Evening Star Newspaper, February 6, 1897, Page 22

THE EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 6, 1897—24 PAGES, y WOOO NOONE se hse) sed sel se Leek sete) (Copyright, (OLESEN OOM OMOMOMOND 2 2 ; ts sey se felerlectssts Written for The Evening Star. (Continued from last Saturday.) Chapter XX1. Gibbons knew that Monkton and Hope had gone to the centinent before Marsten | shouted out this bit of information on the street In the presence of the men. He saw that the game was up, and all he wanted ‘was time in which to beat a retreat, posing, {f possible, as the man who had broucht about a settlement. As soon as Gibbons learned that the two nominal masters had gone, he tried to open communication with Sartwell, and sent a private letter to him, saying that, taking into consideration the’ privations of the men and the large money | Joss to the firm, he was willing to sink all personal feelings and waive the proviso heretofore insisted upon regarding a meet- ing between the manager and himself. Gib- bons expressed his willingness to withdraw from the conflict, and have a committe of the men appointed to wait upon Sartwell to arrange for the termination of the strike, but asked that his letter be regarded as confidential. Sartwell, with perhaps unnecessary con- tempt, returned the letter to Gibbons, say- ing curtly to the bearer that there was no answer. It is usually unwise to humiliate unduly a@ beaten adversary; but Sartwell was not versed in the finer arts of courtesy, and when he hated a man he hated him ‘hor- oughly, caring little for any reprisal his enemy might attempt. Gibbons had ground his teeth in helpless rage when his letter was returned to him. He saw that no concession he could make would placate Sartwell; so, as the strike was Gocmed, he resolved to make the best of the inevitable retreat. The committee agreed that it was no longer possible to hold out, although they had refused Mar- sten’s request that a meeting be called and a vote taken. It was resolved that they convene a meeting at once, not waiting for nightfall (hoping in this way to deprive Marsten of any credit that might accrue from the surrender), and march the men in a body from the hall to the works, where the committee, with the exception of G bons, would precede them, to induce the manager to open the gates. Gibbons would then be able to say that he, not Mars:en, had ended the strike, and he inight even enact the role of a benefactor, who had Sacrificed his own feelings in the interests of the men. But luck was against Gibbons that Cay. When he reached the works he found Mar- sten there naranguing his fellow-workmen, imploring them te give in before it was teo | Jate, assuring them the two buildings wceuld | be full of workers on Monday, ind then all fforts to enter would be fruitless. It was ready angered at the slight effect his ap- peal was making on the seeming irdiffer- ence of the men, and, if Gibbons had been less angry from the rebuff he had received from the manager. he might have taken ad- vantage of the position and scor:d. As it was, he had little time for planning new line of procedure. The mom=nt he ap- peared Marsten demanded that a me-ting should be instantly called and a vote teken Gibbons asked him to mind his own bu: ness, saying he had an appointment with the owners of the works, and there -vould be a meeting to consider their reply. Then Gibbons learned that his falsehood was use- less, and that Marsten knew the owners had fled. % At this point the unexpected advent of Braunt, and the results that folowed, tum- bled ali schemes to the ground like a house of cards. Braunt, if he had thought about the mat- ter (which he bad not) was revenged at the end of the strike for his ignominious ejec- tion from the half at the beginning. Gibbons retired with the committee to consult over the new situation. gloomy consultation. As the men came out of the small gate one by one, each with a half week's wages in his pocket and a packet of tobacco in his hand, Scimmins and another member of the committee stood outside, proclaiming that a meeting Was called for that night, to discuss the events of the day in a friendly manner. No man answered; each hurried away to omething to eat or drink; nor did any r that night at Salvation Hall. Next 4 Scimmins and his fellow commit- to Sartwell for reinstate- and were given their old places. s resigned the secretaryship of the and his fon Was accepted, as he, knowing ally unanimous in r, expected to be asked yerhaps a vote of However, all blame for the was promptly placed on his should- he found himself suddenly called teemen applied ment bringing on the to keep the office, formal thanks. faih ers “In God's name, what for!” upon to seek ation. His bitter- epened into viru- 1 maledictions whom so short surre ood ly open, ured from the tall chimneys. Women and girls, who worked on the upper floors, were the first to come, and their pale faces turned in a look of mute thankful- hess toward the banner of smoke flying above them like a signal of rescue. They had had no voice in bringing on the strike and no voice in its cessation. No one dur- ing its continuation had been anxious to know whether they lived or died when strike pay ceased. Before the day was done work was go- ing on as smoothtly as if nothing had hap- pened. The men were at first afraid that Sartwell might pick and choose among them, and that some of them might be marked men because of what had been one on the day of the riot, but it soon be- came evident that no distinction was to be made. Just as the men had settled down to a comfortable frame of mind regarding the point that had given them anxiety, they were startled from their complacency by an unexpected incident. Marsten was dis- charged. On the first regular pay day the young man received what was due him, 4nd a month's money besides. The cashier told him that his services would no longer be required in the factory. Marsten was so dazed by this unexpected intimation that he asked for no explanation, but walked away with his money in his hand. He knew well why he had been so uncere- moniously dismissed, but it seemed to him unfair that the manager should use his power against him, for that was entirely a personal quarrrel, and not through any fault in his work. He counted the money automatically three or four times, without the process conveying to his mind anything @efinite about the sum that had been paid him. At last he noticed that Sartwell had apparently ordered four times as much to THE MUTABLE MANY, BY ROBERT BARR. 1896, by Robert Barr.) } 88 master of these shops ¥ an was al- eS ae tant | standing outside the gates. | “Ah'm waitin’ for ’ee, lad, and Ah thought | thou might ‘a gone oot wi’ first lot, but | porter said thou hadn't. | me, Marsten; Ah’m main lonely an’ want | some ‘un to ‘speak wi’. | wrong wi’ | head’s queer. It was a| CREEL ULL | te given him as was legally his due with a notice to quit. Marsten went back to the cashier and said: “There's a month's money here; I am only entitled to a week's notice.” “You'd better keep what you've got,” re- plied the cashier. “I was told to pay you a month's wages and discharge you. The money isn’t mine; it’s yours, and you're a fool if you part with it for nothing. “Ill take only what is my due, Marsten. well, e said “Give the remainder to Mr. Sart- | {2nd tell him I want none of his gen- ' = | “It’s no affair of mine,” remarked the | cashier. “I suppose you know what the | trouble is—I don’t. If you are wise you | won't send any such message to the man- ager, but you will go quietly and see him. Perhaps a few words of explanation will set matters right; anyhow, nothing is to be | gained by flying into a temper about it. | That isn’t the way to get back into the | works.” “I'm net in temper,” replied Morte” | “and I'm not going back into the works— no, not if Sartwell asks me to. You may i Braunt, bringing his hand down on the other's shoulders. “Ah don't believe much in strikes, but Ah kelteva in ye. Ah’ll see the men tonight, an’ Ah’ll have ye made secretary to the union. That will be our answer ‘a Sartwell. Then, lad, ye can have enough to live on, an’ ye can put the pieces o’ th’ union together ta suit ye.” “I should like that,” raid Mersten eager- ly. oc shall be done. The men will go in for it when they htar ye’ve got the sack. They still feel sore over the defeat, as if it wesn’t all their own falt; and now their fear of Sartwell’s packing some o’ them off is over they'll Itke to show a little inde- pendence by electing you, to prove to the maneger that they’re not afraid, whicn they are. Ah’ll have to convince them that Sartwell won't strike back or take your appointment as a defiance.” “But perhaps he will.” ~ “Not him. He was as sick o’ the strike as any one. No, he'll shrug his shoulders, but he'll say nothing. Ah’m certain that if Gibbons had had the sense to go to the masters at the first, he would have broken Sartwell long since. An’ that was what Sartwell was afraid of, Ah’ll be bound. His greatest stroke was getting Moukton and Hope cut o’ the country. It was your visit to Hope did that. Sartwell saw ye'’d put your finger on the weak spot; an’ Ah’ll warrant, if we knew the ins and outs of it Sartwell threatened ta chook up the whole busin if they didn’t leave, an’ they left. Ha! he’s a man as can fight, is Sartwell.” They bad reached the court shortly be- fore their conversation had arrived at this point, and Marsten sat down with his host. The room was barer than such places usu- ally are, fer every pawnable or salable thing had been removed from time to time as the siege went on. The empty space where the old harmonium had stood made the room seem larger than it really was. said Braunt with a sigh, noticing eye wandering to the vacant “YOU ARE HER LOVER, I SUPPOSE.” tell him that when I come back it will be with his power broken—you tell him that.” “Oh, very well. If you think to frighten a man like Mr. Sartwell with great talk, you'll be disappointed.” Marsten turned away, and found Braunt Coom whoam wi’ Ah donno what's but there’s summat. Ma Ah'm hearin’ the ‘Dead March’ night and day, an’ it’s soundin’ | solemner an’ solemner till it frightens me. Will ye walk wi’ me, lad?” “Yes, willingly. Don’t you find your work makes things easier? I thought that would ID. “Ah’ve been too long idle, lad. Work doesn’t do what it used to. Ah used to lose maself n't, but now’ Ah just seem in a cream, thinkin’, thinkin’; an’ when one speaks ta me sudder, Ah have to pull ma- self back from a distance like, before Ah can understand what’s said; an’ all th’ while the throb o’ the machinery is beatin’ cut the ‘Dead March.’ Once or twice Ah’ve seen Langly sittin’ playin’ at the far end o’ the room wi’ the machines all answerin’ to his fingers, while Ah knew he'd ne'er been | i” the shops in 's life. Ah’ve stood there wi’ ma jaw hangin’ an’ wi’ people lookin’ at me curious. Then when Ah'd rubbed ma ey Langly was gone, but the machinery | Kept on an’ on.” “Oh, you mustn’t think too much about what is past, Braunt. Everything will be | all right in a little while. Stick hard at | Your work; tnat’s the main thing. You are |fcreman of the upper room now, aren't me, ‘es. Sartwell’s been kind ta me. Ah! he’s a man, Sartwell is. There's no waver- in’ about him. “That's tru: “He sticks by them as sticks by him, as a man should. Has he said anythin’ to you since the strike ended?” ‘You're young, but your time ‘ll come. You stand by Sartwell an’ he'll see you through. He knows how you tried to end the strike, an’ he'll not forget. Ah’ll drop in a word for ye when Ah get the chance.” “I wish you wouldn't do that.” Vhy? It'll do no harm.” ‘It will do no good.” Braunt paused in his walk and looked closely at his companion. ‘What's the mat- ter wi’ thee, lad? Ye seem cast down, an’ here Ah’m talkin’ away about maself, an’ payin’ no heed to aught else. wrong wi’ ye?" “Well, as you will have to know sooner cr later, and there's no use making a secret of it, Sartwell has discharged me.” “Not cried Braunt, incredulously, stop- pi g shcrt and turning to his friend. “Yes, he has.” n God's name, what for?’ ‘No reason was given. The cashier gaye me a month’s wages and told me to go. I gave back three-fourths of it, for I’m en- titled to but a week's nctice. I'll have no | favor from Sartwell.” “Ah, lad, there ye were foolish. Never | Bive back money when you've got your | fir gers on it. Ye hurt yourself an’ not the | others. Still, Ah’d very likely a’ done the | seme thing; but then, Ah’m a fool, an’ not | to be taken pattern by. Have ye asked | Sartwell the reason?” have not seen him, nor will I.” ‘Wrong again, lad. Let's go back now, ’ have it out wi’ him before he goes vhoam.” = No, no, I refuse to see him.” ‘Then Ah’ll see him. A thing like that Mmustn't be. Discharged for no cause! Nev- er! Ah've brought back the men, an’ Ah can bring them out again. Ah will, too, | before Ah’ll let injustice like this happen.” | “What good would that do? The men are helpless, as you know; besides, they wotldn't come out, and, If they thought of doing #0, I would myself beg of them to stay in their places. No, the proper thing now Is to keep quiet; work hard; | fill up the empty treasury; organize the trade—not locally, but universally, and see, when the next sirike cemes on, that we ) are rot led by a fool like Gibbons.” “But, lud, don’t ye want to find out why yeu're paid oft? It's rank infustice, but there must be some reason for'’t in Sart- well’s mind. Ye'’ve like said some foolish thing that’s been misrepresented to him, an’ Ah’m sure Ah can put it straight. Ah didn’t think Sartwell wes the man t’ Hsten t’ any jabber that was brought to him, but one can never tell.” “You're quite right about Sartwell. He wouldn't pay attention to talk that came to him, no matter what the talk was. No, it's deeper than that. He knows my opin- ions about the proper organization of the men, but that wouldn’t influence him for a momert. Because I said no reasons were given, you musn’t think I don’t know why he turned me adrift. I do, but it’s not a subject I care to talk about, even with you, Mr. Braurt. Only 1 should like you to understand that interference would do no good. I should like to drop out quietly and have nothing said. Remember that I, knowing all the circumstances, am not sure but that, were I in his place, I should have acted exactly as Sartwell has done. not going to have this made into a griev- arce, for I don’t want it talked about. The main fact to know is ihat Sartwell snd I are eremies, and there can be no peace be- tween us until one or the other is Gefeated. If you could talk Sartwell into asking me to come back, and you know the difficulty there would be in that, I would not go back. So you understand the uselessness of seeing Mr. Sartwell.”” : “But, lad, how are ye t’ live? Marsten laugncd, “Ok, I'll have no difficulty in making a living. Don’t you fear. I'll stick. by the union, too, and some day I hi to show poriphen how a strike 1d. be conduct- “Right ye are, If that's the game,” cried spot,“‘it was the last thing that went before Jessie died. We pawned it, thinking we'd get it back again, but Ah’ll never take it back. Ah'm glad it’s gone. Ah couldn’t beer to leok at if. But let’s not talk of what's away, but o’ what's here. Ye're still thirkin’ ye can do somethin’ for the werkin’man by organization?” “I'm sure of it. Braunt shook his head. “Ye won't, my lad, but Ah'll do my best to get ye the chance ta try. Just look at what has happened. They let Gibbons gO without a word; he was a fool, perheps, but he worked hard for them, an’ they don’t even say thankee. An’ they'll do the eee wi’ ye. They'll do the same wi’ any me." “It all depends on how they are led. When men are foolishly led, they soon find out and lose confidence. Think what a man like Napoleon might have accom- Plished if he had led workingmen instead of soldiers, and had turned his talents to bettering his fellow men instead of butcher- ing them!” “Napoleon could have done nothin’. He could have done nothin’ wi’ soldiers, even, if it had not been for one power which ye can_never hay ‘What ts that “The power o’ orderin’ a man out o’ the ranks, an’ havin’ him shot. If Ah‘d that power Ah’d lead the men maself, an’ get them anythin’ they wanted. The state will let you slowly starve a hundred men to death and never interfere, but if ye shot even Gibbons there'd be a row about it. An’ yet we think we're civilized! Ah say we're savages.” : “Oh, that’s wrong, Braunt!” cried Mar- sten, rising. “We're long past that stage. If I get the reorganizing of the union, I'll try a fall with Sartwell some day, and will down him without shooting anybody.” “Very well, lad, Ah'll do ma best for ye, an’ wish ye luck.” Braunt did his best, and the next week Marsten was unanimously made secretary of the union by men who had looked upon him as a traitor only a few weeks before. Chapter XXII. Marsten made no move to communicate with Sartwell. If-the manager expected the young man to propose a compromise he was disappointed, and when he heard Mars- ten had been elected secretary of the union he smiled grimly, but made no comment. It was to be war to the knife, and Sartwell always admired an able antagonist. He made no motion against the union, although at that time he could probably have forced 75 per cent of his employes to withdraw from it, had he been so minded. Maraten gave him due credit for declining to use the weapon of coercion against the men, know- ing Sartwell too well to believe that the thought had not occurred to him. Yet there was little of the spirit of Christian forgive- ness about the manager, as his wife had with truth often pointed out to him; he pursued an enemy to the bitter end. Gib- bons metaphorically prostrated himself be- fore Sartwell and begged for the place in the works from which Marsten had heen ejected. He was starving, he said. Sart- well replied that he was glad to hear it, and hoped Gibbons would now appreciate. the sufferings of the men he had so jaunt- ily led astray; so Gibbons had again hu- miliated himself for nothing. To do Sartwell justice, however, it must be admitted that the attempted manage- ment of Marsten had slipped out of his hands in a way he had never antictpated. He did not dislike the young man; in truth, quite the opposite; still, he had higherjam- bitions for his only daughter thay td see her marry one of his own worl { The incident of finding Marsten. wit! ina. in the garden had dis‘urbed him mi han he cared to admit, even to himself. If this persistent young fellow managed, when half starved, in the turmoil of the strike, to attend so successfully to his love affair, what might not happen when he wus at peace with the world and had money in his pocket? Sartwell could have forbidden his daughter to see Marsten, and doubtless she would have obeyed; but he was loath to pique her curiosity regarding the reason for the prohibition, and he could not baldly tell her the young man craved permission to pay his addresses to her; that might set her fancy afire, with disastrous results to her father’s hopes. Sartwell only hulf ex- pected Marsten would appeal to him against his discharge, but he knew that before the young fellow got another situation he must refer his new masters to his old manager, and when that time came, or if Marsten made a move on his own account, Sartwell stood ready to make terms with him. If Marsten promised not to see the girl for two years the manager would reinstate him, or would help him to secure another lace. YA these plans went to pieces when the men unexpectedly chose Marsten as secre- tary of their union. It was a contingency the manager had not counted upon, but he faced the new position of affairs without a murmur against fate. Marsten thought his dismissal harsh and unjust, but he felt that it freed him from all consideration toward Sartwell. He now determined to meet the girl whenever wherever he could; so, with this pur- pose strong in his heart, he went to Wim- bledon, boldly presented himself at the front door, and asked to see Miss Sartwell. He knew her father did not dare tell her the true state of the case, and, if it came. to that, permission to visit the house had already been given in Edna's: own pres- ence, a permission which her father had bably not withdrawn when Marsten:| fere them together in the garden, as such. withdrawal would necessitate explanations which Sartwell would not believe it wise to make. * 2 = ia Therefore the ified J man resolved to ‘see the girl, tell her f1 ly why he-came, and ‘plead his cause with her. Even if sh fused to listen 2 e Te- to him, he would at least cause her to think of him; and that of itself was worth risking something for. ‘The servant, on opening the door, recog- nized Marsten as the young man who on @ former occasion did not know his own mind, and she promptly said to him: “Mr. Sartwell ie not at home.”, “I wish to see Miss Sartwell.* nom “The young iady is not at nome, either.” wal she return soon?” don’t know. Miss Edna’s gone away.” ‘Gone away?" echoed Marsten, visibly perturbed at this-unexpected check in his advance. ‘The servant saw she was face to face with another case of mental indecision, so she promptly grappled with the situation by calling Mrs. Sartwell, who was in the dining room; then, turning the embar- rassed young man over to her mistress, she closed the door and returned to the more important work which Marsten’s knock had interrupted. “You wished to see Miss Sartwell?” be- gan the lady, icily. “Why?” It was not an easy question to answer, when suddenly asked by an utter stranger. “Well, I can scarcely tell you, Mrs. Sart- well,” stammered the young man, ex- tremely ill at ease. “It is entirely a per- sonal matter. J wished to have a few,| words with Miss Sartwell, that’s all.” The lady sat bolt upright, with a look of great severity .on her face. There was Mystery here which, she resolved to un- ravel before she allowed the unfortunate young man to depart., He speedily came to the conclusion that he had in the lady be- fore him an implacable enemy, more to be feared, perhaps, than Sartwell himeelf. Each question ghot at him led him deeper and deeper into, the. tangle. ‘You are her ‘lover, I suppose?” “No. That isi really can’t explain, Mrs. Sartwell.” i “Very well; I shall ask my husband when he returns tonight. He knows noth- ing of this, of course, : “Yes, he does,”’ ‘He knows you are here?” “He doesn’t know I am here today. He knows I love his daughter.” “I thought you said you were not her lover. Young man, whatever else you do, speak the truth. All our earthly troubles come from shunning the truth, and from overweening pride. Avoid pride and avoid falsehood. What did you mean when you told me just now that you were not Miss Sartwell’s lover? I beseech you to speak the truth.” “I am trying to, but you see it is rather difficult to talk about this with a third per- son, and—” “I am not a third person. I am her step- mother, and'responsible to a higher power for what I do regarding Edna. I must have full knowledge, and then trust to the guiding light from’ above. We are ever prone to err when we rely on our own puny efforts. Does Edna Sartwell know you ‘No. “And her father‘does?” “Yes. I told him. “Then I wonder he did not forbid you to e her.’ ‘He did.” ‘e you one of his workmen?” “Yes. At least I was.” “Are you not now?” “No.” “He has discharged you?” “I bave been discharged.” The stern look faded from Mra. Sart- well’s face. She drew a deep breath—a prolonged “Ah,” with what might be taken as a quiver of profound satisfaction in it— and, for the first time during the confer- ence, leaned back comfortably in her chair. “My poor boy,” she said at last, gazing compassicrately at him. ‘Do you mean to say, then, that you would risk your whole futtre for a girl to whom you have never spoken?” “Oh, I have spoken with her, Mra. Sart- well. I said I had never spoken about—that ze does uot know I care anything for er.” “But you know absolutely nothing about her disposition—her temper.” “I'd chance it.” Mrs. Sartwell shook her head mournfully. “How well you reflect the spirit of this scoffing age. People chance everything. Nothing is so important to a man as the solemn, prayerful choice of a wife, far on that choice rests the misery or the happi- ness of this life. A woman's great dut: at least it seems so to my poor judgment— is to bring light, comfort and joy to her husband's home. Do you think Edna Sart- well is fitted by education or tempera- ment for this noble task?” “She'd make me happy, if that’s what you mean.” “How little, how little you know her! But then, you know her father, and she’s very like him. Of course, he will never permit “you to marry her, If he can pre- vent it. You are a workingman, and he has no thovght or sympathy for those from whore ranks he sprang. He hi higher ideas for his daughter. I have long seen that. It is‘ pride, pride, pride! Oh, it will have a terrible fall’some day, and per- haps vou, poor: lad,’who talk ‘of chance, ar} the humble'insttument selected by an overruling Providence to brirg about the humbling of his:prié®, without which none of us can enter the''kingdom. I see it all now. I ree why he sént Edna to school at Eastbourne, alttiough he said it was be- cause we could not get on together. How little prevaricatfon ptevails. The deceiver shall himself be deéeived. In your seem- ingly chance méeting with me I see the Hand pointing ‘towatd truth. Still,” con- tinved Mrs. Sartwell"reflectively, as though speaking more tb herself than to her hear- ‘here 1s no doubt that if you took Ed 'y, she’ would marry you in spite of her father or any’ one else. I have long warred her father ‘that such a time is coming; but, alas, my words are unheeded in this house, and the time has come soon- er than I expected. I have wondered for some weeks past what was in Edna’s mind. I thought that perhaps she was thinking of Barnard Hope, but I see now I was mistaken. No, she was very likely think- ing of you, and her father, discovering it, has packed her off to High Clift School, at Eastbourne, where he probably hopes you cannot visit her. She is a wayward, ob- stinate child, impulsive, and difficult to manage. She thinks her father is perfec- tion, #0 you may form your own opinion of hcew defective her judgment is. Yes, 1 should not be at all surprised if, when you tell _her you love her, she would at once Propcse to run away with you. Nothing Edna Sartwell would do or say could sur- prise me.” Marsten, who had been very uneasy while a forced listener to this exposition of the girl's character, now rose abruptly and said he must leave; he had already, he pata taken up too much of Mrs. Sartwell’s ime. ” “Our time is given us,” replied the good -woman, also rising, “to make the best use of, and if we remember that we must give an account of Bits moment allotted to us, we will not count that time ill spent which is devoted to the welfare of others. I sin- cerely trust that what I have said will sink deeply into your mind, and that you will Profit by 1 “T shall not-fail to do so.” “You will understand why I cannot give you any information about Miss Sartwell, or arrange for any meeting between you. It would not be right. If she were now in the house, I could not permit you to see her, since I know you come without her father’s permission. I hope you do not think me harsh in saying this.” “Oh, not at all.” “And whatever comes of your infatuation for her, will you do me the justice to re- member that _my last words to you were to implore you to cast all thought of her from your mind?” “I shall remember it,” said Marsten. “If you attempt to meet her, you know you will be doing so against my strict wish and command.” “You certainly -will not be to blame for anything that happens, Mrs, Sartwell.” “Ah, if I could only be sure of. that!” said the patient woman, mournfully shak- ing her head. “But blame ts so easily be- stowed, and ft shifts responsibility from shoulders certainly more fitted to bear it, and perliaps more deserving. No later ago that yesterday Mr. Barnard Hope came here, and was surprised to find Edna gone. He told me he came to see me, but he could not help noticing how still and ful the house was. When he asked where Edna was, I replied to him as I reply to you. Her father is the proper person to answer that question. Yet Mr. Hope is the son of my best friend, a noble woman, whose benefactions shower blessings far and near. Well, good-bye, and I’m sorry not to be able to assist you; but I shall re- member you in my petitions, and will trust that your feet may be guided aright.” “Thank you, Mrs. Sartwell, and good- bye.” As the young walked away he kept repeating to himsel® “High Cliff School, Eastbourne,” n he got a sufficient ie}he wrote the name NEW PUBLICATIONS. < OF THE SECOND EMPIRE Notes and Recollections. Albert D. Vai dam, author of “An man in ‘Washington: New York: G. P. Putnam's Sons. Brentano's. This is a book edition of a series of pa- pers published throughout 1895 in the North American Review, but there are evi- dences of the solidifying and bettering pro- cess that usually attacks a serial publica- ticn. when it is prepared for individual covers. There is at present a great awaken- ing of interest in French history, caused, Perhaps, by the Napoleonic revival, and this has in turn directed close attention to the second empire, ag being intimately typ- ical of the Gallic record of latter days. No period deserves closer treatment, for it was of momentous consequence in ‘the devel- opment of the French republic, and to pres- ent-time readers, certainly, it possesses as strong a charm as even the more dramatic time of the first consul and emperor. Th volume just issued comes from an actual observer of many of the events he now out- Ines, and his work is well done. The lit- erary finish with which he turns out the chapters is itself an attraction. It is hardly a history that is thus written, but it is rather—and, perhaps, the secondary events which contributed so powerfully to the momentous episodes cul- minating in 1870 in the downfall of the empire. The Messrs. Putnam have given a handsome form to the work. MONETARY SYSTEMS OF THE WORLD. Revised Baition. By Maurice L. Mubleman, Deputy As- elstant United States ‘Treasurer at New York. New York: Oharles H. Niccll. As stated in its sub-title, this is “a study of the present currency systems and sta- tistical information relative to the volume with abstracts of various plans proposed for the solution of of the world’s money, the currency problem in the United States.” The first edition of this comprehensive and convenient work ‘was issued about two years ago. The present revision has en- abled the author, who is known as one of the foremost of experts on the history and statistics of currencies and governmental finances, to include many valuable features suggested by the latest discussion on this all-important topic. The table of contents, héfé” Gutlined, indicates the scope of the work! ‘United States—Present Monetary System, Obsolete Forms of Money, The Voi- ume of Money, Legal Tender; The British Empire; The Latin Union; Other European Countries; “Asia; Africa; America, other than the United States; Oceanica; Volume of the World’s Money; The Clearing-house System; International Exchanges; Inter- national Monetary Conferences; Proposi- tions for the Solution of the Currency Problem; Appendix—Causes for Recent Bond Issues in the United States. THE SIGN OF THE CROSS. By Wilson Barrett, with frontispiece. Philadelphia: J. B, Lippin- cott Co. Washington: Brentano’ This story of the persecution of Christians by the Emperor Nero was givep its first form as a drama, which achieved a marked success abroad. Its expansion into a novel is rather @ reversal of the later custom which resulis in the transformation of suc- cessful books into plays. The tale of “The Sign of the Cross” is a stirring one, and, naturally, ic in its situations and ero of the book is a liter- ary development of the Nero of history, implacable, bestial and tyrannical. The heroine whom he condemns to death for her adherance to the Christian faith in- spires in Marcus Supurbus, Prefect of Rome, a love that leads him to accom- pany her to the sacrificial arena, to death as a Christian. The picture of Roman life which is painted in the course of the nar- ration is vivid and at times unpleasant in its realism, yet the conviction is borne strongly upon the reader that the strokes are none too powerful. AN OPAL. Verses by Ednah Proctor Clarke. ton: Lamson, Wolffe & Company. Miss Clarke's poetic work has been given @ previous introduction to many readers through occasional publications in the At- lantic Monthly, the Century and the Harper's Bazar. The present volume is a compilation of the verses that have already thus appeared, enriched by additions from the manuscript portfolio of the young poetess, whose style is distinct and charm- ing. Her motive is now dainty, now dra- matic, and again slyly humorous. There is power in the closing selection, “After the Battle,” while ‘Tom Weaver's Wooing” is a charming love story of the early days of immigration from the old north state, in dialect. A pretty dress is given by the book-maker to these verses, which will surely find many delighted readers, espe- cially in Washington, where Miss Clarke has many friends. THE CHICAGO RECORD COOK BOOK. Chicago: Published by The Record. In these days of many cook books prob- ably the best description of this latest comer will be found on its own title page, which announces that the volume contains “seasonable, inexpensive bills of fare for every day in the year, designed to furnish ‘good living, in «ppetizing variety, at an expense not to exceed $00 a year for a family of five, arranged so that remnants from one day c; frequently be used with menus of the next.” There are 1,100 prize recipes In the book, selected as the best from 10,000 contributed by the women of America to the Record’s contest, which Was conducted from day to day for several months. Thus the recipes are cosmopoli- tan in character ard represent a great va- riety of tastes. A GUIDE TO SYSTEMATIC READINGS IN THE ENCYCLOPAEDIA BRITANNICA. New and Revised Edition. By James Baldwin, Ph.D., author of ‘The Lover,” “The "Book of Blegies,” ‘The Story of Siegfried,” ete. Chi- cago: The Werner This “guide” is, in fact, a classified index with an interesting commentary running along in explanation. It is divided into chapters that arrange the matter of the encyclopaedia not only into subject topics, but also into courses of study for particular occupations and lines of work. The revision is undertaken to adjust the “guide” to the latest development of the encyclopaedia, in the form of the American supplement, just published by the same company. ‘S'S POND, AND OTHER SKETCHES. By Norbert Te Mortia, New York. G. Py Putaaurs Sons. Washington: Brentano's. A true sportsman, who loves nature in all her moods, and who sees new things to note and to admire on every hunting and ishing expedition, has evidently written 99g charming pages. The book is an gasy: discourse on grouse, brant, trout, led, ‘edot and other denizens of forest, field?and stream, but it is not in the least scientific, and the little essays into which the volume divides are simple and plain in their style, yet bear unmistakable evidence of close study and consequent accuracy. Bos- THE BOOK OF LIES. By John Langdon Heaton. vith ctures from pen draw! y Frank Verbeek. ‘New York: [he Morse Co. Mr. Heaton dedicates his book—the diary of a veritable modern Munchausen—to “the Icvers of truth.” He claims that “there is nothing so truthful as an honest lie,” bear- ing its character boldly written on its face. But he discriminates against the lie in- sidious, the lie treacherous, the lie deceit- ful, and against truth in the guise of in- credibility. Under these auspices of de- lightful frankness his prevarications be- come artistic and reasonable. VIRG! ER STORIES. Dy Julle Magruder, author of “ihe Violet” sid Princess Lonia.” Chicago: Herbert 8. Btone & Co. The first story of this collection is an ac- count of a young Virginia girl summering in New York with rich relatives. The ery simple, but it serves to paiitain’ an interesting tale, in which a number of striking characters are outlined. The other stories are all in Miss Magru- der’s best style. AMERICAN NOBLEMAN; A Story of the AN caoaan Wilderness, By William armetrong. ‘Chicago, Rand, McNally & Co. This is a story of plain folk, almost abor- iginal, indeed, in their. plainness, but there is heroism among them, leavening the human worthlessness that will be founa ‘a all communities, whether located on fashionable thoroughfares in great cities or on “Sas’fras mountain.” The story ts strongly told and well worth while. STORIES, “The Ki ‘A King York: G. Brentano's _ The title-tale is about as fantastic a piece better—a sketch of The absolutely pure BAKING POWDER. Caring for your health, and studying simple, every-day economy, you will see to it that no baking powder but the RoyaL enters your kitchen. The low-grade, cheap powders contain alum and lime and injurious- ly affect the stomach and kidneys. a weird improbability that charms with its dramatic force. The rest of the stories bear this same touch, which is alluring and causes the reader to regret the ar- rival of the last page.. L0-TO-KAH. By Verner Z. Reed. Illustrated by Charles Craig and L. “Maynard Dixon. New York: Continental Publishing Company. Six mystic tales of the Ute Indians are given under this aboriginai title, and prove fascinating reading. Romance and super- stition are cleverly intertwined, and the interest 1s maintained throughout the se- ries. The pictures are unusually good. AN AMERICAN IDY! za (Cora Slocomt). lishing Company. A touching little romance is woven under this title Into an interesting description of the Mexican and Arizona Indians. There is a great deal of information in the book, which is made the more enjoyable by being incidental to the thread of the story. SIR KNIGHT OF THE GOLDEN PATHWAY. By Anna S. P. Duryea, with ilustrations and_bor- ders by Mabel Wilder Baldwin. New York: G. P, Putnam's Sons, Washington: Brentano's. A tender, touching Httle story for chil- Gren is here given a quaint turn that il- lustrates a beautiful character. By the Countem di Braz- Boston: The Arena Pub- The Michigan Political Science Associa- tion has just issued, as one of its pamphlets on “Michigan History,” a monograph by Mr. Charles Moore, now of this city, under the title “The Discoverers of Lake Super- Mr. Moore, who is widely known as clerk to the Senate District committee, has made an exhaustive study along lines lead- ing Into the past of the Wolverine state, and his latest contribution is very interest- ing to general readers, as well as to those who have a local concern in Michigan. Miss Virginia Tatmall Peacock, well known in this city, is author of an interest- ing article on “The Sacred Heart Order, an Educational Factor of North America, in the February issue of Donohoe’s Mag- azine. aS WHERBE CAESAR LIVED. Landmarks of the Great Julius to Be Found in Modern Rome. From Harper's Magazine. All students will remember that Julius Caesar announced that all Gaul was divid- €d into three parts; each of which, with all the gall in his possession, he attached to himself. This celebrated man of letters, against the advice of his wife, Calpurnia, went out to meet his fate on a famous March morning, from the Regia, close to the temple of Vesta in the Forum; and here his widow received his body, brought back with all its gaping wounds by a few of his faithful slaves. Alas, it was too late for her to tell him that she h: told him 80; but no doubt, in all her great grief, she thought it! Mr. Forbes says that Caesar lived in the first house in the Via Sacra. He describes it as fronting toward the temple of Vesta; while the portico and shops built at a later period over its ruins ran parallel with the Sacred Way. The house side of the atrium, he continues, is plainly marked by the fragments of columns compcsed of traver- tine coated with stucco and frescoed, and amid the shops are remains of a beautiful black and white mosaic pavement, the fragments of the borders showing’ that they once belonged to the older edifice. The mansion had two entrances into the Via Sacra, one nearly touching its north- east corner. Caesar was not killed in the Capitol, as Shakespeare said. What “Hamlet” called that Brute part was played in Pompey’s Senate House, or the Theater of Pompey, the Church of 8. Andrea della Valle, on the new thoroughfare called Corso Vittorio Emanuele, now standing upon its site. Mr. Forbes explains that the great star beneath the cupola marks as near as possible the spot upon which the autocrat fell. As the deposed Bonaparte les under the Dome of the Invalides, in Paris, so rises in Rome a dome over the place where another, if not @ greater, conqueror was extinguished. Pompey’s statue, at the foot of which great Caesar fell, a colossal, not ungainly figure of a man, is believed generally to be now standing in the Palazzo Spada alla Regola, in the Piazza di Capo di Ferro. It is placed in what is called the council chamber of the palace, and what are said to be the stains of great Caesar's blood are, according to tradition, still visible upon the calf of Pompey’s left leg. Mr. Hare quotes Suetonius as narrating that the statue “was removed from the Curia by Augus- tus, and placed ng & marble Janus in front of the basilica,” and the same au- thority—Mr. Hare—adds that “it was found upon that exact spot during the pontificate of Julius III (1350-55).” Whether this be the original figure of Pompey or not, it has been addressed by Byron as “Thou dread statue! yet existent in the austerest form of naked mystery,” and it has been ac- cepted and -apostrophized by many other well-known writers of prose and of verse as being authentic. And while I am will- ing to accept it myself, I must put myself on record as doubting, somewhat, the stains of Caesar's blood. Mark Antony delivered his famous fu- neral oration on the Rostra Julia, on the east side of the Forum. The ancient writ- ers tell us how greatly it moved the peo- ple, who immediately burned the body in that very place, and afterward interred the ashes there; but they do not report An- tony’s words. That they could hardly be more moving than were the words put into Antony's mouth by Shakespeare all report- ers of great speeches, in the present day, must assuredly admit. The Temple of Caesar, which was erected on his funeral pile, Sig. Lanciani says, was destroyed in 1546. It is now an unmarked mass of rough and broken stones. students of the dead languages in the high schools of most living countries, Prof. Mid- Jeton places in the Barberini Villa gardens, in the valley between the Quirinal and the Pincian hills. It was probably destroyed, he says, in the fire of 410, but he has traced certain portions of it which are still re- ) maining; and he describes a nobly designed hall once lined with rich marble, and dec- crated with statues, handsome staircases | and the like. Its site is gradually being ; covered with the brand new buildings which are fast making this part of Rome as modern as is modern New York or mod- ern Paris. It is approached by horse cars, it is lighted by electricity, and it is sur- rounded by hotels, which look like the re Fifth Avenue or the Continental, and quite as comfortable and quite as exp sive as is either of those familiar hostel- ries of modern times see MATHILDE BLIND AND GEO. ELIOT. ry of One Author’ to Another. From the Chicago Times-Herald. I asked Miss Blind if she had ever met George Eliot. “No,” she replied. “I have never spoken to her, and I shall never again want to meet her. Shertly after reading the ‘Mil on the Floss’ I was in deep distress about some unhappiness in our own family. I thought that the writer who could have entered into such full sympathy with Mag- gie Tulliver would have been just the Woman to understand my position. I wrote explaining the circumstances, and almost abased myself in the eagerness with which I requested that I might be permitted to call upon her. No answer came to that letter, and after waiting for some weeks I determined to call at her house and have an interview at all risks. She knew of me her and many friends, seen my translation of ‘The Old Faith and the A Remarkable R Strauss’ New.’ “I called one afternoon at her house, sent in my card and was shown to the reception room. The servant never returned. I re- mained for nearly an hour, ani then a car- riage drove up. There was che sound of footsteps in the hall. I felt that it was the great author, and that my card must in some way have been misiaid. I walked out into the hall, and there I saw the servant helping her mistress as she butoned her long driving coat. 1 went forward ner- vously. George Eliot held up her gloved hand with a gesture, forbidding me to ap- proach, and swept past me without a look. “I have never been able to account for her treatment of me on that occasion. I had done no wrong. It was on the subject of religious belief that I wished to consult her. She treated me worse than if I had been a stray dog, and as I walked home I could not help thinking: “So this is ihe sympathy and generosity of the woman who created Dinah Morris and Maggie Tolliver!’ ” Notwithstanding this humiliation, when Miss Blind prepared her volume on George Eliot for the Famous Women series, there was no appearance of any ill-feeling. The final paragraph is appreciative if not en- thusiastic: George Eliot's career has been habitually book, described as uniform and uneventful. In reality nothing is more misleading. On the contrary, her life, from its rising to its setting, describes an astonishingly wide orbit. If one turns back in imagination from the little Staffordshire village whence her father sprang to the simple rural sur- roundings of her own youth and traces her history to the moment when a crowd of mourners, consisting of the most dis- tinguished men and women in Sngland, fol- lowed her to the grave, one cannot help realizing how truly eventful was the life of her who has now joined the “Choir invisible Of those immortal dead who live again In minds made better by their presence.” e+ A Child and the Letters. From the Bookman for December. An ingenious person named Krohn,whose Patience is evidently more highly devel- oped than his sense of humor, has been making some experiments that are sup- posed to be very important to scientific teachers. He has found that it takes a young child 364-1000 of a second to recog- nize the letter ¢, 358-1000 of a second to rec- ognize the letter a, and 389-1000 of a second to the letter t; while the word ¢-a-t as a whole is recognize? in 339-1000 of a second. Therefore, he says, primary teaching should be done by words and not by letters, and the letters should be 1-12 of an inch high and printed in a line not more than four inches long. We don't know exactly how he has discovered all these things, but that does not matter; for he is evidently a very profound person. We have done some figuring ourselves on the basis of his researches, and we found that following out his method and adopting his kind of reading book, a child of five years, in an average daily lesson, would each day save 9749-10,000 of a minute out of his valuable time. Think of that ——_—_+e- The Olé Virginia Fiddler. From the Richmond Dispatch. ‘What has become of the old Virginia fid- dler, whose services used to-be in incessant demand at this season of the year, and who was known and greeted by all the young people for miles around? Of old, there could be no Christmas in the country without him. He was as in- dispensable as the children’s stockings, the eggnoge bowl, the roasted shoat, the mince pie or the stuffed turkey. He was the important functionary at every dance, and called out the figures in an unchange- able voice, which grew fiercer and fiercer as he warmed up to his work. Has our old friend disappeared? Is his fiddle cracked and his bow unstrung? Has he been un- able to withstand the invasion of his terri- tory by the piano and the piano agent? We fear so. We hear of him very seldom now; whereas in the times agone, at Christ- mas name was on every tongue, and his bow was a scepter wielded over many willing subjects. Happily for him that he found suitable eulogists before his type was extinct. Dr. W. Bagby, that great humorist and player — heart immortalized fold vin “3 scribed u ‘irgin: ~ And well they did; he is be-