They came into the house and knocked over the chairs and sofa, even when they cracked their shins against the wood. They bumped their heads against the walls and ceiling, and some even scrambled over the roof and down again. The bard could no more stop his weary legs than could the other lunatics.


Yet of the sounds which he himself made with voice or instrument, he was an intense admirer. Nobody could persuade him that his music was poor and his voice rough. He always refused to improve.


As soon as the harp music began, his feet began to go up, and his legs to kick and whirl. The more Morgan played, the madder the dance and the wilder the antics of the crowd, and in these the bard had to join, for he could not help himself.


Norss shook his head. "The spirit will provide," said he. "I have no fear, and I shall take no care, trusting in the spirit."


But Norss said: "A spirit came to me in my dreams last night and said, 'Launch the boat and set sail to morrow. Have no fear; for I will guide you to the bride that awaits you.'


"But what of the symbol?" cried Norss. "I have it here, about my neck," said Faia. So saying, Faia drew from her bosom the symbol of wood,  a tiny cross suspended about her neck by the golden chain.


His name was Norss; broad were his shoulders, his cheeks were ruddy, his hair was fair and long, his body betokened strength, and good nature shone from his blue eyes and lurked about the corners of his mouth. "Where are you going?"


They sang of Bethlehem and the manger and the Babe; they sang of love and charity, till all the Christmas air seemed full of angel voices.


But the ashes didn't bother us much, and every time we slid side saddle we'd give the ashes a kick, and that sort of scattered 'em." The bare thought of this made Santa Claus laugh.


Then, what did Simon Buzzell say but that, like's not, it was because Otis's sled's name was 'Snow Queen.'


Marthy's brother Increase wanted her to ride on _his_ sled, but Marthy allowed that a red sled was her choice every time. 'I don't see how I'm goin' to hold on,' said Marthy. 'Seems as if I would hev my hands full keepin' my things from blowin' away.'


Ha, ha, ha. Though the chimney were no bigger than a gas pipe, Santa Claus would slide down it!"


"I brought Martin a sled the _next_ Christmas," said Santa Claus.


Otis and I didn't like Susan Prickett, and we were hopin' you'd put a cold potato in her stockin'." "But Susan was a good girl," remonstrated Santa Claus.


"Three cheers for Tony Weston!" exclaimed Charles Hardy, as they came in sight. The cheers were given, but Captain Sedley could not but question the motives of him who had proposed them.


"I arn't goin' with you this afternoon," said the veteran, as he laid an armful of oars, boat hooks, and other furniture belonging to the Zephyr, which had been carried to the house for safe keeping, upon the beach.


"No, sir; _I_ don't think so; but I didn't know but _you_ might think so," replied Charles, confused by the earnestness of Captain Sedley's glance.


The Zephyr darted like an arrow through the water, her sharp bow cutting the tiny waves like a knife, making a most musical ripple as it dashed a clear jet of white foam as high as the gunwale. It was scarcely three minutes before Captain Sedley gave the command "Way enough!"


His motive was not a worthy one.


And gazing on the sacred pile Their hands upreared in loving zeal, My heart goes forth to them the while, Those faithful fathers, true and leal!


Then, when I knew your voyage over,—then, —For surely now, at last, I may confess, Now that I have outgrown its bitterness, Though, sometimes, I can almost feel again, Remembering those days, that keen distress, Yes, jealousy it was!


Then clear, from out a thicket, There rang that golden note That flutes from none but only The tawny thrush's throat; So charged with all sweet secrets The April has to tell, I bowed my head and harkened, Enchanted by its spell.


The latest poppy fires are dead, But bright as blossoms overhead In shining sheaves of bronze and red, The frost tipped pear leaves show; While from their branches blackbirds sing Or break to noisy chattering; And slender silken cobwebs string The tall grass down below.


O, I know the year is going! Neither reaping time nor sowing Will restore the tender beauty of its blossoms that are dead: Yet I cherish all their sweetness In the ripeness and completeness Of the gold and crimson fruitage that my heart has harvested.


And beyond them, and the network Of the dogwood, and the fretwork Of the interlacing grapevines, and across the meadow land, I can see the color showing Where the winter wheat is growing, With the corn encamped about it like a plumed protecting band.


In long loops from off the hedges, Trailing downward to the edges Of the wayside grass and clover leaves, fine cobweb threads are wound; Fairy clues that lead my eager Errant fancy to beleaguer Some concealed, enchanted chamber in the richly covered ground.


Ah me, sparrow! Had I but your power, Think you in the freezing sleet I would waste an hour? —I'd sing my sweetest to a sweet Orange flower!


Kendall sent in three poems and Horne awarded the prize to "A Death in the Bush".


Kendall's experience in the timber business well fitted him for this, though his health was not equal to the exposure attendant on the work. He moved to Cundletown, on the Manning River, before receiving the appointment, and from that centre rode out on long tours of inspection.


Bertram Stevens {This is the transcription of the letter previously mentioned.} Newtown, Sydney, New South Wales. January 21, 1862 To the Editor of the "Cornhill Magazine".


In the beginnings of Australian poetry the names of two other men stand with his  Adam Lindsay Gordon, of English parentage and education, and Charles Harpur, born in Australia a generation earlier than Kendall.


The result of winning this prize was that Kendall decided to abandon routine work and try to earn his living as a writer.


His third collection  'Songs from the Mountains'  was published at Sydney in 1880, and realized a substantial profit. In 1881 Sir Henry Parkes made a position for him, an Inspectorship of State Forests at five hundred pounds a year.


He resigned his position in the Colonial Secretary's Office on the 31st March, 1869, and shortly afterwards left for Melbourne, where his wife and daughter soon joined him.


The next two years were a time of tribulation, during which, as he said later on, he passed into the shadow, and emerged only through the devotion of his wife and the help of the brothers Fagan, timber merchants, of Brisbane Water.


But in a letter written years afterwards to Mr. Sheridan Moore, Kendall says "My first essay in writing was sent to 'The Southern Cross' at the time you were sub editor.


He soon made friends with the Maoris and learnt their language well enough to compile a primer in pidgin Maori, 'A Korao no New Zealand; or, the New Zealander's First Book', which George Howe printed for Marsden at Sydney in 1815.


The beauty of the scenes he visited lived in the boy's memory, but the rigours of ship life were so severe that in after years he looked back on the voyage with horror. Henry Kendall returned to Sydney in March, 1857, and at once obtained employment in the city and set about making a home for his mother and sisters. Mrs.


Ah me! the eager heart desires, So thronging swift they came, My spirit surged like wind swept fires, I knew not which to name.


_THE WISHING SPRING_ I knelt beside the fairy spring, Among the tasseled weeds; Far off, with dreamy murmuring, The wind piped through the reeds.


_THE HOME FIELDS_ The fields are full of sunlight, And leafy golden green, And misty purple shadows Are flitting in between; The flaky elder flowers Are drenched with honey dew, And all the distant woodlands Stand veiled in tender blue.


A dizzy pathway, sheer and steep; A startled catching of the breath; And, bearing menaces of death, A loosened snow drift's sudden sweep!


Again and again have the children been aroused from their sleep by the fearful Indian war whoop, which was more dreaded than the howling of the wolves.


In one instance an emigrant was travelling in a close covered waggon, when he was overtaken by the flames. In a moment, horses, family, waggon, and everything were destroyed, and scarcely a vestige remained of what had been.


Gradually he became weaker, and then without a struggle he passed away.


Winter was fast approaching, and the strong arm of the husband and father would have been severely taxed to supply all the wants of the family. Without the breadwinner there seemed to be nothing before them but starvation.


As soon as spring came round once more, Thomas borrowed a horse from a neighbour, and went about the farm work as he had seen his father do. With the assistance of his mother and, his eldest sister, he planted wheat, corn, potatoes, and other vegetables.


Mrs. Garfield saw how dark the future was, and yet she could not follow the advice so kindly given. She thought of the lonely grave in the wheatfield, and declared that nothing would induce her to move away from that sacred spot.


He said that she could not hope to carry it on alone, and by her unaided efforts support her children. Mrs. Garfield saw how dark the future was, and yet she could not follow the advice so kindly given.


A school only a mile and a half away was a boon to her and her children. Now they would get the education required to fit them for a useful life.


She was so much grieved to hear this, that the little fellow burst into tears, and, burying his face in his mother's lap, said, "I will be a good boy! I mean to be a good boy!"


Before he left home, Thomas was anxious to make his mother as comfortable as possible. When he heard that the people of the district had decided to build a better school, he bought the old one, and removed it. Then he rebuilt it alongside his mother's cabin.


At Work on the Farm  A Good Mother's Teaching  A School Incident  The Building of a New School  Bible Lessons  The Garfields' Motto.


They both knew that the teacher's authority would be supported at home, and that their parents would be grieved, if not angry, at such a wanton breach of the rules of the school, as that of which they had been guilty. "Don't dilly dally!" exclaimed the teacher; "go home immediately!"


The first season that James had alone, when single handed he did the work of the farm, was a severe strain on one so young, but his readiness to plan or invent some way of meeting difficulties again stood him in good stead.


CHAPTER VII. THE TWO BROTHERS.


It was this view of the case that troubled his mother. She could not see any way out of the difficulty, and therefore she had once more to leave her case in the hands of God. He had made a way for them in times past, when human eyes could see no path, and she believed that He would again render the necessary assistance.


In the school there was a fatherless boy like himself, who had no older brother to stand up for him. When James saw the bigger boys teasing the little fellow, he took the boy's part, and compelled his tormentors to leave him in peace.


The seasons followed each other in rapid succession, and with each came the tasks which gave James the employment he so much enjoyed. The farm, the carpenter's shop, and the school kept him busy, and at fifteen he could do a day's work with any man in the district.


HOUSE BUILDING.


"I want just such a hand as you in my business," said the man; "and you may come as soon as you like, and remain as long as you please." "I must first consult my mother," said James, "and if she consents, I will begin work on Monday."


The farmer had employed James before at similar work, and therefore he knew the value of such an active, cheerful servant. Once more he agreed to take command of the weeders, and the work was again done to the entire satisfaction of the shrewd farmer.


James was the first to enter the factory in the morning, and the last to leave it at night. The men who brought ashes for sale were not always honest, and they often charged for more than they delivered.


James, however, would not be beaten. "If I can't do as much as others do," he said, "I will give up the job." At the end of the season he received his wages, and the farmer said, as he paid him, "You've done well."


Not long afterwards James offended one of the men, who at once set upon him. To save himself, James knocked the man down.


There he inquired for the captain of the schooner, whom he expected to be a gentleman. To his disgust, the man who appeared was a drunken, swearing fellow, who, with a volley of oaths, threatened to throw him into the dock if he did not at once leave the vessel.


I should like to see what sort of a man he will make. The way he rakes me down on whisky, tobacco, and swearing is a caution, and he does not say a word that is not true. I like him, though. I always like a man to show his colours."


The offer, however, was declined, for the reason that it would prevent him taking his degree, and thus interfere with his plans in life.


In mental stature, however,  in scholarship and reading and judgment,  he was a man, every inch of him.


FINDING FRIENDS.


The teacher, he felt, was a builder of the nation, and he resolved that no work should leave his hands that was ill planned or badly done. The memory of his own early struggles made him especially mindful of the poorer scholars, and his keen eye was always on the look out for young men of promise.


He brought to the duties of his profession a profound love for the school to which he himself was so greatly indebted, and an ardent desire to help young fellows as poor as himself.


Garfield had won his spurs as a politician in the discussion of the slavery question, and very soon he was called to give practical form to his opinions.


Several of the most brilliant soldiers and commanders, such as Lee and Jackson, were Virginians and slave holders, and these of course threw in their lot with the South, and for some time the North had no men of equal capacity to set against them.


Private individuals subscribed vast sums of money, teachers of schools voluntarily gave up a fixed proportion of their salary, churches and societies made regular collections, farmers carried their produce into the camps, and women devoted their skill to nursing the sick and wounded.


Commander, officers, and privates were all alike, raw recruits; but Garfield soon drilled both himself and his men into shape.


Grasping Garfield's hand, his chief said, "We may not meet again. Good bye; God bless you." And, with this kindly farewell in his ears, the young brigadier general rode away.


For this brilliant little victory, the first that had fallen to the Federal arms, Garfield was made a brigadier general. He was now thirty one years of age, and had served in the army about four months.


Garfield rode a zig zag course across the field, and so prevented the enemy from taking aim. His course slanted upwards, and he knew that if he could but gain the top of the hill, he would be out of range of the rebel rifles.


And when, at the close of the war, a bill was brought before Congress to limit the rights of the freed slaves, Garfield indignantly and successfully opposed it.


His noble mother, by whose godly counsel he had walked, spent some happy years in his home; while his brave and loving wife cheered and helped and inspired him in those days of patient service.


The spontaneous affection of his countrymen amply provided for his beloved family; and his martyrdom, it was said, did more than any other event could have done to draw the North and South together.


He was nominated as the Republican candidate; and on November 2, 1880, the "little sapling" of the Western Reserve became the President of the United States, the uncrowned monarch of one of the greatest nations of the world.


At length the end came, and on the 19th of September 1881 he fell asleep. His body was removed to Washington, where he was laid in state.


You remember how Thomas, with all his duties and responsibilities about the farm, yet found a little time on his hands to do odd jobs for a neighbour, and so obtain a little money.


"The spiders touch, how exquisitely fine! Feels at each thread, and lives along the line."


Our friend the spider had not long to wait for his breakfast, for presto!  a great, brown winged hopper flew right into the net. Before he could, with his strong wings and powerful legs, tear the silken gossamer asunder and free himself, like lightning our spider was upon him.


Though still quivering a little from the fright, Mrs. Flicker said, in the firm tones of conviction, "No, Mr. Flicker, _that_ is not a person.


His wife, their aunt, was a good and kind woman, and would never have consented to such wickedness, whatever gain it might bring, so he told her an artful tale, that it was his purpose to send the children to a friend of his in London, who would see to their schooling.


"Keep your head out of my way!" cried the pine tree to the fir; "with your constant bobbing around I can hardly see at all."


_Come thou, dear Prince, oh, come to us this holy Christmas time!


"Please, can I go and sit inside?" inquired Barbara of the sexton. "No!"


"You will be warm now," said the vine, kissing Barbara's forehead. And Barbara smiled. Then the snowdrop sang a lullaby about the moss that loved the violet. And Barbara said, "I am going to sleep; will you wake me when the prince comes through the forest?"


said Barbara, with a shiver, as she drew her tattered little shawl the closer around her benumbed body. "Whirr r r! whirr r r! whirr r r!" answered the wind; "but why are you out in this storm? You should be at home by the warm fire."


The antics of the wood spirits continued but an hour; for then a cock crowed, and immediately thereat, with a wondrous scurrying, the elves and the gnomes and the other grotesque spirits sought their abiding places in the caves and in the hollow trunks and under the loose bark of the trees.


The falling snow did not stay her, nor did the cutting blast. She thought only of the prince, and she ran straightway to the forest. II "What do you see up there, O pine tree?" asked a little vine in the forest. "You lift your head among the clouds to night, and you tremble strangely as if you saw wondrous sights."


said the wind, and it tore through the streets of the city that Christmas eve, turning umbrellas inside out, driving the snow in fitful gusts before it, creaking the rusty signs and shutters, and playing every kind of rude prank it could think of.


"'What sound was that?' cried Dimas, for he was exceeding fearful.


"'Ah, is it you, little moonbeam?' quoth the violets. 'You have come in good time. Nestle here with us, and see wonderful things come to pass.'


"'Come away!' called the night wind; 'I know a beauteous sea not far hence, upon whose bosom you shall float, float, float away out into the mists and clouds, if you will come with me.'


I had kissed old Benoni, too, as he lay slumbering there; and in his dreams he seemed to see Israel's King come upon earth, and in his dreams he murmured the promised Messiah's name.


"'We heard the old olive tree telling of them to night,' said the violets. 'Do not go to sleep, little violets,' said the old olive tree, 'for this is Christmas night, and the Master shall walk upon the hill side in the glory of the midnight hour.'


"I know but one," said the moonbeam. "I have told it over and over again, in every land and in every home; yet I do not weary of it. It is very simple. Should you like to hear it?"


Then what did that blood thirsty monster do but scuttle as fast as she could into Dear my Soul's room, leap up into Dear my Soul's crib, and walk off with the pretty little white muff which Dear my Soul used to wear when she went for a visit to the little girl in the next block!


"Alas!" sighed the little mauve mouse, "not much remains to be told; but there is more of my story left than there was of Squeaknibble when that horrid cat crawled out of that miserable disguise.


'No; I'll not hurt you,' said the ghost in white fur; 'I'm Santa Claus, and I've brought you a beautiful piece of savory old cheese, you dear little mousie, you.'


"Presently they came to the rock whereon Benoni, the shepherd, lay; and they stood under the old olive tree, and the old olive tree swayed no longer in the night wind, but bent its branches reverently in the presence of the little Master.


"A shepherd lay upon a broad stone on the hill side; above him spread an olive tree, old, ragged, and gloomy; but now it swayed its rusty branches majestically in the shifting air of night.


'How good of you!' said Squeaknibble. 'I didn't believe there was a Santa Claus, and  ' but before she could say more she was seized by two sharp, cruel claws that conveyed her crushed body to the murderous mouth of mousedom's most malignant foe.


What upon earth did the horrid old cat want with Dear my Soul's pretty little white muff? Ah, the duplicity, the diabolical ingenuity of that cat! Listen.


The shepherd's name was Benoni.


"Then Dimas wept, and in that hour he forgot his pain.


The cat that deprived my sister of so large a percentage of her vertebral colophon was the same brindled ogress that nowadays steals ever and anon into this room, crouches treacherously behind the sofa, and feigns to be asleep, hoping, forsooth, that some of us, heedless of her hated presence, will venture within reach of her diabolical claws.


The tale is told, for it were not seemly to speak all the things that are in one's heart when one hath to say of a much beloved child whose life here hath been shortened so that, in God's wisdom and kindness, her life shall be longer in that garden that bloometh far away.


The bell calleth anon, but fainter and evermore fainter; and fainter and fainter groweth that other calling  "Toot! Toot!


Your little gown is white and soft; your little cap will hold those pretty curls so fast that they cannot get away. Here is a curl that peepeth out to see what is going to happen.


Yet, in a jest, we called her the Queen of Sheba; and I make a venture that she looked exceeding fair in the eyes of our little Mistress Merciless: for the eyes of children look not upon the faces but into the hearts and souls of others.


Though our hearts were like to break for love of her, we knew that it were better so.


O sovereign Shepherd, cherish Thy little lamb and mine, and, Holy Mother, fold her to thy bosom and thy love! But give her back to me,  when morning cometh, restore ye unto me my little one!"


"Ting long! Ting a long! Ting long!" "All aboard!"


So when she asked us we were wont to bid her go to Master Sweetheart, for he knew the truth and spake it. It is now to tell of an adventure which on a time befell in that full fair garden of which you have heard me speak.


on a sudden did that full evil cat whereof I have spoken steal softly from a thicket, and with one hideous bound make her way into the very midst of those birds and seize upon that bird Joyous, that was wont to sing so merrily from the tree hard by the arbor.


But when she beset the rest of us to speak thereof we knew not what to say other than to confirm such reports as Master Sweetheart had already made.


Much was her fancy taken with what I told her of the train that every night whirleth away to Shut Eye Town, bearing unto that beauteous country sleepy little girls and boys.


And she was not afeard to make the journey alone; so once upon a time when our little Mistress Merciless bade us good by, and went away forever, we knew that it were better so; for she was lonely here, and without her that far distant country whither she journeyed were not content.


It is winter out there, and it is winter, too, in this heart of mine. Yet in this Christmas season I think of them, and it pleaseth me  God forbid that I offend with much speaking  it pleaseth me to tell of the little things they did and loved.


You shall know that all did call her Mistress Merciless; but her mercilessness was of a sweet, persuasive kind: for with the beauty of her face and the music of her voice and the exceeding sweetness of her virtues was she wont to slay all hearts; and this she did unwittingly, for she was a little child.


] Of that land of Ever Plaisance was our little Mistress Merciless ever fain to hear tell.


Now you must know that it was the wont of our little Mistress Merciless and of Master Sweetheart to feed the birds in that fair garden with such crumbs as they were suffered to bring with them into the arbor, and at such times would those birds fly down with grateful twitterings and eat of those crumbs upon the greensward round about the arbor.


And I have seen those exceeding fair angels bend with folded wings over the little cradles and the little beds, and kiss those little sleeping children and whisper God's messages of love to them, and I knew that those messages were full of sweet tidings; for, even though they slept, the little children smiled.


Captives by Babel's limpid streams, We hung our harps on willows there; Wept over Zion; and our dreams, Waking or sleeping, she did share.


We read That Hagar cast him 'neath a shrub, and then, Withdrawing quite a space, she prayed, "O God, Let me not see his death!"


Jesus received this sin sick soul, Salvation to his house was given; And while time's cycles onward roll, His faith and works will point toward heaven.


First must the gospel plan of love To every land and tribe be given, Ere He'll return who from above Is God's best gift to earth from heaven.


Susanna's name is intertwined, A gem as sparkling and as clear As those with which it is enshrined; And this is all we know of her.


Those women who their Christ and Lord Aided by gentle ministry, Have gained their race a rich reward, Treasured in sacred history.


Is there a saint, however poor, However lowly born, That earthly treasure could allure Thee to mistreat or scorn? These queries, are they answered well?


But if there is plain indication that it can degrade or injure others who are near to you, or the community at large to which you belong, then the sin of it "jumps to the eyes," as the French say.


ELINOR: Then doing the thousand and one actions which defile the soul are in shocking taste also.


The evolution of the world has been perfectly necessary, my good John  you don't ask children to play golf before they can walk. JOHN: No  but now I gather from your remarks that you would sweep away the incumbrances and restrictions of orthodox religions.


JOHN: We are all as yet struggling in the dark, then? ELINOR: More or less.


Why play games to death, turning a pleasure into a grind? All is out of balance; and by these unattractive methods girls have often had to become the seekers, not the sought after!


There used to be an idea that girls must be warned about wolves in sheep's clothing, who wandered in society ready to lead them astray, corrupt their morals, and break their hearts!


If a man is not free to marry a girl, his assiduous attentions are an impertinence, to say the least of it.


These preliminary remarks, I dare say, are calculated to provoke the fiercest argument among many girls; but wait, Caroline, until I have finished explaining the reasons and dissecting the aspects, keeping in view our end  common sense and happiness.


But love  that exquisite essence which turned the world into Paradise  is a thing flown away.


Then let us suppose you have done so, and marry him. You are then contracting a bargain, and you have to fulfil your half.


So you must play fair also, and try to understand the rules and follow them.


Go to one good bootmaker and let him make a study of your foot, and then have the simplest, neatest, and daintiest things made for you.


If you were a poor girl, Caroline, coming out in society on the narrowest means, I would send you all sorts of hints how to arrange and manage to look sweet and lovely upon a very small sum.


But this possibility I must leave the discussion of to another letter; it would be a digression in this one.


We will suppose that you desire to retain the love and devotion of your husband, and have not only married him for a home and a place in society.


But if you want to keep him in the blissful state, attend far more to pleasing his eye and his ear when alone with him than to pleasing the world when you go out.


You certainly will not draw him back to you by making the contrast between yourself and his new attraction the greater through being disagreeable.


Recognize that you are happy and decide what makes you so, and how you can continue to employ the methods to keep this joyous state.


So you can see, Caroline, the tremendous responsibility you will be taking upon yourself when you marry, and how terribly, tragically foolish it will be of you to enter into this bond lightly and without due reflection.


If you fall in love with one who may be of good family and position but is much less rich than yourself, Caroline, do not, when you are married, ever under any circumstances taunt him with the fact, as, I am sorry to say, some of the rich American women who have married Englishmen have done.


The wise woman instantly appreciates this point, and knows that, if she gives way to her, perhaps just, reproaches, she will be adding another millstone round her own neck in a further weakening of her attraction for, and influence over, the man.


A large section of the world rave and storm that people are snobs who desire to be in the best society, but they forget that it is entirely the most amusing, the most intelligent and the most desirable, and therefore a very natural goal for newcomers to aim at.


It could not go on if the dancers had not been taught at all and thought they could cavort about as they pleased on the plea of being natural. The higher the state of their training, the _more perfectly natural_ do their movements appear.


Numbers of foolish feather brains, bitten with the idea that they have this high mission of showing their individuality, have upset all possibility of their own happiness and that of their families. Numbers of the poor suffragettes are composed of these.


Servants have "rights," because they are doing specified work for food and wages  they have made a bargain.


While we are talking of personal habits and such things you will notice that quantities of girls are not particular about their hands in these days.


There are only about three women in every age who can ever do this, so do not be offended with me for my plain speaking.


Since you came out last May, Caroline dear, we have seen so much of each other at intervals that I have been able to tell you things, and have had no occasion to write.


Never be ruled by the outcries of old fashioned people any more than you must be led away by the feather brains of your own age.


I have no space here, or desire to bore you, Caroline dear, by giving instances in the past of what I mean, and besides most of them have been already cited in the papers over this matter of the Tango.


Because there are always new questions cropping up, which you are sweet enough to want to ask my opinion about.


If they have the dignity which they ought to have they will realize the situations and the entertainments in and at which they ought to refrain from participating actively.


You are fortunately not of that turn of mind which twists sentences to your own liking.


but it is not from principle, but because it would bore me terribly to have to do so  and I have arrived at a time of life when I can please myself about my amusements.


When it came to the turn of the American girl, the Queen  a lady of perhaps forty five  asked her if she was interested in seeing the sights of the ancient city.


Hereupon Urbain's enemies saw they had no time to lose, and took advantage of his absence to make counter accusations against him.


The court, not knowing what to think of the turn affairs had taken, decided that before considering the accusations brought by Grandier, he must appear before his bishop to clear himself of the charges, brought against himself.


The number of babies was prodigious; they sprawled about everywhere, on the pavement, round the doors, and about their mothers' skirts.


Her dance became gayer: her feet scarcely touched the ground, she whirled round madly.


'Look at 'er legs!' cried one of the men. 'Look at 'er stockin's!' shouted another; and indeed they were remarkable, for Liza had chosen them of the same brilliant hue as her dress, and was herself most proud of the harmony.


Suddenly a dark form stepped in front of the open window. She gave a little shriek. ''Oo's thet?' she asked, for it was quite dark, and she did not recognize the man standing in front of her. 'Me, Liza,' was the answer. 'Tom?' 'Yus!'


After which pious remark Mrs. Kemp went out of the house and turned into another a few doors up.


When they had done, Mrs. Kemp got up, and having finished her half pint of beer, said to her daughter: 'Put the things awy, Liza. I'm just goin' round to see Mrs. Clayton; she's just 'ad twins, and she 'ad nine before these come. It's a pity the Lord don't see fit ter tike some on 'em  thet's wot I say.'


'Well, why won't you tell me?' 'Oh, a thing's sifer when only one person knows where it is.'


'You dirty slut, you,' she said, 'yer think I tike yer money! Why, you ought ter give it me every week instead of savin' it up and spendin' it on all sorts of muck, while I 'ave ter grind my very bones down to keep yer.' 'Yer know, mother, if I didn't 'ave a little bit saved up, we should be rather short when you're dahn in yer luck.'


'Well, what can I do, Tom dear?' 'Why, come with me, of course. Oh. Liza, do say yes.'


''S'at right, Liza?' called Sally. And Liza feeling quite joyful and light of heart called back: 'Yus!' ''Oorray!' shouted Sally in answer. 'Thet's right, Liza,' called Jim; and he smiled pleasantly as she looked at him.


Liza said this with just a little regret in her voice. 'Come on dahn to the "Red Lion", Liza, and see us off,' said Sally. 'No, I'm damned if I do!' answered Liza, with some warmth. 'You might as well. P'raps 'Arry won't be there, an' you can keep me company till 'e comes. An' you can see the 'orses.'


She had reaped the benefit of keeping her hair in curl papers since Saturday, and her sandy fringe stretched from ear to ear. She was in enormous spirits.


Tom was standing by her side, silent, and looking disappointed and rather unhappy. Jim said to her, in a low voice: 'I am sorry you're not comin'!' It was too much.


'I can't,' he answered. 'I'm not a singin' sort.' At which Blakeston got up and offered to sing again.


'Na  you've got to get up at five.' 'Oh, I only said thet not ter go inter the pub with them.' 'So as yer might come 'ere with me?' asked Liza. 'Yus!' 'No, I'm not comin'. Good night.'


He didn't answer, but tried to take hold of her hand. She drew it away quickly. They walked in silence till they came to Liza's house.


He bent down and, taking her in his arms, kissed her passionately. 'You do kiss nice, Liza,' he said, making the others laugh. 'Thanks for tikin' me aht, old man,' she said as they parted. 'Arright, Liza,' he answered, and added, almost to himself: 'God bless yer!'


Liza, too, had foreseen the separation into couples after dinner, and had been racking her brains to find a means of getting out of it.


'But she'll know yer didn't go ter the pub.' 'Na, she won't, she's gone straight upstairs to see after the kid. I wanted ter see yer alone, Liza.' 'Why?' He didn't answer, but tried to take hold of her hand. She drew it away quickly. They walked in silence till they came to Liza's house.


They exchanged cheers and greetings as they passed, the 'Red Lion' brake being noticeable above all for its uproariousness. As the day wore on the sun became hotter, and the road seemed more dusty and threw up a greater heat. 'I am getting 'ot!' was the common cry, and everyone began to puff and sweat.


But Tom kept walking alongside of them, and as Jim slightly quickened his pace so as to get Liza on in front, Tom quickened his, and Mrs. Blakeston, who didn't want to be left behind, had to break into a little trot to keep up with them.


He collected himself and spat again, further than before, she followed him, and in this idyllic contest they remained till the tootling horn warned them to take their places. * * * * * At last they reached Chingford, and here the horses were taken out and the drag, on which they were to lunch, drawn up in a sheltered spot.


Tom did not want to part from Liza, but she broke in with: 'Yus, go on, Tom. Sally an' me'll git along arright, an' you ain't got too much time.' 'Yus, good night, 'Arry,' said Sally to settle the matter.


he felt that he had never in his life been so deliciously happy.


It represented two rooms and a passage in between; in one room a dead man was lying on the floor, while two others were standing horror stricken, listening to a youth who was in the passage, knocking at the door.


'I say, Bill,' she said at last to one of the boys who was fielding close beside her, 'that there Blakeston  d'you know 'im?'


I can say this, there ain't a soberer woman than myself in all London. Why, my first 'usband never touched a drop.


I don't mind thet, an' when 'e don't tike a mean advantage of me I can stand up for myself an' give as good as I tike; an' many's the time I give my fust husband a black eye. But the language 'e used, an' the things 'e called me!


''As yer rheumatism been troublin' yer litely?' asked Mrs. Stanley. 'Oh, cruel. Liza rubs me with embrocation every night, but it torments me cruel.' Mrs. Kemp then went into the house, and Liza remained talking to Mrs. Stanley, she, too, had to go in, and Liza was left alone.


'To tell yer the truth, I 'ad a few words with my old man. But one doesn't like them things to get abaht; yer won't tell anyone, will yer?' 'Not me!' answered Liza. 'I didn't know yer husband was like thet.' 'Oh, 'e's as gentle as a lamb when 'e's sober,' said Mrs. Stanley, apologetically.


'Arright, Liza, don't get shirty over it; I don't mean no offence.' 'What d'yer say it for then?' 'Well, I thought as seeing as yer'd gone aht with 'im yesterday thet yer meant ter after all.'


'An' you ain't been married long neither?' said Liza. 'Na, not above eighteen months; ain't it disgriceful?


Two tears escaped from the corners of her eyes and ran down her nose, but she felt very relieved and happy, and let him lead her where he would.


'Good night!' she said, abruptly, turning away from him. 'Well, I'm damned if 'e ain't forgotten!' she said to herself, sulkily, as she marched home. The following evening about six o'clock, it suddenly struck her that it was the last night of the 'New and Sensational Drama'.


At the pub door she drew back. 'I say, guv'ner,' she said, 'there'll be some of the coves from dahn our street, and they'll see us.'


''Oo are yer goin' with, then?' 'I'm goin' alone.' 'Garn! don't be a bloomin' jackass!' Liza was feeling very injured. 'Thet's 'ow you treat me! I shall go 'ome.


'I've been witin' for yer this 'alf hour.' She turned round and saw Jim standing just behind her. ''Oo are you talkin' to? I'm not goin' to the ply with you. Wot d'yer tike me for, eh?' ''Oo are yer goin' with, then?' 'I'm goin' alone.' 'Garn! don't be a bloomin' jackass!'


Liza's heart beat rapidly and she turned red; but suddenly a sense of shame came over her, and casting down her head so that she might not see him, she said: 'I think I'll be off 'ome an' see 'ow mother's gettin' on.' And before Polly could say anything she had slipped away and entered her own house.


She walked close along the sides of the houses like a thief, and the policeman as she passed him turned round and looked at her, wondering whether she was meditating some illegal deed. She breathed freely on coming into the open road, and seeing Jim skulking behind a tree, ran up to him, and in the shadows they kissed again.


She did not want to dress yet, but rather to sit down and think, so she twisted up her hair into a little knot, slipped a skirt over her nightdress, and sat on a chair near the window and began looking around.


'Why, yer talks as if I didn't like yer. Yer don't think I'd 'ave come aht beanfeastin' with yer if I 'adn't liked yer?' Liza was really very dishonest, but she felt so happy this morning that she loved the whole world, and of course Tom came in with the others.


'Where 'ave you been idin' yerself, Tom? I ain't seen yer for I dunno 'ow long.' 'I've been abaht as usual; an' I've seen you when you didn't see me.' 'Well, yer might 'ave come up and said good mornin' when you see me.' 'I didn't want ter force myself on, yer, Liza.'


'Think I'm kidding? What d'yer think I want ter kid for? Liars never believe anyone, thet's fact.' 'Na then, Liza, don't be saucy.' 'Saucy! I'll smack yer in the eye if yer sy much ter me. Come on,' she said to Jim, who had been standing sheepishly by; and they walked away.


She whispered to Jim: 'Back us up,' and as they met she said to one of the men: ''Ulloa there! Where are you off to?'


When the ring had to be produced, Harry fumbled about in different pockets, and his brother whispered: 'Swop me bob, 'e's gone and lorst it!' However, all went right, and Sally having carefully pocketed the certificate, they went out and had another drink to celebrate the happy event.


9 Thus began a time of love and joy.


'Tom,' she said, 'why don't yer speak ter me.' He started and blushed more than ever. 'I didn't know yer was there,' he stuttered. 'Don't tell me,' she said, 'wot's up?' 'Nothin' as I knows of,' he answered uneasily. 'I ain't offended yer, 'ave I, Tom?'


About eleven o'clock, when the trains grew less frequent, they got some quietness; but then their minds were troubled, and they felt heavy, sad and miserable.


The wet mud made Liza's skirts cling about her feet, and the damp would come in and chill her legs and creep up her body, till she shivered, and for warmth pressed herself close against Jim.


She went to the factory with her hat over her eyes and her head bent down; she escaped observation, but on the way home she was not so lucky.


'Well, she don't exactly sy it, but she sulks an' won't speak, an' then when I says anythin' she rounds on me an' calls me all the nimes she can think of.


She had lost Sally too, for on her marriage Harry had made her give up the factory; he was a young man with principles worthy of a Member of Parliament, and he had said: 'A woman's plice is 'er 'ome, an' if 'er old man can't afford ter keep 'er without 'er workin' in a factory  well, all I can say is thet 'e'd better go an' git single.'


They're all like thet  'usbinds is all alike; they're arright when they're sober  sometimes  but when they've got the liquor in 'em, they're beasts, an' no mistike. I 'ad a 'usbind myself for five an' twenty years, an' I know 'em.'


Mrs. Blakeston attacked Liza madly; but the girl stood up bravely, and as well as she could gave back the blows she received. The spectators grew tremendously excited.


Jim caught hold of his wife's head and began beating it against the floor. She cried out: 'You're killing me! Help! help!'


They drank each other's health. Everything was getting blurred to Liza, she was losing her head.


Liza sprang on her, and with her hands spread out like claws buried her nails in the woman's face and drew them down her cheeks. Mrs. Blakeston caught hold of her hair with both hands and tugged at it as hard as she could. But they were immediately separated.


'You 'ave been good ter me, Tom,' she repeated, her voice still broken with sobs; and as he sat down beside her she took his hand.


Liza wished the policemen would come and take her off; she would willingly have gone to prison to escape the fiend in front of her; but no help came. 'Time's up!' shouted the referee. 'Fire away!' 'Tike care of the cops!' shouted a man. 'There's no fear abaht them,' answered somebody else. 'They always keeps out of the way when there's anythin' goin' on.' 'Fire away!'


'She's ever so much bigger than me; I've got no chanst,' added Liza tearfully. 'You should 'ave thought of thet before. Come on!' and with these words Mrs. Blakeston rushed upon her. She hit her with both fists one after the other.


Jim put on his hat and went out, slamming the door, while the woman shouted after him: 'Good riddance!' * * * * * 'Lord love yer,' said Mrs. Kemp, 'wot is the matter?' She had just come in, and opening the door had started back in surprise at seeing Liza on the bed, all tears.


Jim stopped and gazed at his wife. He got up and gave her a kick. 'Git up!' he said; but she remained huddled up on the floor, moaning feebly. The woman from downstairs went on her knees and took her head in her arms. 'Never mind, Mrs. Blakeston. 'E's not goin' ter touch yer. 'Ere, drink this little drop of water.'


One of the women started up and said to her husband: 'Come on, John, you go an' stop it.' 'Don't you, John,' said the other man. 'When a man's givin' 'is wife socks it's best not ter interfere.' 'But 'e's killin' 'er,' repeated Polly, trembling with fright.


But quickly recovering herself the woman closed with Liza, and dug her nails into her flesh. Liza caught hold of her hair and pulled with all her might, and turning her teeth on Mrs. Blakeston tried to bite her.


You're right, mother, when you're in trouble there's nothin' like a bit of spirits.' 'Well, if I don't know, I dunno 'oo does, for the trouble I've 'ad, it 'ud be enough to kill many women.


Liza sat up and dried her eyes. 'I am so un'appy!' 'Wot 'ave yer been doin' ter yer fice? My!' 'Nothin'.' 'Garn! Yer can't 'ave got a fice like thet all by itself.' 'I 'ad a bit of a scrimmage with a woman dahn the street,' sobbed out Liza.


'You're right, Liza  you're right. An' you wanted it badly. Fancy you 'avin' a fight with a woman! Oh, I've 'ad some in my day, but then I wasn't a little bit of a thing like you is.


'Oh, thet's all over now, old lidy, we needn't think of thet.' 'Oh, but I 'ave treated yer bad. I'm a regular wrong 'un, I am.'


Then all was silence. And a heaviness seemed to fill the air like a grey blight, cold and suffocating; and the heaviness was Death.


Mrs. Hodges went over and looked at Liza; she was lying just as when she left in the morning, her cheeks flushed, her mouth open for breath, and tiny beads of sweat stood on her forehead. ''Ow are yer, ducky?' asked Mrs. Hodges; but Liza did not answer.


'Of course the other one  well, she was only a prostitute, so it didn't so much matter. It ain't like another woman is it?' 'Na, you're right.'


'Tike it awy,' said Liza, turning from it in disgust; 'the smell of it gives me the sick. I'll never touch spirits again.' 'Ah, thet's wot we all says sometime in our lives, but we does, an' wot's more we can't do withaht it. Why, me, the 'ard life I've 'ad  .' It is unnecessary to repeat Mrs. Kemp's repetitions.


An' me! Well, I can sy this  I've done my duty by the girl, an' she's never learnt anythin' but good from me.


'Yus,' remarked another, 'she got me through my last confinement simply wonderful. If it come to choosin' between 'em I'd back Mrs. 'Odges against forty doctors.' 'Ter tell yer the truth, so would I. I've never known 'er wrong yet.'


'It's my belief she's unconscious,' said Mrs. Kemp. 'I've been askin' 'er 'oo it was as done it, but she don't seem to 'ear wot I say. It's been a great shock ter me, Mrs. 'Odges.' 'I believe you,' replied that lady, sympathetically. 'Well, when you come in and said wot it was, yer might 'ave knocked me dahn with a feather.


'I'm not in the 'abit of tikin' anythin' when I'm aht on business,' she apologized, 'but just ter keep you company I don't mind if I do.' 'Your 'ealth. Mrs. 'Odges.' 'Sime ter you, an' thank yer, Mrs. Kemp.' Liza lay still, breathing very quietly, her eyes closed. The doctor kept his fingers on her pulse.


'Well, Mrs. Kemp, tike it all in all, I ain't got no grounds for complaint. I'm in the 'abit of askin' five shillings, an' I will say this, I don't think it's too much for wot I do.' The news of Liza's illness had quickly spread, and more than once in the course of the day a neighbour had come to ask after her.


'Never mind, Mrs. Kemp,' said Mrs. Hodges, 'don't worry 'er now; you'll be able ter find aht all abaht it when she gits better.' For a while the two women sat still, waiting the doctor's coming, and Liza lay gazing vacantly at the wall, panting for breath.


'She's just living,' said the doctor. Jim bent down. 'Liza, Liza, speak ter me! Liza, say you forgive me!


I didn't 'ave Mr. Footley at thet time; we didn't live 'ere then, we lived in Battersea, an' all our undertikin' was done by Mr. Brownin'; well, 'e sent the coffin up, an' we got my old man in, but we couldn't get the lid down, he was so swell up. Well, Mr. Brownin', 'e was a great big man, thirteen stone if 'e was a ounce.


"I believe you," says 'e. "Well," 'e says, "now which do you think? Does hoak look better than helm, or does helm look better than hoak? Hoak _versus_ helm, thet's the question." "Well, Mr. Footley," says I, "for my own private opinion, when you've got a nice brass plite in the middle, an' nice brass 'andles each end, there's nothin' like hoak."


Tie in a living tether The prince and priest and thrall, Bind all our lives together, Smite us and save us all; In ire and exultation Aflame with faith, and free, Lift up a living nation, A single sword to thee.


This woof is y woven With entrails of men, This warp is hardweighted With heads of the slain, Spears blood besprinkled For spindles we use, Our loom ironbound, And arrows our reels; With swords for our shuttles This war woof we work; So weave we, weird sisters, Our warwinning woof. Now War winner walketh To weave in her turn.


Of kinsmen none (Though ne'er so kind) To brother can stand In brother's stead. 16. 'O'er all our ice fields, Our northern snows, Few now I find Faithful and true.


But on the arrival of the cavalry regiment everything changed. The streets became more lively and wore quite another aspect.


It was late  that is, according to country customs  when the lady awoke again.


"Your excellency will make the acquaintance of the mistress of the house." "That will be most agreeable to me," said the general, twirling his moustache. Tchertokoutski was firmly resolved to return home at once in order to make all necessary preparations in good time.


"No, no, such things are inconceivable," said the general angrily. "If he could not receive us, why did he invite us?" "I cannot understand, your excellency, how it is possible to act in such a manner," observed a young officer. "What?"


When you happened to pass through the town and glanced at its little mud houses with their incredibly gloomy aspect, the pen refuses to express what you felt.


The general began to look at her with evident satisfaction, and left off smoking. The colonel himself went down the steps and patted her neck. The major ran his hand down her legs, and all the other officers clicked their tongues at her.


"There is nothing remarkable about it," said the general; "it is a very ordinary calash." "Nothing to look at," added the colonel; "there is absolutely nothing good about it." "It seems to me, your excellency, that it is not worth four thousand rubles," remarked a young officer. "What?"


"Visitors, what visitors?" After saying these words he uttered a little plaintive grunt like that of a sucking calf: "M m m. Let me kiss you." "My dear, get up at once, for heaven's sake. The general has come with all his officers. Ah! goodness, you have got a thistle in your moustache."


All around the rest of the market place are nothing but palings.


Oysters should be laid on a cloth to drain thoroughly, then rolled in fine sifted cracker dust, and dropped into very hot fat; do not put more oysters in the pan than will fry without one overlapping the other.


You have now detached one quarter of the flesh from the bone, do the other half in the same way, and when the back is thus entirely loose from the bone, turn the fish over and do the same with the other part.


INTRODUCTION. The title I gave to these lectures ought, like all titles, to have been as definite, as plain, and as significant as possible; now, however, I observe that owing to a certain excess of precision, in its present form it is too short and consequently misleading.


Should any reader demur and suggest that all that is required is prompt and bold reform; should he imagine that a new "organisation" introduced by the State, were all that is necessary, then we fear he would have misunderstood not only the author but the very nature of the problem under consideration.


On the other hand, I know full well under what distinguished auspices I have to deliver these lectures  namely, in a city which is striving to educate and enlighten its inhabitants on a scale so magnificently out of proportion to its size, that it must put all larger cities to shame.


I am, moreover, convinced that the numerous alterations which have been introduced into these institutions within recent years, with the view of bringing them up to date, are for the most part but distortions and aberrations of the originally sublime tendencies given to them at their foundation.


My scheme is as follows:   Two seemingly antagonistic forces, equally deleterious in their actions and ultimately combining to produce their results, are at present ruling over our educational institutions, although these were based originally upon very different principles.


"Brighter now glow'd his cheek, and still more bright With that unchanging, ever youthful glow:   That courage which o'ercomes, in hard fought fight, Sooner or later ev'ry earthly foe,   That faith which soaring to the realms of light, Now boldly presseth on, now bendeth low, So that the good may work, wax, thrive amain, So that the day the noble may attain."


If you insist upon having that place among the trees, grant us at least the permission to recline there also.


This reply, which was certainly not polite, made a bad impression upon the old man. At first, when he heard that we were not about to fight a duel, he surveyed us more kindly: but when we reached the last passage of our speech, he seemed so vexed that he growled.


I and my friend had many reminiscences in common, and these dated from the period of our boyhood upwards. One of these I must relate to you, since it forms a sort of prelude to the harmless experience already mentioned.


Let us now imagine ourselves in the position of a young student  that is to say, in a position which, in our present age of bewildering movement and feverish excitability, has become an almost impossible one.


The companion noticing our momentary discomfiture, proceeded to explain the matter to us.


We used even to quarrel with each other as to which of us should have the glory of being the more useless.


For the study of science has been extended to such interminable lengths that he who, though not exceptionally gifted, yet possesses fair abilities, will need to devote himself exclusively to one branch and ignore all others if he ever wish to achieve anything in his work.


"I have heard too much from your lips at odd times and have been too long in your company to be able to surrender myself entirely to our present system of education and instruction. I am too painfully conscious of the disastrous errors and abuses to which you used to call my attention  though I very well know that I am not strong enough to hope for any success were I to struggle ever so valiantly against them.


The sage laughed. "What? You were afraid a philosopher would prevent your philosophising? This might easily happen: and you have not yet experienced such a thing?


'Fidelity in small things,' 'dogged faithfulness,' become expressions of highest eulogy, and the lack of culture outside the speciality is flaunted abroad as a sign of noble sufficiency.


As much knowledge and education as possible; therefore the greatest possible supply and demand  hence as much happiness as possible:  that is the formula. In this case utility is made the object and goal of education,  utility in the sense of gain  the greatest possible pecuniary gain.


According to the morality reigning here, the demands are quite different; what is required above all is 'rapid education,' so that a money earning creature may be produced with all speed; there is even a desire to make this education so thorough that a creature may be reared that will be able to earn a _great deal_ of money.


"You are unchanged," he cried to him, "unfortunately unchanged. It is quite incomprehensible to me how you can still be the same as you were seven years ago, when I saw you for the last time and left you with so much misgiving. I fear I must once again divest you, however reluctantly, of the skin of modern culture which you have donned meanwhile;  and what do I find beneath it?


In the newspaper the peculiar educational aims of the present culminate, just as the journalist, the servant of the moment, has stepped into the place of the genius, of the leader for all time, of the deliverer from the tyranny of the moment.


I shall now proceed to say a few words of comfort to you. How long do you suppose the state of education in the schools of our time, which seems to weigh so heavily upon you, will last?


On the other hand, uniform mediocrity gets peevish praise; for, as a rule, it is just the class of work likely to bore the teacher thoroughly. "There may still be men who recognise a most absurd and most dangerous element of the public school curriculum in the whole farce of this German composition.


He who understands how to apply what he has heard here will also know what to think of the modern public school as a so called educational institution.


Therefore, dear master, enlighten me concerning the public schools; what can we hope for in the way of their abolition or reform?" "I also hold the question of public schools to be as important as you do," the philosopher replied.


I am too painfully conscious of the disastrous errors and abuses to which you were wont to call my attention; and yet I know that I am far from possessing the requisite strength to meet with success, however valiantly I might struggle to shatter the bulwarks of this would be culture.


If this is not possible, I would prefer in future that Latin be spoken; for I am ashamed of a language so bungled and vitiated.


It is the first individual creation; the still undeveloped powers tend for the first time to crystallise; the staggering sensation produced by the demand for self reliance imparts a seductive charm to these early performances, which is not only quite new, but which never returns.


_ history, mathematics, etc.], and one of the utmost value: but what do we find in the public school  that is to say, in the head quarters of formal education? He who understands how to apply what he has heard here will also know what to think of the modern public school as a so called educational institution.


This can be clearly seen from the way in which German is taught.


And so long as German public schools prepare the road for outrageous and irresponsible scribbling, so long as they do not regard the immediate and practical discipline of speaking and writing as their most holy duty, so long as they treat the mother tongue as if it were only a necessary evil or a dead body, I shall not regard these institutions as belonging to real culture.


This is the sad plight of the public school of to day: the narrowest views remain in a certain measure right, because no one seems able to reach or, at least, to indicate the spot where all these views culminate in error."


Culture begins, however, with the correct movement of the language: and once it has properly begun, it begets that physical sensation in the presence of 'elegant' writers which is known by the name of 'loathing.'


In Germany, on the other hand, they will strike him as unoriginal, flabby, filled with dressing gown thoughts and expressions, unpleasantly spread out, and therewithal possessing no background of social form.


Up to the present their recognition by the public schools has been owing almost solely to the doubtful æsthetic hobbies of a few teachers or to the massive effects of certain of their tragedies and novels.


when, for example, he discovers in Pythagoras a colleague who is as enthusiastic as himself in arguing about politics. Another racks his brains as to why Œdipus was condemned by fate to perform such abominable deeds  killing his father, marrying his mother. Where lies the blame! Where the poetic justice!


These very people, using these very means, are fighting against the natural hierarchy in the realm of the intellect, and destroying the roots of all those noble and sublime plastic forces which have their material origin in the unconsciousness of the people, and which fittingly terminate in the procreation of genius and its due guidance and proper training.


"But," said the philosopher's companion, "what purposes can the State have in view with such a strange aim? For that it has some State objects in view is seen in the manner in which the conditions of Prussian schools are admired by, meditated upon, and occasionally imitated by other States.


Why does the State require that surplus of educational institutions, of teachers? Why this education of the masses on such an extended scale?


We are education! We are at the zenith! We are the apexes of the pyramids! We are the aims of universal history!'


Another widens the scope and needs of his ego as much as possible, and builds the mausoleum of this ego in vast proportions, as if he were prepared to fight and conquer that terrible adversary, Time.


I have already told you that at that place and at that hour we had intended to hold a festival in commemoration of something: and this something had to do with nothing else than matters concerning educational training, of which we, in our own youthful opinions, had garnered a plentiful harvest during our past life.


"Let me give you an example. If you wish to guide a young man on the path of true culture, beware of interrupting his naive, confident, and, as it were, immediate and personal relationship with nature.


He was just about to move off, and had already turned sideways when we rushed up to him. The dog turned sharply round and barked, thinking doubtless, like the philosopher's companion, of an attempt at robbery rather than an enraptured embrace. It was plain that he had forgotten us. In a word, he ran away.


"I think," interrupted the philosopher's companion at this point, "the gentlemen have already told us that they promised to meet some one here at this hour; but it seems to me that they listened to our comedy of education like a chorus, and truly 'idealistic spectators'  for they did not disturb us; we thought we were alone with each other."


For it is easy to see that we have up to the present been living and educating ourselves in the wrong way  but what can we do to cross over the chasm between to day and to morrow?"


This hour was so well timed for us, and our minds were so well prepared, that we sat there like empty vessels, and now it seems as if we were filled to overflowing with this new wisdom: for I no longer know how to help myself, and if some one asked me what I am thinking of doing to morrow, or what I have made up my mind to do with myself from now on, I should not know what to answer.


[7] I cannot, however, refrain from adding the melancholy reflection: if it be true that secondary and public schools are, on the whole, working so heartily in common towards the same ends, and differ from each other only in such a slight degree, that they may take equal rank before the tribunal of the State, then we completely lack another kind of educational institutions: those for the development of culture!


How steadfastly and faithfully must the few followers of that culture  which might almost be called sectarian  be ever on the alert! How they must strengthen and uphold one another!


that spirit which, without the help of some such institution, drags out an isolated, debased, and degraded existence. All those great men were utterly ruined; and it is only an insane belief in the Hegelian 'reasonableness of all happenings' which would absolve you of any responsibility in the matter.


How greatly I feel the danger of travelling alone! And when it occurred to me that I could save myself by flight from all contact with the spirit of the time, I found that this flight itself was a mere delusion.


On the other path you will have but few fellow travellers: it is more arduous, winding and precipitous; and those who take the first path will mock you, for your progress is more wearisome, and they will try to lure you over into their own ranks.


Don't be in a hurry; carry this question about with you, but do at any rate consider it day and night.


If you take the one, your age will receive you with open arms, you will not find it wanting in honours and decorations: you will form units of an enormous rank and file; and there will be as many people like minded standing behind you as in front of you.


From the tone of resignation in which you have just referred to students many would be inclined to think that you had some peculiar experiences which were not at all to your liking; but personally I rather believe that you saw and experienced in such places just what every one else saw and experienced in them, but that you judged what you saw and felt more justly and severely than any one else.


"Permit me, however, to measure this independence of yours by the standard of this culture, and to consider your university as an educational institution and nothing else. If a foreigner desires to know something of the methods of our universities, he asks first of all with emphasis: 'How is the student connected with the university?'


"Those are torches," I cried, "there is nothing surer than that my comrades from Bonn are over yonder, and that your friend must be with them. It is they who sang that peculiar song, and they have doubtless accompanied your friend here. See! Listen! They are putting off in little boats. The whole torchlight procession will have arrived here in less than half an hour."


A coloured flame, making a crackling noise for a few seconds, attracted our attention from the direction of the Rhine; and immediately following upon this we heard a slow, harmonious call, quite in tune, although plainly the cry of numerous youthful voices.


I continued the argument where my friend left off. "It even seems to me," I said, "that everything for which you have justly blamed the public school is only a necessary means employed to imbue the youthful student with some kind of independence, or at all events with the belief that there is such a thing.


If Latin and Greek studies prove insufficient to make a student an enthusiastic admirer of antiquity, the methods with which such studies are pursued are at all events sufficient to awaken the scientific sense, the desire for a more strict causality of knowledge, the passion for finding out and inventing.


"The teacher, however, speaks to these listening students. Whatever else he may think and do is cut off from the student's perception by an immense gap. The professor often reads when he is speaking.


"For that was the doom of those promising students: they did not find the leaders they wanted.


In low and despondent spirits he sees his plans vanish away in smoke. His condition is undignified, even dreadful: he keeps between the two extremes of work at high pressure and a state of melancholy enervation. Then he becomes tired, lazy, afraid of work, fearful of everything great; and hating himself.


"We find our academical 'independents' growing up without philosophy and without art; and how can they then have any need to 'go in for' the Greeks and Romans?


From our degenerate literary art, as also from that itch for scribbling of our learned men which has now reached such alarming proportions, wells forth the same sigh: Oh that we could forget ourselves!


He may have learnt on the field of battle what he could learn least of all in the sphere of 'academical freedom': that great leaders are necessary, and that all culture begins with obedience. And in the midst of victory, with his thoughts turned to his liberated fatherland, he made the vow that he would remain German. German!


Undisturbed by the idealising effect of the sound, you could never see enough of the stern, medieval, wood cutting movement of this comical spectacle, this harmonious parody on the _homo sapiens_. "Now, on the other hand, assume that your musical sense has returned, and that your ears are opened.


" Yes," drawled Angela, " but they have a staff to supplement. Ah, if we were only quite poor


Mind, I don't say that I am not fond of a little society myself " " Oh, mamma, dear ! don't be intolerable ! " " I don't know w^hat you mean. But I do know that it's chiefly for your sake that your father consents to these Sunday evenings. And you know that it's the dream of our lives to see you happily married — like Maria.


Of the under  studies there were many ; her rooms were full on Sunday evening. Mr. Wycherley would be seen there sometimes ; he sat in corners, and was mildly disapproving ; he made the money, and Mrs. Wycherley spent it. Still, he acknowledged that his daughter Angela must have every chance, and the salon was in some sense a chance.


By the time that Mr. Wycherley had entered, Angela had composed herself. Mr. Wycherley was short and bald, with a slight tendency towards rotundity.


Her brief storm had passed. "You're feeling low," Mrs. Wycherley continued decisively. " Now, be guided by me, and take something.


These things afterwards were transferred to a spare and permanently unoccupied bedroom. It was thought that 4 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. Angela had been responsible for their removal. Angela considered that the room was irre  deemable, and thought that cheap attempts at redemption humiliated her.


— round by the mill (thinking about Eichmond, you know), and then oif to the left into Wimbledon (changed my mind, you see).


As a tonic for the stomach I believe that there's nothing " " Oh, mamma, mamma ! " said Angela suddenly, " why do we keep on fighting ? I used to love our parties once, but I'm getting to know things. We're ridiculous. We aren't quite what we want to be, and we are the more absurd because in some things we are so very near it.


" Eton and Cambridge — but you couldn't believe it." " I believe it entirely. Now then, you shall get up. Steady ! — there, that's it ! Now, slowly."


The valet had left the lamp and the candles by his bed  side alight, so it seemed certain that he would return. The valet had treated him with the utmost respect, as an honoured guest, and not as a relieved vagabond.


Then I asked myself if that kind of thing was science as I loved it — if it really assisted the great cause of humanity for which alone I live. I gave up my practice. I study the individual man only when he is likely to throw light on THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 23 the ao^sfreo ate. I never work on behalf of the individual. But I tire you."


Ah ! I'm talking far too much ! " Claudius was watchincj him with keen 22 TEE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. interest. " No, no," he said, " go on, I'm beginning to understand." " That really is all — only on Sunday even  ings do I walk, because it is not church but is service. The rest of my time is given to work." " To work, doctor


" Gabriel, did you love me when you married me ? " Her downcast eyes were raised and looked full at his. " I am a man of like passions to others."


And I despise myself for ever thinking about such light things, when I realize the greatness of the work before me.


It was brightly lighted ; on a side table the coffee and liqueurs had been placed all ready. At one end of the room was a door leading into the laboratory. The doctor opened the door and looked in ; the laboratory was in darkness, but he reached his hand upward to a button in the wall and switched on the electric light.


It wasn't for the money and comfort that I married you. I loved you. You loved me once, Gabriel ; science did not stand first ; you used to make concessions to me." " I am making concessions now."


He was interrupted, however, almost imme  diately, by the entrance of his wife. She had changed her dress, and was wearing a loose black tea gown. It suited her fairly well, and her pale face had now a pretty tinge of colour in it. Dr. Lamb looked at her critically. " You've changed," he began.


You must go to bed at once." She rose like a whipped child. " I'm sorry," THE OCTAVE OP CLAUDIUS. 35 she said, in a low husky voice ; "I forgot, I know you don't like scenes, and I'm wanting to try very hard to please you in everything. I'm going ; good night, dear."


There's nothing so small in the impulses of collected humanity, the aggregate. Mankind," he con  tinued, speaking more to himself than to 30 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. her, " is so great, and isolated man's so small."


His next letter was to Luke Monsett. And to him Henry Burnage employed a sort of sham literary style, with a good deal of affectation, short paragraphs, and capital letters in it.


Just as a mean motive and a more generous motive had made Henry decide to marry Angela, a mixture of motives influenced him in the treatment of his father.


This alone made him different from the kind of man that his son was. The father was somewhat Puritanical, and quite uncultured ; here again the son was different.


He seemed to hear music ; the wedding march took its memorable downward sweep, curled over the key note, and broke at his feet.


In fact, not very long after this date. Dr. Gabriel Lamb wrote a letter to his bankers, asking them to place eight thousand pounds to the credit of Mr. Claudius Sandell (of whose signature he enclosed examples) during a period of eight consecutive days, to commence on the following Saturday morning.


Certainly the embrocation which he prescribed seems to have done wonders. So you have got the main drainage at last, and are compelled to connect with it ; I always said that it would THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 45 come, and after the initial expenses you will probably find the arrangement much more satisfactory.


It must mean that he is ashamed of something.


To nioht his letter ran as follows : — " My dear Father, " You may be assured that your last letter — stating that you have had no return of the sciatica — gave me great pleasure. I was delighted to hear that you managed to get as far as from our house to the cemetery.


Otherwise I should have been glad to have lent him 46 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. a few shillings for the sake of old times together at Cambridge. Of course, we do not know what the quarrel w^as between Sir Constantine and Claudius.


Your affectionate son, " Henry Burnage." His next letter was to Luke Monsett.


To interest the reader in home problems, twenty four charts have been scattered throughout the volume, which bear upon our own conditions, with the expectation, also, that the different methods of graphic representation here presented would lead students to apply them to other questions.


By far the ablest of the group, both by reason of his natural gifts and his training as a banker and financial editor, was Walter Bagehot.


In simpler terms, value is measured by the cost of reproduction. The value of every article thus declines as the arts advance, while the general command of commodities constantly increases.


Say's work was later supplemented by an Italian, Pellegrino Rossi,(38) who, in his "Cours d'économie politique" (1843 1851), naturalized the doctrines of Malthus and Ricardo on French soil. His work is of solid value, and he and Say have given rise to an active school of political economy in France.


Lalor, after the example of the French dictionaries.


The latter was a follower of Bastiat and Carey, as regards value and rent, and at the same time was a radical believer in _laissez faire_. Since the union of Italy there has been a new interest in economic study, as with us after our war.


The best known of the German protectionists is Friedrich List, the author of "Das nationale System der politischen Oekonomie" (1841), whose doctrines are very similar to those of H. C. Carey in this country.(78) An able writer on administrative functions and finance(79) is Lorenz Stein, of Vienna.


The other writers of this group are Von Böhmert,(75) Faucher, Braun, Wolff, Michaelis, Emminghaus,(76) Wirth,(77) Hertzka, and Von Holtzendorf.


The economist does not pretend that his assumptions are descriptions of economic conditions existing at a given time; he simply considers them as forces (often acting many on one point or occasion) to be inquired into separately, inasmuch as concrete phenomena are the resultants of several forces, not to be known until we know the separate operation of each of the conjoined forces.


(64) The latter is by far the most important, as shown by his "L'économie rurale de la France depuis 1789" (1857), which gives a means of comparing recent French agriculture with that before the Revolution, as described in Arthur Young's "Travels in France" (1789).


The Saracens, drawn up on shore and waiting for him, were so amazed at the impetuosity of this king — who sprang overboard and waded ashore to encounter them sooner — that they turned and fled. Their panic enabled the crusaders to se  cure the city of Damietta, where they found great stores and much plunder.


Louis also encouraged one of his counselors, Robert de Sorbon (de sor b6N'), to leave his fortune to found a school for poor students in theology. This institution is still known as the " Sorbonne " (s5r b6n'), and is now the center of public instruction in France.


By the death of many relatives and subjects at Tunis, his crown estates had been greatly increased, and he soon found himself master, in his own right, of about half the land in all France.


His first royal act had been to make a treaty with the Bey of Tunis, whereby all Christian captives should be freed, and the war expenses paid.


Although, with the exception of the first, none of these undertakings proved wholly successful, the crusades brought about many changes for the better in Europe. Not only did they ex  tend people's knowledge, but they furthered commerce, encouraged the navy, and introduced many new customs, new plants, and new goods in the kingdom.


Such was the number of Flemings who suddenly appeared on all sides to take part in this fight, that Philip exclaimed in dismay : " Does it then rain Flemings


They treated him cruelly and put him in prison, where he dared eat little for fear of being poisoned.


When the news of this massacre reached court, the French promptly armed to punish Flanders, and Philip set out at the head of large forces to meet the enemy at Courtrai (koor tre', 1302). There the famous encounter known as the "Battle of the Spurs" was fought.


Such was the number of Flemings who suddenly appeared on all sides to take part in this fight, that Philip exclaimed in dismay : " Does it then rain Flemings ? " The Flemings were so proud of the victory won at Courtrai, that they hung up in the cathedral of that city seven thousand spurs taken from their dead foemen.


For would not the temptation arise to peer over the wall if a young man heard, perhaps songs, one evening the other side? And at first he would have some pretext and afterwards none at all, and the pretext would vary wonderfully little with the generations, while the ivy went on growing thicker and thicker.


Mathematics will give you no picture of what France has suffered. If I tell you what one garden is like, one village, one house, one cathedral, after the German war has swept by, and if you read my words, I may help you perhaps to imagine more easily what France has suffered than if I spoke of millions.


And the old wall of the garden that divides it from its neighbour, of solid stone and brick, over fifteen feet high, it is that mighty old wall that held the romance of the garden.


They had been twelve days in the trenches and had marched out at evening. They had marched five miles and were among tin huts in quite a different world.


He was too proud to seek him out; indeed, he never thought of that; and so he waited alone in his fine house, sick at heart, impotent, hoping against hope that the boy would come back. The boy never came.


However, "Of course," Margaret began, in a crisp voice, "if you advise Mr. Woods to marry me as a good speculation  " But her father caught her up, with a whistle. "Eh?" said he.


Not unkindly; no, for at bottom she adored her father  a comely Englishman of some sixty odd, who had run through his wife's fortune and his own, in the most gallant fashion  and she accorded his opinions a conscientious, but at times, a sorely taxed, tolerance.


I have always esteemed Margaret the obvious, sensible, most appropriate name that can be bestowed upon a girl child, for it is a name that fits a woman  any woman  as neatly as her proper size in gloves.


In the consummation of time, Billy, having attained the ripe age of eighteen, announced to his uncle that he intended to become a famous painter. Frederick R. Woods exhorted him not to be a fool, and packed him off to college.


Who wants to be told that impropriety is the spice of life and that a roving eye gathers remorse? _You_ may call that sort of thing cleverness, if you like; I call it damn' foolishness." And the emphasis with which he said this left no doubt that the Colonel spoke his honest opinion.


In this case it arose, I believe, over Teddy Anstruther, who for a cousin was undeniably very attentive to Margaret; and in the natural course of events they would have made it up before the week was out had not Frederick R. Woods selected this very moment to interfere in the matter.


In a word, let us utilise the next twenty minutes  during which Miss Hugonin drives to the neighbouring railway station, in, if you press me, not the most pleasant state of mind conceivable  by explaining a thought more fully the posture of affairs at Selwoode on the May morning that starts our story.


But I fancy we can all form a very fair notion of what is most likely to occur when two sensible, normal, healthy young people are thrown together in this intimate fashion at a country house where the remaining company consists of two elderly gentlemen.


And she must have been the nicer of the two, because everybody who knew her says that Margaret Hugonin is exactly like her.


I dare say the old gentleman was so completely accustomed to having his own way that this unlooked for opposition tickled him by its novelty; or perhaps he recognised in Billy an obstinacy akin to his own; or perhaps it was merely that he loved the boy.


In fact, he never thought of money. He admitted this to Margaret with a whimsical sigh. Margaret grew very fond of Mr. Kennaston because he was not mercenary. Mr. Kennaston was much at Selwoode. Many people came there now  masculine women and muscleless men, for the most part.


Yes, by gad, and even if you elect to live on bread and cheese and kisses, you'll find Camembert a bit more to your taste than Sweitzer." "But I don't want to marry anybody, you ridiculous old dear," said Margaret.


"H'm  Wilkins  if you can run across one of them in the servants' quarters  you might leave it  by my bed  to night." "Yes, sir."


There was much laughter over nothing in particular. There were any number of sentences ambitiously begun that ended nowhere. Altogether, it was just the sort of talk for a man and a maid. Yet some twenty minutes later, Mr. Woods, preparing for luncheon in the privacy of his chamber, gave a sudden exclamation.


Sarah Ellen Haggage is, of course, the well known author of "Child Labour in the South," and "The Down Trodden Afro American," and other notable contributions to literature.


"My boy," said he, "you thank your stars you didn't get that money; and, depend upon it, there never was a gold ship yet that wasn't followed." "Pirates?" Billy Woods suggested, helpfully. "Pirates are human beings," said Colonel Hugonin, with dignity.


She would simply say she was too tired to walk, and that would end the matter. So she said she thought the exercise would do them both good.


I prefer Nature with wide margins and uncut leaves," she spoke, in her best platform manner.


He had fancied himself entirely cured of that boy and girl nonsense; his broken heart, after the first few months, had not interfered in the least with a naturally healthy appetite; and, behold, here was the old malady raging again in his veins and with renewed fervour.


So we're going to be sensible now. We're going to get a telegram to morrow that will call us away from Selwoode. We aren't coming back any more, either. We're simply going to continue painting fifth rate pictures, and hoping that some day she'll find the right man and be very, very happy."


A little more wine, please." Mr. Jukesbury is a prominent worker in the cause of philanthropy and temperance.


Perhaps the misanthropy of Mr. Woods was not wholly unconnected with the fact that Margaret never looked at him.


And every once in a while a fish would leap and leave a splurge of bubble and foam behind that you would have sworn was an inserted lace medallion."


In consequence, he very cordially detested the people who could  especially that grimacing ass, Kennaston. Altogether, neither Mr. Woods nor Miss Hugonin got much comfort from their luncheon. VII After luncheon Billy had a quiet half hour with the Colonel in the smoking room.


you abject ass! Why, she's one of the richest women in America, and you're only a fifth rate painter with a paltry thousand or so a year! _You_ marry her!  why, I dare say she's refused a hundred better men than you! She'd think you were mad! Why, she'd think you were after her money!


Now, I can merely lament certain unfortunate tendencies of the age; I am quite unable to contend against them. Do you know," Mr. Kenneston continued gaily, as he trifled with a bunch of grapes, "I feel horribly out of place among you?


IV The twelve forty five, for a wonder, was on time; and there descended from it a big, blond young man, who did not look in the least like a fortune hunter. Miss Hugonin resented this. Manifestly, he looked clean and honest for the deliberate purpose of deceiving her. Very well!


Ah, if our latter day writers would only take that saying to heart!


For  will it be believed?  Mr. Woods, who four years ago had thrown over a fortune and exiled himself from his native land, rather than propose marriage to Margaret Hugonin, had no sooner come again into her presence and looked once into her perfectly fathomless eyes than he could no more have left her of his own accord than a moth can turn his back to a lighted candle.


I might add that I adore you, but I think I mentioned that before. Margaret, will you be my blushing bride?" "No!"


Oh, I grant you Margaret was in a temper now. "It isn't that," he protested; "but I never see you alone. And I've had something to tell you." "Yes?"


He detained her. "Surely," he breathed, "you must know what I have so long wanted to tell you  " "I haven't the _least_ idea," she protested, promptly. "You can tell me all about it in the morning.


Beyond doubt, there were many with whom my lady had danced; with whom she had laughed a little; with whom she had exchanged a few perfectly affable words and looks  when of a sudden her heart speaks: "Who's he that would not dance?


"Bless my soul," it was signalling to any number of gentlemen at that moment, "there's only you and I and the girl here. Speak out, man!


_" Thereupon she blushed, for no apparent reason, and went to her own rooms in a frame of mind that was inexcusable, but very becoming.


Indeed, Margaret almost thought of him as such. He was so delightfully naïf. He bent toward her. A faint tremor woke in his speech. "And so," said he, softly, "I cry for the moon  the unattainable, exquisite moon. It is very ridiculous, is it not?"


You see, I'm not a bit in love with you," Margaret explained, candidly. Ensued a silence. Mr. Kennaston bowed his head. "You bid me go?" said he.


I wish I had never been born! And I wish  and I wish I had those League papers fixed! I'll do it to night! I'm sure I need something tranquillising, like assessments and decimal places and unpaid dues, to keep me from _screaming_. I hate them all  all three of them  as badly as I do _him!


Margaret thanked him with a smile, and began to think wistfully of the Ladies' League accounts. Still, he was a good man; and she endeavoured to persuade herself that she considered his goodness to atone for his flabbiness and his fleshiness and his interminable verbosity  which she didn't. Mr.


At the last Frederick R. Woods had relented toward his nephew. Margaret laughed a little; then she cried a little; then she did both together. Afterward she sat in the firelight, very puzzled and very excited and very penitent and very beautiful, and was happier than she had ever been in her life.


"He had it in his pocket," her dear voice quavered; "he had it in his pocket, my brave, strong, beautiful Billy did, when he asked me to marry him.


"Peggy, do you  care?" he asked, softly. And Margaret looked into his honest seeming eyes and, in a panic, knew that her traitor lips were forming "yes."


"Oh, you beauty!" his meditations ran. He had some excuse.


you of all men. Haven't you a vestige of shame? Haven't you a rag of honour left? Oh, I didn't know there were such men in the world! And to think  to think  " Margaret's glorious voice broke, and she wrung her hands helplessly. Then, after a little, she raised her eyes to his, and spoke without a trace of emotion.


So she eyed it wistfully. "It may be important," she considerately remembered. "It ought not to be left there."


he cried, in a frightened whisper. He could not believe, you see, that it was the woman he loved who was speaking. And for my part, I admit frankly that at this very point, if ever in her life, Margaret deserved a thorough shaking.


Then she gasped. The will in Billy's favour was dated a week earlier than the one they had found in the secret drawer. It was worthless, mere waste paper. At the last Frederick R. Woods's pride had conquered his love. "Oh, the horrid old man!"


It grieved her, in a dull fashion, to see him so mercenary. It grieved her  though she would have denied it emphatically  to see him so disappointed. Since he wanted the money so much, she would have liked for him to have had it, worthless as he was, for the sake of the boy he had been.


So she looked at the superscripture on the back of it. Then she gave a little gasp and tore it open and read it by the firelight.


Then she read it through again, for sheer enjoyment of those beautiful, incomprehensible words that disinherited her.


"I still care. The question is  do you?" "No," said Margaret, with decision, "I don't  not in the _least_." "Peggy," Mr. Woods commanded, "look at me!"


"It's exactly like the other will, only  why, it's dated the seventeenth of June, the day before he died! And it's witnessed by Hodges and Burton  the butler and the first footman, you know  and they've never said anything about such a paper. And, then, why should he have made another will just like the first?"


"It's penal servitude for quite a number of years," she said. "But, then, he really _couldn't_ tell any one, you know. No gentleman would allow a lady to be locked up in jail.


"Absurd!" he echoed  "yes, that describes what I've been pretty well, doesn't it, Peggy? I _was_ absurd when I let you send me to the right about four years ago. I realised that to day the moment I saw you.


Opinions are difficult to secure when a quarter of an hour in the library will prove either side of any question.


We must all learn the true facts of history, whether we will or no; eventually, the writers of historical romance will not escape. "So the sad tale goes.


Yes, she cared for me once. And I quarreled with her  I, conceited young ass that I was, actually presumed to dictate to the dearest, sweetest, most lovable woman on earth, and tell her what she must do and what she mustn't. I!


"That's absurd," he said, at length. "You know perfectly well this will isn't worth the paper it's written on." "My dear sir," she informed him, coldly, "you are vastly mistaken. You see, I've burned the other one."


"Is it any cause for wonder, that under this cheerless influence our poetry is either silent or unsold? The true poet must be ignorant, for information is the thief of rhyme. And it is only in dealing with  " Kennaston paused. Margaret had appeared in the vestibule, and behind her stood her father, looking very grave.


"Gad    !" said the Colonel. "And don't you worry about that will," Mr. Woods advised. "I  I can't explain things just now, but it's all right. You just wait  just wait till I've seen Peggy," Billy urged, in desperation, "and I'll explain everything."


Margaret thought this very nice of him; it was a delicate tribute to her that he ate nothing; and the fact that Hugh Van Orden and Petheridge Jukesbury  as she believed  acted in precisely the same way for precisely the same reason, merely demonstrated, of course, their overwhelming conceit and presumption.


"Come and talk to me, Billy," she commanded. "I'm an early bird this morning, and entitled to the very biggest and best looking worm I can find.


So I went away. And yesterday I saw her again and realised that I  still cared. That's all, Kathleen.


You really haven't any right to be so beautiful!  it isn't fair to us, Peggy!"


And in the name of Heaven, how long does that outrageous angel expect me to remain in this state of suspense!" Billy groaned again and paced the vestibule. Then he retraced his steps, shook hands with Colonel Hugonin once more, and, Kennaston or no Kennaston, set out to find her.


My heart has been fluttering, fluttering like a little bird, Billy, ever since I heard it." In testimony to this fact, Mrs. Haggage clasped a stodgy hand to an exceedingly capacious bosom, and exhibited the whites of her eyes freely.


You can usually think of some more or less plausible palliation for embezzlement, say, or for robbing a cathedral or even for committing suicide  but no man can ever explain how he happened to fall in love.


"I was in rather good form last night, I thought." "And you were actually prepared to marry me?" she asked  "even after you knew I was poor?" "I couldn't very well back out," he submitted, and then cocked his head on one side.


"Please God," thought poor Billy, "I will make her happy. Yes, please God, I can at least do that, since she cares for me." Then he kissed her. "My dear," said he, aloud, "I'll try to make you happy. And  and you don't mind, do you, if I leave you now?"


He merely wanted to know if at any time in the remote future his heart would be likely to resume the discharge of its proper functions. It was standing still now.


Then he came upon Kathleen Saumarez, who, indeed, was waiting for him there; and his heart went down into his boots.


There was an ominous stiffness in his gait. "Oh, dear, dear!" Miss Hugonin wailed; "he's in a temper now, and he'll probably be just as disagreeable as it's possible for any one to be.


I acted on the impulse of the moment; just for an instant, the novelty of doing a perfectly sensible thing  and marrying money is universally conceded to come under that head  appealed to me. So I did it.


I simply cannot explain the perfectly unreasonable way in which I worship her!" He was sincere. He loved Kathleen Saumarez as much as he was capable of loving any one  almost as much as he loved to dilate on his own peculiarities and emotions. Margaret's gaze was intent upon him.


Indeed, to congratulate Billy in the Colonel's presence would have been tactless; and, on the other hand, to condole with the Colonel without seeming to affront the wealthy Mr. Woods was almost impossible. So they temporised and fled  all save Mrs. Haggage.


So money, after all, is our only standard; and when a woman is as rich as you were yesterday she cannot hope for friends any more than the Queen of England can.


It is extremely queer," Mr. Kennaston continued, after an interval of meditation, "but falling in love appears to be the one utterly inexplicable, utterly reasonless thing one ever does in one's life.


So, of course, I was going to marry you and try to make you happy. But how dear  oh, how unutterably dear it was of you, Margaret, to decline to be made happy in any such fashion!" And Mr. Kennaston paused to chuckle and to regard her with genuine esteem and affection.


That is quite as plausible as the interpretation of the average commentator. The presence of money chills these little birds  ah, it is lamentable, no doubt, but it is true." "I don't believe it," said Margaret  quite as if that settled the question.


XIX Billy went into the gardens in pursuit of Margaret. He was almost happy now and felt vaguely ashamed of himself.


"Now I suppose you're going to be very noble and very nasty about it," observed Miss Hugonin, resentfully. "That's my main objection to you, you know, that you haven't any faults I can recognise and feel familiar and friendly with."


His words, at least, lied gallantly. The poor woman looked up into Billy's face. After years of battling with the world, here for the asking was peace and luxury and wealth incalculable, and  as Kathleen thought  a love that had endured since they were boy and girl together.


She had gloried in his fustian rhetoric, his glib artlessness, his airy scorn of money; and now all this proved mere pinchbeck. On a sudden, too, there woke in some bycorner of her heart a queasy realisation of how near she had come to loving Kennaston.


thought someone. "Miss Hugonin!" he said, coldly. Evidently (thought someone) he intends to be just as nasty as possible. "Peggy!" said Mr. Woods, after a little.


I should have thought you'd have been sorry on  on Miss Hugonin's account. It's awfully jolly of you, of course  oh, awfully jolly, and I appreciate it at its true worth, I assure you. But it's a bit awkward, isn't it, that the poor girl will be practically penniless? I really don't know whom she'll turn to now."


But you've loved her all the time, God bless you; and now the moment she's in trouble you're ready to take both her and the Colonel  whom, by the way, you must very cordially detest  and share your pitiful, pilfered little crusts with 'em and  having two more mouths to feed  probably pilfer a little more outrageously in the future!