Evening Star Newspaper, March 28, 1926, Page 82

BY RUTH COMFORT MITCHELL But the Grays Were Meek and the Trayquairs Were Fiery. HE 3 Gray Hilton uair marri her ex- argy Tr: cited mother forgot all thie | pangs of parting with he only daughter in the proud foy of her entrance into such an ex alted alliance. Margy herself was pinky and pret- tily thrilled over marrying Hilton, but other member of the family would have satisfled Mrs. Gray just as well. There were five Trayquair men, four brothers and a cousin, and Hilton was the last of them to marry. They were all handsome and stalwart and high- colored high-spirited and high principled, all generous and galiant ith voices and eyes to charm the birds off the bush, and all with the devil's own temper. When they were small mother and alds kept vigilant guard and saw that thelr playmates did not tease or oppose them, and when they went to school and college their team-mates and fraternity brothers carried on, and were in business their ssociates kept tonks of ible for pour- just as they ing upon troubled water, kept fire extinguishers. “Sh . . out of the corners of thel ‘g0 easy on that line, old man! Rubs Hilton (or Bruce or Lionel or Derwent or Laurence, might be) the wrong way in the world—nothing he won't do if vou handle him right, but—you know the Trayquair temper!" The Grays were a pleasant, mild, amiable family, as inconspicuous as their name, and it was rather surpris- ing that Hilton Trayquair should seek out Margy when, as her mother pointed out, “he had thg wide world to choose from.” It was a fact, how- ever, that none of the Trayquairs had married brilliantly; they were not greedy for wealth or name. It was, perhaps, that they felt they could sup- Pply enough of each themselves, that it was only fair to equalize things a bit. There was a Gray father, a com. fortably successful business man who puttered in his garden instead of play- ing golf; and a Gray mother, a small, frail, fluttering little person who adored her husband and children but had no illusions as to their importance in the social world; and three Gray brothers, steady, qulet, kind young men; and Mar; to her family, was like one vivid flower on a dull brown shrub. She stood out People noticed her. Hilton Trayquair noticed her, and when he had noticed her for the third or fourth time he let her know that she was going to be married to him in a month. That was vay the Trayquairs managed such L 'HE eldest of the Gray brothers had a wite who wasa tennis champion, with red hair and freckles and large, | efficient-looking hands and a most en- gaging grin. It was the grin which made It possible for her to say impos- sible things. “Well, old dear,” she considered Margy quizically, cocking her bright head on one side, “I see you've got it already!” Margy lifted a narrow, satin-smooth hand and regarded a regal emerald with dreaming eyes. “Yes. Isn't it glo- rious?" (One of the Trayquair tradi- tions was that they didn’t like dia- monds, so the Trayquair flancees never wore diamonds). " “I don’t mean your ring,” said the champlon, “speaking of which, you know perfectly well you've prayed for a diamond ever since you were nine years old. No: I mean the regular, moony, maudlin, cowe-eyed ‘I'm-en- gaged - to-a - Trayqualr’' expression. Every last one of the wives had it in turn, and now you've got it—in the most virulent form, I should say.” Then, as she watched the warm color climbing from her sister-in-law's face to her forehead, to her hair, and flood- ing down to her slim throat, “'Some | little Romeos, those Trayquairs, one | infers: shelk stuff! Well, that's the way the engaged girls look, but the wives—I never saw a woman In charge of a dynamite station, but it there are any such I'll bet that’s just the way they look! Oh, they may be well pald and well fed and not over- worked and they wouldn't quit the job for a mint, but—you know—that ‘Fod Heaven's sake, don't drop a match! expression!” Margy laughed and kept on blush- ing, but Mrs. Gray was shocked and pained. There were some things too sacred to joke about, and the Tray- qualr family was one of them. There was something imposingly tribal about the way the Trayquairs lived; the ancient mansion where Mme. Trayquair held sway, and where the clan assembled unfailingly for Wed- nesday night dinner and Sunday eve ning supper, and—in the same great tract of wooded and rolling acres just on the edge of the city—the four im- portant domiclles of Bruce, Lionel, Derwent wnd Laurerice, and now the rapidly rising house which was to be the home of Hiiton and Margy, who would visit Mme. Trayquair until it was finished. There was a wall, old and weathered and picturesque, about it and greut gates at the entrance with just one word—“Trayquair.” No fancy name was needed; that conveyed everything. “It's almost too wonderful to be true, darling,” sald Margy's mother. “For 20 years, ever since we moved here, I've driven past those gates and looked Into that glorious old estate r | hearing an Margy, in contrast | Hilton went abroad for heir honeymoon and came home to find their house progressing rapid- ly, but it wouid be necessary to spend l:‘ hout three months with Mime. Tra qualr, and the girl was a little ap- paled by that. The old lady was an |appalling person; she was tall and | unt and austere, with singularly ex | pressionless eyes ‘and a hard voice. {She walked with a cane, and |added to the impression of severit | Margy always felt subdued in her pr | ence, although her mother-inlaw was punctilliously courteous and The wives of the other Trayquairs | were cordial and kind to her and made her one of them at once—Mrs. Bru who was a silent, saint | whom the name of Faith 3 | suited: Sylvia, Derwent's wife, who !was very beautiful and had a mutinous mouth: " Grace, married less than a vear to Lionel, who was very much | the sort of girl Mrs. Gray must have {been; and Helena—Mrs. Laurence— | who was suave and politic, with some. | thing just a little sly in her gaz |1t was Helena who pald the most | tention to the newcomer in the famil d tried to smooth the path for her. ‘Oh, Margy,” she warned her, over- invitation, “you mustn't | ever promise to go to the Demmings. | Hilton can’t stand them." Margy was wide-eyed wondering. “I think _they're charming peol clever and worth while and- “‘Of course,” said Helena, impatient- ly. “So.do I, and so does everybody, but that’s not the point. They bore | Hilton; they bore all the boys, and | they simply can't stand being bored.” | Margy looked grave. *“But it you like them, and I like them, and we'd enjoy being with them Helena laughed. “You'll get over she said. “We all did. When you're in Trayquair you do as the Trayquairs do, or else there's a sicken- ing ro 5 Margy didn’t like Helena nearly as well as she did the rest and she re. fused to shape her matrimonlal course along the same lin The conse- quence was that Hilton flew into one of his shattering rages and, to make it a thousand times worse, in the presence of the assembled families. | She didn't want Helena's whispered | sympathy; she was white and shaken, bitter and bruised inside, but she wasn't going to discuss Hilton's short- comings with anybody in the world but Hilton. After they went upstairs she waited for his contrition, but it did not come. He rehearsed his rage agaln, covering any points which he might have missed before, and then suddenly, like the sun coming out from under a cloud, he smiled, caught her in his arms, kissed her forg!vingly, and said: “All right! We'll say no more about it. The subject is closed, |and now that you know how I feel about it, it need never happen again.” Margie brushed her hair 240 strokes that night instead of 120. She had never asked herself whether it was easy for her to forgive, because in her short life she had never had occaslon to do any forgiving. She asked herself now, and she asked herself often in the weeks which followed, while the new house passed from the plastering to the papering stage und she priced rugs and chose electric light fixtures. Once she told herself with a twist of the mouth which wasn't at all like her, “After all, what's the use of worry- ing_about whether I forgive him or not? He always forgives himself!” That came presently to be the hard- est thing to bear, the free and lavish fashion in which her husband and his brothers and his cousin forgave and forgot when they had flown into thundering rages. “Never mind,” Hel- ena was always whispering, “he’ll get right over it!" “But I shan't get right over it." said Margy, shaken out of her resolve to discuss the matter with her least-liked sister-in-law. “Oh, ves you will, or you'll learn to pretend to,” said Mrs. Laurence. That was Helen—suave, politic; the coverer-up, the explainer, the. evader. Margy had them pigeon-holed before long: the sly Helena; the craven little Grace; Faith, the martyr; and Sylvia, the rebel, hard and reckless. Sylvia had no children, Helena had two, and Faith was to have her first baby in two months. * % x % HE tennis champlon, who had been wiping up the courts with oppo- nents in another State, came home and and just worshiped it! And now my y precious daughter is actually going to live ‘here! 1 wonder, darling, if you quite realize, If you quite appre- clate, what a lucky, lucky girl you are!” Margy thought she did, but she was rather quiet about it. She was rather quiet, aly about exhibiting her emotions. “I'm happy, Mumsie,” she sald. “And I know I'm going to be happier still.” e A FEW days after the engagement Hilton came to dinner with the Gray family. They were all there, including the married brother and the tennis champion: and Mrs. Gray, with little crimson spots on her cheekbones, seemed smalier and fraller and more fluttery than ever. Eve one else was at ease, especlal- 1y tenms ciamplon. Mrs. Gray winced everv time she began to speak, because whi'e she was a dear girl and devoted to Howard and making him & wonderfut wife, she did say things which it wasn't necessary or wise to say. “Well, Hilton,” she began breeuily, over the salad, re yvou as good a scrapper the rest of your clan”" Hilton, grinning with entire good nature, thought himself about the averagi “You won't be very much longer.,” the red-headed girl told him, commiseratingly. “When you marry into this Gray family you have to beat your swords into plowshares and your spears into pruning hooks. They simply won't fight Now, look at me! I have thiee saters and we were a perfectly nice, normal, scrappy family; 1 could lick my weight in relatives any day you cou.d find in the calendar. But after two years of being married to Howdy Grey, of contact with the other Gray, doves of peace, actually I'm afraid te go home! The girls can lay me out, I tell you; my sword arm 1s parayzed.” After he had gone Mrs. Gray gently deplored this speech to her daughter- 1+ $n-law, but she Was 2ot coatrite. HE REHEARSED HIS RAGE AGAIN, COVERING ANY POINTS HE MIGHT HAVE MISSED BEFORE. took Margy by the shoulders and looked at her with her keen green eyes. “Yes she nodded. “I see. Now, how about something to do Want to help me at the Home?" (When she wasn't serving over the net she was serving on committees and boards, and her chief preoccupa- tion was with an Infants’ Shelter.) yes,” said Margy, with fine non- chalance, "I have & good deal of time now; the house is coming on so well, and the furniture and rugs are bought, ¢ course, not keeping house get you,” suid her brother's wife, “Meet me at the Home at 10 orrow morning. The workers welcomed young Mrs. Hilton Trayquair. She was at once given charge of investigating the per- s who wished to adopt children. ow, you'd think,” said Ioward's wife, instructing her for the first case, “that we'd be concerned, most of all, with finances—bank accounts—credit, but we're not. They must be able to feed the child amply and wholesomely, and clothe it comfortably for school, but that's all we ask. The chief thing is happy home. life. Ask the neigh- bors, the tradespeople, the relatives. If they row and wrangle, they can't kave the kid; at least, not till they've reformed.” She kept her eyes on the beap of mail on her desk. “Pecple this | affable. ' shivering on the brink of a_divorce, | traghe, you know, often think—Maybe, if we had a_child. S Weli, we tell ‘em, ‘All right, then, behave yourselves and we'll see, but you can’t have one of our bables to play handball with!” ‘I think that's very wise and ve wonderful,” said Marg She {loved the work own sake » it took her private prob- ¢ house was brought to | finished perfection anid she moved into it and settied her lovely belogings with high hopes of happiness. And 20 minutes before their- house-warm- | ton lost his temper and the newly in talled waitress gave notice. Hilton was sunny and serene by the time his guests arrived and he kissed Margy; | “All right, dear, we'il let that fool of | girl go, and we'll just forget i Margy said nothing then, and | nothing that night, but after breakfast | next morning she spoke of the Inci- | dent. Hilton, heartily handsome and | #lowing from his daily dozen, his - | shower and his shave, stared at her. *Look here, Margy,” he said, 1 hope you're not the sort of woman who broods over things and makes moun- tains out of moiehills! Why, I told you the subject was closed! It had completely passed out of my mind. And now you drag it up—and spoil the day for me!” After he had gone, without forgiv- ing her, she sat down to think it over. ‘What should she do? Was there any- thing to do? She loved her husband as much, more than she had loved her lover; but she didn't like him as well! Could she change him? Or should she change herself, as Faith and Helena and Grace and Sylvia had done? Taking them in turn, she considered them. It wasn't in her, she was sure, to reach Faith's saintly fortitude, and she wasn't sure she wanted to; and she knew she could never stoop to Helena's evasions. Well, then, which ‘would it be—Grace's shrinking terror, her expression of “For heaven's sake, don’t drop a match!"—or Sylvia’s bit- ter recklessness. The beautiful Sylvia had the worst of it; the Trayqualr temper had its pinnacle in Derwent. There were ugly tales about him, strangled in their cradles because he was—who he was; Margy recalled how his young Airdale had flattened him- self against the wail and crawled across the floor on his belly at sight of his master. ““Ugh!" said Derwent, his fine face contemptuous, “I hate a { cringing cur!” Two days later the dog was missing. ““Oh, do you think he was stolen? Or run over?" Margy sympathized. Sylvia shrugged. ‘““Well, he's gone, at_any rate,” she said. Now Margy sat thinking until it was time to go to the home. There was an exquisite baby girl for adoption; a flawless child of young love, sound, beautiful. It was going to be a great joy and a great responsibility to place “I'll stop thinking, now,” said “I'll put it all in the attic of my mind and lock the door and at- tend to my work, but I'm going to do something about {t! I don't know v but I know I can’t go on this On her way downtown she &topped in to see Mme. Trayquair. The old woman had never exhibited the least fondness for her, but she treated her lalvays with grave courtesy, and Margy often found her eyes upon her. “I suppose she’s wondering how long it will take me to proper pattern for Trayquair wives,” the girl thought. There was some- thing rather awful about the silent mother of all the tribe, austere, expres- slonless, Her cane seemed to be a symbol of authority; she was never seen to lean upon it. “I see,” she said now, with a rare unbending, “that the wildflowers are begirning to come. I regret that I cannot walk in the woods. I used to take great pleasure in it.”" Margy made a mental note; she would go for-a tramp before dinner, and bring Mme. Trayquair a handful | ot Spring blooms. would go with her! At 4 she telephoned Hilton's of- fice, but he had gone to play golf, so she went alone to the woods for the offering to her mother-inlaw. She found herself wishing she were not such a_difficult person; no one could really love her, because she was so frigid; but was it at all possible that she was so frigid hecause no one loved her? There was a little company of cyela- men on a sunny siope, and Margy gathered a handful of them and went into a shady canyon for maidenhair. She met Sylvia Trayquair on the path. Sylvia and a man named David Hale, who taught history in the uni- versity. They met her with a start of surprise but no embarrissment, and presently David Hale siid good-bye and left them. “Well, said Sylvia, bitterly, after a silence, “shall you consider it your duty to report to Trayquair?” “You know I won’t,” Margy looked at her with deep reproach, “but, oh, Sylvia, I'm so worried! Why do you do 1t7* “Why?" It came hotly. “Why? ‘When you looked at him and listened to him! Because he’s quiet and calm and steady and kind! Because he’s— She broke off suddenly. “Oh, you needn't stare lke that! It ?’t— Perhaps Hilton {cutting down the body ing dinner to the rest of the clan Hil- | leven a I've met him four or five times; we walk and talk; he jends me hooks. The last gave him the deg. sister in the country. Margy was much the paler of the ia,” she gasped, “‘he’ll kill word was deliberate. T He took it to his Sylvia, gave a slight, scornful shrug. “He did that three years ago. What ild be just like of the man who's been lynched, and burning it. It's horrible, of corpse doesn't feel anything. Mme. Trayqualr was pleased with the cyclamen, but it seemed to Margy's shaken nerves as if they must convey to her the scene they had witnessed; she wanted really to burn them up. o HEN for a fortnight there was a period of calm. The four brothers and the cousin were at their gayest | and gallantest, and Hilton was a mir- acle of sunny good humor. There was slight softening about Mme. Travquair. Margy wondered impertl- nently If it were an annual process in the family she had married into—a Spring thaw! But she was too happily content to welgh and consider. If Hilton could be like this for two weeks, he could be dlke this forever, and she would help him to be. The pear! of baby girls was still a ward of the home; daily there were applications for her, supplications, but Margy was adamant. They never, the board congratulated itself, had any one as firm and thorough as voung Mrs. Hilton Trayquair, and that, added to the prestige she car- conform to the | rled: Margy came late on a Wednesday and found that her husband had gone to his mother’s for the regular week- ly family dinner without waiting for her. She dressed and followed, won- dering and apprehensive. Hilton was not in a temper, however; none of them were. They were all there ex- cept Bruce and Faith, and Grace had clearly been crying. Mme. Trayquair looked like an efigy of an old woman carved in_marble. “Hello, Margy,” said Hilton. “Sorry not to wait for you, but mother tele- phoned. It seems that Faith got herself frightfully worked up over something and—well, she's lost her and I'm afraid she's pretty amazement ““What happened to make her worked up?” “Well, of cours est regret In his rich tones, flew off the handle and— “Bruce,” Sylvia cut in, “knocked down Pete, his stableman, before Faith, and when Pete went at him with a pitchfork she fainted. That stopped Pete, but I very much doubt that it will stop Bruce.” Steadily, without haste, her head high, she turned and walked out of the room. The doctor came in to report to Mme. Trayquair. Mrs. Bruce would live; oh, yes, but the shock of her losing her child—— He was strongly advising her husband to find some desfrable Infant for adoption. His grave eyes lighted on Margy. “I dare say Mrs. Hilton has one on her list now- Then, while the clan censidered the astonnding idea, alternately rejecting and embracing it, two visions rose in Margy’'s mind: Falth, poor. gentle, grieving Faith, with the pearl of baby girls in her aching arms, and the pearl of the baby girls growing up under Bruce's flaring rages. * k kX HERE was another board meeting next day, and the red-headed ten- nis champlon was there. “I-1 have an application to submit to you,” said Margy, steadying her volce. “My sister-in-law. Mrs. Bruce Trayqualr——"She told her story, and there were little clucks of shocked sympathy, and then silence. Was every woman in the room remember ing their chief requ!‘ement of har- fmony in the home? Then a woman, whose real reason for being on the board was that she wanted to associate with the right people, spoke up. ‘Well, I'm sure the very great advantages to the child—we simply mustn't let her lose such a chance- <t The champion turned. was just golng to report that there's a man downstairs now, a country minister, who wants her for his daughter. She lost her husband a month ago, and her baby last week."” Margy got blindly to her feet. “I— I'll go down and talk with the minis- ter.” He was a spare, silvery old man, a little shahby, and the light went out of his face when he heard that the baby girl was practically pledged to another family. He shook his head. “Well, now, I know it must be right and just, or you wouldn't do it"—his candid gaze searched her face— ‘“‘but I don’t know how I'm going back and tell Mother and Janey. Janey’s my daughter. We buried her husband four weeks ago yesterday, and the baby was born dead on Thursday He stood for a momént in silence, turning his hat In his gnarled hands. They looked as if he had done a good deal beside preaching. “I wonder if you wouldn’t come out and see mother and my girl. You could explain to them, and promise them another.” Margy drove him out in her car. It was a small picture-village which she had never happend to see before, and his little gray house cuddled cozily beside his litle gray church, and one had as much of a lived-in look as the other. His wife opend the door and Margy hated to have him quench the gladnes in her worn face. *“No, mother we can't have it—not the one ‘we were hoping for, because it's prom- ised, but this young lady is going to explain to you and Janey, and the next baby girl—" Janey looked like a little girl with two long braids of fair hair on the pillow, but she sald she was 21. Margy explained gently and made rosy promises for the future, but the young thing’s eyes filled up with tears and she began to sob. “You just slip downstairs till we get her calmed down,” whispered the minister. There was a woman walting in the living room and she came forward to meet Margy shook hands warmly with her and began to speak in an odd, curiously pitched voice. “I know who you are! You're the one that gives babies out, and I want to say this is the best day’s work you ever done in all your born days, giving that girl baby to that girl upstairs and her folks.” Margy started to tell her the truth but she held up a work-roughened hand. “Not a mite of use to talk, dearie! I'm stone-deef; can't hear a word you say, and I was too old to learn lip readin’. I jest run over to thank vou—I won't even set, 'cause I was di. 1in’ up when I looked out and saw you and him. Well. I want to tell you you're doin' that child a good said Hilton, hon- ‘old Bruce turn. If ever there was a’ blessed family on this earth, it's them. I've never seen their like—gentle-actin® and kind and nelghborly and peace- able. Peaceable! You show 'me the man, woman or child that ever see a tantrum or, heard a harsh word in this house and I'll show you a white blackbird!" Margy sat alone after the neighbor That’s all there is to it—yet.” | but—the | “I'VE WATCHED THIS GIRL,” “THE, HARD VOICE WENT O it e G < “AND WONDERED HOW LONG IT WOULD TAKE TO CRUSH HER.” trotted home to finish “dishing up.” The minister and his wife could not come to her; the dreadful racked sob bing did not cease. There was a Bible bound in shabby calf on the table, and Margy opened’ and began to read. opened at Job, and she read skim mingly; but she kept on reading, be- cause if she did not rivet her atten- tlon on something, anything 4 Then it leaped out at her, as start- lingly as if it had been written on the wall, on the faded rose-pattern paper. “Did I fear a great multitude, or did the contempt of families terrify me, that I kept silence, and went not out of the door * kR % ILTON w not at home; he had left word for her to join him at Mme. Trayquair's, the maid reported, and Margy went at once, not stopping to dre: not even to take off her hat and cloak. They were all assembled, and this time Bruce was with them. Her husband hurried to her. 'Mar- ['3 I've been anxious about you! You're white as a sheet!” His voice was sharp with concern and he put his arm about he: I telephoned the home and they id you'd gone into the country to investigate a case, but; “Well, did you get the baby?" Bruce came close to her, and she saw that he was haggard and hollow-eyed. She stepped out of the circle of her husband's arm; perhaps she would never be within it again. “Ni I gave the baby to the other family. Just as she had known it would be . . the astounded sflence. . . . “Why? Because—because I had to. That is the rule of the home—it isn't money or position; it's—happy home life; harmony. We don’t let children o into homes where there is quarrel- ing.” Just as she had known it would be. Trayquairs drinking the wine of as- tonfshment: the tense, breathless in- stant before the breaking of the storm. The storm broke, then. It came upon her from five points of the com- pass. “I couldn't justify it to myself, even for Faith, and I love Faith. If you're born a Trayquair, you have to stand it; it's your heritage, and I suppose vou don’t mind it so much—you have it yourself. But to bring a child de- liberately into such conditions, when there was the other chance for it— I couldn't. You don't try to curb your tempers, you're—you're actually proud of them, and you ought to be ashamed.” Hilton drew away from her. but she went on, doggedly. *“Now vou'll all hate me, but I can’t help it. People love vou, because you're so— Iso splendid in every other way, and nobody’ll tell you because they're afrald of you.” She was trembling so that she could hardly speak. ‘Well I'm afrald of you too, but I've told you, and I'm alone; there’s nobody to stand by me."” Across the great, dignified room, Mme. Trayquair got started toward her. She did not lean upon her cane; she brandished it as she came. “She's oing to strike me,” Margy thought, nd T suppose they’ll let heg but I don’t care: But the old woman, the head of the clan, did not strike her. Instead, she came close to her and stood beside her and the girl felt her shoulder pressing against her own, and It felt like fron' “No,” she said clearly, “you're not alone. I'm with you, and I'll stand by you. I'm not a Trayqualr, either. 1 just married into the family, and there imes when I've rued it!” ald Lionel, horrified. “Hush!" said Mme. Trayquair. “The girl is right. You're proud of your shame. When you were children and I wanted to train you, to curb you, your father was here: it was the same with him. So I kept silent, and en- dured you, and comforted myself with the thought of your integrity, and your cleverness, and your charm: but all the time I've known the devilish a defect, a deformity. I've felt as if I'd borne sons with humps, with harelips, with club feet!" BY STERLING HEILIG. @ PARIS, March 18. | FEW people and some news | papers remembered on Feb. | ruary 20 that, exactly 50 years | previously, the first Parlia ment of the French Republic was elected. The eonstitution had been voted by a "National Assembly” that took over the power from the empire of Na- poleon 11T after its fall in 1870, The only celebration of this s | centennial has been this week’s w |gle as to the constitutional power. the Senate with regard to the other house of Parliament Also, the constitution had only seven articles—to which an eighth has been added. Tt uses the words “French Re public” only once. And it was voted by a majority of one—a narrow shave for a constitutional government that was being born! The republic } ted. At the same t{me some foremost Frenchmen want. ed a Bourbon or Orleans King. Some wanted the Emperor back. A few had failed at getting up a commune. And many (but perhaps not at all the ma- jority) were for a republic. The pro- ional President, Thiers, who per- preferred an Orleans, spoke ignation and common sense: “After all, a republic will divide us the least.” 1t has happened. No Frenchman under 70 has any personal experience of any other form of government, and whatever certain newspapers may say, no Frenchman really wants any other government. Mussolini's example in Italy may make the disgruntled dream of a Fascist dictator; but there is not a sin- gle Frenchman above the horizon whom any one could dream of for such a post. And there is not a prince GEORGES CLEMENCEAU, 85, A SURVIVOR _OF THE FIRST FRENCH PARLIAMENT AND FORMER PRIME MINISTER OF THE REPUBLIC. of the old royal or imperial families who would not be a laughing-stock, if he proposed to get rid of the republic. Who are now left surviving of that first Parliament? 1t is sald that theéte are 40 of them, but most of these were known only to their constituents then and only to their family friends no\' Still, they should be given credit—because in a little more than a year from that first election a reactionary government ob- tained a dissolution of thelr Parlia- ment from the President, Marshal MacMahon. Out of the 533 deputies (members of the lower house) 363 promptly united and went baek to thelr constituents shouting the battle- cry of the republic—and reaction was swept into ancient history at the polls in October, 1877! Of those now living, only one is still in Parliament. He is a Senator. He still proudly proclaims that he was one of the 363 who saved the Repub- iic. He was born in 1837 and so is nearing his ninetieth’ year. Curifously, he was born in American waters—or, at least, on the French island of St. Pierre, off Newfoundland, which is a center of codfish for France, as said to be of bootlegging for the United States. He became a shipbuilder and man of substance in Normandy, the home of his family. Parliament still looks to 90-year-old Senator Riotteau for counsel in ques- tions concermping the colonies and horse breeding and the merchant ma- rine. ‘This is one type of the old-fashioned Frenchman, rising early and with de- vouring activity, being equally saving and enterprising. Another is Clemen- ceau—who was not only elected a member of that first Parliament but had already, also, voted the constitu- tion which set it going. Naturally, every one in America thinks he knows all about (lemenceau —how, at 85, he still rises at some unearthly hour and writes away at his memoirs. In his hoyhood days French college students were rung up in their dormitories at half past 4 in the morning, and the historian Michelet gave his lecture course at the university at 6. Iven in these degenerate days there have been lectures at the Sorbonne at 8. President Felix Faure, who was stout and needed exercise, took the only hour he could find for it and did a two-hour walk immediate- Iy after rising at 4, and on an empty stomach. The early rising of the old members of Parliament is another reason why the republic has lasted. ‘What every one does not know is the number of books which Clemen- ceau has written and published. The first must have been the translation of a volume of John Stuart Mill when Clemenceau was a_university student, which shows that his mind was steer- ing straight for the republic. His grandfather was a member of one of the legislative assemblies of the French revolution; and his father, a country doctor of Vendee, was exiled by Napoleon III. Clemenceau him- self wrote in very independent Latin quarter reviews, with young Zola and Meline—who has just died a Senator at the age of 88 after a lifetime in Parliament, where he was known as the Father of French Agriculture. Clemenceau’s writings got him into trouble with the empire while he was yet a medical student, and he went to the United States, where he married. But he was back in time for the slege of Paris in 1870 and, like Meline, sat in the “National Assembly” that pre- pared the way for the republic. Both voted for the short constitu- tion that is still vigorous, and were of the first elected members of Parlia- ment. Clemenceau kept on his medicine at the same time, practicing for many years in a popular quarter, and mean- while writing in newspapers (most ot them his own) day by day, a habit which he kept. His first book of his own must have been his medical thesils on ‘“Genera- tion of Anatomical Elements"—just as his last will have been on the Peace Conference which has gener- ated political elements, Between these two time limits, T can count 21 published works of Clemenceau—philosophy, art, travel, speeches and aggressive -political con- troversy—to which the last few weeks have added a little book on Demos- thenes, the Greek orator. And in It, too, some find telling criticism of to- day’s politics. Among those first Parliament mem- bers, there were six who became President of the republic—counting Thiers, who was President under the “National Assembly” that voted the LOUIS ANDRIEUX, 86, A SUR- VIVOR OF THE FIRST PARLIA- MENT OF FRANC constitution elections. Jules Grevy, one of the 363, served a complete term of seven ars as Presi- dent, and was elected for a second term. The financial maneuvers of his son-in-law Wilson led to a politi- cal agitation that forced his resig- | nation. Tt is the amazingly beautiful house of his daughter, Mme. Wilson, that has been bought by Congress for the residence of American Ambas- sadors in Paris. Another of these Presidents were in the first Parllament was Carnot—who was assassinated by an ! anarchist a little before the end of I his seven-year term. Casimir-Perier, who was elected in his place, did not last a year, but resigned from dis- content at the very beginning of the Dreyfus affair. Two of these first Parliament mem- bers and former Presidents are still alive—Loubet and Fallieres. Only a few days ago it was announced that Loubet had received a dangerous shock at his farm where he lives, half way down in the South of France. In spite of his 88 years, he has recovered, showing what wholesome living and steady work can do for long life. Loubet comes of canny farming stock, and his slight figure, with the kindly face of just common, everyday good folks, ended by making him sympa- thetic, although he had the long and disagreeable task of winding up the Dreyfus affair. Loubet was the first French Presi- dent to give an interview to a foreign press correspondent, and this was a chie? glory of the American, Vance Thompson, who has died within the past six months. Ex-President Fallieres is now 85, a man of powerful build. His grand- father was village blacksmith in the region of prunes and wine, the Ga- ronne country, as President Loubet ‘was from the olive country. Both be- came lawyers at the University of Paris and local political leaders, mem- and ordered the first | who edly, Presidents of the Senate, and finally Presidents of the republic. Fallferes succeeded Loubet. Then came their younger comrade, Presi- dent Poincure, and afterward Presi- dent Deschanel, whom failing health obliged to resign. The four, repre- senting four cn»‘Pecull\‘e presidential Trayquair temper for the thing it fs— | bers of Parliament, re-elected repeat- | Trayquairs, silent staring Tray- quairs, drinking the wine of astonish- ment to its bitter dregs. “I've watched this girl,” the hard 0ld volce went on, “and wondered how long it would take to crush her. Do you know what you make of your wives? Martyrs, cowards, sneaks, rebels? And now one of you, in a murderous rage, has killed his unborn child.” She struck the floor with her |cane. “Listen to me! I'm the head |of this house; I control the property I mean to live 10 vears yet, 15, 20' {1 don't ask, I don't expect, that you'll | make vourselves over in a day; I do | ask, I do demand, that you try! From | this day forth, henceforward and for | ever, tempers in this family are under my taboo! This girl and I stand to gether. Come, Margy' She swept the girl out of the room, into her own small study ““Oh,” sald Margy, shaking, the tears beginning to come, “oh, I must go | back!” | Mme. Trayquair gave her a sharp |shake. “Hush!" she hissed. “Walt! He'll come, never fear! They'll all come. Do you want to lose ve won? Very well if you want to, but c and she pressed the girl's fac & the jetted 1 lace which covered her hard old breast. (Copyright. 1026.) French Republic Is Half-Century Old, One Present Legislator Was in First Body elections, were photographed standing in line at & reception of President Deschanel. The son of President Fallieres is a aris lawyer and now a member of Parliament, with a name of weight in the committees The most pleturesque of all these rvivors of the public’s heroic age Louis Andrieux, who is now 6. He retired from Parliament only two vears ago. Until then, as the oldest member, it was he that made the opening speech of the session, full of wit and challenging allusions to the new generation. He s always the finely groomed man of the world of ow-white hair, eyebrows moustache, and fond of trousers with his formal and clipped pearl-gray black coat. He is a correct figure from thé an tique boulevard, from whom the | young might learn much of life and manners. In his day he was a Paris | magistrate, a prefect of police of Paris (very like a cabinet minister) and an Ambassador of France. By marriage he was nearly related to Jules Ferry and other makers of the | repubtic It is curious that during this very period of the republic’s fiftieth anni versary a constitutional w should have begun between and Chamber. As in the United land, the upper house leaves the in | itiative of financial projects to the Chamber, which is elected by univer sal suffrage. In France's present financial distress, government deemed it absolutely necessary that its pro posals, which the Chamber had re jected, should be adopted by the Sen ate and sent back to the Chamber for a final vote of all Parliament. Is this “initfative” or fs it not? Parliament must decide .for itseif But the survivors of the first Parlia ment can s We have given 50 vears of stable government to the country, even in the time of her | greatest need—in war and in peace:” States and Eng Conquering Leprosy. “HE report of the British Empire Leprosy Relief Association for 1925 states that leprosy was formerly regarded as incurable, but recent re. searches have led to the dlscovery of methods of treatment which, if given at a sufficiently early stage, cause the disappearance of all signs of the dis- ease. It is now certain that leprosy can be eradicated from any country where adequate arrangements are made for the proper treatment of all persons contracting the disease, Ethyl esters, obtained from the oil from the ripe seeds of the Southern Indian tree, have heen used for a new treatment, but it has been found that the pure oil from the ripe seeds of the tree is as efficacious, and it is there- fore possible to obtain the treatment at one-tenth of the former cost. Research is still going on, and great things are expected from the combfna- tion of these compounds with certain metals. Contrary to the general be- lief, leprosy Is not very infectious, and under good sanitary and ciimatic con- ditions infection practically un- known. The realization that early stages of the disease can be cured has brought far more patlents to be treat- ed, as formerly they never came until the disease had run its course for about five years. On the lowest com- putation there are 300,000 lepers in India and other British possessions, and the real number is probably far greater. Favorable reports continue to be received of the beneficfal results of the new treatment. With a Cold Towel. Y flicking the chest with a cold wet towel a physician in Calcutta recently caused a_patlent to resume breathing after 15 minutes of com- plete cessation of respiration, absence of heart sounds and pulse at the wrist.