Evening Star Newspaper, January 22, 1898, Page 16

THE EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, JANUARY 22, 1898-04 PAGES. guage that matter required and my temper cujoveds a He heardime ‘ ing. sympathy between us, Sule he aah T lew that he Ata! evel while not doubt my trut! face grew set as he listened; he per- ceived now’ the he had been set to but one question when a ocala all this?” “He was privy talk, we had not noticed the was at my elbow be- book was under his arm. him with a bow. “Sir, he, “you were right just now.” ‘Concet the, prophecy, sir?" ‘No, cons the employment of lo, kings,” answWered Mf. de Fontelles. Then he said to me, “We ‘will meet again before I take leave of your village.” With this he set off at a round down the road. did not doubt that he went to seek Mistress Barbar~. and ask her pardon. I let him go; he would not hurt her now. I rose myself tom the green bank, for I also had work to do. * “Will you walk with me, Simon?” asked the vicar. , sir, but I am occupied.” Will it not wait? “I do not desire that it should.” For now that Fontelles was out of the way, Carford alone remained: Barbara had not sent for me, but still I served her, and }to some profit. It was now afternoon, and I set out at once on my wsy to the manor. I did not Know what had passed between Barbara and Carford, nor how his passion had been stirred by her avowal of love for me, but I conjectured that on learning hot his plan of embroiling me with Fontelles had failed, he would lose no ‘time in making another effort. Fontelles must have walked briskly, for I, although I did not loiter on the road, never came in sight of him, and the long avenue was empty when I passed the gates. It is strange that it did not occur to my mind that the clue to the Frenchman’s haste was to be found in his last question. No doubt he would make his excuses to Mistrees Quinton in. good time, but it was not that intention which lent his feet wings. His errand was the same as my own. He sought Carford, not_ Barbara, even as I. He found what he sought, I what I did not seek, but what, once found, I could not pass by. She was walking near the avenue, but on the grass behing the trees. I caught a glimpse of her gown through the leaves, and my quick steps were stayed as though by one of the potent spells that the vicat loved to read about. For a moment-or two I stood there motionless. Then I turned and walked slowly toward her. She saw mea few yards off, and it seemed as though she would fy.’ But in the end she faced me proudty; her eyes-were very sad, and I thought that she had been weeping. As I approached: she thrust something—it looked like a letter—into the bosom of her gown, as if in terror lest I should see it. I made her a low bow: “I trust, madame,” said I, “that my lady mends.” I thank you, yes, although slowly.” ‘And that you have taken no harm from your journey?” “I thank you, none.” It was strange, but there scemed no other topic In earth or heaven, for I looked first at earth and then at heaven, and in neither Place found any. a am seeking "my Lord Carford,” I said at last. I knew my error as soon as I had spok- en. She would bid me seck Carford with- out delay and protest that the last thing in her mind-was-to detain me. I cursed mnyself for an awkward fool. But to my amazement, she did nothing of what T looked for, but efied out in great agita- tion, and, agrit seemed, fear: “You mustn't see Lord Carford.” “Why not?” I asked. “He won't hurt Ire; or, at least, he should not, if my sword could stop his. “It is not that It is—it is not that,” she murmured, amd flushed red. Well, then, I will seek him.” ‘No, no, no,” cried Barbara, in a pas- sion that fpar—stirely it was that and nothing elses‘made imperious. I could not understand her, for I knew nothing of the confession which #he had made, but woula not for the world should reach my ear, yet it was shot wery likely that Carford would tell untss his rage carried him nee a a said the vicar, sighing. ‘You are mots z i “Nor even than one who dies,” hazarded | trom Lord @ortanl eet’ Shield _me COPYRIGHT.1081 5 BY ANMAWKINS.. whom I have business,” sqid he. “You have none with my Lord Carford?” “What I havé with him wiil wait.” “He desires it should wait?” she asked, in a quick tone. ‘Yes, madame.” “I'd have sworn it,” said Barbara Quin- ton. “But with Mr. Simon Dale—" “With Simon Dale? What concern have ‘Written for The Evening Star. CHAPTER XXII.—Continued. “By my faith,” cried honest M. de Fontel- les, “this matter is altogether past under- standing!” A moment later Carford entered the room and greeted him with great civility. M. de Fontelles lost no time in coming to the question; his grievance was strong and bitter, and he poured out his heart without reserve. Carford listened, saying lttle, but being very attentive -and keeping his skrewd eyes on the other's face. Indigna- tion carried Fontelles back and forward along the length of the room in restless Paces; Carford sat in a chair, quiet and wary, drinking in all that the angry gen- tleman said. My Lord Carford was not one who believed hastily in the honor and hon- esty of his fellow men, nor was he prone to expect a simple heart rather than a long head; but soon he perceived that the Frenchman was in very truth ignorant of what lay behind his mission and that Bar- bara’s usage of him caused genuine and not assumed offense. The revelation set my lord a-thinking. “And she sends for you to advise her?” cried Fontelies. “That, my friend, is good; you can advise but in one fashion.” “I don’t know that,” said Carford, feel- ing his way. “It is because you don’t know all. I have spoken gently to her, seeking to win her by persuasion. But to you I may speak Plainly. I have direct orders from the king to bring her and to suffer no man to stop me. Indeed, my dear lord, there is no choice open to you. You wouldn't resist the king's command!" Yet Barbara demanded that he should re- sist even the king’s command. Carford said nothing and the impetuous French- ™man ran on: “Nay, it would be the highest offense to myself to hinder me. Indeed, my lord, all my regard for you could ngt make me suf- fer it. I don’t know what this lady has against me, nor who has set this nonsense in her head. It cannot be you! You don’t doubt my honor? You don’t taunt me when I call myself a gentleman?” He came to a pause before Carford, ex- pecting an answer to his hot questions. He saw offense in the mere fact that Carford Was still silent. ‘ome, my lord,” he cried, “I do not take Pleasure in seeing vou think so long. Isn't your answer easy?” He assumed un air of challenge. Carford was, I have no doubt, most Plagued and perplexed. He could have dealt better with a knave than with this fiery gentieran. Barbara had demanded of him that he should resist even the king’s command. He might escape that perilous obligation by convincing Fontelles himself that he was a tool in hands less honorable than his own; then the Frenchman would, in all likelihood, abandon his enterprise. But with him would go Carford’s hold on Barbara and his best prospect of winning her, for in her trouble lay his chance. If, on the other hand, he quarreled openly with Fontelles, he must face the conse- quences he feared or incur Barbara's un- measured scorn. He could not solve the puzzle and determined to seek a respite. “I do not doubt your honor, sir,” he said. Fontelies bowed gravely. “But there is more in this matter than you know. I must beg a few hours for consideration, and then I will tell you all openly.” ly orders will not endure much delay.” You can’t take thie lady by force.” “I count on the aid of my friends an@ the king’s to persuade her to accompany me willingly.” I do not know whether the words brought the idea suddenly and as if with a flash into Garford’s head. It may have been there dim and vague before, but now it was clear. He paused on his way to the door and turned back with brightened eyes..He gave a careless laugh, saying: “My dear Fontelles, you have more than me to reckon with before you take her away.” not only to drive me into folly, but to for- bid me a return to wisdom?” In such a mood I had left him to wander by myself about the lanes, while he sat under the porch of his house with a great volume open.on his knees. The bock treat- ed of vaticination in all its branches, and the vicar read diligently, being 30 absorbed in his study that he did not heed the ap- Proach of feet, and looked up at fast with you with Simon Dale?" a start. M. de Fontelles stood there, sent “He has mocked me twice, and, I believe, |cn from the inn to the parsonage in the hinders me now,” returned Fontelles, his | progress of his search for me. 2 hot temper rising again. “I am called Georges de Fontelles, sir, Barbara clasped her hands and cried | he began. triumphantly: “I am the vicar of this parish, at your “Go to him, go to him! Heaven is good | service, sir,” returned the vicar courteous- to me! Go to Simon Dale i The amazed eyes of ‘Fontelles and the serve the King of France, but have at sullen, enraged glance of Carford recalled | this time the honor of being employed by her to wariness. Yet the avowal (Oh, that | his majesty, the King of England. it had pleased God I should ‘hear it!) must | “I trust, sir,” observed the vicar, mildly, have its price and lts pen: burning | “that the employment {s an honor.’ flush spread over her face, and even to the| ‘‘Your loyalty should tell you so._much. border of the gown on her neck. But she| “We are commanded to honor the king, was proud in her shame and her eyes met | but I read nowhere that we must honor ali theirs in a level gaze. that the king does.” ‘To Fontelles her bearing and the be-| ‘“‘Such distinction, sir, trayal of herself brought fresh and strong | and even to rebellion, confirmation of Carford’s warning. But he | verely. fc was a gentleman and would not look at her| “I am very glad of it,” remarked the when her biushes implored the absence of | vicar, complacently. his eyes. I had told my old friend nothing of what “I go to seek Mr. Dale,” sald he gravely, | concerned Barbara; the secret was not and without more words turned on his | mine, therefore he had nothing against M. heel. de Fontelles; yet It seemed as thdugh a In a sudden impulse, perhaps a sudden | good quarrel could be found on the score doubt of her judgment of him, Barbara |of general principles. {t is strange how darted after him. many men give their heads for them and “For what purpose do you seek him?” | how few can give a reason; but God pro- “Madame,” he answered, “I cannot tell | vides every man with a head, and since ee the stock of brain will not supply all, we draw lots for a share in it. Yes, a pretty quarrel promised; but a moment later Fontelles, seeing no prospect of sport in falling out with an old man of sacred pro- fession, and amused, in spite of his prin- ciples, by the vicar’s whimsical talk, chose to laugh rather than to storm, and said with a chuckle: “Well, kings are like other men.” lead to disaffectfon sald Fontelles se- you. She looked for a moment keenly in his face; her breath came quick and fast; the hue of her cheek flashed from red to white. “Mr. Dale,” said she, drawing herself up, “will not fear to meet you.” : Again Fontelies bowed, turned and was gone, swiftly and eagerly striding down the avenue, bent on bya gor see ae Barbara was let lone wi ‘arford. heavy frown and 6uriy eyes accused her. “Very like,” agreed the vicar. “In what She had no mird to take the part of the | can I serv2 you, sir? * guilty. “I seek Mr. Simon Dale,” answered Fon- ‘Well, my lord,” she said, “have you told this M. de Fontelles what honest folk would “Ah, Simon! think of him and his errand? “I believe him to be honest,” answered Carford. “You live the quieter for your belief!” she cried, contemptuously. “I live the less quiet for what I have seen just now,” he retorted. There was a silence. Barbara stood with heaving breasi, he opposite to her, Poor Simon! you do with the lad, sir?” “I will tell that to him. Why do you call him poor?” “He has been deluded by a high-sounding prophecy, and ft has come to little.” The vicar shook his head in gentle regret. “He is no worse off, sir, than’a man who What would “Nor it may be than one who is born,” “I AM THE VICAR OF THIS PARISH.” still and sullen. She looked long at him, but at last seemed not to see him. Then she spoke in soft tones, not as though to him, but rathcr in answer to her own heart, whose cry could go no. more un- heeded. Her eyes. grew soft and veiled in a mist of tears that did not, fall. So 1 see it—she told me no more than that she was near crying. ~ “I couldn't send for him,” .she mur- mured. “I wouldn't send for him. But now he will come; yes, he'll come now.” Carford, driven half mad by an outburst which his own device had caused, moved by whatever of true love he had for her, and by his great rage and jealousy against me, fairly ran at her and caught her by the wrist. “Why do you talk of him? Do you love him?” he said, from between his clenched teeth. She looked at him, half angry, half won- derinj Then she said: “Yes.’ “Nell Gwyn’s lover?” asked Carford. Her cheek flushed again, and a sob izht her voice as it came. ‘Yes,” she said, “Nell Gwyn’ “You love him?” “Always, always, always.” Then she drew herself near to him, in a sudden ter- ror. “Not a word, not a word,” she cried. “I don’t know what you are; I don’t trust you. Forgive me, forgive me, but what- ever you are, for pity’s sake, ah, my dear lord, for pity’s sake, don’t tell him. Not a word.’ “I will not speak of it to M. de Fon- * said Carford. An amazed glance was followed by a lavgh that seemed half a sob. 'M. de Fontelles! M. de Fontelles! No, Carford’s lips bent in a forced smile, uglier than a scowl. “You love this fellow? ‘You have heard.’ “And he loves you? x The sneer was bitter and strong. “In It seemed now to Hie Carford’s only hope. Barbara met his glance an instant, and her_ answer to him wi “Go, go.” “He loves you?” “Leave me, I beg you to leave me. Ah, won't you leave me?” “He loves you? Her face went white. For a while she said nothing; then in a calm, quiet voice, whence all life and feeling, almost all in. telligence, seemed to have gone, she an. swered: “I think not, my lord.” He laughed. “Leave me,” she said again, and he, in grace of what manhood there was in him, turned on his heel and went. She stood alone, there on the ter- race. Ah. if God had let me be there! Then she should not have stood desolate nor flung herself again on the marble seat. Then she should not have’ wept as though her heart broke, and all the world were ‘8: wrath?” I asked, See one nan tbe irreligious,” tm. | Tatherscotntumy.2r7> eres “Sir, sir, let us not gious,’ "| “No,” shes-pald, “pérsisténtly re plored the vicar, smiling, meet my evan 7 Ro asenty refusing to ‘The quarrel was most certainly over. | “what is he doing here?” I asked Fontelles sa “He desires to conduct me to my father.” Yet, sii “My God! You won't go with him? For the fraction of a moment her dark eyes met mine, then turned away in con- fusion. . z “I mean,” said I, “Is it wise to go with him?” “Of course you méant that,"” murmured Barbara. “M. de Fontelles will trouble you no more,” I remarked, in a tone as calm as though I stated the price of wheat; in- deed, much calmer than such a vital mat- ter was wont to command at our village inn. “What!” she cred. “He will not” He didn’t know the truth. I have told He is ar honorable gentleman.” ‘You've done that also, Simon?” She came a step nearer me. “It was nothing to do,” said I. Barbara fell back again. “Yet I am obliged to you,” said she. I bowed with careful courtesy. Why tell these silly things? Every man has such in his life. Yet each counts his own memory a rare treasure, and it will not be denied utterance. “I had best seek my Lord Carford,” said I, more for lack of another thing to say than because there was need to say that. “I pray you——” cried Barbara again in marked agitaticn. It was a fair, soft evening; a breeze stirred the treetops and I could scarce tell when the wind whispered and when Bar- bara spoke, so like were the caressing sounds. She was very different from the lady of cur journey, yet like to her who had for a moment :poken to me from her mber dcor at Canterbury. ‘You haven't sent for m low voice. of me?” She made me no answer. ‘Why did you fling my guinea ‘in the sea?” I said, and paused. ‘2 “Why did you use me so on the’ way?” I asked. “Why haven't you sent for me?” I whis- pered. She seemed to have no answer for any of these questions. There was nothing in her eyes now save the desire of escape. Yet she did not dismiss me, and without dismissal I would not go. I had forgotten Carford and the angry Frenchman, my quarrel and her peril; the questions I had put to her summed up all life now held. Suddenly she put her hand to her bosom and” drew ‘out that same piece of paper which I had seen her hide there. Before my eyes she read, or seemed to read, something that was in it; then she shut her hand cn it. In a moment I was by her, very close;"I looked full in her eyes and empty. If I had been there, not the cold they fled behind covering lids; the little marble should have held her, and for every hand, tightly clenched, hung by her side. Sweetest tear there should have been a 7 What had Ito ldse? Was I not already sweeter kiss. Grief should have been . banned for fprwatdness? I would be for- drowned in joy, while love leaped to love ward still ify the sentence by an in the fullness of delight. Alas for pride, after crime. I tojk the hanging hand in breeder of misery! Not life itself is so both of mine,’ Sh¢ started, and I loosed it, long as to give atonement to her for that but no rebuke e, ard she did not fly. hour, though she has said that one mo- The far-off stfr of coming victory moved i ment, a certain moment, was enough. icar’s side. jod made the down by the said he “ rid. “It is full as good a world as we de- serv said the vicar. ¢ “He might well have made us better, sir.” “There are very few of us who truly wish the vicar replied. at do you mean, my lord?” “Why, men in love are hard to reason with, and with fools in love there is no Feasoning at all. Come, I'm your friend, although there is for a moment a diffi- culty that keeps us apart. Do you chance to remember our meeting at Canterbury?” “Why, very well.” “And a young fellow who talked French to you?” Carford laughed again. “ He disturbed you mightily by calling out—" “Il vient!” cried Fontelles, all on the alert. “Precisely. Well, he may disturb you again.” “A man hugs his ‘The embrace, sir, is often delightful.” “I must not understand you,” said tha vicar. Fontelle’s business was proceeding but slowly. A man on an errand should not allow himself to talk about the universe. But he was recalled to his task a moment later by the sight of a figure a quarter of a mile away along the road. With an eager exclamation he pointed his finger at me, lifted his hat to the vicar, and rushed off in pursuit. The vicar, who had not taken his thumb from his page, opened his book again, observing to himself, “A gentleman of some parts, I think.” His quarrel with the vicar had evaporat- ed in the mists of speculation. Fontelles had no mind to lose his complaint against ine in any such manner, but he was a man of ceremony, and must needs begin again with me much as he had with the vicar. Thus obtaining my opportunity, I cut across his preface, saying brusquely: “Well, I am glad it is the king’: ment and not M. de Perrencourt’s. He flushed red. “We know what we know, sir,” said he. “If you have anything to say against M. de Perrencourt, consider me as his friend. you cry out to me as I rode last night ; “Why, yes, and I was a fool there. As for M. de Perrencourt-— “If you speak of him speak with respect, sir, You know of whom you speak.” “Very well. Yet I have held a pistol to his head,” said I, not, I confess, without natural pride. Fontelles started, then laughed scornfully. “When he and Mistress Quinton and I were in a boat together I pursued, “the quarrel then was which of us should escort in. “By heaven, then he’s here?” “Why, yes.” “I met him last night. He cried those words to me again. The insolent rascal. Yll_make him pay for it.” “In truth, you have a reckoning to settle with him.” ‘ “But how does he come into this mat- er?” “Insolent still, he’s a sultor for Mistress Quinton’s hand.” Fontelles gave a scornful shrug of his shoulders. Carford, smiling and more at ease, watched him. The idea promised well. It would be a stroke, indeed, could the quarrel be shifted on to #y shoulders, and M. de Fontelles and I set by the ears. ‘Whatever the issue of that difference, Car- ford stood to win by it. And I, not he, would be the man to re: the king’s com- mand. “But how comes he here?” cried Fon- telles. “The fellow was born here. le is an old meighbor of Mistress Quinto: “Dangerous, then.” It was Carford’s turn to shrug his shoul- ders, as he said: “Fools are always dangerous. Well, I'll leave you. I want to think. Only remem- ber, if you please to be on your guard against me, why, be on your guard agaif™@t Simon Dal “He dares not stop me. Nay, why should he? What I propose is for the lad’s ad- vantage.” Carford saw the quarrel he desired fair- ly in the making. M. de Fontelles was honest, M. de Fontelles was hot tempered, M. de Fonteiles would be told that he was @ rogue. To Carford this seemed enough. “You would do yourself good if you con- vinced him of that,” he answered. “For though she would not, I think, become his wife, he has the influence of long acquaint- ance, and might use it against you. But Perhaps you're too angry with him. “My duty comes before my quarrel,” said Fontelles. “I will seek this gentle- man.” * lover.” mploy- ch ” I said in a “f suppose you have no need “As you will. I think you're wise. They Will know at the inn where te find him.” “I will see him at once,” cried Fontelles. “I have, it seems, two matters to settle with this gentleman.” Carford, concealing his exultation, bade M. de Fontelles do as seemed best to him. Fontelles, declaring again that the success of his mission was nearest his heart, but in truth eager to rebuke or chasten my “I'm glad there was t say before.) dustrial community. soil of From the Saturday Review. debts amounting to £30,000. It is stated that consequently the household furniture at White Lodge is to be sold at public auc- tion. The debts were incurred through the Princess Mary’s beneficence toward public charitic ants, it is true, charity should begin at Even then we might have fallen out. We me to pasg?” ‘would have given my ears not to have said it. What availed that? A thing said is @ thing done, and stands {i irrevocable. For an instant her eyes flash- ed in anger, then she flushed suddenty, her lips trembled, her eyes grew dim, yet tLrough the dimness mirth peeped out. “I dared not hope you'd pass, Simon,” she whispered. “I am the greatest villain in the world!” 1 _criea. “ you had no thought that I should pass.” Again came silence. Then I spoke, and softly: “And you—is it long since you——" She held out her hands toward me, and in an instant was in my arms. First she hid her face, but then drew herself back as far as the circle of my arms allowed. Her dark eyes met mine full and direct in a “confession that shamed me, but shamed Ys; always.” seemed as though she could not speak that word enough. In truth, I could scarce believe it; save when I looked in her eyes I could not be- eve it. ‘But I wouldn't tell you,” she said. “I swore you should never know. Simon, do you remember how you left me?” ~ It seemed that I now must play penitent. was tco young to krow—” I began. was younger, and not too young,” she erted. “‘And all through those days at Dover I didn’t know. And when we were together I didn’t know. -Ah, Simon, when L flung your guimea in the sea, you must have known.” “On my faith, no,” I laughed. “I didn’t see the love in that, sweetheart.” no woman there to 11 you what it meant,” said Barbara. And even at Canterbury I didn’t know. Simon, what brought you to my door that night?" _ 1 answered her plainly, more plainly than I could at any other time; more plainly, it may be, than even then I shoul “She bade me follow her, and L followed her so far. “You followed her?” “Aye. But I heard your voice through the door, and stopped. You stopped for my voice? What did I ay?” ou sang how a lover had forsaken his love. And I, hearing, stayed.” “Ah, why didn’t you tell me then?’ was afraid, sweetheart.” ‘Of what? Of what?” ‘Why, of you. You had been so cruel.” Barbara’s head, still strained far as could be from mine, now drew nearer by an ace, and then she launched at me the charge of Most enormity, that indictment that justi- fied all my punishment. “You hed kissed her before my eyes, bere, sir, where we are now, in my own manor park,” said Barbara. I took my arms from about her, and fell hembly on my knee. “May I kiss so much as your hand?” said I, in utter abasement. She put it suddenly, eagerly, hurriedly to my lips. “Why did she write to me?” she whis- pered. Nay, love, I don’t know. ‘But I know. Simon, she loves you.” t could afford no reason if she did. Ai I think—” ee a “Tt would, and she does.” =~ think, rather, that she was sorry she does, Simon, of course fo! ‘Not for me!" vehemence. me.” “For yor I exclaimed, in ridicule. does not matter what I had been about “For you! She wouldn’t dare 0," said Barbara. One syllable can hold a world of meaning. “A thousand times, no,” cried I. (To be continued.) cried Barbara, with great “I will not have her sorry for at to How could she? es TORYISM IN GERMANY. Why the Faderland is Slow to Attain Commercial Greatness. From the Spectator. Nor can we understand the singular con- dition of German politics until we realize to ourselves this stiff, unbending, angular, hard Junker class, once the backbone of Prussian life, now feeling itself elbowed aside by a pushing commercialism, insulted by what it considers Berlin or Hamburg parvenus, its political power threatened by the new vast cities with their swarming masses, once the serfs of Junkerdom. Rec- ollect that it is within the lifetime of men still ving that the Prussian Junker lost his feuda] rights. Bismarck, who is as truly the Junker with genius as Luther Was the peasant with genius, was born dust after Stein had attained the zeni.h of his fame. In Bismarck’s early days he was made a magistrate in Berlin, and words can but faintly express the contempt which he, coming from his ancestral fields with the “Ritter” consciousness deep in his nature, felt for the upstart Berliners, the head of one of whom he broke for a disrespectful utterance about the king. That feeling ex- tends throughout the squirearchy of rural Prussia, who cannot bring themselves to accept the modern world, but kick at it, and sincerely think they can set back the hands on the clock. The outside world can see plainly enough that the course of Ger- man evolution is making of her a great in- Germany cannot build factories, occupy Chinese ports, send her goods all over the world, and still permit Junkerdom to dictate ber policy or to drag back her largest state into a feudal age from which she has painfully emerged. The contradiction is tpo absurd; and yet it is that very contradiction which is the fatal element in German polifics. If we want to know why the doctrine of social revolution sweeps Berlin like a torrent, we find the reason in the impossible claims of a stubborn Junkerdom. As soon as it was perceived in England that the nation’s des- tiny was industrial and commercial the last breath of feudalism gave way to the spirit of mercantile adventure. The sons of no- bles, themselves not tied up to the nobility, because here feudalism had stopped a long way short of its logical outcome, became merchants; no social gulf prevented them from taking such a step. Consequently aristocratic interests were blended with the interests of the rising middle classes, and as the industrial revolution made its way, ingenious workmen were caught up into that class, and so no sheer, absolute class antagonism was possible. But in Prussia this has not been, or, at least, it has at- tained only the tiniest proportions. The so- cial classes still stand confronting one an- other, each with wholly clashing ideals, wholly differing ends. In a word, conti- nental toryism and continental radicalism are both rearea in the same soil of rigid class institutions, and the two alien growths compete one against she other for existence. And in no country is this com- petition more clearly visible than on the Prussia. ———-cee- Victoria Should Foot the Bilis. The Princess Mary, Duchess of Teck, left and for princesses, as for peas- is in progress Church, Rev. Last 8 inson of Progress at the Second Colored Baptist Church, Rev. you have a standing in- Vitation to visit our famous kitehens and see with what care and amid what extreme cleanliness we make the soups and delicacies that delight your palate. “Blue Label” Soups are not cheap soups. Their price must cover the cost of the ill, the care, and the good materials used in their making. CURTICB BROTHERS CO., Rocnestea, N.Y. THE PAY OF PARLIAMENTS Pecuniary Rewards of Lawmakers in Vari- ous Countries. Boer Legislators Get th Salaries, While Engl: Pays Nothing at All. Largest ‘Written for The Evening Star. An exhaustive examination has been made of the political pay-rolls of the civil- ized globe, with the following interesting results: So far as payments in hard cash go, the brawny burghers of the Transvaal are decidedly the best off. Quite recently the Boer parliament increased the salaries of its members to $6,000 a year for each indi- vidual, as they can very easily afford to do, when one remembers the big tax-tolls which the unfranchised Uitlanders are compelled to pay. But in actual emolu- ments the United States senator prob- ably receives a‘ better reward. He is al- lcwed mileage and numerous minor fees and privileges, which swell his annual in- come materially over its nominal $5,000. Great Britain, as every student knows, gives her members of parliament no salar- jes, although government officials for the time being are royally paid. The first lord of the treasury receives $25,000, as also do the foreign, home, colonial, Indian and war secretaries. The lord chancellor re- ceives $00,000 per annum. But for the M. P. who does not hold office there is naught save honor. Even the old privi- lege of nct being Mable to arrest for debt while an M. P. has been abolished. The British colonies, however, do not follow the example of the mother coun- try. New South Wales and Victoria al- low their M. P.’s $1,500 per annum, Canada and South Australia $1,009, with an addi- tional mileage rate for the former, and Queensland $750, with mileage. New Zea- land representatives get $1,200. France gives its senators and deputies $1,900, but there is a “string” to this sal- ary, which might be tried elsewhere, in Vienna, for instance, with good effects. Any member who is twice called to order during a sitting forfeits haif his salary for two weeks. Cases exist where certain fiery French deputies have lost their en- tire year’s allowances in this manner. Belgium, while it grants members of the representatives chamber $800 a year and passes on the railroads. curiously enough makes its senators work for noth- ing and pay their own traveling expenses. In the realms of the little Queen of Hol- land members of the upper house are paid a sum equal to about $4.18 per diem for each Session, but since they only meet on thirty or thirty-two days in the year, they can scarcely, be said to clear much. In the second chamber $830 per annum, with a traveling grant -of 27 cents for every hour spent on the railroad, are the allowances. Absentee Dutch law-givers forfelt their salaries, whether their ab- sence be caused by illness or not. The new Japanese. parliamentary consti- tution compels each and every member of the national parliament to draw an- nualiy from the treasury about $605. Any member of the aristocratic classes refus- ing to accept this. salary, through pride or other reasons,. ig subject to fine and dismissal, bythe parliamentary rules of i 890. Portugal is niggardly with its repre- sentatives, giving them only $320, and Norway pays members from $350 to $400, according to the length of the session. In Sweden members of the upper house serve absolutely fer patriotism, while the lower chamber members are only given $335. Moreover, $2.75 per diem are de- ducted for non-attendance. Even the un- paid upper house is fined for absenteeism, although its members get nothing—not even train fares. The Greek lawgiver is a $360 per annum man, with additions for overtime work (such as in the recent war). It was re- cently suggested that these salaries should be slightly “docked,” so as to help pay the Turkish indemnity, but the idea was promptly condemned. jwitzerland gives her councillors something less than $5 a week, with about 6 cents a day for travel- ing expenses. ieee IN THE CHURCHES Grace Lutheran Church was occupied for the first time since the recent fire Sunday last, and the occasion was made the cele- bration of the first anniversary of the dedi- cation of the new church. An address was delivered by the pastor, Rev. J. E. A. Do- ermann. Sixty new members were this week re- ceived into tho League of the Sacred Heart at St. Augustin fith, pastor. The new promoters are Messrs. Ambrose Green and Richard Greenfield, the Misses Sarah Rosier, Julia Thompson, Fan- nie Thompson, Mary A. Freeman and Philo- nena Werner. delivered by Rev. Father Yorge of George- towu College. Revs. Thomas Hanley, James W. Wissel and John Cook of the Redemp- Church, Rev. Paul Grif- An appropriat address was torist fathers will conduct a mission in this church beginning February 27, and his eminence Cardinal Gibbons will ad- minister sacrament cf confirmation Sunday, March 20. An interesting series of revival meetings at Tweifth Street M. EL Charles P. House, pastor. junday about a dozen persons Pro- fessed conversion. Five were received into church membership. A revival conducted by Rev. Willis Rob- Va., is-in The last m This fund, which consists of several hun- @red thousand dollars, is loaned to needy congregations all over the United States to assist them in building houses of worship. Its headquarters are in Kansas City, Mo. Dr. Power is just closing series of ser- mons on “The Holy Spirit.” The last will be preached tomorrow evening, and the theme will be “Have You Received the Holy Spirit?” The Christian Endeavor So- clety of the same church will observe Sun- day evening, 30th instant, as its regular anniversary. ‘ The Soldiers’ Union of the First Congre- gational Church, which is composed of eighty-five veterans, will hold its next campfire Monday evening. This organiza- tion is endeavoring to premote a correct historical knowledge of the late war. The church is to have @ visit Thursday and Friday next from Rev. Dr. C. M. Lamson of Hartford, Conn., who was recently elected president of the American board of foreign missions. Great interest is at- tached to the visit: Lamson will be present at the Thursday evening meeting and will be tendered a reception by the church Friday evening. Rev. Dr. Geo. 8. Duncan will read a crit- ical paper on the “Polychrome Bible” be- fcre the Presbyterian Ministers’ Associa- tion in the Church of the Covenant Mon- day morning, January 24. Tuesday aext at 8 p.m. the pastor of Grace M. E. Church, 9th and 8 streets rorthwest, Rev. Dr. Leech will give an Dlustrated lecture on Alaska and the Klon- Gike. It is to be illuminated with oxy-hy- drogen light on an eighteen-foot sheet. A silver offering will be taken, the fund thus obtained to ve devoted to gospel work. Dr. Leech of Grace Church has institut- ed a Home Study of the International Sunday Schocl Lesson. Adults and others of the congregation not in Sunday school give their names, pledging themselves “on honor” Lo give at least one hour each week to the study of the Sunday school lesson. The pastor furnishes a Berean leaf for the quarter or a Sunday school journal to each one. He himself makes a special Study of the lesson and gives the results critically and practically at the weekly prayer meeting service Thursday evening. He uses the international lesson for that evening. Those interested attend and hear and make notes. Rev. Frank P. Mankort, pastor of the Motherhouse for Lutheran Deaconesses of Baltimore, Md., gave interesting reports of the deaconesses’ work in the Keller Memorial ard Luther Place churches at meetings this week. There are more than 13,000 Lutheran deaconesses at work all over the world. Sister Keturah is direct- ress of the work, under direction of the Me- morial Church. Rev. C. H. Butler of Keller Memorial Church, who attended the National Anti- Saloon League convention, held in Cotum- bus, Ohio, expects to occupy his pulpit tomorrow. The ledies of Luther Place Memorial Church have arranged for a monthly meet- ing in the church parlor Monday afternoon to prepare garments for the poor. They are specially interested in the mission of Rev. D. E. Wiseman, 8th street extended The Ladies’ Aid Society of t “hurch of the Reformation recently held BU cessful bazaar, clearing neacly $400. They will pay the annual interest on a small indebtedness of the church, and expect to neke an annual payment on the principal, Since its organization this one small so- ciety of women has raised $12,000 toward lot_end_ building. The Chinese school of Metropoiitan M. E. Church will give banquet Mo: day evening to the pastor, Rev. Dr. Joh ston, who is closing his five years’ associa- tion with this school. John G. Woolley, the temperance orator, will preach a Gospel temperance sermon in the Metropolitan Church Sunday evening. At the annual meeting of the Baptist Church of Tenleytown Mr. Wm. F. King was elected superintendent of the Sabbath school, Mr. Geo. Melton librarian, Mrs. Gertrude Johnson treasurer, and Miss Blanche Furgeson, secretary. There were four accessions to the church at the last communion. A new and attractive fea- ture of te Sunday evening service is the volo and quartet singing. The lectures which Dr. Radcliffe is giving at the New York Avenue Presby- terian Church will be illustrated Sunday evening at 7:30 by appropriate music. A large number of the Choral Society, under direction of Prof. John Porter Lawrence, will render the three Baal choruses from Elijah. They will be assisted by the regu- lar choir. The tenor, Mr. Turpin, will sing a solo, “If With All Your Hearts,” also from Elijah. As customary in former years, St. Paul's parish (Episcopal) will observe its dedica- tion festival, the Feast of the Conversion of St. Paul, by special services Tuesday, Jan- uary 25. There will be celebrations of the holy communion at 715 and ll am. At 8 p.m. full choral evensong, with special ser- mon by the Rt. Rev. Leighton Coleman, 8. T. D., bishop of Delaware, and, after the service a parish reunion in the parish hall. Members of other congregations are cordially invited. Dr. Bishop Johnson, pastor. eet ing of the lyeeum of the — was ad- my blood; ng} yet to win, but now to know that win you will, sends through a man an exultation, more sweet that it is still timid, E watched her face—it was very pale—and again took her hayid. The lids of her eyes rose now int it and disclosed en- our hearts are degire of mas- home. This, however, is obviously a pe- culier case. The popular liking for the monarchy, which of late years has become more than a tolerant esteem, would be weakened by the scandal which seems tm- pending. Parliament cannot relieve the ne, Te mond, but the queen ougit fo at aay cost. m but queen ought to at any The Duchess of York may become Queen of England. It would be deplorable if our critics in the United States and elsewhere were able to speak of her as the sovereign whose parents’ home was made desolate by an auctioneer. = ———_+o+____ Unnecessary Advice. From Leslie's Weekly. mocking disrespect, rushed from the room. Carford followed more leisurely. He had at least time for consideration now. and there were the chances of this quarrel all on his side. “Will you come with me?” asked Fon- telles. CHAPTER XXHI. A Pleasant Penitence. There was this great comfort in the vicar’s society, that, having once for all stated the irrefutable proposition which I have recorded, he let the matter alone. Nothing was further from his thoughts than to argue on it, un..ss it might be to take any action in regard to it. To say the truth, and I mean no unkindness to him in saying it, the affair did not greatly engage his thoughts. Had Betty Nasroth dealt with it, the case would doubtless have been altered, and he would have fol- lowed Its fortune with a zest as keen as | Det pet husband had we gom that he had bestowed on my earlier un- "You's leased happy passion. But the proptecy had - stopped short, and all that was of mo- He s masi with a strong ef- ment for the vicar in my career, whether | ¢ort, and in a few words tol ‘me his in love, war or state, was finished. I ot > r Carford' he cam had done and undergone what fate de- = sprigtate costes ss clared and demanded, and must now live in gentle resignation. Indeed, I think that dressed Professer T: Georgia the status of the negro race. At the morn- ing service in the church last Sunday Prof. y: it's no affair of mine. need me later—" He nodded. @ meeting his services e ready. “I thank you, my lord,” said the French- man, understanding his offer. They were now the coor, and stepped out on the terrace. Barbara, ‘hearing their tread. leoked up. She detected the eager- ness in M. de Fontelles’ manner. He went up to her at once. “Madam he said, “I am forced to leave you for a while, but I shall soon re- turn. May I pray you to greet me mere kindly when I return?” “In frankness, sir, I Pleased if you did not return,” she said, coldly. Then, turning to Carford, she looked irquiringly at him. She conceival that he had done her bidding, and thought that the gentlemen concealed their quarrel from her, ‘ou go with M. de Fontelles, my lordZ” But if you If it came to per,lay in a palm that was red and white. With one heldghers, with the other I We Had Not Noticed the Vicar. | i the lady, he or I, and whether to Calais or to England. And although I should have to Calais, | | | i Lil has League of the : she asked. in his inmost heart he wondered a ttle Rev. W. sane “With your permission, I remain here,” | to find me living on at all. This attitude ‘There was a — medicine dealers 3 he answered. was very well for him, und I found some roadside. I seated my- ot Bet Gees Ciliowsnens. Doctor She was vexed and rose to her feet es she ‘self; he would not sit, but stood opposite to church bien aan them “Then where is M: de Fontelles going?” Christ, | strengthen stimulate the =| Fontelles took the reply for himseif. = b atdnitggl One “I am going to seek a gentleman with on it; is this old crone a gentle laxative, amild