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It may be of interest to refer to the cost of living in the fifties in Milwaukee as compared with present day prices. Milk was delivered at our kitchen door by a worthy Irish woman, Mrs. Powers, at five cents a quart measure. It cost considerably more in blood and bodily wear and tear on those occasions when I was required to venture down to the Third Ward' to get it when supplies ran short. The Irish to a man seemed fond of my father, in spite of differences in politics, the sons of the Emerald Isle being of the Democratic persuasion; but between young Ireland and young America there was perennial warfare.

Vegetables, as a rule, were bought at the German Market, or at Reed's or Harshaw's on East Water Street, nearly opposite the old Walker, now Kirby House. Alexander Mitchell and Hans Crocker raised the best fruits to be found in or about the city, those which came up by boat from Chicago being scarce and high. Munkwitz and Layton were our two butchers, and a quarter of a dollar, cash in hand, would enable me to carry home enough mutton chops for the family dinner. Mother's rules sent me early to bed, and I started in life as an early riser. When I found a dime on the corner of the little washstand in my room, it

In a biographical sketch of his father, General Rufus King, published in the June, 1921 issue of this magazine, the author has told of his ancestry and of the establishment of his father's family at Milwaukee in 1845. The opening installment of the present article, relating memories of boyhood days in Milwaukee, is but a portion of a much longer statement which General King has dictated, dealing with recollections of this period in his career.-Editor.

The old Third Ward was preeminently the resort of Milwaukee's Irish population and was familiarly characterized as the "Bloody Third." In 1850 there were slightly more than three thousand natives of Ireland in Milwaukee, in a total population of twenty thousand. The Irish at that time far outnumbered every other alien group in Milwaukee except the German-born.-Editor.

meant whitefish for breakfast, and as soon as I had dressed I would trudge away to the head of Mason Street, and there find the fishermen's boats just in from Whitefish Bay. That dime would give me the choice of the biggest and finest fish, many of them still flopping about in the bottoms of the boats. The fishermen would run a stout cord through the gills, loop it over the end of the big stick I carried for the purpose, and then with that stick over my shoulder, I would lug homeward the prize of the lot. Three dollars would hardly buy such a fish today,

Before quitting the old King's-Corner crowd, let me tell you how they "sized up" in later life. It is worth the telling. "Rude" were we, perhaps, "in speech" and sports, neither blasphemous nor obscene, but certainly unpolished, and many a time did mother point out to me the inelegance of our language. One day a discussion, somewhat heated, was going on, and in the midst of it a dear old lady descended upon the group. She was my Sunday-school teacher and I honored her, but most of the crowd knew her only by name. Earnestly and impressively she addressed herself to the gang in general, to the excited debaters in particular, whereat, in his mingling of chagrin and embarrassment, the curly-headed future lieutenant general of the Army burst into a guffaw of laughter, and the main culprit, the blueeyed, fair-haired future rear admiral of our Navy stuck his tongue in his cheek, twiddled his thumbs and dared to wink at his nearest neighbor. It was too much for our lady's dignity. Turning abruptly, she entered our house and, addressing my mother by the name only Albanians and intimates called her, said, impressively, "If you don't get your boy away from this Godless, graceless gang and send

'The family residence, which gave name to "King's Corner," stood at the northeast corner of Mason and Van Buren streets.-Editor.

'General Arthur MacArthur.-Editor.

'Rear Admiral James K. Cogswell. As executive officer under Captain Clarke, he brought the Oregon around South America from San Francisco to Santiago to share in the destruction of Admiral Cervera's fleet in the battle of July, 1898.-Editor.

him where he can be among gentlemen, you will rue it to your dying day."

In September '58 I was divorced from the "gang," so-called, and in course of time entered Columbia College, New York, and of the forty very excellent young gentlemen matriculated with me at Columbia, not one, either in national, state or municipal affairs, ever won distinction; whereas, of the "Godless, graceless gang" who gathered day after day at the old corner, or were in close touch with us, one rose to be a senator of the United States, four of them generals in our Army, one of the four (MacArthur, my chum and next-door neighbor from '54 to '58) becoming lieutenant general, the highest rank then attainable. Two became rear admirals of the Navy, one became head of the Society of Physicians and Surgeons of Connecticut. Three became eminent in the law (one of them a judge at Duluth); one a great insurance man, a prominent author and leader of affairs in New York City. Three others, gallant fellows whose names should not be forgotten, fell, heading their companies ("Mandy" Townsend and Billy Mitchell) or as regimental adjutant (Wilkie Bloodgood). Still another was shot dead in the charge at Fredericksburg (John Parkinson). Another still (one of the staunchest fighters of our number in boy days), after serving as lieutenant of artillery in our great war, became eminent in science, especially biology, George Peckham. Others prospered in business and social affairs, as did the Cramers, and only two or three never seemed to amount to much. Now, how do you account for that?

In connection with days at Anthon's school in New York, where I finished my preparation for Columbia, there is one point worth mention. My allowance, spending money, etc., was fifty cents per week, paid on Saturday, out of which

Professor Charles Anthon, a noted classical scholar of his day, was professor of Greek and Latin at Columbia and head of the grammar school then attached to the college.-Editor.

I was expected to buy my shoes, gloves, and luncheons. If it had not been for the thoughtful kindness of a young uncle, one of the first of our tribe to give his life in the Civil War days, I should have fared very ill. As it was, I seldom wore gloves, I speedily wore out my shoes, and my lunch was often only a doughnut; but we had famous breakfasts and dinners at my grandfather's table,' and my grandmother wondered at my appetite.

Returning, however, to those Milwaukee days, before saying good-bye to them as far as boyhood was concerned, I should say that documentary evidence in our possession goes to prove that before my fifth birthday maternal castigations were frequent and deserved. In a letter to father, who was in Washington in April, 1849, written presumably by request, but from my dictation, by Norman J. Emmons, it appears that I had been soundly whipped the previous day, "which made me a good boy ever since." As this covered a period of twenty-four hours, the reformation lasted apparently longer than usual. There seemed to be no limit to the mischief into which my propensity for exploration would lead me, and in father's absence, nurse, cook, even my Spartan mother, were sometimes too few to frighten such an arrant young vagrant. On the other hand, when he was at home, all that father had to do, no matter how furious a tantrum might be going on, was simply to order "Attention," and kicks and screams ceased at the word. I owed instant soldier obedience to my soldier father and accorded it to no one else.

Continuing that letter: "Yesterday I ran away, taking the two Cady boys wiv me way down to Higby's pier. I took them wiv me so I would not get lost." And as Higby's pier was about opposite Huron Street, and we lived on Mason, the adventure called for stern reprisals. Yet it wasn't forty-eight hours before the next excursion, and this

* Charles King, president of Columbia College.-Editor.

time I was seized by father's partner, Mr. Fuller, aided by the Mr. Emmons aforementioned, and borne kicking and struggling into the cellar, and there headed up in an old apple barrel, an episode the neighborhood did not soon permit me to forget.

Two months later we were at West Point-father, mother, sister, nurse and I-and then came the change, possibly for the better. Between General Scott, the tallest and most martial figure at the Academy, the stately drum major, and the soldierly cadet adjutant (Quincy A. Gilmore) I could not quite decide, but one of the three it was my daily habit from that time on to personate, I am told, for several years thereafter. It was 1851 before I could care for anything else except the fire department. Then Alexander Mitchell gave me my first lift in life—to the back of a villainous, little, black Shetland stallion, who had more tricks and vices than any four-legged brute I ever afterward knew. Beppo and our beautiful black Newfoundland, Nero, came to me about the same time.

In those days New Year's calls were made by every wideawake citizen on all the ladies of his acquaintance, beginning somewhere about midday, and keeping it up, sometimes repeating, until dark. Housewives made ample preparation for this annual visitation; a bounteous table was generally set and a sideboard or table with its bowl of punch, its decanters of sherry, Madeira, and spirits. Whiskey was too cheap and plebeian a drink for such occasions (it retailed for something like forty cents a quart and cost less, probably, than ten cents a gallon), but old Otard brandy was much in demand. Father had some rare old Madeira that had been in the cellars of his grandfather when the latter was United States minister to England. By early afternoon on New Year's day many prominent citizens would be able no longer to distinguish between sherry and Madeira or between good wine and bad, and mother did hate to see that

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