never since the foundation of mcclure’s model village of syndicate has the valley of the hackensack rung with such hearty, innocent mirth as it did yesterday, when mcclure’s birthday was observed in a fitting manner by the inhabitants of the literary village. mr. mcclure, who generously bore the entire expense of the merrymaking, arrived in the village nearly a week ago, and since then has been engrossed in his preparations for what he declared should be the most notable literary gathering ever seen on this continent; and when the factories closed at six o’clock on saturday evening[pg 332] all the hands were notified that they would not be opened again until tuesday morning, and that the piece-workers would be paid for monday as if they were salaried employees, in order that the holiday might cost them nothing. it is by such acts of generosity that mr. mcclure has made himself beloved by all literary workers whose good fortune it has been to do business with him.

and it is because of this and many other acts of generosity on mr. mcclure’s part that that upright and discriminating manufacturer found no difficulty in securing a score of willing volunteers at an early hour on monday morning, when it became necessary to transfer to the lighter paragraph several cases of daniel webster portraits and a section of the new kipling serial for immediate shipment to new york. this work accomplished, the hands returned to the village in time to prepare for the[pg 333] merrymaking, which began shortly after one o’clock.

at precisely twelve o’clock a special train arrived from new york laden with invited guests, among whom were a great many men and women well known in literary and artistic circles. mr. mcclure welcomed us cordially as we alighted at the station, and then led the way to the art department, where a toothsome collation had been spread. the fires had been put out in the forges, the huge bellows were all motionless, and the anvils now served to support the wide boards which were used as a banqueting table. it was difficult for me to realize that this well-swept, neatly garnished room was the smoky, noisy art department, with fierce flames leaping from a dozen banks of glowing coals, that i had visited but a few days before.

at the conclusion of the banquet the[pg 334] guests were escorted to seats which had been reserved for them on the village green, and immediately afterward the sports began.

the first athletic event was the putting of the twenty-pound joke from “harper’s bazar.” there were eight competitors in this contest, including mr. hamlin garland, who mistook a block of wood for the joke, threw it, and was disbarred, as were two other contestants who were unable to see the jokes after they had put them.

the next event was an obstacle race for the cashier’s window, open to members of the artistic as well as the literary section of the settlement, the former being subjected to a handicap of three extra “o. k.’s” on account of their superior sprinting qualities with such a goal in sight. this contest was won by a one-legged man, whose infirmity was offset by the fact of his long experience[pg 335] in cashier chasing in the office of the “illustrated american.”

then came what was called a “park row contest,” open to all ex-journalists, in the form of a collar-and-elbow wrestling match for the city editor’s desk, catch as catch can. there were seven contestants in this match, each of whom was obliged to catch all the others in the act of doing something wrong and report the same at headquarters. the prize was given to a gentleman who had filled every position on the “herald” from window-cleaner to editor-in-chief, and is now spending his declining years at the copy desk in that establishment, and taking a morose and embittered view of life.

the running high jump next occupied the attention of the spectators. a huge pile of reminiscences of prominent statesmen, writers, and other famous characters was placed on the ground, the prize[pg 336] to be awarded to the author who could jump over the greatest number of them without touching the top of the heap. this proved to be an exceedingly spirited and interesting contest, and the pile slowly increased in height until there was but one contestant left who could clear it. he proved to be a complete outsider, the grand-uncle of one of the poets, who had asked permission to take part in the sports as a guest of mr. mcclure’s. the old gentleman was visibly affected when the prize was handed to him, and explained his success by remarking that for many years he had been in the habit of skipping all the reminiscences in “mcclure’s magazine” whenever he came across them, and this habit, coupled with his regular mode of life, had enabled him to lead all his competitors, even at his advanced age.

mr. gilder, of the “century magazine,” was kind enough to lend his aid in the[pg 337] manuscript-throwing contest which followed. forty poets, armed to the teeth with their wares, assailed the “century” editor with poems, and got them all back again without an instant’s delay. the speed with which the experienced editor returned each wad of manuscript to its sender was the subject of general admiring comment to all present except the poets themselves, who found themselves unable to land a single verse. mr. gilder was so fatigued with his efforts that he asked to be excused from playing the part of the bag in the bag-punching contest which the poets were anxious to have given.

the sports closed with a novel and interesting game, in which everybody joined with hearty good-will and enthusiasm. this game was called “chasing the greased publisher.” an agile harper, having been greased from head to foot, was let loose on the common and[pg 338] pursued for twenty minutes by the excited literary citizens. the skill which he displayed in eluding his pursuers, doubling on his tracks and breaking away from the insecure hold of some ravenous poet, served to make the contest the most exciting and enjoyable event of the whole day’s programme. he was finally caught by mr. joel benton, who floored him with a thanksgiving ode, delivered between the eyes.

it was 4:30 o’clock when the games closed, and i was compelled to return to the city without waiting to enjoy the literary exercises which were held during the evening.

i had a short conversation with mr. mcclure, however, and asked him if he did not find that it paid him to keep his workmen in good health and spirits the year round. mr. mcclure replied that he did, and that he proposed to encourage all sorts of innocent pastimes—of the[pg 339] kind that we had witnessed—and permit his literary and artistic hands to enjoy festivals and merrymakings at frequent intervals throughout the year.

as the train steamed out of the depot i heard the inhabitants begin their evening hymn:

“thou art, mcclure, the light, and life

of all this wondrous world we see.”