experiment at least had a certain influence in improving the young man's
Latinity. Another favourite dissipation was that of translating English
masterpieces into the ancient tongue; there still survives among Page's
early papers a copy of Bryant's "Waterfowl" done into Latin iambics. As
to Page's personal appearance, a designation coined by a fellow student
who afterward became a famous editor gives the suggestion of a portrait.
He called him one of the "seven slabs" of the college. And, as always,
the adjectives which his contemporaries chiefly use in describing Page
are "alert" and "positive."

[Illustration: Allison Francis Page (1824-1899), father of Walter H.
Page]

[Illustration: Catherine Raboteau Page (1831-1897), mother of Walter H.
Page]

But Randolph-Macon did one great thing for Page. Like many small
struggling Southern, colleges it managed to assemble several instructors
of real mental distinction. And at the time of Page's undergraduate life
it possessed at least one great teacher. This was Thomas R. Price,
afterward Professor of Greek at the University of Virginia and Professor
of English at Columbia University in New York. Professor Price took one
forward step that has given him a permanent fame in the history of
Southern education. He found that the greatest stumbling block to
teaching Greek was not the conditional mood, but the fact that his
hopeful charges were not sufficiently familiar with their mother tongue.
The prayer that was always on Price's lips, and the one with which he
made his boys most familiar, was that of a wise old Greek: "O Great
Apollo, send down the reviving rain upon our fields; preserve our
flocks; ward off our enemies; and--build up our speech!" "It is
irrational," he said, "absurd, almost criminal, to expect a young man,
whose knowledge of English words and construction is scant and inexact,
to put into English a difficult thought of Plato or an involved period
of Cicero." Above all, it will be observed, Price's intellectual
enthusiasm was the ancient tongue. A present-day argument for learning
Greek and Latin is that thereby we improve our English; but Thomas H.
Price advocated the teaching of English so that we might better
understand the dead languages. To-day every great American educational
institution has vast resources for teaching English literature; even in
1876, most American universities had their professors of English; but
Price insisted on placing English on exactly the same footing as Greek
and Latin. He himself became head of the new English school at
Randolph-Macon; and Page himself at once became the favourite pupil.
This distinguished scholar--a fine figure with an imperial beard that
suggested the Confederate officer--used to have Page to tea at least
twice a week and at these meetings the young man was first introduced in
an understanding way to Shakespeare, Milton, Wordsworth, Tennyson, and
the other writers who became the literary passions of his maturer life.
And Price did even more for Page; he passed him on to another place and
to another teacher who extended his horizon. Up to the autumn of 1876
Page had never gone farther North than Ashland; he was still a Southern
boy, speaking with the Southern drawl, living exclusively the thoughts
and even the prejudices of the South. His family's broad-minded attitude
had prevented him from acquiring a too restricted view of certain
problems that were then vexing both sections of the country; however,
his outlook was still a limited one, as his youthful correspondence
shows. But in October of the centennial year a great prospect opened
before him.


III

Two or three years previously an eccentric merchant named Johns Hopkins
had died, leaving the larger part of his fortune to found a college or
university in Baltimore. Johns Hopkins was not an educated man himself
and his conception of a new college did not extend beyond creating
something in the nature of a Yale or Harvard in Maryland. By a lucky
chance, however, a Yale graduate who was then the President of the
University of California, Daniel Coit Gilman, was invited to come to
Baltimore and discuss with the trustees his availability for the
headship of the new institution. Dr. Gilman promptly informed his
prospective employers that he would have no interest in associating
himself with a new American college built upon the lines of those which
then existed. Such a foundation would merely be a duplication of work
already well done elsewhere and therefore a waste of money and effort.
He proposed that this large endowment should be used, not for the
erection of expensive architecture, but primarily for seeking out, in
all parts of the world, the best professorial brains in certain approved
branches of learning. In the same spirit he suggested that a similarly
selective process be adopted in the choice of students: that only those
American boys who had displayed exceptional promise should be admitted
and that part of the university funds should be used to pay the expenses
of twenty young men who, in undergraduate work at other colleges, stood
head and shoulders above their contemporaries. The bringing together of
these two sets of brains for graduate study would constitute the new
university. A few rooms in the nearest dwelling house would suffice for
headquarters. Dr. Gilman's scheme was approved; he became President on
these terms; he gathered his faculty not only in the United States but
in England, and he collected his first body of students, especially his
first twenty fellows, with the same minute care.

It seems almost a miracle that an inexperienced youth in a little
Methodist college in Virginia should have been chosen as one of these
first twenty fellows, and it is a sufficient tribute to the impression
that Page must have made upon all who met him that he should have won
this great academic distinction. He was only twenty-one at the time--the
youngest of a group nearly every member of which became distinguished in
after life. He won a Fellowship in Greek. This in itself was a great
good fortune; even greater was the fact that his new life brought him
into immediate contact with a scholar of great genius and lovableness.
Someone has said that America has produced four scholars of the very
first rank--Agassiz in natural science, Whitney in philology, Willard
Gibbs in physics, and Gildersleeve in Greek. It was the last of these
who now took Walter Page in charge. The atmosphere of Johns Hopkins was
quite different from anything which the young man had previously known.
The university gave a great shock to that part of the American community
with which Page had spent his life by beginning its first session in
October, 1876, without an opening prayer. Instead Thomas H. Huxley was
invited from England to deliver a scientific address--an address which
now has an honoured place in his collected works. The absence of prayer
and the presence of so audacious a Darwinian as Huxley caused a
tremendous excitement in the public prints, the religious press, and the
evangelical pulpit. In the minds of Gilman and his abettors, however,
all this was intended to emphasize the fact that Johns Hopkins was a
real university, in which the unbiased truth was to be the only aim. And
certainly this was the spirit of the institution. "Gentlemen, you must
light your own torch," was the admonition of President Gilman, in his
welcoming address to his twenty fellows; intellectual independence,
freedom from the trammels of tradition, were thus to be the directing
ideas. One of Page's associates was Josiah Royce, who afterward had a
distinguished career in philosophy at Harvard. "The beginnings of Johns
Hopkins," he afterward wrote, "was a dawn wherein it was bliss to be
alive. The air was full of noteworthy work done by the older men of the
place and of hopes that one might find a way to get a little working
power one's self. One longed to be a doer of the word, not a hearer
only, a creator of his own infinitesimal fraction of the product, bound
in God's name to produce when the time came."

A choice group of five aspiring Grecians, of whom Page was one,
periodically gathered around a long pine table in a second-story room of
an old dwelling house on Howard Street, with Professor Gildersleeve at
the head. The process of teaching was thus the intimate contact of mind
with mind. Here in the course of nearly two years' residence, Page was
led by Professor Gildersleeve into the closest communion with the great
minds of the ancient world and gained that intimate knowledge of their
written word which was the basis of his mental equipment. "Professor
Gildersleeve, splendid scholar that he is!" he wrote to a friend in
North Carolina. "He makes me grow wonderfully. When I have a chance to
enjoy AEschylus as I have now, I go to work on those immortal pieces with
a pleasure that swallows up everything." To the extent that Gildersleeve
opened up the literary treasures of the past--and no man had a greater
appreciation of his favourite authors than this fine humanist--Page's
life was one of unalloyed delight. But there was another side to the
picture. This little company of scholars was composed of men who aspired
to no ordinary knowledge of Greek; they expected to devote their entire
lives to the subject, to edit Greek texts, and to hold Greek chairs at
the leading American universities. Such, indeed, has been the career of
nearly all members of the group. The Greek tragedies were therefore read
for other things than their stylistic and dramatic values. The sons of
Germania then exercised a profound influence on American education;
Professor Gildersleeve himself was a graduate of Goettingen, and the
necessity of "settling hoti's business" was strong in his seminar.
Gildersleeve was a writer of English who developed real style; as a
Greek scholar, his fame rests chiefly upon his work in the field of
historical syntax. He assumed that his students could read Greek as
easily as they could read French, and the really important tasks he set
them had to do with the most abstruse fields of philology. For work of
this kind Page had little interest and less inclination. When Professor
Gildersleeve would assign him the adverb [Greek: prin], and direct him
to study the peculiarities of its use from Homer down to the Byzantine
writers, he really found himself in pretty deep waters. Was it
conceivable that a man could spend a lifetime in an occupation of this
kind? By pursuing such studies Gildersleeve and his most advanced pupils
uncovered many new facts about the language and even found hitherto
unsuspected beauties; but Page's letters show that this sort of effort
was extremely uncongenial. He fulminates against the "grammarians" and
begins to think that perhaps, after all, a career of erudite scholarship
is not the ideal existence. "Learn to look on me as a Greek drudge," he
writes, "somewhere pounding into men and boys a faint hint of the beauty
of old Greekdom. That's most probably what I shall come to before many
years. I am sure that I have mistaken my lifework, if I consider Greek
my lifework. In truth at times I am tempted to throw the whole thing
away. . . . But without a home feeling in Greek literature no man can lay
claim to high culture." So he would keep at it for three or four years
and "then leave it as a man's work." Despite these despairing words Page
acquired a living knowledge of Greek that was one of his choicest
possessions through life. That he made a greater success than his
self-depreciation would imply is evident from the fact that his
Fellowship was renewed for the next year.

But the truth is that the world was tugging at Page more insistently
than the cloister. "Speaking grammatically," writes Prof. E.G. Sihler,
one of Page's fellow students of that time, in his "Confessions and
Convictions of a Classicist," "Page was interested in that one of the
main tenses which we call the Present." In his after life, amid all the
excitements of journalism, Page could take a brief vacation and spend
it with Ulysses by the sea; but actuality and human activity charmed him
even more than did the heroes of the ancient world. He went somewhat
into Baltimore society, but not extensively; he joined a club whose
membership comprised the leading intellectual men of the town; probably
his most congenial associations, however, came of the Saturday night
meetings of the fellows in Hopkins Hall, where, over pipes and steins of
beer, they passed in review all the questions of the day. Page was still
the Southern boy, with the strange notions about the North and Northern
people which were the inheritance of many years' misunderstandings. He
writes of one fellow student to whom he had taken a liking. "He is that
rare thing," he says, "a Yankee Christian gentleman." He particularly
dislikes one of his instructors, but, as he explains, he is "a native of
Connecticut, and Connecticut, I suppose, is capable of producing any
unholy human phenomenon." Speaking of a beautiful and well mannered
Greek girl whom he had met, he says: "The little creature might be taken
for a Southern girl, but never for a Yankee. She has an easy manner and
even an air of gentility about her that doesn't appear north of Mason
and Dixon's Line. Indeed, however much the Southern race (I say race
intentionally: Yankeedom is the home of another race from us) however
much the Southern race owes its strength to Anglo-Saxon blood, it owes
its beauty and gracefulness to the Southern climate and culture. Who
says that we are not an improvement on the English? An improvement in a
happy combination of mental graces and Saxon force?" This sort of thing
is especially entertaining in the youthful Page, for it is precisely
against this kind of complacency that, as a mature man, he directed his
choicest ridicule. As an editor and writer his energies were devoted to
reconciling North and South, and Johns Hopkins itself had much to do
with opening his eyes. Its young men and its professors were gathered
from all parts of the country; a student, if his mind was awake, learned
more than Greek and mathematics; he learned much about that far-flung
nation known as the United States.

And Page did not confine his work exclusively to the curriculum. He
writes that he is regularly attending a German Sunday School, not,
however, from religious motives, but from a desire to improve his
colloquial German. "Is this courting the Devil for knowledge?" he asks.
And all this time he was engaging in a delightful correspondence--from
which these quotations are taken--with a young woman in North Carolina,
his cousin. About this time this cousin began spending her summers in
the Page home at Cary; her great interest in books made the two young
people good friends and companions. It was she who first introduced Page
to certain Southern writers, especially Timrod and Sidney Lanier, and,
when Page left for Johns Hopkins, the two entered into a compact for a
systematic reading and study of the English poets. According to this
plan, certain parts of Tennyson or Chaucer would be set aside for a
particular week's reading; then both would write the impressions gained
and the criticisms which they assumed to make, and send the product to
the other. The plan was carried out more faithfully than is usually the
case in such arrangements; a large number of Page's letters survive and
give a complete history of his mental progress. There are lengthy
disquisitions on Wordsworth, Browning, Byron, Shelley, Matthew Arnold,
and the like. These letters also show that Page, as a relaxation from
Greek roots and syntax, was indulging in poetic flights of his own; his
efforts, which he encloses in his letters, are mainly imitations of the
particular poet in whom he was at the moment interested. This
correspondence also takes Page to Germany, in which country he spent the
larger part of the summer of 1877. This choice of the Fatherland as a
place of pilgrimage was probably merely a reflection of the enthusiasm
for German educational methods which then prevailed in the United
States, especially at Johns Hopkins. Page's letters are the usual
traveller's descriptions of unfamiliar customs, museums, libraries, and
the like; so far as enlarging his outlook was concerned the experience
does not seem to have been especially profitable.

He returned to Baltimore in the autumn of 1877, but only for a few
months. He had pretty definitely abandoned his plan of devoting his life
to Greek scholarship. As a mental stimulus, as a recreation from the
cares of life, his Greek authors would always be a first love, as they
proved to be; but he had abandoned his early ambition of making them his
everyday occupation and means of livelihood. Of course there was only
one career for a man of his leanings, and, more and more, his mind was
turning to journalism. For only one brief period did he again listen to
the temptations of a scholar's existence. The university of his native
state invited him to lecture in the summer school of 1878; he took
Shakespeare for his subject, and made so great a success that there was
some discussion of his settling down permanently at Chapel Hill in the
chair of Greek. Had the offer definitely been made Page would probably
have accepted, but difficulties arose. Page was no longer orthodox in
his religious views; he had long outgrown dogma and could only smile at
the recollection that he had once thought of becoming a clergyman. But a
rationalist at the University of North Carolina in 1878 could hardly be
endured. The offer, therefore, fortunately was not made. Afterward Page
was much criticized for having left his native state at a time when it
especially needed young men of his type. It may therefore be recorded
that, if there were any blame at all, it rested upon North Carolina. He
refers to his disappointment in a letter in February, 1879--a letter
that proved to be a prophecy. "I shall some day buy a home," he says,
"where I was not allowed to work for one, and be laid away in the soil
that I love. I wanted to work for the old state; it had no need for it,
it seems."

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 1: From "The Southerner," Chapter I. The first chapter in this
novel is practically autobiographical, though fictitious names have been
used.]

[Footnote 2: "The Rebuilding of Old Commonwealths." (1902.)]

[Footnote 3: "The Southerner," Chapter I.]




CHAPTER II

JOURNALISM

I


The five years from 1878 to 1883 Page spent in various places, engaged,
for the larger part of the time, in several kinds of journalistic work.
It was his period of struggle and of preparation. Like many American
public men he served a brief apprenticeship--in his case, a very brief
one--as a pedagogue. In the autumn of 1878 he went to Louisville,
Kentucky, and taught English for a year at the Boys' High School. But he
presently found an occupation in this progressive city which proved far
more absorbing. A few months before his arrival certain energetic
spirits had founded a weekly paper, the _Age_, a journal which, they
hoped, would fill the place in the Southern States which the very
successful New York _Nation_, under the editorship of Godkin, was then
occupying in the North. Page at once began contributing leading articles
on literary and political topics to this publication; the work proved so
congenial that he purchased--on notes--a controlling interest in the new
venture and became its directing spirit. The _Age_ was in every way a
worthy enterprise; in the dignity of its make-up and the high literary
standards at which it aimed it imitated the London _Spectator_. Perhaps
Page obtained a thousand dollars' worth of fun out of his investment; if
so, that represented his entire profit. He now learned a lesson which
was emphasized in his after career as editor and publisher, and that was
that the Southern States provided a poor market for books or
periodicals. The net result of the proceeding was that, at the age of
twenty-three, he found himself out of a job and considerably in debt.

He has himself rapidly sketched his varied activities of the next five
years:

"After trying in vain," he writes, "to get work to do on any newspaper
in North Carolina, I advertised for a job in journalism--any sort of a
job. By a queer accident--a fortunate one for me--the owner of the St.
Joseph, Missouri, _Gazette_, answered the advertisement. Why he did it,
I never found out. He was in the same sort of desperate need of a
newspaper man as I was in desperate need of a job. I knew nothing about
him: he knew nothing about me. I knew nothing about newspaper work. I
had done nothing since I left the University but teach English in the
Louisville, Kentucky, High School for boys one winter and lecture at the
summer school at Chapel Hill one summer. I made up my mind to go into
journalism. But journalism didn't seem in any hurry to make up its mind
to admit me. Not only did all the papers in North Carolina decline my
requests for work, but such of them in Baltimore and Louisville as I
tried said 'No.' So I borrowed $50 and set out to St. Joe, Missouri,
where I didn't know a human being. I became a reporter. At first I
reported the price of cattle--went to the stockyards, etc. My salary
came near to paying my board and lodging, but it didn't quite do it. But
I had a good time in St. Joe for somewhat more than a year. There were
interesting people there. I came to know something about Western life.
Kansas was across the river. I often went there. I came to know Kansas
City, St. Louis--a good deal of the West. After a while I was made
editor of the paper. What a rousing political campaign or two we had!
Then--I had done that kind of a job as long as I cared to. Every
swashbuckling campaign is like every other one. Why do two? Besides, I
knew my trade. I had done everything on a daily paper from stockyard
reports to political editorials and heavy literary articles. In the
meantime I had written several magazine articles and done other such
jobs. I got leave of absence for a month or two. I wrote to several of
the principal papers in Chicago, New York, and Boston and told them that
I was going down South to make political and social studies and that I
was going to send them my letters. I hoped they'd publish them.

"That's all I could say. I could make no engagement; they didn't know
me. I didn't even ask for an engagement. I told them simply this: that
I'd write letters and send them; and I prayed heaven that they'd print
them and pay for them. Then off I went with my little money in my
pocket--about enough to get to New Orleans. I travelled and I wrote. I
went all over the South. I sent letters and letters and letters. All the
papers published all that I sent them and I was rolling in wealth! I had
money in my pocket for the first time in my life. Then I went back to
St. Joe and resigned; for the (old) New York _World_ had asked me to go
to the Atlanta Exposition as a correspondent. I went. I wrote and kept
writing. How kind Henry Grady was to me! But at last the Exposition
ended. I was out of a job. I applied to the _Constitution_. No, they
wouldn't have me. I never got a job in my life that I asked for! But all
my life better jobs have been given me than I dared ask for. Well--I was
at the end of my rope in Atlanta and I was trying to make a living in
any honest way I could when one day a telegram came from the New York
_World_ (it was the old _World_, which was one of the best of the
dailies in its literary quality) asking me to come to New York. I had
never seen a man on the paper--had never been in New York except for a
day when I landed there on a return voyage from a European trip that I
took during one vacation when I was in the University. Then I went to
New York straight and quickly. I had an interesting experience on the
old _World_, writing literary matter chiefly, an editorial now and then,
and I was frequently sent as a correspondent on interesting errands. I
travelled all over the country with the Tariff Commission. I spent one
winter in Washington as a sort of editorial correspondent while the
tariff bill was going through Congress. Then, one day, the _World_ was
sold to Mr. Pulitzer and all the staff resigned. The character of the
paper changed."

What better training could a journalist ask for than this? Page was only
twenty-eight when these five years came to an end; but his life had been
a comprehensive education in human contact, in the course of which he
had picked up many things that were not included in the routine of Johns
Hopkins University. From Athens to St. Joe, from the comedies of
Aristophanes to the stockyards and political conventions of Kansas
City--the transition may possibly have been an abrupt one, but it is not
likely that Page so regarded it. For books and the personal relation
both appealed to him, in almost equal proportions, as essentials to the
fully rounded man. Merely from the standpoint of geography, Page's
achievement had been an important one; how many Americans, at the age of
twenty-eight, have such an extensive mileage to their credit? Page had
spent his childhood--and his childhood only--in North Carolina; he had
passed his youth in Virginia and Maryland; before he was twenty-three he
had lived several months in Germany, and, on his return voyage, he had
sailed by the white cliffs of England, and, from the deck of his
steamer, had caught glimpses of that Isle of Wight which then held his
youthful favourite Tennyson. He had added to these experiences a winter
in Kentucky and a sojourn of nearly two years in Missouri. His Southern
trip, to which Page refers in the above, had taken him through
Tennessee, Mississippi, Alabama, Georgia, and Louisiana; he had visited
the West again in 1882, spending a considerable time in all the large
cities, Chicago, Omaha, Denver, Leadville, Salt Lake, and from the
latter point he had travelled extensively through Mormondom. The several
months spent in Atlanta had given the young correspondent a glimpse into
the new South, for this energetic city embodied a Southern spirit that
was several decades removed from the Civil War. After this came nearly
two years in New York and Washington, where Page gained his first
insight into Federal politics; in particular, as a correspondent
attached to the Tariff Commission--an assignment that again started him
on his travels to industrial centres--he came into contact, for the
first time, with the mechanism of framing the great American tariff. And
during this period Page was not only forming a first-hand acquaintance
with the passing scene, but also with important actors in it. The mere
fact that, on the St. Joseph _Gazette_, he succeeded Eugene Field--"a
good fellow named Page is going to take my desk," said the careless
poet, "I hope he will succeed to my debts too"--always remained a
pleasant memory. He entered zealously into the life of this active
community; his love of talk and disputation, his interest in politics,
his hearty laugh, his vigorous handclasp, his animation of body and of
spirit, and his sunny outlook on men and events--these are the traits
that his old friends in this town, some of whom still survive,
associate with the juvenile editor. In his Southern trip Page
called--self-invited--upon Jefferson Davis and was cordially
received. At Atlanta, as he records above, he made friends with that
chivalric champion of a resurrected South, Henry Grady; here also he
obtained fugitive glimpses of a struggling and briefless lawyer, who,
like Page, was interested more in books and writing than in the humdrum
of professional life, and who was then engaged in putting together a
brochure on _Congressional Government_ which immediately gave him a
national standing. The name of this sympathetic acquaintance was Woodrow
Wilson.

[Illustration: Walter H. Page in 1876, when he was a Fellow of Johns
Hopkins University, Baltimore, Md.]

[Illustration: Basil L. Gildersleeve, Professor of Greek, Johns Hopkins
University, 1876-1915]

Another important event had taken place, for, at St. Louis, on November
15, 1880, Page had married Miss Willia Alice Wilson. Miss Wilson was the
daughter of a Scotch physician, Dr. William Wilson, who had settled in
Michigan, near Detroit, in 1832. When she was a small child she went
with her sister's family--her father had died seven years before--to
North Carolina, near Cary; and she and Page had been childhood friends
and schoolmates. At the time of the wedding, Page was editor of the St.
Joseph _Gazette_; the fact that he had attained this position, five
months after starting at the bottom, sufficiently discloses his aptitude
for journalistic work.

Page had now outgrown any Southern particularism with which he may have
started life. He no longer found his country exclusively in the area
south of the Potomac; he had made his own the West, the North--New York,
Chicago, Denver, as well as Atlanta and Raleigh. It is worth while
insisting on this fact, for the cultivation of a wide-sweeping
Americanism and a profound faith in democracy became the qualities that
will loom most largely in his career from this time forward. It is
necessary only to read the newspaper letters which he wrote on his
Southern trip in 1881 to understand how early his mind seized this new
point of view. Many things which now fell under his observant eye in the
Southern States greatly irritated him and with his characteristic
impulsiveness he pictured these traits in pungent phrase. The atmosphere
of shiftlessness that too generally prevailed in some localities; the
gangs of tobacco-chewing loafers assembled around railway stations; the
listless Negroes that seemed to overhang the whole country like a black
cloud; the plantation mansions in a sad state of disrepair; the old
unoccupied slave huts overgrown with weeds; the unpainted and
broken-down fences; the rich soil that was crudely and wastefully
cultivated with a single crop--the youthful social philosopher found
himself comparing these vestigia of a half-moribund civilization with
the vibrant cities of the North, the beautiful white and green villages
of New England, and the fertile prairie farms of the West. "Even the
dogs," he said, "look old-fashioned." Oh, for a change in his beloved
South--a change of almost any kind! "Even a heresy, if it be bright and
fresh, would be a relief. You feel as if you wished to see some kind of
an effort put forth, a discussion, a fight, a runaway, anything to make
the blood go faster." Wherever Page saw signs of a new spirit--and he
saw many--he recorded them with an eagerness which showed his loyalty to
the section of his birth. The splitting up of great plantations into
small farms he put down as one of the indications of a new day. A
growing tendency to educate, not only the white child, but the Negro,
inspired a similar tribute. But he rejoiced most over the decreasing
bitterness of the masses over the memories of the Civil War, and
discovered, with satisfaction, that any remaining ill-feeling was a
heritage left not by the Union soldier, but by the carpetbagger.

And one scene is worth preserving, for it illustrates not only the zeal
of Page himself for the common country, but the changing attitude of the
Southern people. It was enacted at Martin, Tennessee, on the evening of
July 2, 1881. Page was spending a few hours in the village grocery,
discussing things in general with the local yeomanry, when the telegraph
operator came from the post office with rather more than his usual
expedition and excitement. He was frantically waving a yellow slip which
bore the news that President Garfield had been shot. Garfield had been
an energetic and a successful general in the war and his subsequent
course in Congress, where he had joined the radical Republicans, had not
caused the South to look upon him as a friend. But these farmers
responded to this shock, not like sectionalists, but like Americans.
"Every man of them," Page records, "expressed almost a personal sorrow.
Little was said of politics or of parties. Mr. Garfield was President of
the United States--that was enough. A dozen voices spoke the great
gratification that the assassin was not a Southern man. It was an
affecting scene to see weather-beaten old countrymen so profoundly
agitated--men who yesterday I should have supposed hardly knew and
certainly did not seem to care who was President. The great centres of
population, of politicians, and of thought may be profoundly agitated
to-night, but no more patriotic sorrow and humiliation is felt anywhere
by any men than by these old backwoods ex-Confederates."

Page himself was so stirred by the news that he ascended a cracker
barrel, and made a speech to the assembled countrymen, preaching to
responsive ears the theme of North and South, now reunited in a common
sorrow. Thus, by the time he was twenty-six, Page, at any rate in
respect to his Americanism, was a full-grown man.


II

A few years afterward Page had an opportunity of discussing this, his
favourite topic, with the American whom he most admired. Perhaps the
finest thing in the career of Grover Cleveland was the influence which
he exerted upon young men. After the sordid political transactions of
the reconstruction period and after the orgy of partisanship which had
followed the Civil War, this new figure, acceding to the Presidency in
1885, came as an inspiration to millions of zealous and intelligent
young college-bred Americans. One of the first to feel the new spell was
Walter Page; Mr. Cleveland was perhaps the most important influence in
forming his public ideals. Of everything that Cleveland
represented--civil service reform; the cleansing of politics, state and
national; the reduction in the tariff; a foreign policy which, without
degenerating into truculence, manfully upheld the rights of American
citizens; a determination to curb the growing pension evil; the doctrine
that the Government was something to be served and not something to be
plundered--Page became an active and brilliant journalistic advocate. It
was therefore a great day in his life when, on a trip to Washington in
the autumn of 1885, he had an hour's private conversation with President
Cleveland, and it was entirely characteristic of Page that he should
make the conversation take the turn of a discussion of the so-called
Southern question.

"In the White House at Washington," Page wrote about this visit, "is an
honest, plain, strong man, a man of wonderfully broad information and of
most uncommon industry. He has always been a Democrat. He is a
distinguished lawyer and a scholar on all public questions. He is as
frank and patriotic and sincere as any man that ever won the high place
he holds. Within less than a year he has done so well and so wisely that
he has disappointed his enemies and won their admiration. He is as
unselfish as he is great. He is one of the most industrious men in the
world. He rises early and works late and does not waste his time--all
because his time is now not his own but the Republic's, whose most
honoured servant he is. I count it among the most inspiring experiences
in my life that I had the privilege, at the suggestion of one of his
personal friends, of talking with him one morning about the complete
reuniting of the two great sections of our Republic by his election. I
told him, and I know I told him the truth, when I said that every young
man in the Southern States who, without an opportunity to share either
the glory or the defeat of the late Confederacy, had in spite of himself
suffered the disadvantages of the poverty and oppression that followed
war, took new hope for the full and speedy realization of a complete
union, of unparalleled prosperity and of broad thinking and noble living
from his elevation to the Presidency. I told him that the men of North
Carolina were not only patriotic but ambitious as well; and that they
were Democrats and proud citizens of the State and the Republic not
because they wanted offices or favours, but because they loved freedom
and wished the land that had been impoverished by war to regain more
than it had lost. 'I have not called, Mr. President, to ask for an
office for myself or for anybody else,' I remarked; 'but to have the
pleasure of expressing my gratification, as a citizen of North Carolina,
at the complete change in political methods and morals that I believe
will date from your Administration.' He answered that he was glad to
see all men who came in such a spirit and did not come to
beg--especially young men of the South of to-day; and he talked and
encouraged me to talk freely as if he had been as small a man as I am,
or I as great a man as he is.

"From that day to this it has been my business to watch every public act
that he does, to read every public word he speaks, and it has been a
pleasure and a benefit to me (like the benefit that a man gets from
reading a great history--for he is making a great history) to study the
progress of his Administration; and at every step he seems to me to
warrant the trust that the great Democratic party put in him."

The period to which Page refers in this letter represented the time when
he was making a serious and harassing attempt to establish himself in
his chosen profession in his native state. He went south for a short
visit after resigning his place on the New York _World_, and several
admirers in Raleigh persuaded him to found a new paper, which should
devote itself to preaching the Cleveland ideals, and, above all, to
exerting an influence on the development of a new Southern spirit. No
task could have been more grateful to Page and there was no place in
which he would have better liked to undertake it than in the old state
which he loved so well. The result was the _State Chronicle_ of Raleigh,
practically a new paper, which for a year and a half proved to be the
most unconventional and refreshing influence that North Carolina had
known in many a year. Necessarily Page found himself in conflict with
his environment. He had little interest in the things that then chiefly
interested the state, and North Carolina apparently had little interest
in the things that chiefly occupied the mind of the youthful journalist.
Page was interested in Cleveland, in the reform of the civil service;
the Democrats of North Carolina little appreciated their great national
leader and were especially hostile to his belief that service to a party
did not in itself establish a qualification for public office. Page was
interested in uplifting the common people, in helping every farmer to
own his own acres, and in teaching the most modern and scientific way of
cultivating them; he was interested in giving every boy and girl at
least an elementary education, and in giving a university training to
such as had the aptitude and the ambition to obtain it; he believed in
industrial training--and in these things the North Carolina of those
days had little concern. Page even went so far as to take an open stand
for the pitiably neglected black man: he insisted that he should be
taught to read and write, and instructed in agriculture and the manual
trades. A man who advocated such revolutionary things in those days was
accused--and Page was so accused--of attempting to promote the "social
equality" of the two races. Page also declaimed in favour of developing
the state industrially; he called attention to the absurdity of sending
Southern cotton to New England spinning mills, and he pointed out the
boundless but unworked natural resources of the state, in minerals,
forests, waterpower, and lands.

North Carolina, he informed his astonished compatriots, had once been a
great manufacturing colony; why could the state not become one again?
But the matter in which the buoyant editor and his constituents found
themselves most at variance was the spirit that controlled North
Carolina life. It was a spirit that found comfort for its present
poverty and lack of progress in a backward look at the greatness of the
state in the past and the achievements of its sons in the Civil War.
Though Page believed that the Confederacy had been a ghastly error, and
though he abhorred the institution of slavery and attributed to it all
the woes, economic and social, from which his section suffered, he
rendered that homage to the soldiers of the South which is the due of
brave, self-sacrificing and conscientious men; yet he taught that
progress lay in regarding the four dreadful years of the Civil War as
the closed chapter of an unhappy and mistaken history and in hastening
the day when the South should resume its place as a living part of the
great American democracy. All manifestations of a contrary spirit he
ridiculed in language which was extremely readable but which at times
outraged the good conservative people whom he was attempting to convert.
He did not even spare the one figure which was almost a part of the
Southerner's religion, the Confederate general, especially that
particular type who used his war record as a stepping stone to public
office, and whose oratory, colourful and turgid in its celebrations of
the past, Page regarded as somewhat unrelated, in style and matter, to
the realities of the present. The image-breaking editor even asserted
that the Daughters of the Confederacy were not entirely a helpful
influence in Southern regeneration; for they, too, were harping always
upon the old times and keeping alive sectional antagonisms and hatreds.
This he regarded as an unworthy occupation for high-minded Southern
women, and he said so, sometimes in language that made him very
unpopular in certain circles.

Altogether it was a piquant period in Page's life. He found that he had
suddenly become a "traitor" to his country and that his experiences in
the North had completely "Yankeeized" him. Even in more mature days,
Page's pen had its javelin-like quality; and in 1884, possessed as he
was of all the fury of youth, he never hesitated to return every blow
that was rained upon his head. As a matter of fact he had a highly
enjoyable time. The _State Chronicle_ during his editorship is one of
the most cherished recollections of older North Carolinians to-day. Even
those who hurled the liveliest epithets in his direction have long since
accepted the ideas for which Page was then contending; "the only trouble
with him," they now ruefully admit, "was that he was forty years ahead
of his time." They recall with satisfaction the satiric accounts which
Page used to publish of Democratic Conventions--solemn, long-winded,
frock-coated, white-neck-tied affairs that displayed little concern for
the reform of the tariff or of the civil service, but an energetic
interest in pensioning Confederate veterans and erecting monuments to
the Southern heroes of the Civil War. One editorial is joyfully
recalled, in which Page referred to a public officer who was
distinguished for his dignity and his family tree, but not noted for any
animated administration of his duties, as "Thothmes II." When this
bewildered functionary searched the Encyclopaedia and learned that
"Thothmes II" was an Egyptian king of the XVIIIth dynasty, whose
dessicated mummy had recently been disinterred from the hot sands of the
desert, he naturally stopped his subscription to the paper. The metaphor
apparently tickled Page, for he used it in a series of articles which
have become immortal in the political annals of North Carolina. These
have always been known as the "Mummy letters." They furnished a vivid
but rather aggravating explanation for the existing backwardness and
chauvinism of the commonwealth. All the trouble, it seems, was caused by
the "mummies." "It is an awfully discouraging business," Page wrote, "to
undertake to prove to a mummy that it is a mummy. You go up to it and
say, 'Old fellow, the Egyptian dynasties crumbled several thousand years
ago: you are a fish out of water. You have by accident or the
Providence of God got a long way out of your time. This is America.' The
old thing grins that grin which death set on its solemn features when
the world was young; and your task is so pitiful that even the humour of
it is gone. Give it up."

Everything great in North Carolina, Page declared, belonged to a
vanished generation. "Our great lawyers, great judges, great editors,
are all of the past. . . . In the general intelligence of the people, in
intellectual force and in cultivation, we are doing nothing. We are not
doing or getting more liberal ideas, a broader view of this world. . . .
The presumptuous powers of ignorance, heredity, decayed respectability
and stagnation that control public action and public expression are
absolutely leading us back intellectually."

But Page did more than berate the mummified aristocracy which, he
declared, was driving the best talent and initiative from the state; he
was not the only man in Raleigh who expressed these unpopular views; at
that time, indeed, he was the centre and inspiration of a group of young
progressive spirits who held frequent meetings to devise ways of
starting the state on the road to a new existence. Page then, as always,
exercised a great fascination over young men. The apparently merciless
character of his ridicule might at first convey the idea of intolerance;
the fact remains, however, that he was the most tolerant of men; he was
almost deferential to the opinions of others, even the shallow and the
inexperienced; and nothing delighted him more than an animated
discussion. His liveliness of spirits, his mental and physical vitality,
the constant sparkle of his talk, the sharp edge of his humour,
naturally drew the younger men to his side. The result was the
organization of the Wautauga Club, a gathering which held monthly
meetings for the discussion of ways and means of improving social and
educational conditions in North Carolina. The very name gives the key to
its mental outlook. The Wautauga colony was one of the last founded in
North Carolina--in the extreme west, on a plateau of the Great Smoky
Mountains; it was always famous for the energy and independence of its
people. The word "Wautauga" therefore suggested the breaker of
tradition; and it provided a stimulating name for Page's group of young
spiritual and economic pathfinders. The Wautauga Club had a brief
existence of a little more than two years, the period practically
covering Page's residence in the state; but its influence is an
important fact at the present time. It gave the state ideas that
afterward caused something like a revolution in its economic and
educational status. The noblest monument to its labours is the State
College in Raleigh, an institution which now has more than a thousand
students, for the most part studying the mechanic arts and scientific
agriculture. To this one college most North Carolinians to-day attribute
the fact that their state in appreciable measure is realizing its great
economic and industrial opportunities. From it in the last thirty years
thousands of young men have gone: in all sections of the commonwealth
they have caused the almost barren acres to yield fertile and
diversified crops; they have planted everywhere new industries; they
have unfolded unsuspected resources and everywhere created wealth and
spread enlightenment. This institution is a direct outcome of Page's
brief sojourn in his native state nearly forty years ago. The idea
originated in his brain; the files of the _State Chronicle_ tell the
story of his struggle in its behalf; the activities of the Wautauga Club
were largely concentrated upon securing its establishment.

The State College was a great victory for Page, but final success did
not come until three years after he had left the state. For a year and a
half of hard newspaper work convinced Page that North Carolina really
had no permanent place for him. The _Chronicle_ was editorially a
success: Page's articles were widely quoted, not only in his own state
but in New England and other parts of the Union. He succeeded in
stirring up North Carolina and the South generally, but popular support
for the _Chronicle_ was not forthcoming in sufficient amount to make the
paper a commercial possibility. Reluctantly and sadly Page had to forego
his hope of playing an active part in rescuing his state from the