promising. Once a boy visitor from the West looking at it as it was proudly pointed out, exclaimed: “Oh, I know what that is, it is a stone pile.” But somehow things grew. The writer wishes to assure all readers that the time-honored story to the effect that it is always necessary to sharpen the noses of Vermont sheep in order that they may be able to get down between the rocks for nourishment, is a gross exaggeration. The writer will admit that an enterprising landowner in Rutland County built a stone wall six feet high and twelve feet wide around his entire property, the stone having been taken from the land enclosed. It was a beautiful piece of masonry and will last throughout time. Two teams driven upon it could pass each other with a wide margin to spare.

When the boys arrived in Wallingford they looked like nice little gentlemen, with their neat suits and well-fitted shoes, but

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grandmother had ideas of her own about bringing up boys. One garment after another was replaced by apparel made by the good old seamstress, Margaret McConnell. Grandmother’s conception of a suitable summer outfit for a boy was a broad brimmed straw hat and a waist to which trousers were buttoned, and eventually that constituted the six days-of-the-week costumes of the two youngsters from the West. Oh, but those were comfortable clothes.

 

“Blessings on thee, little man, Barefoot boy, with cheek of tan! With thy turned-up pantaloons, And thy merry whistled tunes.”

There was one thing wrong with those summer days in Wallingford; they were not half long enough. While the swallows were still circling around the old church tower, and play was on at its most furious pace, the summons was sure to come: “Boys! the hot water and soap is ready in the mop pail Wash your feet, it’s bedtime” But there was always the sustaining thought of the morrow with the breakfast of crisp fried potatoes, buckwheat

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cakes and maple syrup after the morning souse of hands and face in clear, cold running water from the spring.

On Saturday night, grandmother gave the boys a vigorous scrubbing in the old family washtub and on Sunday morning promptly entered them in Lottie Townsend's Sabbath School class.

In the fall the boys were taken in hand by Miss Sherman of the primary department of the village school. The first day was memorable because at recess time the older boys formed a circle around the unfortunate Paul and dancing in glee shouted, “Oh, see the little girl boy.” The humiliation was greater than he could bear. That evening grandmother tearfully clipped off the offending curls.

Neither father nor Cecil were destined to remain long in Wallingford Family fortunes, or misfortunes perhaps, Soon took them on their way. After several temporary residences in various communities the family settled in Fair Haven, where three other children were born to George and Cornelia. Guy Howard who died in 1889 at eleven years of age, Claude Harold who died in the service of

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his country in the Philippines and the youngest of the family, Reginald Clayton, who is a member of the faculty of the University of the State of Wyoming, and of the Rotary Club of Laramie.

In the year of 1917, Reginald sold his business and left his wife and young family to enlist in the World War. To his dismay, he was rejected because of physical disability. Learning, however, that his infirmity could be cured by a surgical operation, he underwent such operation and after lying two weeks in the hospital, again presented himself for enlistment and was accepted.

The separation of Cecil and Paul was a tragedy. Excepting only a period of a year or two and also excepting vacation visits back and forth, they never were united during boy hood days again. However, to Paul, at least, there was one compensation, he fell heir to the love and devotion of self-sacrificing grand parents in a well-regulated home, where the high ideals characteristic of New England’s early days prevailed. There was never any foolishness talked in that home. Morning, noon, and night the conversation was of the

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better things. Religious and political liberty was the order of the day. Echoes of the words of Brooks, Phillips and Garrison were still heard. The philosophies of Emerson and Holmes, the nature studies of Thoreau, and the word pictures of Longfellow, Whittier and Bryant had served to soften the rigors of Puritan thought. Prosecutions for witch craft had assumed their rightful position as the most stupid blunders in American history and the last scar of the “Scarlet Letter” had long since vanished.

Grandfather was a man of few words. He had enjoyed limited educational advantages only, but valued education beyond all else. On hot summer afternoons, he frequently took his grandson with him to the barn and seriously pronounced words from the ancient spelling book. Even though he revolted against it at times, Paul’s subconscious mind was deeply impressed and later in life he chose the vocation which to his grandfather had been an ideal, the practice of law. If there has been anything of merit in any achievement of his, it is all attributable to the training received in that New England home. Words are not

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sufficient to express his appreciation of the benefits he derived from the devoted ministrations of those two good New England people.

The First Friendship

One day after Cecil had gone, Paul met a boy of his own age who had the reddest hair anyone had ever seen; hair couldn’t be any redder than Fay’s—his name was Fay Stafford; it was the red of a fiery flame and to him it was a source of considerable humiliation. If there ever was a boy who deserved the friendship of another boy, that boy was Fay and the friendship of another boy is what he got, the friendship of Paul. Before Paul could speak the name of his boy friend plainly, he used to call at his house and ask his mother if “Pay” could come out and play.

Fay suffered a great hardship; his folks compelled him to wear shoes even during the long hot summer days when going barefooted was such an exquisite pleasure; but the two raced the fields and hills together.

 

Paul Harris at 15	Fay Stafford at 15

They knew no single-blessedness; they shared each others joys and sorrows. (seen in a rare photo, right at age 21 - Paul is on the left)  Paul’s life would have lost half its zest had he been

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deprived of the companionship of his red headed friend.

One day years later, Fay told a neighbor that it seemed at times to him that he was losing his mind. He became mentally unbalanced within two days thereafter and, was taken to the insane asylum at Brattleboro, where after spending several hopeless years be died, He was buried in the granite bills of old Vermont, and thus ended Paul’s first friendship.

Of life’s charms what is comparable with friendship? One may possess the wealth of a Croesus and yet, if friendless, how empty it all is.

The red-headed Vermont boy was the first of a long list of friends who have enriched and sweetened Paul’s life. He feels deeply indebted to them for the happiness they have brought him. They have indeed made life worth living and if there is any message which of all others be would send ringing down the aisles of time, it is the message of friendliness, the message of which mankind stands most in need.

The foundation upon which Rotary has

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been built is friendship; on no less firm foundation could it have stood. Perhaps when future generations think of Rotary and of the power of friendship, they will give passing thought to the red-headed boy of the granite hills.

The Lure of the Mountains

If the writer had been blessed in having a boy of his own, he would have turned him loose in the mountains of Vermont to strengthen his limbs in surmounting their heights, to gain inspiration from the exquisite scenery of ever-changing colors, and to cool himself on hot summer days in the clear, cold, sparkling waters of mountain lakes.

The mountains were a lure to Paul all the year round. His happiness was complete when, in company with other boys, he was climbing mountain peaks. But it was not often possible to have the companionship of other boys on his mountain expeditions. When not engaged in school or work, they, as a rule, had other and to them, more agreeable ways of spending their time. Most of Paul’s mountain expeditions were therefore enjoyed
 

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alone. Among other famous Green Mountain peaks which he ascended was Killington; he reached the summit on two occasions. Mountain climbing was not an exhilarating sport, merely. As such, it might not have met with the approval of grandfather and grandmother who believed that every shining hour should be turned to useful purpose. Paul was not averse to the economic view point and he therefore planned his mountain trips as far as possible so as to make them pay.

In the summer time, he picked more wild strawberries, blackberries, raspberries, and blueberries than any other boy in the village, excepting only those who picked for hire.

He was frequently well on his way by the break of day and high up the mountainside when the early morning train, looking in the distance like a tiny worm, crawled down the Otter Creek valley.

Grandmother’s pantry shelves were always laden with the mountain berries preserved for winter use. And although she took little interest in the trout-fishing expeditions at first, she became reconciled after Paul had become fairly adept in the art of luring the wily trout

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from beneath logs and rocks in the cold swift running waters. Grandmother was wont to select the best of them, request her one and only household assistant to roll them in Indian meal and fry them in rich butter. She would then place them upon a platter, cover them with a dainty napkin and send Paul to deliver them to the sick folks of the village.

The long days alone in the fastnesses of the mountains afforded excellent opportunity to dream of days to come.

The tramping habit having been once acquired, grew, and the walks became more and more extended. Paul frequently walked to Rutland and return, making a round trip of eighteen miles. On special occasions he walked to Fair Haven, twenty-five miles distant.

The winter sports in the mountains were even more fascinating than those of summer time. Skating on the surface of mountain lakes and the nearby creek; dare-devil slides down the mountain sides; all were joyous be yond expression.

During the holiday times the old house

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rang with laughter, brothers and sister and cousins many. Pandemonium reigned.

It was difficult to wait even for breakfast. There is no sweeter music to Vermont boys and girls than the ring of skates. On frosty mornings after a snowfall there was also other music to be heard, the hoarse baying of hounds as, in pursuit of fox and rabbit, they ranged over the mountain side.

The Love of Fun

But it was not all fun. There was of course school; it had to be endured. Paul put up with it in poor grace but he tempered its sorrows with his own special brand of mischief.

The village folks soon became so conscious of his weakness that whenever anything unto ward happened they instantly concluded that Paul Harris was at the bottom of it. Some of the good folks of Wallingford were wont to speak of him as “that Paul Harris” with special emphasis on the “that.”

The writer is glad, however, to be able to say that among the last words which Mr. Will Shaw, principal of the high school, spoke be fore he passed to the beyond was a glowing

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tribute to this fun-loving boy. It meant much coming from him, for be must have been sorely tried at times.

Paul’s dominating characteristic was his love of fun and companionship.

Grandfather and grandmother were very punctual in their habits. Their motto was, “Early to bed and early to rise.” Paul was supposed to be in bed at nine o’clock and in fact he always was. It did not, however, necessarily follow that he was in bed at ten o’clock. Quite frequently he was not.

His bedroom adjoined that of his grandparents and when sounds familiar to his listening ear told him that they were asleep, he would rise and cautiously creep to the kitchen, raise a window and thence pass out to join his boy companions.
School Days

Paul took the second year of his preparatory work in the Rutland high school, living at the home of his uncle, Dr. George Fox. The following fall he entered Black River Academy at Ludlow where he found himself for the first time entirely free from parental restraint.

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He so loved his liberty that he celebrated it in a series of pranks which resulted in his expulsion. He returned to Wallingford with a considerable feeling of shame and with contrite heart. His excess of spirits resulted in another loss of which he was not at the time apprised. Had he but remained at Black River Academy a little longer, he would have been a schoolmate of the quiet youth from the other side of the mountain, heretofore referred to, Calvin Coolidge.

In course of time Paul expiated his offence, was forgiven by his indulgent grandparents and enrolled in Vermont Academy, a military institution at Saxtons River, where he rendered a good account of himself.

In the fall of 1885, he matriculated as a Freshman in the University of Vermont at Burlington and there also he demeaned himself in an exemplary manner during the first year and a part of the second. In his Sophomore year, however, his love of fun got the best of him with the result that he and three other members of the class were ignominiously expelled. The fact that he and two of the other three were innocent of the offence with which

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they had been charged was of little solace. Who the guilty ones were was a matter of common knowledge among the boys, but, of course, no self-respecting sophomore could turn informer.

Years later, the University, under the presidency of Dr. Guy Bailey, conferred degrees upon the four expelled men, certainly a very magnanimous proceeding for which all of the parties most concerned were deeply grateful.

Many happy memories of life in Burlington remain. The University is located on the heights overlooking beautiful Lake Champlain with the Adirondacks in the west and the Green Mountains in the east.

The winter sports, coasting, ice-yachting, tobogganing, skating, and snow-shoeing were found at their best.

After his expulsion, Paul continued his studies under a private tutor, took his examinations in Princeton in the spring of 1887 and entered that institution the following fall.

He was presented to Dr. McCosh, then entering upon the last year of his presidency, by Professor Huss. The venerable educator was sitting in the great living-room of his residence

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as Professor Huss and his charge entered. Paul was deeply impressed with his patriarchal and scholarly appearance. On Paul’s being introduced, Dr. McCosh, in his characteristic broad Scotch inquired: “And did you come here to have a good time?” To which the new student was sufficiently self- possessed to answer, “No, Dr. McCosh, I came here to study.” The answer being apparently satisfactory, the doctor arose, partially straightening his tall spare figure which had become greatly bent as the result of years of application to books, extended his hand in welcome and said: “Ah! that’s right, my boy.”

Dr. McCosh was succeeded as president of Princeton in October, 1888, by Dr. Francis L. Patton who remained president for fourteen years, resigning his post to Woodrow Wilson in 1902. Dr. Patton is the only one of the trio of famous men now living. Paul and his wife had the pleasure of taking tea with the distinguished Doctor and Mrs. Patton recently in Bermuda. Dr. Patton, now eighty- four years of age, is spending his remaining

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years in literary pursuits in his splendid ancestral home.

Grandfather’s Passing

 

One day during the month of March, of the year 1888, while at Princeton, Paul received a telegram informing him of his grandfather’s serious illness, and though he took the first train in haste to reach the bedside of his benefactor, his arrival was too late. Howard Harris was no more.

Grandfather had lived eighty-six honorable self-sacrificing years.

There has always been some sense of satisfaction to Paul in the thought that in that trying hour, though her son, daughter, and many grandchildren were present, grandmother chose to lean particularly on him. It was his arm which supported her at the grave side where she looked for the last time on him who had been her constant companion for more than sixty years.

After the funeral and while the two branches of the family were all assembled, Paul was called upon to read his grandfather’s will. It was a marvel of simplicity, high-

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mindedness and wisdom. Many of the village folks had predicted that, after a life interest to grandmother, Paul would be remembered equally with the two direct heirs, but their predictions were not realized. After specific legacies for the education of the grandchildren including Paul, the residuary estate was divided into two equal parts, the one going direct to the daughter, Pamelia, the wife of Doctor George H. Fox, of Rutland, and the other placed in trust for the benefit of George, the father of Cecil and Paul. The will was in no sense of the word a disappointment to Paul. Though conscious of the fact that the sober- minded village people had preordained him to failure, and though his confidence in himself had been considerably shaken by their conclusions, he nevertheless felt within him the desire to fight life’s battle single-handed, come weal or woe.

Grandfather’s death was the first great event in the slow but certain break up of this splendid New England home. None could have been more conscious of the seriousness of the tragedy which was being enacted than Paul. He visited the places hallowed by

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sacred memories and he tried to make his gratitude and love known to his grandmother. Together they walked during the hush of summer mornings, following the paths which grandfather’s footsteps had made through orchard and garden. Grandmother was very quiet at times during those summer-morning walks and Paul knew she was living again the events of sixty years of conjugal bliss and domestic tranquility.

Earning a Living

In the fall of 1888, after finishing his year at Princeton, Paul went into the office of the Sheldon Marble Company, quarries of Vermont marble in West Rutland, for a year’s business training. The former Princeton student was given the high and honorable position of office boy at the prodigious wage of one dollar per day. All he had to do was to get up at five a. m., breakfast, walk a mile to the office, attend to all of the stoves, sweep and dust and get the office in readiness for the coming of the officials and office men and then do his day’s work with the others.

Why Captain Morse, the manager, ever

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consented to give Paul with his known propensity for mischief employment, has always been a mystery. Cecil had been working for the company in the capacity of traveling sales man and that fact undoubtedly helped, but the captain knew Paul personally as the latter had served in his company in the Kingsley Guard and it was the opinion of the wise that the captain was taking desperate chances.

In the beginning, he told Paul that it was the job of the office boy not only to do what he was told to do but to find things to do when not told. The timely adjuration was sufficient. Paul knew that Captain Morse took him into the employ of the company with full knowledge of his character and qualities and he knew that the Sheldons had been fully advised. He knew that he had been given employment which many other more serious- minded young men would ha’ been eager to obtain and he resolved that he would never betray the trust reposed in him; that he would fill the duties of that humble office as they had never been filled before. Within six months, he was drawing the highest wage that had ever been paid for the service he was called upon

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to render and before the year was closed, he was filling a more important position.

The writer hopes that the readers of this chronicle of events will not mistake his purpose in relating the following:

During the year of Paul’s employment by the Sheldon Marble Company, Mr. W. K. Sheldon chanced to meet Matthew Henry Buckham, the president of the State University at the State Legislature, whereupon President Buckham asked Mr. Sheldon, a graduate of the University, if he did not know that Paul Harris had been expelled. Mr. Sheldon replied, “Yes, President Buckham, I know all about it and it might interest you to learn that Paul is one of the most promising young men we have ever had in our office.” As the company then employed six hundred men, the tribute to Paul’s success in carrying out his resolution to justify the confidence of his employers was noteworthy. Mr. Sheldon never passes through Chicago, without calling on his former employee nor without making reference to the incident. Matthew Henry Buckham was a great scholar, a worthy and upright president of the State University but

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lacked the ability of Mr. Sheldon and Captain Morse to bring out the worthy qualities of young men. Is it not also noteworthy that these business men whose minds were full of important affairs thought it worth while to make such an experiment? Paul thought so and for that reason, he felt an overwhelming sense of loyalty.

Last Days in New England

There is always one great day in the life of every youth, one day greater than any other. Paul’s great day was at the same time the most sorrowful.

Grandmother had taken residence in the excellent home of her daughter in Rutland, where she had every service which loving hands could provide. It had been planned that Paul was to take up the study of law in Iowa and he and grandmother had been spending the few days in the blessed old home.

Grandmother and Paul spent the morning of the great day together while she revealed to him her hopes and ambitions for his future. She held up wonderfully, though she broke

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down at last. “Never mind, Grandma, I shall see you again soon,” said the boy. She shook her aged head tearfully. One more of life’s tasks had been completed. It had been left to her to make the final decision and she had made it without the slightest regard to her own feelings. Paul was to go to Iowa to study law.

Taking Horace Greely’s Advice

As he walked to the railway station, his thoughts went back to the night of his arrival eighteen years before.

The future seemed full of uncertainties as he took the train for the West and of nothing was he more uncertain than of himself. Would his future justify the devotion and sacrifices of the two New England people.

He spent a week in Chicago with a college friend, Robert M. Johnson, who had become a newspaper reporter and who showed him where the Haymarket riot and the Cronin murder had taken place. He also showed him where George V. Hankins was then openly running his notorious gambling den. These sights created a profound impression upon the mind of Paul. He bad seen a considerable

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bit of New York and Philadelphia while in College at Princeton, but the unrest of the western city possessed for him a weird fascination. Chicago seemed to him a human maelstrom where social battles were to be fought. The sights which attracted him also repelled him.

During the first year in Iowa, Paul read law in the office of St. John, Stevenson and Whisenand in Des Moines; but he spent the summer months at Lake Okaboja where he fished and enjoyed out-door life in general, reading law when there were no more urgent demands upon his time.

In the fall, he entered the law department of the State University in Iowa City and graduated in June of the year, 1891. In the Iowa University he encountered conditions quite different from any he had met before. The students were older than those in the University of Vermont and at Princeton. Most of them came from Iowa farms and many had taught school as a means of raising the money necessary to the completion of their education. They were earnest men who had for the most part, passed their play period.

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The atmosphere was wholesome and groups of law students frequently spent their evenings in their rooms conducting quizzes; and discussing the theory and practice of law.

During the course of the year, Paul won the friendship of Will Mullin, a young man of brilliant mind. Will was two or three years Paul’s senior and whilst clerking during a period of years in his brother’s book store in Cedar Rapids, he had acquired a fine knowledge of literature. He became Paul’s literary guide and his influence was probably not diminished by the fact that he was more or less of a bon vivant.

Looking Backward

As Paul now looks back at his experiences in the various educational institutions, he is prone to question himself as to what, if any thing, he got out of them; what, if anything, was there to justify his grandfather’s sacrifices and hopes? Was it worth while?

Was it Dr. McCosh or Dr. Patton who once said that it is better to go to college and loaf than not to go at all? Whoever it was, he was probably right. One cannot fail to pick up

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some values where they are to be found in such abundance.

The best thing that Paul got from his experiences in educational institutions came from his contacts with other students. In scholastics, be cannot lay claim to have gotten much except, perhaps, a love of good books.

On the whole, be is certain that the great lure to him of educational institutions was the opportunity they gave him to study the ways of men. He was ever an experimenter. Was there some place to which men flocked? If so, what was the attraction? What were the underlying which influenced the lives of men? Why did men conduct them selves as they did? Why were some good and others bad? Why did some make sacrifices? Did they pay? If so, bow? Why were others wasteful of their physical, mental, and moral resources? What did they get out of it? Was there wisdom in grandfather’s precepts—or was he simply out of date, a well meaning, but deluded old fogey? What was life? The mists of thirty-five years have obscured many of the occurrences and thoughts of student days and within that period of time

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many friends and schoolmates have passed to the beyond. How quickly some of them passed. With what expedition and with what thoroughness they “mined the mine of youth to the last vein of the ore.”

During his life in Iowa, Paul received many splendid letters from his grandmother but one sad day he received a telegram stating that she had peacefully passed on. On an autumn afternoon when the sugar maples on the mountain sides were in their most radiant colors, they laid her at rest beside her husband in the quiet cemetery in Wallingford. She had lived her entire life of seventy-eight years in the peaceful valley and only on very rare occasions had she ever left it.

Paul had not begun to see enough of the world to satisfy him and he made the resolve to devote the next five years to the study of life from as many different angles and in as many different cities as possible. He was aflame with desire to broaden his horizon. He longed to see the scenes of the exploits of his maternal grandfather in the golden west; the life of the plains; languorous Florida; and the land of his dreams, the tight little isles

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across the seas. He also resolved that on the termination of the five-year period he would settle in Chicago and practice law.

Westward Ho!

His friend, Robert Johnson, was at that time doing newspaper work in San Francisco. Paul visited the Yellowstone National Park en route West, spent a week in the mountains of Northern Idaho hunting and fishing for trout. While in the mountains he had the good fortune of bringing down a black bear. There was no rational excuse for spending any of his few remaining dollars in such pursuits, but he was realizing one of his objectives — he was experiencing life.

During the latter part of July, 1891, he arrived in San Francisco, his money spent. He was on his own at last.

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SAN FRANCISCO had occupied a position in Paul’s mind, second in interest only to Chicago of all Western cities.

 

Paul has his college friend, Robert Johnson, to thank for his introduction to newspaper work. Robert was unusually capable and ever ready to lend a helping hand. Through his influence and guidance Paul obtained a position on the Chronicle reportorial staff. Robert was at the time covering the hotels for the Examiner. The newspaper business was very slow in San Francisco and the city was full of capable Eastern newspaper men who had drifted to the coast, moved principally by the spirit of adventure. The Chronicle, then owned by M H. De Young, had a long list of reporters working without fixed salary. They were paid by the column for material considered of sufficient news value for publication

 

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and three dollars for every assignment covered. The men who had been longest with the paper were given first call on assignments and there were seldom enough to go around. This meant hard times for the recent arrivals unless they were capable of picking up their own stuff and that was not easy even for experienced newspaper men in a strange city. There were at the time reporters of extraordinary ability who could get their column or more on their first clay in a strange city. Robert Johnson was one. The writer has known him to accomplish this feat in several cities including New York, and when that city was full of the best newspaper men thoroughly acquainted with the metropolis.

Paul fared better than some of the more experienced men but times were hard and there was little indication of improvement. While discussing prospects with a number of other reporters one night in the Palace Hotel, he chanced to hear one of them, Harry C. Pulliam, formerly of Louisville, Kentucky, who also was occupying a position near the tail end of the Chronicle staff, say that he had come west for the purpose of seeing California.

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This was the same Harry Pulliam who later became president of the National Baseball League.

A Soldier of Fortune

Harry was a fine fellow and his words were sweet music in the ears of Paul, who had been looking for a chum; he therefore proposed that they work their way through the state together. The suggestion was immediately accepted and within three days the two were working at manual labor on a fruit ranch in Vaca Valley. After making a “stake” at that place, they gave up their jobs with the purpose of treating themselves to a three-hundred-mile tramp through the mountains of California, including the Yosemite Valley. Paul was taken ill of malaria in Stockton but recovered his strength during the first day’s tramp in the mountains. He was in his element again.

The camping outfits consisted of woolen blankets, provisions, a coffee-pot, frying-pan, and some standard literature.

From the Calaveras big trees, a hike was begun across the trail less mountain ranges. They hoped to see the Hetch Hetchy and
 

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Kings River Canyon enroot to the Yosemite. As might have been expected, the amateur woodsmen lost their way in crossing the divides which separated the valleys of the various branches of the Tuolumne, Merced, and Stanislaus rivers. For some days they wandered, but fortunately came to human habitation soon after their supplies had run out. They arrived at the Yosemite eventually but failed in their attempt to locate the other famous valleys.

Their next engagement was in the raisin- packing industry in Fresno. From there they went to Los Angeles where, after failure to secure a newspaper job Paul became a teacher in the Los Angeles Business College, incidentally one of the first institutions to have representation in the Rotary Club of Los Angeles when that club was organized in 1908.

Denver

After completing a nine-months’ stay in the State of California, Paul returned as far east as Denver, where he demonstrated his versatility by play-acting in a stock company in the Old Fifteenth Street—sometimes called the

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Peoples’—theater. This adventure attracted more publicity than any other; in fact, far more than he desired. He received letters from old friends who apparently thought that he had gone wrong; and as he walked the streets of Denver, newsboys shouted at him the name of the part which he happened to be playing. As a matter of fact, Paul had no more intention of remaining on the stage than he had of remaining for any length of time at any of the other occupations by which he sustained him self during the, to him, eventful five years.

He had heard the expression “Pike’s Peak or bust” and was, very naturally, desirous of seeing what there was to it. He took a train to Manitou, climbed to the half way house, spent the night, resumed his climb to the peak in the early morning hours and ran all the way down to catch the eleven o’clock train for Denver, having convinced himself that the stride which he had developed in the Green Mountains, tried out in the Sierra Nevadas,  would also work in the Rockies.  [Sierra being plural for mountains, "Sierra Nevada is correct,"]

He soon managed to get a position on the reportorial staff of the Rocky Mountain News, where he remained until he was fortunate

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enough to be permitted to taste the life of a cowboy on a ranch near Platteville, Colorado.

He remained at this occupation for some months, riding the range alone frequently for days at a time searching for stray cattle. Returning to Denver, he obtained employment on The Republican where he met some of his old San Francisco friends drifting back east ward.

Florida

Florida was another land of romance which appealed to the young traveler and his next jump was to Jacksonville, to which city he traveled on a pass. His first position in the southern city was that of night clerk at the St. James, the best tourist hotel in Jacksonville at that time.

Paul found the hotel business prosaic and he soon left to take a position as traveling salesman for George W. Clark who dealt in marble and granite of which Paul had gained a slight knowledge while working for the Sheldon Marble Company. George Clark was destined to have a marked influence on the life

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of the wanderer. He was only a few years older. Employer and employee soon became fast friends. Years later George organized and became first president of the Jacksonville Rotary Club.

Paul traveled in the interest of George’s business in Florida, thus learning something of the State. On March 1, 1893, he resigned his position and departed for Washington to witness the ceremonies in connection with the inauguration of Grover Cleveland as President of the United States. While in Washington he obtained temporary employment on the Star. After the inauguration he went to Louisville, Kentucky, in the hope that his old friend Harry Pulliam might be able to get him a permanent position on the Courier or on the Louisville Commercial where Harry was telegraph editor.

Harry’s efforts proving to be unsuccessful, Paul made application for and obtained a position as traveling salesman for another marble and granite house, that of James A. Clark. Although having the same surname, the proprietor was neither connected with nor related to George W. Clark of Jacksonville.

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The new position gave Paul an excellent opportunity to learn something of the old South—Kentucky, Tennessee, northern Georgia, and Virginia. On arrival at Norfolk, Virginia, he again resigned and took the boat for Philadelphia with the intention of finding a way to cross the ocean. From the period when Tom Brown of Rugby had first won his admiration, down through the days when the pen folk of Dickens, Thackeray and Scott had held him captive, Paul had longed for a sight of the British Isles. His longing was not half hearted; it was vigorous and determined; he was willing to endure any hardship, to pay any obtainable price. While in Philadelphia, he read much in the newspapers concerning the World’s Fair in Chicago with the result that his interest in that city was greatly augmented. He resolved to visit the Fair on his return to America.

Salt Water and Hardtack

He soon found in the want-ad column of a Philadelphia paper a notice that cattlemen were wanted by a Baltimore house making a

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shipment to England on a boat of the Johnson line named the “Baltimore.”

Before dawn the following day, the “Baltimore” was ploughing the seas and the young man who aspired to learn something of the practical side of life was on board, a duly en rolled cattleman.

Pen could not describe the hardships of that first voyage; the privation and suffering was unbelievable. The seas were rough and the boat had the reputation of being the worst boat of the worst line in the trans-Atlantic service. In this experience, Paul learned much of the need of human sympathy which greatly affected his own life and indirectly the life of Rotary. Without this experience, he never could have believed that human beings could sink so low. After being tossed about for fourteen days, the “Baltimore” entered the Mersey and the cattlemen were soon landed in Liverpool

The first day on shore, the men were so exhausted that they could do nothing except sleep; but youth has wonderful, recuperative power, and Paul and a new-found friend soon had the supreme satisfaction of gazing at the

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wonders of a great city in a strange land. They walked in all directions about the city and into the suburbs. Paul would have been surprised indeed had some occult power then informed him that within a few years he would direct the organization of a club in Liverpool which would wield an important influence in the life of that city. The stay was all too brief. They were soon “signed on” before the mast as is the custom with returning cattle men.

Paul was sorely disappointed in not being able to see London and he resolved to endure the hardships necessarily incident to another voyage across that he might visit the British metropolis.

The return to Baltimore was made in the “Parkmore,” another boat of the same line. It was not quite so bad as the “Baltimore” but it certainly could not be said to be even fairly good. Neither vessel provided mattresses, blankets, nor eating utensils for the cattle men. An alleged food which is known to the British seamen as “scouse” was served three times a day. It is composed mostly of potato and water, though on occasions small fragments

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of meat are added. “Scouse” and moldy sea biscuit constituted the principal food. Both ships were infested with vermin and when the sea was rough, vast quantities of water washed aboard deluging the cattlemen from morning until night. Lack of food of nutritive value, vermin, and constant irnmersions in cold salt water made the lives of the cattlemen anything but attractive.

Paul learned from some of the old-timers that a few boats of the other lines, carrying cattle, were reasonably good. The Atlantic Transportation Company, an American line, was mentioned with particular favor. One of the old sailors had crossed on the “Michigan” of that line and he spoke highly of its appointments.

On arrival at Baltimore, Paul asked the shipper for another trip and was abruptly re fused—no men were needed. Later in the day, Paul was surprised to be hailed by the same person. On Paul’s approaching the shipper said: “Is your name Harris?” On being answered in the affirmative he said, “Well, young man, you can get a job with us anytime you want one; Billy Graham, the

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foreman, says that you are the best man who ever crossed the ocean with him.”

The compliment was more gratifying to Paul than any he had ever received. It gave him much happiness to think that he had really been able to make good in such an undertaking. He had tried to be alert, watchful, and helpful under all circumstances and his efforts
had been appreciated.

Another boat of the Johnson line was about to sail but Paul was not looking for an opportunity to repeat his experience with that particular line; he preferred to wait.

It was haying time and Paul resolved to go into the country to work while waiting an opportunity to sail under reasonably favorable conditions. He had never worked in a hay field but had heard much about it in Vermont and he coveted the experience. He walked to Elicott City and soon found work in a hay field in that locality. It was heavy work and called for the exercise of muscles which he had not been accustomed to use, but he did the best he could, scanning the newspapers for reports of sailings whenever he had opportunity to see them. To his delight he soon learned that the

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“Michigan” was about to sail. He returned at once to Baltimore, made application to the shipper and was soon in the Chesapeake. The boat’s destination was Tillbury docks in the Thames about thirty miles from London. Oh, happy day!

Paul then received a promotion. He became a sub-foreman and had charge of a gang. Living conditions were excellent, the voyage was delightful, and in due course Paul and a friend he had made in crossing were in the streets of London gazing at sights which he had longed to see. The two young Americans walked the streets from morn till night, covering great distances. They visited the Houses of Parliament, Westminster Abbey, the British Museum, Tower of London, St. Pauls, Hyde Park, Kensington Gardens, Buckingham Palace, Trafalgar, the Strand, and many other places of interest.

In 1911, Paul brought about the organization of the Rotary Club of London. There are now forty Rotary clubs within the metropolitan district and it is expected that there will be more. The original club has the exclusive right to use the name Rotary Club of

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London. Its offices are located in the Hotel Cecil and its meetings are held there. It is the rallying point for thousands of American Rotarians visiting abroad. The best accommodation the founder of the movement could afford on his first visit to London in 1893 was a cheap boarding-house run by A. Leslie on Commercial Road in the Whitechapel district, a locality of exceptional interest to the embryonic sociologist from the other side.

Another enjoyable surprise awaited. The “Michigan” was directed to return via Swan sea in South Wales to take on coal and also a cargo of queensware destined for Philadelphia. It happened that the colliers were on a strike when the “Michigan” arrived in Swansea but even •that circumstance was turned to good account and the travelers visited many points of interest in Swansea and in the surrounding country.

The World’s Fair and More Journeying

The return voyage was pleasant and on arrival in Philadelphia, Paul immediately took the train for Chicago to visit the World’s Fair. He had money enough for train fare

 

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and no more. On arrival in Chicago he looked up a college friend whom he knew to be selling tickets at the Fair grounds and be came his guest.

During the course of a week he covered the principal sights and had one note-worthy experience. It occurred during a visit to the Vermont building. As he entered the building he was immediately conscious of the presence of two persons, a man and a woman. Neither seemed conscious of his presence; they were inspecting the exhibits. A glance revealed to Paul a rather disconcerting fact; they were his cousins, Ed and Mattie Fox, of Rutland.

Instantly Paul turned on his heel and left the building. The impecunious young man was in no position to reveal himself to his relatives.

The Fair having been visited, Paul looked for other worlds to conquer. One city of all other American cities which he had not yet seen was especially alluring; it was New Orleans, differing from other American cities in so many respects. How to get there was the question.

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Secret of Success

It might be stated at this point that through out his travels Paul stole no rides; he either paid his fare or worked his way and he always carried baggage. People have frequently expressed wonder at his ability to land almost immediately on his feet after arrival in a strange city; even men of considerable experience such as roving newspaper men have ex pressed amazement. Harry Pulliam, for in stance, used to call Paul the “wonder man.” To those who have sometimes been out of jobs for months at a time in their own home cities, Paul’s experiences would probably seem miraculous.

The fact that he could do what he did was as much a tribute to the astonishing resources of the country in which he lived as to Paul personally.

 

The reasons why he was successful were simple.

In the first place, he always made it a point to dress well and to appear well-groomed; in the second place, he did not limit himself to any particular class of work. He was willing

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to undertake any kind of work, mental or physical, by which he could earn a livelihood, and finally he always gave full measure of service. It was his aim to give the best he had in him and in case he failed to make good it was because of physical or mental limitations and not because of indifference. His manifest earnestness of purpose frequently resulted in his being transferred from work which he could not do to the advantage of his employer to other work to which he was better adapted.

To get to New Orleans was not difficult. He borrowed fifteen dollars from his college friend, invested ten of the fifteen with a ticket- broker for the return part of a round-trip ticket from Crawley, Louisiana, to Chicago via New Orleans. The ticket was cheap be cause it was within twenty-four hours of expiration.

On arrival in New Orleans early one morning, he sold the remaining part of the ticket to a broker for $1.00.

The traveler was able to engage good board and room with a respectable family for four dollars per week and he immediately set

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siege upon the newspaper offices. Times were unusually slow, especially in the newspaper business and nothing except the privilege of space-writing was available. Before his capital was exhausted, however, Paul was fortunate enough to find opportunity to add a new chapter to his story; how interesting and extraordinary the chapter was to prove, he could not have conjectured.

Picking Oranges

In a want-ad of a daily paper, be read:

 

“Wanted—A dozen men to pick and pack oranges in a grove in Plaquemine parish.”

The next day a gang of men, including Paul, crossed the Mississippi river and took the train on a narrow-gauge track for Buras, a township in the delta not far from where the Father of Waters empties into the sea. After a rough ride and a walk of a mile and a half from Buras they arrived at the grove and warehouse of S. Pizatti, the senior member of the well-known Pizatti-Oteri Steamship Company whose boats plied between New Orleans and Bluefields, Nicaragua.

The warehouse was on a high foundation,

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the floor being level with the top of the dike, thus permitting the trucking of oranges from the warehouse directly across the top of the dike to the wharf whence they were taken by river boat to New Orleans. The oranges in Louisiana are picked and packed while still green on account of fear of early frosts.

The gang began operations at once. Sleeping-quarters had been provided in the ware house and Pizatti’s cook prepared the meals for the laborers in Pizatti’s rather substantial dwelling. The old Italian who had become wealthy importing bananas was present most of the time.

The business of picking, packing, boxing, and shipping oranges progressed satisfactorily for several days as it doubtless would have done the crop was harvested had it not been for a very extraordinary circumstance.

Fast and Furious

On a Sunday morning, several members of the gang, including Paul, rowed across the Mississippi River to dredge for oysters in a bayou. Returning in the afternoon, they en-

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countered a heavy wind which made the crossing difficult. The wind storm continued with such force that the men feared that the ware house standing so high above the ground would be blown down. They therefore sought refuge in the Pizatti house where they gained admittance.

The storm continued to rage during the early part of the evening, so the workers remained in the large kitchen. Frequently the door was opened and a family dripping wet, entered. As they were foreigners, their con fused and excited words were unintelligible to the men. The house filled with shouting men and crying women and children, and it soon became apparent that they had fled from their homes to take refuge in the staunch house of Pizatti. Then to the amazement of the orange pickers a rush of water came into the house gaining ingress under the doorway. The structure seemed to be afloat. At this juncture some one raised a shout which sounded above the general hubbub. Men took children in their arms and burst through the door into the night. The women followed. It was apparent to all that the one salvation

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was to reach the high-standing warehouse; the water was more feared than the wind.

Paul and several other orange-pickers took children in arms and plunged out into the night. Paul held in his arms a little girl eight or nine years of age. The water at first was only about knee deep, but the depth increased rapidly as the low ground near the approach to the warehouse was reached. It was necessary for Paul to constantly raise the child higher and higher in order to keep her out of the water which was not far from his armpits when his foot finally touched the plank incline leading up to the warehouse. There in the light of a lantern were fifty or more men and crying, shrieking women and children. The orange-pick were young men and not easily upset. Moreover, they were ignorant of what had happened and of what might happen on the Mississippi river.

A man by the name of Granger from Jacksonville looked down at a frightened woman on her knees sobbing a prayer and seemingly impressed with some untoward sense of the ludicrous, began to laugh. A

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box maker from New Orleans who knew the river turned to Granger and said: “Don’t laugh. Prepare to meet your God.”

But the wind which brought the water was blowing toward the river, not from it. On someone’s suggestion Paul and others went to work with axes, pickaxes, and crowbars in an effort to cut the dike and let the flood through into the river. It was difficult to stand upon the dike, the wind blew so relentlessly. How the warehouse continued to withstand the storm was a mystery. Another gang tried to build a raft.

To the infinite relief of all when daylight finally broke, the storm subsided. The only dry land in sight was the top of the levee which was covered with walking, creeping, and crawling things; horses, cows, hogs, hens, birds, and no end of squirming, writhing, deadly moccasin snakes.
The only home remaining standing was Pizatti’s and the place of refuge, the warehouse. Fortunately some builder had done his work honestly and well.

The waters round about were strewn with

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wreckage of houses and with green thorn- picked oranges, but the strangest of all sights was a three-masted schooner standing where but yesterday had been dry land.

The newspapers described the great coast storm of 1893 which swept one island clear of every human being and devastated an area of hundreds of square miles, as a tidal wave. It was said that at Bayou Cook alone, eight hundred lives were lost. In Buras township the loss of life was tremendous.

In an incredibly brief period relief boats came down the river from New Orleans and the survivors were given every possible aid.

These coast storms are not at all frequent, so it seems as if it must have been by interposition of Divine Providence that he who was so interested in adventure should happen to have been present at that particular time.

The writer wishes he had the power to adequately describe this storm that descended so suddenly upon the Lower Mississippi. Al though years have elapsed, the suffering and horror of that night still remain in memory.

Times continued to be hard in New Orleans and moreover the avidity of the traveler’s

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longings had somewhat slackened. But new adventure beckoned.

Back to Old Friends

Paul knew that his old position in Jacksonville was still open to him and that George Clark would be glad to give him territory over which he had never traveled before. The re suit of such reflection was a return to the post which had proven so satisfactory.

It will be remembered that Paul left Jacksonville early in March. He returned the first of October. In seven months’ time he had visited Washington, Louisville, Norfolk, several small cities in the old South, Baltimore, Philadelphia, Chicago, New Orleans and sandwiched in a couple of trans Atlantic voyages for good measure. It goes without saying that this was by far the most active part of the five-year period allotted for adventure and for observing life.

Henceforth, Paul had a second purpose to serve, that of saving up money for future needs. With his two purposes in mind he traveled for George Clark for an entire year, seldom, however, covering the same ground

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twice, it being understood between the chief and his salesman that the continuation of the engagement depended upon the supply of new territory. It was rather a remarkable arrangement and the profits from sales were not by any means large. When this fact was commented upon by Paul one day, George answered: “I figure that it pays me to keep you on the road even if there are no profits at all. The impression you create in the minds of the trade throughout the South does the business enough good to justify the expense.”

While George Clark from preference continued to live in Jacksonville, he had an office in New York City and did business in every state in £he Union. He is a remarkable ex ample of the self-made man. He and Paul seldom talked of local territory. Their thoughts Were on the beyond; the one being desirous of extending his business, the other of seeing the world.
During, the year, Paul covered the Southern States, Cuba, and the Bahama Islands. His visits at the home of the Clarks in Jacksonville were truly high times. The employer and his salesman were the most intimate of

 

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chums; in fact, they so enjoyed each other’s companionship that very frequently they sat up until the wee small hours of the morning discussing every manner of business question. How Mrs. Clark ever put up with such interferences to an orderly household is hard to understand, and yet most of the time there were three in the party—George, Gertrude, and Paul! The writer is glad to be able to say that the friendship between the three has never abated; that it is now just as cordial and warm as it was more than thirty years ago.

A Post-Graduate Trip to Europe

As the twelve-months’ period was drawing to a close, Paul notified George of his intended departure. George answered: “Is there no where else you care to go?” Paul answered:

“Yes, there is one more place, but I doubt your willingness to send me.”

“Where is it?” inquired George.

“Europe,” said Paul.

Two weeks later the wanderer was once again on high seas, under orders of his employer-chum, to visit the granite-producing regions of Scotland, and the marble-producing

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regions of Ireland, Belgium, and Italy for the purpose of revising arrangements for buying the products of foreign quarries.

He visited Edinburgh. Fourteen years prior thereto, there had been born to John and Annie Thomson, in that classic city, their fifth child, a girl, bonny, bright-eyed Jean. Her mother says that during the course of her very first breakfast, Jean looked up inquiringly in to her mother’s eyes and then settled back as if content. The confidential relationship then and there established has continued through life. Paul was at the time of his visit to Edinburgh of course oblivious to the fact that the future Mrs. Paul was one of “Jock Tamson’s eight bairns”; he was in truth ignorant of the existence of such a family.

The children of John and Annie Thomson were deeply grounded in the religion of Calvin and Knox. It was a rigorous training, one which could not fail to constitute a powerful influence on after life.

On holidays, John and Annie were wont to take their children to the sea shore; all, except the youngest, walking, though the distance covered frequently amounted to several miles.

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The baby Joey rode in the “pram” which was pushed by the parents and by the children in turn. When the distances were great, Mary or another of the younger children was also given a lift in the “pram.” Small wonder that the sight of rolling billows, the sniff of salt air bring tender memories to Jean; that they remind her of the sacred days of childhood spent in the companionship of father, mother, brothers and sisters. The meeting of Jean with Paul will be described later.

The writer could enjoyably consume a great deal of space in the relation of the wonderful months spent in Great Britain, France, Switzerland, Italy, Austria, Germany, Belgium, Holland and of the friends he made.

Mention will be made of two new friends only, Frank Watts