diagonally opposite the court-house. Here a dense mass of spectators was assembled, and such was the crush that the benches provided by a public-spirited citizen for the accommodation of the ladies were overturned and broken, causing a momentary panic. No one was seriously injured, however, and shortly before three the rival candidates found themselves facing a crowd which was variously estimated at from eight to fourteen thousand.

The

Lincoln opened the debate, and again the first impression made upon the audience was distinctly unfavorable. splendid carrying quality of his voice, however, enabled him to reach the very outskirts of the crowd and he soon riveted its attention, while Douglas writhed and scowled under his relentless attack. Indeed, Douglas's nerves were fast giving way under the tremendous strain of the campaign; his face had grown puffy, his voice had become so husky that what he said was audible only to those close to the platform, and his whole appearance had decidedly changed for the worse during the last two months. But his courage did not falter, and he returned his adversary's thrusts with almost ferocious zeal, hoarsely denouncing and defying him with all the power of a skilled forensic gladiator, hard pressed and fighting desperately against time. Lincoln fully realized his advantage, and he drove it home when his turn came to close. Yet every word he uttered was addressed to a far wider audience than that in his immediate presence. His aim was to make the people think, and all his personal interest in the campaign was subservient to this end. To quote his own words, the running fight with Douglas had become "the successive acts of a drama enacted not merely in the face of audiences like these, but in the face of the nation and to some extent in the face of the world.”1

The contest upon which Douglas had so light-heartedly entered had now lasted almost four months, and during this time he and Lincoln had each made nearly a hundred speeches and traveled hundreds upon hundreds of miles. The six joint

1 Works (Nicolay and Hay), Vol. I, p. 461.

2 The writer's authorities on this debate are W. T. Norton, Esq., of Alton, who witnessed the event; Mr. H. G. McPike, the surviving member of the platform committee at the debate ; the files of the Alton "Courier "

debates had carried them from the extreme north to the extreme south of the State, across it from the middle east to the western boundary, and twice into the northerly center. Now there remained only one more meeting, scheduled for Alton, in Madison County, for Friday, October 15, only two days after the struggle at Quincy, and it must have been with a feeling of relief that the two men found themselves quietly sailing down the Missis-sippi together on the steamer City of Louisiana on the eve of their final combat.2

Alton was not awake when the visitors reached it at daybreak of the fifteenth, and slipping into the little town, they repaired to the Alton House, which had been selected as the Democratic headquarters. After breakfast, Mr. Lincoln retired to the Franklin House," where he held a reception to visiting delegates later in the day; but no processions or displays of any sort were attempted, except a parade of the Springfield Cadets, a local military organization, accompanied by the Edwardsville band. Indeed, the citizens of Alton were apparently opposed to partizan demonstrations, for it was agreed by representatives of both parties to exclude all banners, emblems, mottos, and campaign devices from the speakers' platform. It may be, however, that it was the multiplicity of these electioning properties that induced this action on the part of the managers, for there were more banners with strange devices in evidence on this occasion than at any of the previous meetings. "Squat Row," a group of local habitations, proclaimed that it was "For Old Abe and Free Labor," but another placard surpassed this modest announcement by bursting into rhyme with

Free territories and free men,
Free pulpits and preachers,
Free press and free pen,

Free schools and free teachers.

Across one street stretched a banner reading "Illinois born under the Ordinance of 1787. She will maintain its provisions," while others bore such inscrip

for October, 1858, and the New York Evening Post" for October 20, 1858.

3 This hotel has since been named the Lincoln House in honor of the event.

tions as "Add Madison for Lincoln," "Too late for the milking," "Lincoln not yet trotted out," and other more or less local allusions. Indeed, Alton virtually held a Feast of Banners on that clear Indian summer afternoon when Lincoln and Douglas closed with each other for the seventh and last time.

The speakers addressed the assemblage from a platform erected at the northeast corner of the City Hall, and here a few thousand persons had gathered,' many of whom had journeyed from St. Louis on the steamers Baltimore and White Cloud, which had arrived during the day. On the platform itself sat no fewer than four future aspirants for the Presidency-Lincoln, Douglas, Lyman Trumbull,2 and Major-General John M. Palmer, and near them were grouped Norman B. Judd, Henry S. Baker, and Dr. George T. Allen, whose opposition to Lincoln when Trumbull and he were candidates for the Senate probably saved him to the nation. Ex-Governor John Reynolds, LieutenantGovernor Koerner, and many other notables and local officials were also present at this closing scene of the seven-days' battle, and the representatives of at least six important newspapers reported the proceedings in detail.

Douglas had the opening and closing word, and for the first time during the contest he indulged in no personalities, but devoted himself to argument, inveighing only against the Buchanan administration, which he bitterly attacked, to the delight of his Republican auditors. Indeed, when Lincoln rose to reply, informally heralded by an enthusiastic Democrat, who defiantly shouted, "Now let old Long Legs come out!" he "came

1 There is no definite authority as to the number present. The meeting was, however, smaller than any of the others, with the exception of that at Jonesboro.

2 It has been stated that Senator Trumbull did not at

out" with such humorous references to the Democratic feud that the audience, largely composed of Douglas men, was plainly disconcerted, and not a little dismayed. It was only for a moment, however, that Lincoln permitted himself to be diverted from serious discussion of the issues. He had before him a large body of Democratic voters, and to them he addressed himself with unanswerable logic and great tact.

Douglas presented a really pitiable appearance, for he was utterly worn out and evidently at the point of collapse. His voice, which had been in poor condition at Quincy, was now almost gone, and, to quote one of his hearers, "every tone came forth enveloped in an echo. You heard the voice, but caught no meaning." Notwithstanding this, he struggled bravely to hold the attention of his auditors, and his closing words were an appeal for his favorite "Popular Sovereignty" theory, which Lincoln had stripped of its sophistical veneer until, as he said, it had as little substance as the soup which was made by boiling the shadow of a pigeon. that had been starved to death.

Thus ended the momentous contest which resulted in an unprecedented Republican vote and a clear popular majority for Lincoln; the election of Douglas to the Senate by the Legislature, where the votes of his adherents, based on an obsolete census, gave them the control; the nomination of Lincoln for the Presidency, and the disruption of the Democratic party. Nor was this all, for as one of the keenest students of our political history has written, "The debate was not a mere episode in American politics. It marked an era."

tend any of the joint debates; but the Alton "Courier records him as present on this occasion. Trumbull was an aspirant for nomination in the Liberal Convention of 1872; Major-General Palmer ran for the Gold Democrats in 1900.

LXXVII-3

BALTIC fog rolled in from the north as my train rolled in from the south, bringing an ideal hour for the first impressions of a city so full of Northern melancholy, a city so far from the beaten track and so romantic, as Dantzic. Down a street full of gargoyles and strange stone platforms there loomed through the mist a monstrous church, crowned with pinnacles and a huge, blunt tower.

ABALTIC for rolled in from the

A gate that seemed like the façade of an Italian palace pierced by a triumphal arch opened on a street of fascinating old gables, and beyond them rose a Rathaus with a most exquisite steeple. I passed between tall, slim palaces, through the arches of at water-gate, and came out by the river, to fill my lungs with a sudden draught of ozone and to realize that I was almost in the presence of the Baltic.

Toward the sea swept an unbroken line of romantic architecture, narrow, sharpgabled houses intermingled with towered water-gates, and, last of all, the profile of the Krahn Thor, or Crane Gate, Dantzic's unique landmark, its stories projecting one beyond another. On the island formed by two arms of the Mottlau the black and white of half-timbered granaries started strongly out of the mist.

The river bristled with romantic shipping; and as I walked along the quay, I caught, between gables, the glow of the lights of the Langemarkt flushing the fog into a rosy cloud the center of which was the steeple of the Rathaus. It was as though beauty had been given an aureole.

I turned a corner, and wandered along the other shore of the island, past a deserted waterway and a strange, crumbling tower called the Milk-can Gate, then back again to the Green Bridge. The darkness had thickened so that one could

no longer distinguish the separate housefronts, but all the lamps along the shore had their soft auras of mist, and the surface of the water was one delicate shimmer, with strong columns of light at regular intervals, among which the crimson lantern of a passing boat wrought amazing effects.

Where had I known such an evening before? As memory wandered idly about the harbor of Lübeck, the bridges of Nuremberg, the riversides of Würzburg and Breslau, I was flashed in a trice to the "Siren of sea-cities," that

floating film upon the wonder-fraught Ocean of dreams,

and it came to me with a glow of pleasure that this place had from of old been called "The Venice of the North."

This, then, was my introduction to Dantzic, and I never think of it without seeing streets full of high, narrow façades melting one into another, gently curving streets alive with rich reliefs, statues of blurred worthies, and inquisitive gargoyles, the blunt, mighty Church of St. Mary looming above them like a mountain. I can never see the name of Dantzic without beholding a dusky waterway lined with medieval structures andstrange juxtaposition-a jewel of Reformation art with its rosy aureole.

But it is delightful to remember how, on the following morning, the city drew aside her veil and stood revealed in that fresh depth of coloring found only near the misty seas of the North in such places as Lübeck and Amsterdam and Bruges.

Dantzic is as easy to compass as Dresden, for the most interesting and beautiful buildings have crowded themselves about

the Church of St. Mary as though attracted by a crag of lodestone. The ancient moat and the earthen wall must have had a concentrative as well as decorative effect, and one can imagine the lateral pressure bending the longest streets into their present graceful curves. A few years ago, alas! these fortifications were destroyed by the highly socialistic process of shoveling the mound into the moat, leaving the High Gate shorn of the walls into which it had been originally set as the principal entrance to Dantzic.

Seen from the Hay Market outside, where interesting peasant types swarm among wains of green and golden hay, the High Gate composes inevitably with its taller neighbors, the Torture Chamber and the Stock Tower, or prison. The High Gate is more like a triumphal arch than a city portal. With its four genially modeled gables, the Torture Chamber recalls the Inquisition, while the Stock Tower compromises between the religious aspiration of a Gothic church and the selfconscious dignity of a Renaissance townhall. The only hint of its real function is supplied by a stone jailer with a ring of keys, who leers from a dormer window at the passer-by with a gesture of welcome. The narrow court below, through which prisoners were led to the rack and the redhot pincers, is one of the most soothing nooks in Dantzic, with its bracketed arcades and harmonious gloom, its riot of old lumber, the myriad tiny roofs that start out from the tower, and its view, framed by three great arches, of the Langgasse.

I did not find the Langgasser Gate as charming as when its extravagance had been softened by the mist of the previous evening; but the Rathaus steeple was even more glorious in the full morning light, and, seen from three directions, finished the street vista superbly.

A Rathaus interior is not often inspiring, but here were carvings, mosaics, frescoes, and furniture of extraordinary beauty, proofs of the Renaissance relationship between North and South. And it was interesting to find in the White Chamber a modern historical fresco of Dantzic delegates presenting a painting of their city to the Venetians in 1601. If this old canvas should come to light to-day in some private Italian collection, it would

be a very fair portrayal of modern Dantzic. For in the room sacred to the burgomaster hangs a "Tribute Money," painted in 1601 with the Langemarkt in the background virtually as it appears to-day, a neat refutation of those pessimists who claim that romantic Germany has been "restored" to death. This room and the Red Chamber rise to the highest levels of the German Renaissance. Between them winds a unique spiral staircase of carved oak.

Separated from the Rathaus by a narrow street and two narrow gables is that most interesting building, the Artushof. This was built by the medieval Teutonic Order of Knights as a patrician clubhouse, in which the knights kept alive the traditions of King Arthur and his Round Table. It is good to remember how the Arthurian legends penetrated into these terrible lands, and how, when Poland and Brandenburg were fighting for the prize of fourteenth-century Dantzic, the knights came to her rescue, and kept her under their protection until she grew strong and beautiful.

To look at it, is to look back through the centuries to the two brightest periods of Dantzic's history. The three Gothic windows, fit for the clerestory of a cathedral, typify the monumental life of the Teutonic Order when it was building the Rathaus and the Stock Tower, the Crane Gate and the Church of St. Mary; while the portal and the gable tell of the proud adventurers who, under the protection of Poland, were leading spirits in the Hanseatic League, and, while well nigh the remotest of Germans from the scene of the Italian Renaissance, were yet among the most sensitive to its influence.

The hall itself would have befitted King Arthur and his knights. Four slender shafts branch out into rich vaulting, as though four huge palms had been petrified by the magic of Merlin. The art of the Artushof was intended rather to amuse than to edify, and the decorations seemed to me like so many glorified toys. Models of the ships of Hansa days hovered in full sail above my head. The hugest and greenest of Nuremberg stoves filled one corner, a piece of pure ornament which had never known the contaminating touch of fire. The paneled walls were filled with curious wooden

statues and huge paintings. I noticed a painted Diana about to transfix a stag, which started desperately from the wall in high relief. A buck with real hide and antlers listened superciliously to the lyre of a painted Orpheus. But the picture that pleased me most was called "The Ship of the Church." To my unnautical eye it seemed that the Madonna and two popes were traveling first cabin, a couple of military saints second, while humble old Christopher was thrust away into the steerage, and microscopic laymen were doing all the work.

The Artushof has relaxed its ancient rule against "talking shop." In fact, it has become the city exchange. Yet the old atmosphere of leisure and sociability still hangs about it. A notice states that ladies are not allowed on the floor during the hour of business. Having spent that hour in Merlin's hall, I am able to declare that if the brokers of New York would only pattern after their Dantzic colleagues, their lives would gain in mellowness what they might lose in brilliance. Grain seemed the sole commodity on the market. The round board of the old knights had given place to smaller tables filled with wooden bowls of grain. I watched the brokers chatting and dreaming away their little hour, sifting the kernels idly through their fingers in a delicious dolce far niente. Suddenly one group began to buzz with a note of American animation. "Now," thought I, "they are getting down to business. But as I drew near, I heard the most excited bidder saying something about "the ideality of the actual." I stood marveling, and wished that the author of "The Pit" had been spared to view that paradoxical scene with me.

During my sojourn on the banks of the Vistula I inhaled romance with every breath. For the lure of Dantzic is largely the lure of Gothic and Renaissance times; and what is worthier to succeed the spirit of medieval knighthood than the spirit of the age when Europe was born again?

An open portal invited me next door into the hall of a well-preserved patrician dwelling. It was a typical Renaissance interior. There was a frieze of the quaint biblical tiles made in Dantzic by refugees from Delft. The furniture, the brilliant brasses, the sculptured doors and ceiling,

and the stairway that wound to a gallery at the farther end, were blended in a harmony of refinement that would have cheapened most palace halls, tawdry by comparison.

I stepped out into the Langemarkt and gazed to my heart's content on the long lines of Renaissance palaces for which Dantzic is famous, the styles of North and South standing side by side in friendly rivalry, and testifying to the cosmopolitanism of this great time. In the evening mist along the water-side I had receivedor thought I had received-vague impressions of Venice. Now, as I lingered in a day-dream inside the Green Gate, the city still gave forth a delicate aroma of Italy; but the scene was shifted. Perhaps the change was wrought by the suggestion of Lorenzo de Medici's sculptured head looking down from one of the house-fronts. At any rate, as I enjoyed the Langemarkt through half-closed eyes, the three great arches of Arthur's Court resolved themselves into the Loggia dei Lanzi; the solid, angular body of the Rathaus into the bulk of the Palazzo Vecchio; the fountain of Neptune expanded under my eyes; the same old flock of wheeling pigeons filled the air; and, at a vague glimpse of a blunt and mighty tower looming in the distance, I instinctively murmured the name of Giotto.

The Teutonic Order, its work being done, fell on evil days, became the "old order," and, jealous of the city's growing importance in the Hanseatic League, began to oppress it. Once again the old order yielded place to the new. Dantzic cast off the yoke of the knights, and became the ward of Poland. The people had long been under Dutch influence, and now their contact with the most lighthearted and luxurious of all Slavic races prepared them for the cosmopolitan time when their ships should bear to Venice the grain of the Northeast and bring home in return the glowing spirit of the Italian Renaissance.

Those were days when the wealth, the aristocracy, and the splendor of Dantzic were proverbial. The merchant assumed the garments and the manners of princes. In his Northern isolation he decreed his own styles, adopting the ruffs of Italy, the mantles of Spain, and the furs of Russia. A French traveler who happened upon