being completed, he turned to the guard officers and informed them that he was ready to wait on them at any moment. His face was pale, but his features were tranquil. His servant having entered the room in tears, André desired him to withdraw until he could show himself more manly. The fatal hour having arrived, a large detachment of troops passed in front of the house in which he was confined. Two American officers had attended him night and day during his confinement, while sentinels were stationed around the house.

André came out of the house and marched to the place of execution between two American officers, one of whom was Captain Hughes. He stepped briskly down the steps and immediately fell into the centre of the guard, the place he was to occupy. The order was then given to march forward, at which all started off to the music of the drum and fife. André said to his attendants, "I am very much surprised to find your troops under such good discipline, and your music is excellent."

The guard marched a short distance, then wheeled to the left and turned a corner of the road, then marched a short distance and wheeled again to the left in order to pass through a fence. Here a field was entered, and the march was continued forward again for a short distance, when the guard was wheeled to the right and halted on a level spot of ground. A short distance in front of them rose a moderate hill, on which the gallows had been erected and the grave dug the day before. The gallows was very high, made by setting up two posts with crotches in the top, with a cross-pole laid in the crotches.

At the last halt the gallows came in full view of André for the first time. At sight of it he started backwards and paused. "Why this emotion, sir?" said one of the officers by his side. André then turned to Tallmadge, who was near, and inquired anxiously if he was not to be shot. Being told that he was not he said, "How hard is my fate! But it will soon be over. I am reconciled to my death, but I detest the mode." He had bowed with politeness to many persons on the march whom he knew, and shook hands with Major Tallmadge. His servant, who had followed him, now burst forth in loud lamentations, and André turned aside and conversed with him privately for a short time. The guard then marched to the top of the hill and halted, and the hangman drew the wagon under the gallows. Here the prisoner betrayed much trepidation, and placed his foot on a stone and rolled it to and fro, and choked with emotion. When the wagon was in place, André was requested to mount it. He advanced to the hind part of the vehicle, and, putting his hands upon it, made a motion to spring, but faltered. Then he put his right knee on

first and raised himself up on the wagon, then on his coffin, which was painted black. He then took off his hat and laid it down, and, placing his hands upon his hips, walked back and forth as far as the length of his coffin would permit, casting his eyes at the gallows and looking around on the whole scene by which he was surrounded.

The commanding officer then said to him, " Major André, if you have anything to say, you can speak, for you have but a short time to live." To that André made answer, "I have nothing more to say, gentlemen, than this you bear me witness that I met my fate as a brave man." The executioner then ascended the wagon with the rope, and as he was about to open the noose, André took the halter with his right hand and adjusted it around his neck, drawing the knot close to the right side. Then he tied a white handkerchief over his eyes, and the executioner, having secured the end of the halter to the top of the gallows, descended from the wagon. The officer in command in a somewhat loud tone then directed his arms to be tied, when André pulled down the bandage from his eyes and drew from his pocket a second handkerchief and gave it to the executioner, and then replaced the handkerchief over his eyes. Then his arms were tied behind his back just above his elbows. The officer then gave the signal, by the falling of his sword, for the wagon to be drawn off. It started suddenly, and the length of the rope, and the sudden jerk from the coffin lid on which he was standing, gave André a tremendous spring; but the body soon ceased to move, and before he had been suspended a half minute a soldier was ordered to bear down on his shoulders to save his agony. This was done and all was still. Death to him was sudden, as he said it would be," a momentary pang." a momentary pang." He made no struggle, and his death appeared to be immediate. He seemed to have been suspended less than the usual time, when two soldiers were ordered to bear him up. Then the commanding officer cut the rope, and the soldiers bore him to the coffin. His uniform was removed and delivered to his servant to be taken to New York, and his body was placed in the coffin and buried.

Such were the movements and such the treatment of Major André from the morning of September 20, 1780, to the second day of October at twelve o'clock.

A few words respecting the justice of the execution of André may not be out of place. Spies are those who introduce themselves to the enemy to discover the condition of affairs, penetrate his designs and communicate them to their employers. Such is the well-sustained definition of a spy given by an eminent writer upon the law of nations, and it seems plainly to comprehend the case of Major André within its scope and

terms. Nay, more, he landed secretly and disguised himself by changing his dress. He assumed a false name and was returning from the American lines, which he had entered clandestinely, after having discovered and ascertained the condition and situation of the enemy. He also bore upon his person important information for his employer.

Efforts have frequently been made to justify the entrance of André into the American lines, by the argument that he came by the invitation of Arnold and to establish his right to a safe passage out by the pass from the same officer; but all such endeavors have proved futile and abortive. André was not only a spy, but he was guilty of subornation of treason. He came to the American lines to corrupt an officer, and he knew full well that a treacherous betrayal of trust of that officer was beyond the scope of his authority. He came for purposes entirely foreign to the legitimate objects of a flag even if one was intended. He came under an assumed name for an infamous purpose, and not as an open envoy from one belligerent to another bound to good conduct. Flags are signals of peace to create mutual confidence and cannot be used to perpetrate a fraud. Neither was the pass of Arnold of more efficacy. It was a sham upon its face, intended as a means of deception. In fact, it was an overt act of treason, because it was issued to an enemy. Besides all this André was an accomplice with Arnold and knew that the pass was collusive and intended to facilitate the execution of his treasonable designs. André sustained the character of an impostor, and it would be absurd to assume the obligation of General Washington to give validity and effect to the pass of Arnold, for if that were valid and effective, his bargain with Sir Henry Clinton made through André was equally so, and if General Washington was under obligations to respect the pass and allow André to go in safety, he was under equal obligations to surrender West Point to Sir Henry Clinton, because Arnold had agreed so to do.

These considerations seem sufficient to place André in the light of a spy and justify the report of the board of officers, and its approval by General Washington.

J. Gurman

MRS. RUTHERFORD B. HAYES

The admirable portrait of Mrs. Hayes published in this magazine for May, 1887, will now be regarded with tenderly awakened interest. No lady who has presided over the Presidential mansion at the capital of the nation is destined, through her own merits, to hold a higher and more secure place in American history than the late wife of Ex-President Hayes. Her influence and her personality are firmly impressed upon the national memory. Her strong, sweet, expressive face looks down upon us from the picture, which reveals her whole figure seated in a high-backed reception chair in that easy, graceful attitude so well remembered. Her glossy black hair, smoothly parted on her forehead, is drawn back and fastened in a Grecian coil, and her lustrous black eyes are eloquent with vivacity, generosity, and kindly sympathy. Mrs. Hayes was not only heroic in her convictions of duty but a lady of refined culture, spirit, and intelligence, possessing a charm and a magnetism that endeared her to all with whom she was brought into association. It was through the beauty and the symmetry as well as the force of her character that she was able to achieve the famous victory which attracted such wide attention at the time, and made her the object of the warmest praise and the most energetic abuse during the entire four years of her husband's administration. She came to the White House when the temperance crusade, of which she had been an ardent advocate, was at its zenith. She came pledged against the indorsement in any way of the wine-drinking practice. She was at once confronted with the practical question of the use of wine at state dinners, which was a different matter from its use or otherwise at the President's private table, and she decided this problem in the face of the most embarrassing opposition through her own acute sense of right and wrong. Her courage was sincerely respected, and she won great popularity even among those who had no sympathy with her extreme views. The sneers about the dismal state dinners that must necessarily result from the fanaticism of Mrs. Hayes were never echoed by those who actually dined. On the other hand, the most lavish compliments were bestowed by leading statesmen of both political parties and by distinguished foreigners upon the elegance of the White House dinners during her residence under its roof. She had quickly demonstrated that a capable woman as hostess is more successful than wine in producing brilliant dinner effects. All

Washington acknowledged her power and her graceful method of exercising it. Her example was noble in its intent, and its influence will never cease. Mrs. Cleveland's position later on, in declining at all times to take wine at her own table, was made much easier by the sincerity and firmness of her interesting predecessor.

Mrs. Hayes possessed a keen sense of humor and was greatly entertained by the newspaper descriptions of her dress while presiding at the White House. Every detail of her costume on all occasions was in the best of taste, as no one could deny; but her first appearance was in a highnecked black silk dress, and this fact was published with comments to the ends of the earth. No notice was taken of its handsome newness, and the writers did not seem to observe that it was trimmed exquisitely in colors. The public who did not see Mrs. Hayes became so misled into the notion of her excessive plainness, that when it chanced to be recorded in the newspapers that she had worn some dress other than black, there was a wail of disapproval from every quarter of the country-among a certain class. One good Methodist sister wrote her on one occasion, from Wisconsin, that she was "dreadfully grieved to hear that the President's wife was being so carried away by the wickedness and vanities of the world as to wear a white gown all trimmed with furbelows"! Mrs. Hayes' merry

laughter when she read this epistle will never be forgotten by those who were present. The dress referred to was a creamy white silk garnished with flowers, in which Mrs. Hayes presided when the Grand Duke Alexis of Russia was entertained at a state dinner at the Executive mansion.

Mrs. Hayes was born August 30, 1831, and died June 25, 1889. She was the youngest child and only daughter of Dr. James Webb and Maria Cook. Her grandfather, Judge Isaac Cook, was originally from Connecticut, but removed to Chillicothe, Ohio, and was for fifty years one of the foremost men of his time, holding high judicial and other positions. Her father, Dr. Isaac Webb, a physician of high standing in Chillicothe, served in the war of 1812. She was carefully educated; for some years was at the University in Delaware, and afterward graduated in Cincinnati. In 1852 she became the wife of Mr. Hayes, then a thrifty young lawyer in Cincinnati. Her marriage was of almost ideal happiness, and it would be impossible to overstate the devotion of Mrs. Hayes to her home, her husband, and her children. During the twenty years of her husband's public life, as general in the army, member of congress, governor of Ohio, and President of the United States, Mrs. Hayes was always the same eventempered, high-minded, well-poised Christian woman, equal to every emergency, and always happiest when contributing to the happiness of others.