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HCKSTIS. 1S(»4. rntererl, according to the Act of the Parliament of Canada, in the year one thousand ei^rht hundred and ninety-four, by Mrs. Maria Elise Lai per, Toronto, in the Office of the Minister of Agricnltnrc, at Ottawa. DEDICA TION. I dedicate my book, by kindest personal permission, .i^iven at Palazzo Capodimonte, Napoli, to her most gracious Majesty Maj'o^/icn'la, Queen of Italy, ivith the hope that it may afford entertainment for a leisure hour from the cares of State. J u .sum I man] achit Pity Eteri In work over unsel It. in th€ no lai to de] If Franc great readei limite( lover ( will k He wi inquir may tj neyinq mi^ht If t them 1 healing tempte PREFACE. JUST look at that Mount Beau Ideal! How resplendent he is in that wonderful light! He lifts his unattainable summit into the blue, and veils it among those mysterious, many-tinted clouds. Ala..! how imperfect all human achievement in view of that sublime mountain! Better so. Pity to the climber who has reached his aim, his Beau- Ideal. Eternity will not be long enough for that. In deepest sympathy with all my sisters and fellow- workers of the Woman's Christian Temperance Union all over the world, I have wished to add my mite to all noble, unselfish work done for the Master, by writing this true story. It can not be urged with success that I have exaggerated in the portions that treat of the temperance question, for no language that I know anything about, would be adequate to depict the scenes of .''■>lumdom in aiiy land or city. If my boy-hero and my heroine travel somewhat in France and the Riviera of Italy, they have ever the one great aim — to bring to God a consecrated service. My reader who is ever a student, and constantly discovering the limited extent of his own knowledge, who is an enthusiastic lover of art, history and historical scenes and natural beauty, will follow them, if not to learn, to refresh his memory. He will expand a hint thrown out to whet curiosity and inquiry in less cultivated, or youthful readers. Perhaps he may thus dream again the sunny dreams of his own jour- neyings, that, hidden away in the store-room of the mind, might not otherwise be turned over and recalled to memory. If the golden promises, and the resulting peace born of them to my heroine and her laddie, should bring comfort, healing, strength to rise and conquer, to any troubled and tempted soul, the writer will have her reward. No. LOI; Nev The Tin- The A B Rabi Peaf The The CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. '■""" No. 12 Free Street. Via dolorosa, Via cru- cis — Via lucis CHAPTER II. Lohengrin 24 CHAPTER III. New Paths 35 CHAPTER IV. The Ruby 43 ^ CHAPTER V. Tintern Abbey. " De Profundis. " Nel lago del cuore 54 CHAPTER VI. The Children's Festa gg ^ r. , r. CHAPTER VII. A Boy s Code— The Anti-Sin Club 7^ CHAPTER VIII. kabenshokt o »7 CHAPTER IX. Pearl Fishing lOI T, ^ CHAPTER X. Ihe Concert T, , ^ CHAPTER XI. The Jewel Casket j • • • • • J ConiinU. CHAPTKR XII. A Co-DITCH-IL 1 20 CHAPTER Xm. The Bishop ov H(ji.likuli.i\V()(;ony 127 CHAPTER XIV. The Atlantic VnYA(;E 134 CHAPTER XV. Dolce far Nikxtf. 140 CHAPTER XVI La Bellk France 148 CHAPTER XVII. Paris. In Saint Denis — Notrk Dame, Saint Germain L'Auxkrrois 153 CHAPTER XVIII. Le Chateau or: Ramhoiillf.t — Mal.maison .... 167 CHAPTER XIX. Le Chateau de Comimkcine — Saint Cloud .... 177 CHAPTER XX. Le Ch.\tkau I)K P^jntaixkbleau et la For6t . . . 183 CHAPTER XXI. Versailles, Sevres, Gobelins Tapisserie, Meu- DON, Saint Germain — en — Laye, Marly, Le Palais Cardinal, Palais Royal, Le Palais Mazarin 189 CHAPTER XXII. In Touraine. Choisy Mademoiselle, Ciioisy le Roi, Le Ch.\teau de Blois, Le Chateau de Chambord, Le Ch.\teau d' Amboise, Chen- onceaux. Chaumoxt, Loches, Azay le Rid- eau, Le Chateau de Chinon 205 • • . I20 • ■ • 127 • • 134 • . 140 • • 148 NT • • 153 • • 167 • • ^71 183 U- .E IS • 189 E E Conienis. CHAPTER XXIII. SorTHWARi). Lyons. Avignon 22t\^ IVp, , . D CHAPTER XXIV. |i\F.Li,A Rivif:ra 238 ,^, CHAPTER XXV. [Ennahklla. La Villa Da(;mara 249 |r).SCOVKK,KS .... ™'^''^':'* ^^VI. 2S4 ,, „ CHAPTER XXVIII. [In the Pergola-At Last! Gone! ^^^ CHAPTER XXIX RAVEL— Reunion 305 .T Last CHAPTER XXX. y-'l VI/ 'i" wai a chi i:hurch : III strip c p\Lst\var lolden 1 The n Its conn )eing si Dne fell kith the :hosen i H-ace. J ATT I^AST Iff H; CHAPTER I. NO. I 2 KKKK STRKKT. VIA DOLOROSA, VIA CRUCIS— VIA LUCIS. "All common things, each day's events, That with the hour begin and end, Our pleasures and our discontents, Are rounds by which we may ascend." 11 was a large room witii tiirce windows, one looKing over a churcli toward the sunrising, one .southward over several .church spires, roofs and chimneys, and far to the left, over .strip of the shimmering Lake Ontario; the third looked M'cstward, through which the setting sim was pouring his olden light. The apartment wore an air of refinement and taste, and ts command of light i)recluded gloom, and that feeling of |)eing shut in, produced by walls and darkened windows. ')ne felt the conviction on entering it, that a noble soul. »ith the inward eye turned toward the true "Light," had hosen it, and made it a dwelling-place of gladsomeness and leace. Through a large arch, hung with white lace It ii to Af Last. |)()rti£*res, one saw an inner room, containing a large, half- tester bed, and near it a smaller child's couch, both so white they might have been snowed on. All the windows were draped in pure white, the wood- work was white, and the walls were of a delicate acqua marine. The space between the cast and south windows was adorned by a full-length mirror, with a table in front of it. on which stood a large bowl filled with wild-flowers and a variety of ferns. The walls were hung with photographs ot Raphael's glorious Madonna, his Transfiguration on the Mount, that beautiful portrait of him, that one sees in the Louvre and in Florence, and a portrait of Luther and Melancthon. There were also two acjuarelles, one a view of the Campagna di Roma, with the Alban and Sabine Hills in the background, looking like heaps of precious stones in the winter lights, and the distant, snow-wreathed Soracte. The other was a sketch of Giotto's marvelous tower of the Brunelleschi Duomo in Florence, both painted during happy days in la Bell' Italia. A small, low book-case contained choice classics, and a carpet of pale, subdued tints covered the floors of both chambers. A gilt cage hung outside the south window, containing a canary — Roma — for he was a native of Rome — which sang a brilliant melody, for you must know Roma is an educated bird. On a rug near the door lay Don Pedro, a splendid Mount Saint Bernard of j)urest race. A round table stood before the west window, the tray laid for tea for two, and a tiny, shining brass tea-kettle on a .'.ipoli Ikailv. Ilk % portion 'i Throuj )astor of 'astor G I escribed ) resented Dr. am oronto- rood pasi [reat soul »e was tn Af Last. II e, half- 3 white wood- acqiKi iws was t of it, ; and a aphs of on the ; in the ler and view of Hills in lones in soracte. of the during and a 3f both :h ining a sang iucated plenditl •ay laid e on a Smail petroleum stove, sent up a cheery column of steam. And now permit me to introduce to you the two occu- xmts of the apartment. Mrs. Molada sits on a low prie- Dieu chair near the sopha, playing lightly " Addio Bella .'apoli " on the guitarre. and little Harry, the hero of this true story, is just putting the tea-pot on the table, humtning It the same time the sweet melody, that awakens dreams of ^he blue Bay of Najiles, its Capri and Ischia, its Sorento. |ts lovely shores, once the delight of Virgil and of Tasso, md its awful X'esuvius. Doctor Molada, a man of high standing in the profess- ional world, and well remembered in Toronto, had left his kvife and only child a competency, which he had, unfor- iunately, invested in the Central Bank. When the crash of tliat bank came, Mrs. Molada's wealth took its flight for pther lands, where it wrote sonnets, and disported itself jaiiy, like the Jackdaw of the fable, and the result to her ^vas a change from her beautiful home Donthank, to two Jjrh.mibers, her guitarre, her piano and orgati were sold, and §» portion of her large and valuable lil)rary. ■j Through the kind efforts of the Rev. Dr. Glenavon, )astor of the Fleur-de-lis Church, called by his own people 'astor Glenavon. the equipments of the chambers I have lescribed, were bought in at the sale of Donthank, and )rcsented to her. Dr. and Mrs. Molada had been — during their residence in 'oronto — members of the Fleur-de-lis church, and the K)d pastor had been as a brother to them, and, like all freat souls, when the tornado of sorrow broke upon them, »o was true to the old friendship. tM itiii r ill \ !2 .^/ Lasl. As Mrs. Molada sits in her low chair, sweepincj the strings of her guitarre, you see a lady somewhat above the medium height, with a large head, gold-brown hair of that rich and 1 rare shade one sees in the old paintings of Venice, a regal | brow, too high for an artist's type of beauty, a countenances illuminated by large, soft, lustrous hazel-gray eyes, and a| firm mouth, about wiiich plays a pensive smile — a mouth,; though firm, of mild and gentle expression. Her graceful form is draped in black — there is not a hint of color about 1 her save the gleam of her wonderful eyes and magnificent | hair. At the first interview, you are struck with a sublime something that seems to rest like a halo over the form andl features, and fill the great eyes with a radiant light, and you | look again to discover the mystery. When you come to know her better, you will understand it. Her attitude^ towards Christ is fairly well expressed by the little hymir* which she wrote in the hour of her bitterest sorrow: HOW LONG. How long, oh Lord, how long ? Has been my constant moan; Hut now my only song — I trust in Thee alone. Thy will is always good, .^nd what Thou dost is best, Thou knowest, I-ord, I would Seek only Thee for rest. My sutTerings seem small, When I recall Thy pain. And Thou hast borne them all, That I with Thee might reign, At Last. 13 Miyht triumph over sin, And walk in constant light; The victory 1 win Through Thy t-tcrnal might. Harry is almost a perfect copy of his mother. His golden [air tosses itself in a beautiful confusion of freedom -loving iirls over a massive head of grand proportions, and his eyes [re the loveliest sapphire blue. When under the influence \\ any strong emotion, like listening to favorite poetry or uisic, the eyes seem aflame with latent Are, and the child- ice becomes pale. Raphael would have chosen him as a lodel for one of his glorious boy-angels; he reminds one of "ra Angelico's purest, divinest forms. The head is that of philanthropist and of a genius. Will he write in marble \r in colors ? — in music or in words ? Vast possibilities lie trapped up in the little form. As you regard him, you see le fact, and you ask the same (questions his mother has iskcd herself a thousand times. She has devoted herself during his young life, to the raining of his rare mind, taking care to lay the foundations Y a high, all-sided character broad and strong. But Mrs, [olada is in a rapid decline, combined with heart trouble, )rbidden much physical e.xertion, and you feel a wild throb [t your heart as you look at mother and son, and see that ic boy will probably soon be motherless, as well as fatherless. A tap at the door interrupted the playing and the hum- ling, and a kind-faced woman opened it, to enquire if she )uld do anything more, and her little daughter, Baldera, )nK'\vhat larger than Harry, peeped in from behind her lothcr. H Ai Last. y Mrs. Trueman is Mrs. Molada's landlady. She is a poor widow ? Bless you, no; she is a poor woman with a dyunkcn\ husband; she rents the chambers, and ^ives attendance, and; takes in ironing to support herself and her helpless children] and her useless husband. Query. Does a woman get out of her "sphere" when! she supports a lazy, good-for-nothing drunkard, who sworoj at God's altar to "cherish " her ? How glad I am that woman has a " sphere " ! That ha>i been unanimously granted her. It never entered into thci head of any man under the sun to deny that woman has ai "sphere," even if he have none himself If he had, wliy| does he intrude so much into hers ? A sphere of which the centre is everywhere, the circuni | ference nowhere. Now a is a large place. Look at it! ^ If she had received onlv would have been left out, over could have had therej much space' which she no claim. I differ lute r it is h inch I in, to loccup Ihighes "D The [that p j)ronoi womei Lord ^ iare a g Iphetic This [withou world 5 [not the [accomj I woman j recogn Let i [first CO [was to lo. T [sent \v( It is .'f/ Last. 15 But she has a "sphere." Look at that, and see the vast iciitTerence between it and a flat circle. Woman has an abso- lute right to every inch of that globe — every square inch in it is hers — every cube inch in it is hers — every superficial inch is hers, and, therefore, the entire globe is hers, to Uve fin, to work in, to use, and God has "pre-ordained" her to Occupy it. She may dig down to the heart of it, climb the [highest mountain-peak of it, or go down into Slumdom. " Do you demand proof? Here it is." Psalm Ixviii-i i : I" The Lord gave the word; great was the company of those [that published it." I wish that every woman knew that the |j)ronoun in the original Hebrew is in the feminine, and means women. The New Version translates it properly. "The [Lord giveth the word; the women that publish the tidings are a great host." Wonderful prophecy! for this is a pro- jphetic Psalm — wonderful, oartial fulfillment in this age! This is emphatically woman's age. The world can not do [without her work. If the great reforms that our troubled [world so much needs, are ever to be a glorious reality, and not the wild chimeras of a disordered brain, it must be largely accomplished by woman's influence, woman's heart, and [woman's work. The world's cosmopolitan minds already [recognize this. Let it not be forgotten — a most striking fact — that the [first commission given by the Christ after the resurrection. [was to women. The first commission is in Matthew xxviii- 10. The second in John xx-ij. This is indisputable. Jesus [sent won" n to tell men. ll i.i clear, then, that woman has been pre-ordained by TO' I6 A/ Last. the "Bishop of Souls" to proclaim His gosj)el, and in presence of this royal ordination, "every mouth shall be stopped," that would hinder her in this the " King's business." No deputed commission is hers. It is direct from the Head " of all power in heaven and in earth." One thought more. Women were present at the Pente- cost — Acts i-14, Acts ii-i, and, "they were all filled with the Holy Ghost," — " the women, and Mary the mother ot Jesus." Mrs. Trueman was a true soul, fi;ll of large sympathies, and the whiteness of those beds already referred to, proved her loving care of her lodgers. But to return to our sheej). The sun had set, and the gray shadows of twilight were busy extinguishing every ray of light, when they had, finished tea. Harry, with rare handiness and grace for such a weei laddie, had put all in its place, his mother watching him the while with a yearning tenderness, and what an ine.xpressibki solace he was to her, only her great mother-heart and God knew. Seating himself close to his mother, he said: " Mater, we are very, very poor. We have not food for to-morrow, What shall we do ? " " You remember I told you, Harry, that when thej Glasgow Bank failed, ladies in Edinburgh and elsewhere, who had dwelt in mansions, and driven in carriages, were! obliged to hide themselves in attics, sometimes up eightl stories or more, aiid sew or knit, or do anything. And! .// lAlSt. ., and in shall b(- " King's is direct th." le Pcntc- lled with nother ol mpathies, o, proved ight were they h;uli ch a wcf e him the I xpressible | and God " Mater, I -morrow, I when thej lelsewhere, iges, werel up eight! ing. And! tiu'V had not as we have had, a nol)le pastor, to buy in favorite objects to furnish these home-like rooms, as our dear Dr. (ilenavon has done." " If we only had our dear piano in that space there on the east side, near that pleasant window, and the organ in tliat corner between the south and west windows, it would he .so nice — just perfect! " " Yes, dearie, but we must be patient and thankful. I low good and true God has been to us. Bring your little Bible, son, and let us see from that, whether we are ' very, :rrv poor,' as you think." "And your guitarre, too? We will sing, will we not? " "Now, son, turn first to Isaiah liv-5," and Harry read: " For thy Maker is thine husband; the Lord of Hosts is his name." "Such a 'husband' can never fail, Harry, for he is the Omnipotent, 'in whom all fullness dwells.' " Colossians i-19. " Next find Jeremiah xlix-i i." Again the musical child- \oice read: " Leave thy fatherless children, I will preserve them alive, and let thy widows trust in me." " Then Psalm cxlvi-9:" " The Lord relieveth the f.itherless and widow." "Now Proverbs xv-25:" "The Lord will destroy the jt he will establish the border proud; 'idoii. Next Exodus xxii-21-22: of Ye shall not afflict any widow, or fatherless child. If thou afflict them in any ise, and they cry at all unto me, I will surely hear their :f w crv , I l.S .// Last. " Thai is just woiulcrful, maUr. " "The truth is, son, the grandest, clioicest promises in God's word, arc to the widow and orphan." "Mater, people can not know these words are in the Bible; if they did, they would not worry so, would they? " " Nor think themselves 'very, very poor'." "Oh, mater! I did not understand when I said thaty " No, dearie, I know. Now, wc will couple with the forejT^oing, two sublime and ji;lorious assurances. You will find the first in i Corinthians iii-2 1-22-23. The second is in Romans viii-28." Harry, trained in finding places in his Bible, having committed the names of all its books to memory, and knowing just where each book was to be found, could almost open at the place sought. Not like a person I once saw, when the pastor announced the first reading-lesson for ii Chronicles, turned to the list of the names of the books of the Bible, to find where Chron- icles came! Not to be able to turn to a book at once, is as bad as having dust on one's Bible. Again Harry read: " F^or all things are yours, whether Paul, or ApoUos, or Cephas, or the world, or life, or death, or things present, or things to coms; all are yours; and ye are Christ's; and Christ is God's." "And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God. ' How I love those ' knows ' of the Bible. They leave no doubt, no question, all is absolute certainty. It is not I hope, nor think, but ' I know'." " For we know that if our earthly house of this tabernacle A/ Last. 19 miscs 111 e in thf they ? ' ' hat. with the You will I second is ', havin.1;: | ory, and id, could nnounced the list of e Chron- ce, is as I, whether ir death, | ; and ye | good to ' of the absolute | ,' " 1 labernaelc J were dissolved, we have a buildinji; of God, an house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens." ii Corinthi- ans V- I . " Beloved, now are we the sons of God, and it doth not yet ai)pear what we shall be, but we know that when he shall appear we shall be like him; for we shall see him as he is." i John iii-2. " We know that he heareth us." i John v-15. 'These marvelous promises, cfun, comprehensible only to faith, these 'knows,' are for all God's children, and since you and I have taken Christ for our Lord and King, they are ours. But, they are only for them. There is not a promise to the rebel. So you see, chCri, we can not possibly estimate our riches, they are so vast; they fill the Now and the Eternities." A carriage was heard to drive up and stop in front of the house, and Harry ran to the window. "Oh, Mutterchen! It is Mrs. Rabcn. with carriage, and coachman and footman, and he has got a large basket! How nice! You said you k7ieiv — you trusted. God has heard ! ' ' "There!" " Mrs. Raben said something to the footman, and he has shut the carriage door again. She is not coming up. The footman is bringing up the basket. You will not permit him to leave it? It is like sending an empty carriage to a funeral." " Let us hear the message, chert.'' In answer to the knock, Harry opened the door. Don Pedro barked — he understood! he had heard! %'%. if! J ■ :n 20 .1/ fast. The liveried footman, scttini^ clown the basket, dehvered a polite preamble, and ended that " Mrs. Raben was gnally hurried — would call next week." " Harry, say we thank Mrs. Raben very much for her thou^hful kindness." The footman departed, and Harry set down the basket and shut the door. '' Mullcrcheuf' " Yes, dearie." " Is Mrs. Raben a ^ruc lady? Or has she only money / Is she a snob ? .She dares to send you up a basket by her servant — she, sittini^ in her carria^^e! " "Harry, the Lord sent the basket. Let us not worry over the manners of those who brought it. Is there just a little pride in hiding, .son ? ^'ou are too little a boy to know that the world is full of shams and snobs. A true character knows that money does not make true merit, or high culture and breeding /'<'7' .y^. But it is a mighty factor for good, consecrated to Ciotl. She would not have dared act so if we had been at Don- thank." " There would have been no need, Harry. The Central Bank made all the trouble — but it has been permitted." "Why?" " I can not answer you — I have many thoughts about it. But, now, bring in Roma, or we shall have him hoarse: how sweetly he sings to-night! " Patting Don Pedro's beautiful head, he went to the win- dow followed by the dog, when he suddenly exclaimed, "Oh, Mutterchen! Here are Pastor and Mrs. Glenavon, /If Las/. 21 and she is carrying a liaskct! " and Harry flew down the stairway to meet them. " We liave just come to say good evening for a minute," said Mrs. Glenavon, entering. " I have been so much engaged to-day, that I could not come earher. To-morrow will be my husband's birthday, and as you are not able to join us just yet, I thought we would run over and bring you a share of our preparations."' "And I suspect,'* said the pastor, "that Harry will find his favorite cake, to say nothing of a certain cream — Charlotte Russe, which is rather toothsome for older boys." The Rev. Dr. Glenavon was a born pastor. His tall and slender figure was seen quite as frequently at the doors of the j)oor and neglected, as at those of the opulent. He had a true sympathy for the rich, who are often misunderstood and undeservedly censured, and from whom impossibilities are sometimes expected; but there was not a single grain of snobbishness or toadyism in his composition. Simple and unassuming in manners, he made himself at home every- where. In the home where Sorrow had enthoned herself, there he sat down at the hearthstone of the heart, where oft- linies only the gray ashes of consumed earthly joys and hopes were left, and which no leaping flame should again gladden, and in just the right words held up the torch of eternal hope and faith. And when he went away people said, "VVhatabeautifullife!"* In the pulpit he captivated the thinkers, and the non-re- flecting he set a thinking. Whether he examined the surface, >■ 'I =; i I h 22 Ai Las/. face, or plunged beneath the surface, or looked at the under side of thing^s, or dug to the core of them, or traced the guiding Hand in the mazes of life's tragedy, there were always the racy style, the quaint, sparkling thought, bracing the intellectual being like a mountain breeze. He was a poet too, in the hignest sense, and many of his poetical flights in the pulpit were evovled from his arduous brain, though the fact was not always known. His quiet modesty delayed people in discovering all his rare intellect- uality. " I see you have your guitarre ready, dear Mrs. Molada, will you and Harry sing? Or, if you must not, accompany him?" " I feel my heart so full, Dr. Glenavon, I must try a little to-night." Mrs. Molada possessed a voice of rare pathos, and rich- ness of tone and color, and she had carefully trained Harry. She sang that beautiful solo from Mendelssohn's " Elijah," "Cast thy burden upon the Lord," and then Harry had to sing alone the same comi)Oser's " The Lord is mindful of His Own " from the "St. P.uil." When he came to " Bow down before him, ye mighiy," he sang with such abandon, with upturned face, forgetful of all around him, his face pale with enthusiasm, that the mother forgot her accom- paniment to listen, and the pastor rose and moved toward the window. So must Mendelssohn himself have looked in his moments of insjjiration. Harry," said Dr. Cilenavon, " God has given you a voice to sing; have you consecrated it to Him ? " Last. :he under aced the ere were t, bracinji^ ny of his arduous 4is quiet intellect- Molada. 1 company I ry a little I ind rich- d Marry. Elijah,'" y had to ndful of Bow bandon, lis face acconi- toward :o " Yes, Dr. Glenavon — I am all His.'" A sudden and powerful change, a wonderful development Isecnied to have taken place in the boy as he had sung, and not only the mother, but Dr. and Mrs. Glenavon had been Istruck with it. When they had taken leave, Harry set to work to dis- Icover the contents of the two baskets. Mrs. Raben's contained a dozen bananas, a large basin [of strawberries ready for table, a jug of cream, another of |nii!k, a roast chicken, a boiled tongue, bread and cake. In Mrs. (ilenavon's, were a loaf of home-made bread, rolls, a roll of butter of the choicest, fruit, and the cake and Charlotte Russe of which the pastor had so playfully spoken. " What do you think now, son, of your 'very ve>y l)oor . Her face was shining with a wondrous light, and a tear (glistened in the great eyes. "Cay/ssi'ma nria," Harry cried, embracing her passion- ately, " I will never say I am poor again, never. You have proved to me that that is impossible. How queer! We have yiothini^ and yet we have ' all things! ' " " To the world a paradox. May mv wee laddie never forget the divine command — ' Have faith in God.' " •11 r noments iod has Him?" mmmm CHAPTER II. -M" LOHENGRIN. " So many worlds, so much to do, .So little done, such things to be." ATI'>R, may I go down town ? I want to see a boy | about soniethint':. May I do what I like all this morning? Vou always .said you could trust your Harry. I will be back before noon." " Vou are a wee ladtlie to go about alone. You know nothing of the world." " ' Little Mother,' I shall have to learn, now we are ;il. alone, poor, and you ill. When we usetl to drive, or ridiv and visit the poor so much, I saw and heard all sorts dij boys. I know a good many /)oor hoys. Please let me g( and say I may do what I choose." " I trust you, son, but I fear others. Go with Cjod '.— i blessing." "Adi/io Can'ssivia /?n'a,'^ and hugging his mother enough! to strangle her, Harry dashed down the stairs, and turn^.i his steps toward King Street, his constant comjxuiion, I^'^;^ Pedro, marching with stately dignity by his side. Harry was a precocious boy of double his years, of strik- ing originality, great self-reliance, and a courage that d; i not know what fear meant. ^/ Last. 25 ''U anima Uia c da viltate offesa,'"^ could not be asserted )f my litde hero; true, he liad, so to speak, no experience ){ life; as widi all children, ' is knowledi^e was, so l.ir, krt^eiv subjective, though he was far wiser than jiebple [;ave lim credit for — the ol)jective must come with life — sorrow, ife-joy, life-disappointment and dtsi/Zusion. llis theory, not yet understood by himself, or develoj)ed, ,as that to li'il/ was to do, and, t(j a certain extent, he was hj^ht. He had not yet learned that there are limitations |o this will-power and its results. His love for his mother was the governing passion of his ^oung soul, and now, when she was reduced to poverty and ielicate health, all sorts of plans for her su[)port and com- jort floated through his boyish mind. Of himself he never [hought, only of her; ami, though, j)ernaps not fully con- scious of it, his trust in God was perfect. Those promises, )f which she had spoken so sweetly and eloquently, and ith such childlike faith, had stamped themselves deej)ly on lis mind, anil would lend tone and color to his life. Mrs. dolada had proved her superior wistlom and insight into [he boy's character, by trusting him; nothing would have [liscouraged him, and grieved his high and noble spirit, like want of confidence. At the corner of King and Toronto streets, Pat Donegal lad a "stand " as a boot-black. Harry had been with his mother to visit the D(Miegals, a verv poor Irish family, who lad known better days, and he knew Pat as a kind, jenerous lad. ■ If I' *rhy poui is oppressed with vile fear. 26 At Last. Pat Donegal was the "boy" ILury wanted to see, andj he was not long in reaching the place where he worked. " Good morning, Pat. How is business? " "Hello! Molada. What does such a little toad as yocj know 'bout ' l)usincss ? ' What's up ? " " Pat, I am goirig into business, and I want you to telj me some things — to teach me. Will you ? " "You! Business? Whatever's in the wind?" criedl Pat in genuine sur{)rise. "See, Pat, you know the Central Bank has — " ^'quashed' interrupted Pat, emphatically — "and / must take care o;1 my mater." "St. Patrick! You?" "Yes, Pat." " What are you going to do, Samson ! " " I am going to be a Newsboy; but I must earn some| money to buy my papers to start with." "Oh, I'll lend you all you need. I don't forget you:j beautiful lady-motlier's visits, and baskets of good thin_q;s nor her kindness when poor sister Nora died, either, would do anything for her and you." "Thank you Pat. I knew you were the boy to consult 1 but I have resolved never to borrow. I will earn it." "Resolved!" That's a big 'un for such a little codger| " How will you earn it ? " " Blacking boots." Pat uttered a prolonged wheugh. " Pat, you must not judge me by my size. I think I ca: do it. What do yon say when you want to polish a gentle J man's boots? " '// La^i. 21 > see, and! rked. d as youj 3U to tell ? " criedj 'quashed | ce care c. I earn sotnt- jrget y()vi:!| od things! either. "^^ o consult It." le codgeri Jiink I can a gentle! " D(i you want a shine, sir? " " How much should he pay ? " "Ten cents I ask. A generous cove sometimes gives lore. Is Don Pedro going to help? " Don Pedro wagged his tail. •'Thank you so much, Pat," and they turned to go. I say, hello!" cried Pat. "You'd better go to the )rner of King and Yonge, there by Ellis' Jewelry store." Don Pedro careered and danced around his young master |ke a dog out of his mind. Harry hastened back to No. 1 2, iut not home. He knocked at Mrs. Trueman's door. She ras ironing, and Baldera was attending to the fire. Out of Ireath he managed to say, "Mrs. Trueman, I want our joot-brushes and polish, and the stool till noon, if Baldera in nurse baby without it, and the whisk too, please." "Why, Harry, what do you want with them? I am [oiiig those things for you." "I will tell you again Mrs. Trueman, I am in a great [urry now. Mater has given me the whole morning to do I choose.'' "Well, I never!" exclaimed Mrs. Trueman, but Harry ras gone, Don Pedro carrying the whisk. It was a lovely June morning. The chimes of the English [athedral were ringing nine, and the various steamboats, rriving and departing, were expressing their high a[)prccia- jon of sounds by letting off steam in dismal minor, or sharp iajor key. M.irry reached Ellis' store, and just opposite the Dominion lank he :.et down his stool and laid his brushes and box of ;r. 'Ml W t ' 28 .// I.asl. blacking on it. Don Pedro kept the whisk firmly in lii mouth. Marry had not lont;- to \'ait. Presently a tall mar] of majestic mien approached, attv-.ided by an Italian serv.inil carrying a valise. He was of the purest Saxon type, pakj yellow hair, i>lue eyes, an athlete, over six feet in stature, i)ii;| with a remarkable grace and lightness in every movement, The countenance was a very striking one; it was not onl\- ,:| handsome, but a good, anoljlefice, without a trace of vanity. There was a latent power expressed in the massive head covered with those bright golden curls, in the tine features, in the whole personality. He looked like a man who coulcl do anything he chose to do; like one, who, once arouscd,j would perform migiity deeds. The ancient Scandinavians would have called him Baldc:| of the Norse Myths. He looked a worthy sjjring-god. Harry saluted the stranger with the gesture of a prince j and said: " Do you want a shine, sir? " "What did you say?" asked the gentleman. '' Poi Bacco! Poverel/o.' ^"'^ he added in undisguised amazenent, The manner of the boy and the (juestion he had asked (li(;| not rhyme. *' Sa>itissiniia Maria! I'l piccolo! " •'Thou art right Alessandro — he is 'piccolo.' What i- thy name Master Lilliput? " " Harry Molada." " What a musical name! Are you from Italy? " " Our name is of Eastern origin. I am Canadian born *rci Bj'.CCu: I'livcK'Hii! r.\ liactlmsl I'oiii liulc fclluul Al Las/. •'■Eastern' is it: A A you want to 'shine' my boots ■\o \(»u ? How loni^ liave you lieen at this work? " "1 never polished a Ijoot. \'ours will be the first pair, laiul they arc :r;j' dusty." The stran^^er looked down at his boots and laughed. 1 [ow long" do you expect to ' shine ' boots ? " •' I am just making this a stej-)ping-stone. I intend to be |i ni'wsboy." " What do you know about ' stepping-stones? " "Why, you know Tennyson says: 'Men may rise on [stepping-stones of their dead selves to better things.' " Sol Is that beautiful dog yours ? " "Yes. That is Don Pedro. Mater brought him from I Mount Saint Bernard." Don Pedro wagg'xl his tail, and tossed his head. "What is he carrying that brush for? " " I thought I might brush some one's coat or hat." " Vou are an original scrap of humanity. Do you speak lltalian?" " Si\ Si'o^norCy iin poco. — Yes sir, a little." " And German, too? " " /?, incin I /err, ci)i urnij^y " And, of course French ? " " (h/i, Monsicu)\ loi pcu.'' "And .Spanish probably? " " .S7, SeTior, un poco.'' " Where did you learn all these foreign tongues? " " Mater taught me. Pater also spoke scvcr.il languages. |\\\' l.ikv a different language ever)' da\'." ;t M 1 } h\f M 1 ,-. Iri \r) .If Lasf. Let it not be imai^nncd that I am guilty of exaggeration, or am describing an impossible or improbable precocity. My traveled and experienced reader will know full well that such is not the case. On the Continent of Europe all culti- vated families speak several languages. A professor of distinction in Heidelljcrg said to me that he did not intend his daughters to grow up "with a German mouth." And they spoke several languages with perfect fluency as a mother tongue. Take a little child just beginning to lisp words. Speak to it alternately in French, Norwegian, Dan- ish, and that child will soon distinguish one from the other, and will reply very soon in the language in which you address it. Try it, and you will prove the truth of my assertion. I know that of which I affirm. You would be surprised at the speed and ease with which a child will learn to speak a language. I knew a wee Amcricainc of five years in Paris, who spoke French exactly like a French child in three months, while her sister of sixteen did not speak so well in six months. All mothers ought to be linguists. A good \ mother will spend hours daily in her nursery — it is a true sanctuary to her — and her little peoj)le will know all the modern languages she does. And what weariness thisi would save in a University course — and what time — and then the student does not learn to speak these tangjiages I there. But what he learns with his mother in his first seven j or eight years, has become as much a part of him as hisj head. Again. Why nir4y not Amcrici produce a precociou:- boy .'* Italy ha:^ her precocious Dante. Germany ha:- At Last. 31 licr " Wonder -child"' Mozart, who played before llie great Austrian Htiij^rcss at seven years witli eclat, and Hungary her Liszt, who played before Beethoven at nine, and aston- ished him. After this furious digression, we icturn to our sheep. Tile stranger g;azed earnestly into the sweet face, and the great eyes, and an expression of melancholy swept like a shadow across his noble countenance. What was it that had so suddenly recalled a face he had known and lost so long ago forever ? " How is it you arc wishing to polish boots to buy s : paper."- "Pater died. He left us rich; but the Central Piank failed — failed — and — and mater has only me — and she is ill. Our money was not simply invested in the Central Hank. Dear pater held shares you know — and — so we lost double, you see." " Ves, yes, I see. It is hard on you, my wee chappie." The stranger reflected. Turning to his attendant, he said: "Alessandro, thou canst make use of these things. Thou hast lost thine again, without doubt." " S/eeuro, Si Si<^nore/' Then addressing himself to Harry, he said: " You see, Molada, I am a traveler, wandering all over the world, and my man here needs these things you have. Will you sell them to me? " " I promised Mrs. Trueman to return with them at nooii." ^ ; U^ .,r i l\ 32 .'// A,rs7. " Who is Mrs, Trucniaii ? " "She is our hmdlady. Wc rent our rooms from her, slie serves us." "Are the articles hers? " " No, they are ours," " Then just tell her you sold them," " But Baldera uses the stool to nurse baby." " Oh, you can keej) the stool. I will take the whole A7//, whisk and all. Mere, Alessandro, i)olish my boots — and — Molada, you might brush my hat; it is dusty enoug^h." This beinq; finished, the stranu^er put a gold coin, a double e.igle, in Harry's hand. More he dared not do. "Oh, this is too much! " " \o, it is not. Vou have taught me a lesson, I^nue- heart, worth the gold a thousand times. Now tell nn where I can lind good coffee." "At Mrs, Coleman's, King Street West, just this side hand, Don Pedro carrying the stool. Rushing into Mr.^ Trueman's, he cried: " Mrs. Trueman, I have brought lialdera the stool t' keep. I sold the other things for this — see ? " Ai Last, 33 " Be still. Is it j)ossil)k'? Why it is a doiibk' (m.^Ic! " Mr>. Molada had l.iid the covers lor dimicr helore the wisterii window, which looked down on a (lower-,L;arden ,md trees, had decorated it with the vvood-fk)wcrs Il.irry IikI gathered, and some fruit. All was ready for Mrs. Truenian to hrin*; in dinner. She was playiuL; softly .Schinnann's Schlummer I.icd when Harry knocked, entered radiant as a sunbeam, kissed his mother over and over, and then laid the j^old coin in her hand. Then he told her of the interview with Lohengrin. " What was he like, Harry ? " Il.irry drew a picture. Mrs. Molada laughed. " I wonder who he can be," she said. " He said we would meet again." Mrs. Molada seemed lost in a reverie. Then Harry told lur all about his i)lan to be a newsboy, and she was still silent. And then Mrs. Trueman served their simj)le dinner, hut, thanks to those two baskets, their sweets and dessert were not wanting. " \'ou know, mater," said Harry, as they still sat at table, "one tenth of that ten dollars is the Lord's." " I am glad you thought of that yourself, chtri. All you have is a gift from Him, to enable you to try to make the world better, and your life, grander, nobler, more powerful." Harry j)laced a plate of bananas on the tal)U> before the tiiirror, together with that bowl of fresh wild-tlowers and tt rn.i, calling his mother's attention to their loveliness. " What a proof we have had, son mine, last night and \\\\> morning, of (iod's love and care. Those promises we ■■ \ 1 \ \ it' li H /// Last. read together have been verified in our experience within twenty- four liours. " ''Carissima,'^ you are always so (juiet and happy — so sure. ' ' " Yes, r/ur/\ I am sure, because I believe God. 'I know liim whom I have believed.' Our Father keeps his word." " Will he )ievcr forc;'ct, or rather icaif to answer ? " *' Perhaps 'wait,' to try our faith, 'forj^et,' never. Where is your Bible? Open at Isaiah xxxiii- 15-16. ' He that walketh rijLjhtcously and speakcth uj)rightly; he shall dwell on hii;h: his place of defence shall be the munitions ol rocks: bread shall be i^iven him; his waters shall be sure' Then Psalm clii-15. ' I will satisfy her poor with bread.' Thus I mijL^ht (juote by the hour. There are thousands of l)romises." Then Mrs. Molada took her i;uitarre and they sani;': "Take the name of Jesus with you," and then Harry sought his books. " Mater, it is DcHtsch\ to-day, and I have to repeat the lirst half of Schiller's Lied dcr Glockc — '1 lie Song of the Pell." " That is true, you may stand to repeat it, nay I neeil not the book." *Oi>/5.v/wa— ili':in.-st — a favoiilc jx-t naiiii' of Haii\'s for liis mother. t/^'Vj/.vr//— (Icrinaii. CHAPTER III. NKW PATHS. " Fill all tile stops of life with tuneful breath." " I fi'lt so younj;, so stronij, so sure of God I " " I heard at nii;lit a little child <;o singin.i;. " T\\\\ (lay after Harry's rencontre with his mysterious friend Lohengrin, he had sought counsel of another 1k)V, this time a newsboy, Max Dorn. He found Max at tile corner by the Dominion Bank. " Max, I want you to tell me how you buy your jjapers." " What do you want to know for ? " " I am going to be a newsboy, too." " Good for you ! " cried Max. "How many papers do you 'sj)ose you can carry? Of course Don Pedro')! help. Don Pedro pricked up liis ears. "Oh, Ms/'' said Harry. " Well now, you see," said Max, assuming a very know- ing look, very much like that of a crow, "it stands to reason you must clear somethin', or else what 'ud be the good ? You must buy wiiolesale, and then they give you a rabbit." "A 'rabbit' ?" " Yes, you git somethin' taken off, rabbit they call it, I dunno why." y' /// Liut. "Oh, Max, I tliink you mean rahate; the word comes from a French verb, rahaltrc. to abate, to lessen; the \Wwv is lowered because you take a number." "That's the ide', 'zac'ly. I say, Moiada, its O. K. to know 'bout thini^s. Now I don't know 'most nothin'. It I had a mother like yourn — my mothicr's dead — father too. I live in thi Newsboys' lodq-inq^-house. If we only had a bi^i^er house, it 'ud be comfortabler; we're awful crowded. Come and sec. You could help us to read and write. We're s^o\x\ to have a ni^ht school." " That I will. Max. I will help you all I can. Now tell me the rest about the papers." " Well, in a dozen cent papers, you ,y^it a cent rabutter! For two cent pajiers, you'd git two cents in a dozen; in tive cent papers, five cents in a dozen." " I see. It is quite clear. You are very c^ood at reck- onino-. Max. There is a twenty-five cent piece for your lesson. You can teach well. Do you ever put anything; in the savings bank ? " "How kin I? ! had to buy a suit — cheap — hat and boots for to go to church and Sunday school." " You will be able to, after awhile, Max." " I will 's soon 's I kin, you bet." "You do not waste your cents on beer, or whisky, or tobacco. I know." " You bet your life I don't," " (iood morning. Max. Thanks, very much." " Good morning," said Max, touching his poor little torn hat. Af /aJSI. .">/ did!" Sini'' l>ir(li(', in a wild dcliriuin of oladnoss. S si* s — No no no: No - no no: Katie did ;/n a single paper for me! Doing well, eh ? " "Are you going away ? " "Yes, off to 'shoot the rapids.' We will meet again in some land or another." " I hope so." "Goodbye! An rcvoirl'^ ''Au revoir!'' cried Harry, in his voice a hint of a shake. A/ /.as/. 41 '' Ar/:rdrrr// '' cried Alcssandro, rcmoxinm liis liat. uiih a i)r()tbund how. "Mater!" exclaimed Harry, rushing; into the nxjin; " Lohen£»-rin is gone! I have just seen him on hoard tlie Cars nan.'' "So!" said MK Molada. Humher Wood was refreshinoi^ly cool, and luxuriant with wild llowers and ferns. Mrs. Molada seemed to u^ain strentj^th troin the pure, fragrant air; her cough was less tyranical. .She was an accomplished botanist, and while she sat and rested, Harry brought her the sweet angel-flowers, and together they dissected and studied calyx antl corolla, sta- mens and pistils, and she explained to him some of the mysteries of plant-life, the varied leaf-forms. In the marshy bits along Humber river grows the mag- nificent pitcher-plant, Sarracenia purpurea. It is an inter- esting fact, that a Frenchman gave his name to this beautiful hotonical genus Sarracenia, of which he specially describes the Sarracenia purpurea, or pitcher-plant. This person was Dr. Sarrazin, both a naturalist and physician, and the friend and contemporary in Canada of the traveler and historian, the Jesuit Charlevoix, and the Marquis de la Galisonniere, the most enlightened of the French governors. In Humber Wood also grows in luxuriance the Moc- asin-flower, or lady's slipper, and the lady's Mantle, belong- ing to the exquisite wild-wood orchids of the genus Cypri- pedium, its pure white touched with the faintest blush, or deeper rose. Those unfamiliar with wild-wood solitudes, can scarcely have an adequate idea of the loveliness of this < ■: i I I 1: P :!■ M ir ! I ; ; I 'i ■5, i ii M 42 .'// Las/. fi^lory of our Canadian woodlands. Charming blue, violet, pink, yellow and white blooms mingled with the greens of ferns and moss, foliage and undergrowths. Nodding blue- bells greeted one; snow-white tillliums, and delicate wood- anemones — the Germans c.ui it wind-bltime, wind-flower, waved gently in the faint breeze; white waxy mandrakes expressed their fragrant breath; the yellow elecampane, its root full of exquisite sweetness, the plant that in fable sprung from Helen's tears, offered her incense to the sylvan god- dess. Trailing things clambered ^rcl twined, and swung in mid-air. One finds, tco, the wondrous Ginseng, Panax Ouinquifoluim, possessing, if wo are to bcll?ve the Chinese, miraculous youth and vigor icstoii.ii^ powers, bringing to age and decrepitupe, all that they have lo:3t " What does the word ' ginseng ' mean, Mater? " " It is a Chinese word, and signifies the resemblance of a man, or man's thigh, hence the name, for its creamy-white root resembles the lower extremities of the human form. The Iroquois word is garentoquen, signifying legs and thigh separated. ' ' Harry was in an Elysium. He wrapped up the freshly- gathered flowers in damp moss, then he opened the luncheon- basket, whisked out the little spiritus lamj), boiled water and made his mother a cup of tea. How happy they were together! But the sun, as he has a trick of doing, got down on a level with the tree-tops, and threw long shadows, and swiftly approaching night sent them back to the smoke and dust of the city. i!t : CHAPTER IV. I THE RUBY. "Oh, beings blind! what ignorance besets you?" " Of this be sure, Where freedom is not, there no virtue is: If there be none, this worhl is all a cheat." IT was on a corner, where four streets crossed, so tliat its chances were ^ood tor entrapping its victims. It was a "first-class" saloon, was the Ruby, though it would have been difficult to tell to what "class" some of its guests belonged. It was rightly named, for no ruby could boast such a blood-red dye as the noses it turned out. Men have a queer way of classifying the genus, Homo. They have their ' first class,' ' middle class,' * lower classes,' till they reach the lowest scale in tiie human gamut — ' the scum of society,' ' the tramp,' 'the wretched dwellers in the Slums. They seem to forget that there must have been a time when these Slums found origin, and that men and women began sometime, first to create them, then to live ill them, till, finally, they were born there, and died there, and — well, God knows how they died, and how they were buried! These people never seem to ask if they have any- thing to do with these Slums, or, "am I my brother's keeper? " 'i ft Hi • J ; 1 'M 1 t « U.5 44 .// IaisI, I +■■- I) Do they forget tliattlie^e 'classes,' all have souls, whether they belong to Exclusiviana or to Slumdom, living, immortal souls, caj)able of upstcpping or uj)lcading to God himself, or, on the other hand, of descending incalculably far below the brute? But few ask " how did they get so low ? " They were not created low. Man " was created in the image of God." I imagine, should you ask these jjeople if Christ died for every soul, for the poor tramp, for the Slummers, their res- ponse would be: " Y-es, oh yes, of course." But how is Christ going to save them in the very face of Selfishness, Indifferentism — that are " lifting up the horn " into the very heavens, and grasping after possession of the whole earth, making a ladder of human blood and bones by which to ascend ? Booth, that Christ-Jesus-like man, and his wonderful wife and their Salvation Army, are down in Slumdom, and a few self-denying souls, who " have not counted their lives dear unto them; " but do you sui)pose anybody who talks about the sc7un ever goes down where the Vesuvius of alcohol has poured down his burning lava, and scorched to death, the poor quivering souls ? I trow not. Slumdom, like Pompeii, has to be exhumed, dug out with patient pick-axe, and every unit of that ' Sunken Tenth,' must be hand-i)icked, slowly oftimes, and with prayers and tears — yes, and with desjieratc struggles with cringing, shrinking despair. Love goes down into Slumdom; she is its sole friend. Ye churches! WMiat ari' xou doing ? Are you sup])orting the tri Sunda the Ch \(ni re evil th( Beware of the where hath be one." "Wl "It i and to J petrefac Ruby o I'adiatinj And shci with run trough-t and won liave a s And sho reply 'y( exaggera possessec p<'nril of \\<>e, and »icnt and "11 a corn Al Last. 45 the traffic in alcohol, and darini; to go to tlu- Lord's Table on Sunday to commemorate the undying, the infniite love of ilie Christ, who died for each — all ? Are you hesitating, are vou refusing to unite as one, to annihilate the most terrible I'vil the world has ever seen ? Are you doing this for gain ? Heuare! You will yet find yourselves in the " (iold Mines " of the " Inferno," " descending to the fourth steep ledge," where "not all the gold that is beneath the moon, or ever hath been, of these toil-worn souls, might purchase rest for one. " What is the weightiest question of to-day ? " " It is how to get those people out of Pomj)eii — Slumdom, and to prevents others from going down there and becoming petrefacts. Now, how shall we do this? Shall we open a Ruby on every corner in Slumdom, and have Trap Lanes radiating like a honey-comb through the dismal region ? And shall we set up troughs at i)rincipal points and fill them with rum, whiskey, gin, brandy, beer, cider, and place a (rough-tender at each with tin cups, and let the miserable men and women — aye, and the children drink f So long as they have a sou — then kick them out, and bid them 'move on.' And should they say 'where? into the lake?' Will you reply 'yes, yes, anywhere, only get out of the way!' I exaggerate ? I jxiint a horrible picture ? Would that I possessed a Faust and Wilhelm Meister pen or the tragic pencil of a Gustav Dore, that I might portray in the tints of woe, and death, and ruin, and broken hearts, the e?iviron- Dtciit and the liioitclc of the Ruby and its allies. ' It stood I'll a corner,' 1 said. It was Janus-ficed. It was not like I \ i s 'l M 46 At Last, 'Mr. Facing Bothways ' — it was more. It was Mr. Facinj^ All ways. Its Argus-eye pierced every human horizon, and penetrated to the depths of every pocket. Gold was its aim. It lived for gold. .Souls ? Bah! What are they to us? If people want to drink, let um. Let the people be free! It's not our fault. They 7vill drmk, so we may just as well have their money — if we don't, somebody else will." The Ruby was "first class," with a back-door leading into Trap Lane, the main street in Slumdom, which des- cended to Hell Gate Brewery. -<' There were no mansions, nor villas, nor residences on Trap Lane, nor its radiating lanes, only hovels. Any hour of the day or night one would see human ruins tangle-leg- ging up and down in the various stages that end in " tight," whatever that means. Now and then a tangle-lcgger was "hustled" intf- a hovel at the sight of a baton turning a corner; but frcciucntly he was caught — but where to put him ? what on earth to do with him ? The Christian Government had issued licenses to sell alco- hol. "Revenue, you know, must be had." The people got drunk, and the Christian Government must, as in duty bound, look after tangle-leggers and worse. So the Mer- cers were built, and a Black Maria set up. All this outlay of money to keep these Slummers from the throat of society. Yes, it is true. The Colossus, the beast, that Neb- uchednezzar "set up," is standing yet, rules the Gentile period, and the end-time of it is not yet. ♦There is a brewery oflliis tiame in llie United Slates. I lia\e taken the lib- ert\ of borrowini; its name. Al Last. Women were seen in Trap Lane, reeling on unsteady feet, girls wandered there in hopeless misery, little children, head- bare, foot-bare, ragged, unkempt, carried jugs of beer there, or tried to get father or mother, sometimes both home. Home ? Of course, these people did not march out in a body ! Exclusiviana would have turned up its fastidious nose, and the Toronto Wittenagemote would have been called to order in no time. The Ruby facade fronted Broad Boulevard, and at night, under its electric lights, one saw the glitter of its gilding, its plate-glass, its pictures, its luxurious carpets, hangings, tapestries, silver-plate and polished crystal. There were private chambers, where the professional man, the student, the artist, the bank-clerk or other clerk, the merchant, the traveler could enjoy each other's society over a bottle of Burgundy, or Chateau Margaux or Lacrymae Christi, when it was genuine, or indulge in a " B. S." or an " S. C." or a "G. C. T." or some other elegant concoction with a musical name, and play a "quiet rubber" for "trifling sums you know." The down-grade began under such refined environment, that no one dreamed of the "biting serpent," the " sting- ing adder," the back-door, Slumdom, Trap Lane and ruin. How could this refined enjoyment in the society of high- breeding, end in tangle-leg ? Impossible! You are a crank to suggest such a thing. What right have you to tell a man what he ought to drink ? Grapes and rye and barley and buckwheat and hops and juniper and poppies and wormwood grow. Why ? Granted, ■\ \\\ \ \ \ % P i 1 i i I ! h li \^ At Last. i-.'i friend. And the deadly Ui)as-treo and the nightshade grow, and (jod made arsenic, and strychnine! " We become drunkards ? Ha, ha, ha! We know how much to drink, when to stop." But your one bottle has become two — three! Why did not the people in Trap Lane stop? The Ruby turned out "first-cla.ss " work — none better. No saloon could show finer "redness of eyes," "woes," "babblings," " cups of trembling," and its gout and carbuncles were simply beyond compare. "Father, I wish I had the money it cost to color your nose," cried a poor boy, who wanted to study, but there was nothing to pay with. To how many of the fathers of the Ruby might the same words be addressed, who shall attempt to say ? My litde hero had disposed of his evening papers, and was walking down Broad Boulevard, and just as he reached the Ruby, he saw little Baldera Trueman whisk round the corner. He turned and ran after her down the street that extended along the east side of the building, and into a court-yard, on one side of which is the back-door entrance to the Ruby, on the other, the gate which opens into Trap Lane. He overtook her at this door. ' ' Where are you going, Baldera ? ' ' " To try and get father to go home! Mother has been crying all the afternoon, and I thought she would feel better if I brought father home. ' * " I will go in with you. You ought not to go there alone. Are you not afraid ? " "Not now, I used to be afraid, at first, Harry, but I K( iU // Last. 49 h.ivc gut over all that for poor mother's sake. Do you know Harry, I can not understand it at all, init I feel it, there j lings so awful, you forget to be afraid." Tweii.y years ago Alexander Trueman was a gold- medalist of Toronto University, and one of the most brill- iant barristers of the bar. None could plead with such overwhelming eloquence. Judge, jury, counsel, prisoner, were all fascinated with his sarcasm, his esprit and woe to the witness inclined to labyrinthine answers, when he cross- (juestioned. Mr. Trueman had married a noble, cultured Toronto maiden, whom he truly loved, and whom he intended to care for. He frequented the Ruby to meet fellow- lawyers, and oth^ iends, and, over a glass of wine, to discuss some new anc portant case, or the new entanglement of '-Mme imprudent and blundering politician. But the one doubled itself, till five bottles had been seen under his chair at a public banquet. Toronto can witness " if I lie." Now came tremblings, head-burnings, heart-burnings, delirium tremens, till his very soul was worn threadbare with sin, as well as his body and his garments, so that he was metaphorically kicked from the state entrance to the Ruby, and in his unceasing crave for drink, he slunk to the backdoor, he, who like a king in person as in intellect, had commanded in every environment. He would have ended in a Trap Lane hovel, in the heart of Slumdom, had not his noble wife kept him in a respectable street and in com- fort, ironed till she was in danger of evaporating, and his poor young daughter w'ent carrying homt the baskets of r^ 5"^ .4/ La.sl. shirts and collars that tlic wife's poor, trcmblirij^ hands had 'cariK J to iron. God help such wives and mothers! Oh, it is a bleeding j)ity that man can be so hard, so cruel, and for the miserable crave and craze for gold will wreck the body and the soul of his brother. Harry and Baldera went into that bar-rooni. I would as soon attempt to picture to you the realism of Dante's Inferno, as to portray the horrors of that bar-room. A bar- tender was servinq;- brandy, rum, gin, whiskey, and what besides? Sorr... took their "hon " — "bitters," "straight" — nearly all. One poor wretch, shaking as if he had St. Vitus' Dance, stood looking at a man who had paid for a g);is:. ' ^f brandy and was lifting it to his lips, when his hand was .f rested in mid-air." "A'n't you goin' to treat me? I ha'n't got no more money, I've pawned every blessed thing to my wife's wed- ding-ring, and I'm burning in here" — pressing the poor, trem!)ling hand to his chest — "for God's sake give me a drink." Baldera stood by the dojr, Harry at her side, and looked around that hellish den. Poor Trueman had evidently drunk his liquor " neat," and it had gone " straight " down his throat. He was lying on the floor, in a corner. dead drunk! It is not a polite expression, my dear. I know it. But I am not talking of Dante's Paradiso, nor of roses. We will just look this thing " srjuare in the face." You see no trace of a gold medal about that miserable prostrate form. No, no! that is only clay. God I \a that I .// IauI. 51 thin^ a man / What put /liiii there / Answer nie without liinching, ye wlio sold those infernal drinks. No brew from witches' cauldron was ever so deadly. What will you do when you stand before another " Bar," not the bar of any Ruby ? Poor Baldera stood and gazed. She looked as if she had been turned to marble. " We can not get father out like that," she said in a hoarse whisper. " No, ! am afraid not," whispered Harry. • ' What shall I do ? Poor mother ! ' ' One of the half-drunken wretches standing near, turned at the sound of child-voices, and recognized I {arry. "By Jove!" he cried; " if here a'n't that little cursed, white-faced saint Molada! Come on my young Puritan! Have a glass! Pll stand treat. Hello there! a glass of brandy — hie — straight — hie, and be quick about it." And he seized Harry's arm, and dragged him toward the bar. Baldera disappeared like a flash, and, opening the door, let Don Pedro in. " Let go of my arm," said Harry; " I do not drink." "Oh, you ' do-not-drink,' eh? Ha, ha! I'll make y(ju drink; I'll pour it down your throat." Some laug'ied and cried "go it!" and some "shame! shame!" and the bar-tender began to look nervous, but he could not offend his customers — of course not — that meant money! The man took up the glass. " Drink! " he said. Don Pedro uttered a low, t'nreatening growl. ' 1 i ■ r !i i^i h t • ' \'\''-- ' y 1 ^n 1; i 1 ; i . 1; I i 52 .-// Last. "Still Don Pedro!" said Harry, patting the dop^. "I warn you, Mr. Drinkdregs, if you make another move with that glass, or use any violence, Don Pedro will kill you." The man held him by the collar, but stood still; Harry kept his hand on his dog. In the meantime, Baldera had run to Broad Boulevard, in search of help, when she saw Dr. Glenavon coming toward her. "Oh, Dr. Glenavon," she said breathlessly, "quick! quick! They are trying to force Harry to drink in the back bar-room of the Ruby!" Imagine the scene, as Dr. (ilenavon suddenly stood under the open door. * ' Hands off ! That boy belongs to God. ' ' Every horror- stricken face turned toward the speaker — the glass fell shattered to the floor. "God! He never comes here," groaned one. "No, that he don't," muttered another. " Jesus Christ came to save the lost. He would save you from the accursed drink, if you would let him,' said Dr. Glenavon. " See, this poor little girl came to take her father home. Could you not let her and her friend go in peace ? ' ' The two men who had cried "shame!" came forward, and helped poor Trueman, who had been somewhat roused from his drunken stupor by the noise, to go out. " If there were only some shade hereabout,'' said Dr. Glenavon. " Shade ? " At the Ruby ? The Ruby did not provide "shade." Fire-burning- thirst, yes, but customers must find their own "shade." Al Last. 53 " Call a cab, Marry, and we will take poor Trueman and Bald^ra home. Oh, thou monster, thou Demon Selfish- ness! " he soliliquized as he waited. "But for thee, this ruinous traffic in alcohol might cease. Poor friend! What has made the difference between thee and me ? " I can not close this chapter without reminding my readers that this ' ' brandy quarrel ' ' began almost at the threshold of the history of Canada. All honor to the memory of Bishop Laval, of the race of the great Montmorency family, de- scendant of the powerful and stern Constable of France, Anne de Montmorency, who demanded total prohibition with unyielding firmness. He excommunicated all those engaged in the abhorred tn ffic, and, not only he, but the clerical party in Quebec, demanded that the sale of brandy should be made a capital offence. And in fact, death was decreed, and tw» men were shot, and one whipped for sell- ing brandy to Indians. Selfishness prevented his wise de- sign, for the sale of brandy was a source of great profit to the fur-traders, and Laval's party was defeated. i!t ■ r . it's IfcU' CHAPTER V. TINTERN ABBEY. "De Profundis." " Nel lago del cuore." T INTERN ABBEY was the country-seat of Judge Under- bill. It was situated in a large park of oaks, beeches, maples, and evergreens, on the shore of Lake Ontario, and within agreeable driving distance from Toronto. Thirty years had brought the trees and lawns to a fair growth — some of the trees were aborigines — and the house, like its ivy-grown namesake, built of gray stone, had thrown over itself a hint of that nameless softness of tint, that age alone can produce. The approach to the house was by a winding allee of silver maples and sweet limes, interspersed with large boxes and urns, containing the ile.x, the pomegranate, the olive, orange and lemon trees, the lovely passion flower, one precious Edelweiss, brought from the Tyrol, and one caught glimpses, now and again, of a statue or a bust, or a fountain, and countless festoons of roses, trellised from tree to tree, like that lovely Villa Wolkonski in Rome. In the winter season the great conservatories at Tintern Abbey, were a rich treat, graced, not only with the exotics I have already mentioned, but with many others from all parts of the world. The main entrance was on the east Af I.asl. 55 side; the south and west front faced the lake, and a double veranda extended around these sides, the pillars of which were entwined with clematis, sweet-honeysuckle, bitter-sweet, and roses. To the south a point of land stretched some distance into the lake, called the Poets' Corner, from its being adorned with statues and busts of some of the world's crowned poets, and three allees, the Dante, the Schiller, and Goethe allee, led out to its extremity, which was beautified with a charming Tuscan Temple, the Doria, a summer study, furnished with choice books, a piano and harp. In summer the air was laden with the jierfumes of the south. There grew vanilla-sweet, scarlet and gold orchids, niphetos, Cirand Duke Jasmine, roses in luxuriance, from the rich, deep crimson, to the delicate white Malmaison rose, with its soft inner blush, the luscious tuba-rose, the snowy guelder rose, helitrope and violet, the flaming pome- granate, and the pale and deeper tinted passion flower. The spicery and the glamor of Italy and S|)ain lingered in countless blooms, in shrub and tree-top, and the tremolo of some wood-bird gave life to the stillness, disturbed only by the lapping of the waves. The entire water-front was terraced, and strengthened by an embankment of solid masonry. Steps descended from the Poets' Corner to a l)ier, to which a boat, like a Venice barchctta — not a gon- dola, for that is always black, and enclosed like a wee room — with its pink and white striped awning, was waiting for use. The western side of the park was terraced from the lake to its extremity. Each terrace was a garden of ex- quisite flowers, bordered by sweet limes, the tops trained to ^!|' Ijl! \ ' T- 1 : ' til! 56 W/ ImsL interlace, so that one walked under an extended Gothic arch of living green. The upper terrace was the Wilderness, with a labyrinth, rocks, caves, and on the highest point stood an Ionic Temple, in the centre of which was a fine statue of Shakespeare, who enthroned as the King of Poets, surveyed the entire domain. Beyond lay the Tintern Abbey farm, which included a beautiful wood, and the streamlet Princess Use went serpentining through. Mrs. Underbill was the designer of this Canadian Palavi- cini, and it was a faint reflection of her highly-cultivated mind and taste, broadened by much foreign travel. Judge Underbill was a man of stately dignity on the bench, and his penetrating eye seemed to read counsel, jury and witness through and through; but in his own home he was the embodiment of genial kindness, and the highest breeding. He was a good husband, and a good father, an universal favorite, and little children approached him in perfect trust. Judge and Mrs. Underbill were people of the world, and had not yet learned the true aim and purpose of life. Mrs, Underbill was a leader of fashion, though not its slave, and an idol of Toronto society. But Sorrow paid a visit to their lovely home. Five coffins forced their way unbidden to the great garden-drawing-room in a single week. Diptheria was the Fate that cut the thread of life and bore the five home- treasures to God's acre, and Mrs. Underbill sat down childless, in sullen and rebellious despair. Mrs. Molada brought to her friend the sympathy of a large heart, moved and filled with the true Christ-spirit, and sought, while comforting, to point her friend to the life of J/ Lasi. 57 higher latitudes, the life of love; she endeavored to show her the sweet Christ, with all His tender pity and love. But Mrs. Underhill could not see. She said it was cruel oi Ciod to rob her of her children. She could not live without them. God did not need them. He might have let her keep them her life through. He had so much, all joy, and he had made her wretched, had left her nothing. Husband? Home? Great talents to do good work for God and humanity ? These were left. The gifts of God were his to take when he chose. That he loved his creatures, and could only do what would bring good to them, if the soul would but see his true character. In vain, Mrs. Underhill did not want the work. Her children were hers, and she neither saw nor felt the love. "All things shall work together for good to them that love God," brought her no ray of hope or comfort, for she did not "love God." The struggle was long and bitter, and Mrs. Molada could not be sure that her words had made any impression. But, one day, asking her friend if she could not see light ? — see the Way of Faith ? — Mrs. Under- hill grasped her arm in much excitement, literally shaking her, and cried: " Mrs. Molada, where is God f I can not find him. I pray, but I speak only into empty air — there is nothing there — there is no one to hear. Oh, show me God.' ' ' Mrs. Molada had her answer. Her heart was filled with a holy joy. She r(?/'i?/u think, Cherief' inquired the Jud^c of his wife. " I have no doubt that Gabrielle's plan is a good one," rejilied Mrs. Underbill; " but she has not yet taken me into her confidence." " Some Laune, I should imagine." " Vou will, papa? " "Yes, yes, Gowan, you shall have them bought." So Judge Underbill sent a young law-student to " bid in " the Donthank piano and organ. n 'I M-i ♦ .; ;(i i m chaiti:r \i. THE CIIILDRENS FKSTA. " Come to me, () ye children! l""or I iie.ir >uu at your play, And the (luestiiMis that perplexed me Have vanished ijuite away. ^'(' open the eastern windows, That \in)k towards the sun, \\ here thoughts are singing swallows, And the brooks of morning 'un Ah! what would the world be to us If the children were no more ? " WHEN the strawberry season had just touched lliat of the ras})berries, it was the custom of Jud^e and Mrs. Underhill to give a festa or fete to all the poor children of Toronto, and to ( iabrielle, this was the most joyous of all summer festivities. The ciiarities for I'hildren, the poor children from the destitute families, the newsboys, were bidden, and the cler_q:y of all denominations, and other friends, were invited to assist in entertaining; and takinj,; car(> of the cliildren. Tiiis sinnnier the ciiildren's festa was to grace Dominion Day, and tlie preparations had begun. Mrs. Underhill and (iabrielle had been busily engaged decorating the Doria with llor.d designs, 1m(1 plaved a duet ■(' r IT to let .•// /wrv/. 67 oil tlic jjlano, and ( iabriellr was practisini^ lu-r lesson on the harp, "iJ// mire," said ( iabrlelle, interrupting her practice, "the Moladas are coming >/'fsi n- fins /" "Certainly, /iia })nctti\ if Mrs. Molada is able. She was too poorly to go to Dr. (ilenav'on's birthday festa; but the weather is warmer now. I will send the carriage lor her and Harry early in the morning." "But Harry said he would come with the newsboys. Do you know why I asked papa to buy the Donthank piano and organ ? " ' I fancy I know." " Do you ? Well, after the .Moladas are come, will you give orders that the two instruments be taken to their r(X)ms ? Oh, will not Harry be surprised ? — and glad? He will never guess who sent them." " Mrs. Trueman will have the key, as she does up the rooms when they are out, so there will be no difficulty." "0«/, via mere, and see, I have i)rinted this little note, address and all, because they must never know who sent them. And please send those two pretty shades tliat I bought with my pocket-money, for the gasalier, will you ? " " Yes, darling, you shall have all as you desire in this matter." The little note ran thus: — "A true friend sends Harry Molada the Donthank piano and organ, that he need no longer neglect his music. Never seek to discoxcr the Sender." Dominion Day came with jxTfect wrathcr, Rain had ■ ij.f i 1 ' It- *■ \ . Ill 68 .-// lust. H. fallen the day previous, layiiiji^ all the dust; but at Tintern Abbey there never was any dust. Trees, flowers, lawns, leaping- fountains, the smiling, shimmering lake, the boats and steamers, had clad themselves in gala-dress, to honor the birth-day of Canadian Unity, and to welcome and gladden these dear poor children, into whose lives came so little gladsonieness. A steamer had been chartered for the day, to convey the children, who assembled at the foot of Yonge street, under the care of officers appoinred for the purpose, and to make the trip every two hours for the con- venience of lielping friends. Mrs. Underbill sent the carriage for Mrs. Molada and Harry directly after breakfast, and the moment they arrived, Gabrielle seized uj)on Harry, and the two children set off to inspect the preparation of the tables. "Do you know, Harry," said Gabrielle, "you are my ' Round-Table- Knight ' tc day ? " "And you my 'Kilkenny,' " replied the delighted boy. " You look as if you had been in Fairyland." A clear ca.se, you see, of Dante and Beatrice. Long lines of tables, draped in the snowiest white, were being laid. Mountains of strawberries and choice ffowers beautified them. There was to be a dinner at one o'clock, and tea at six, just giving time to have the children all safely back in Toronto before nightfall. Several bands, and amusements of all sorts had been provided. Ji'dge and Mrs. Underbill, Mrs. Molada and the two childrer. tood on the great lawn, between the house and the Poets' Corner, and their freinds and the children, gathered around them. 1I .-// Lasl. 69 were bwers llock , safely cUkI and id on irner, :m. What a scene it was! What a joy in the faces (jf the children! When the newsboys approached in a body, Harry ran to meet them, and walked with them to the place of reception. Many of Toronto's noblest were there that day. Mayor Mowbank soon found himself in the midst of the children, who all knew him — all the i)oor and troubled knew him. Toronto little guessed all that her Mayor was doinc;- sidy rosa^ for the miserable. Among the clergy came Pastor (ilenavon of the Flenr-de- lis, and the stately Dr. Knox, who thought "there would be no lack of parsons to-day." When all stood around the tables under the delicious trees, the bands j)layed the Dox- ology, and the grand old melody, and the golden words that have belted the world and thrilled millions, rose against the heavens, and died away over Lake Ontario. Litde did Luther imagine the extent of his work, and little does any worker know the tremendous importance of every polishing rub given to the stones, the living stones of the Temple of Christ. The chiselling, and the i)olishing do not manifest themselves readily, and many a worker has toiled on a life-time, never guessing the immeasurable results. Take courage. Der Ta^r der Garben, — The Day of Sheaves — shall reveal thy labor. As Mrs. Underbill looked about her, and moved with her husband past the tables, and looked into those child-faces, and saw there the pain and neglect written on tiiem, a vision rose before her of the Christ-Child, an I the awful mvsterv of pain — sorrow. And her heart throbbed to reflect that she had been admitted as a co-worker. 7 , '%t f B ' ■ w iii; 'n A I /.CIS/. vi Dinner over, Judt^e Underhill told them liow .c^lad he, and his wife, and daugliter were U) see so many happy faces at this festa. He hoped they would all grow up to be good !uen and women. There was only one way to be good — only one who could give strength to be good. He, the Christ, loved children, for he was once a child. He would always hear their prayers. How good it was for every boy and girl to know this. (iabriclle and her Knight had been going up and down among the tables, and when judge Underhill had finished speaking, there was a general movement among the news- boys. They all rose and came forward, calling " Molada! Molada!" Harry came bravely forward and said, saluting the host and hostess: "Dear Judge and Mrs. Underhill, the newsboys have elected me, because I am the smallest newsboy in Toronto, to offer you our thanks for this festa. We thank, also, very much, the ladies and gentlemen who are here to help us enjoy this festival. We propose three cheers for Judge and Mrs, Underhill, and Miss (iabriclle." And the newsboys cheered, and everybody joined in, and the tree-tops took it up, and the waves echoed the cheering. Then they sang a verse that Mrs. Underhill had written for the occasion: We thank thee. Lord, for food and friends, And all the good that Heaven sends, O, may our hearts with praises swell, And Christ within us ever dwell. At the r''\ging of the .Abbey bell, they were all to assem- ble on the great lawn ready for tea. And the company A/ Last. 71 disijcrsed, some to tln' wood iox tlie games, somo 1(3 the terraces, and Mayor MowUank set otf with a Hock of chil- dren, to unravel the labyrinth in the wilderness. There were two trees, and two seats in the centre of the labyrinth, where those who found their way in lirst might sit down. There Mayor Mowbank sat some time before anyone joined him. At length a poor little girl was the lirst to solve th(? puzzle, and once in, she ran to the Mayor, sjjrang into his lap, and, throwing her arms around his neck, cried: "Oh, Mr. Mowbank! I wish I was your little girl!" '^ "Harry, what do you say to being my little Toronto agent for my new work ' The Will ? ' ! will give you the city for the present." They were already seated in the carraige for the drive home, and there was no time for delay. "And I can begin at once, to-morrow ? " " Yes. Here is a note to my publisher, desiring him to deliver any books you may order. "The Will" sells for two dollars. You will receive one dollar per copy, and your tram -fare." " Thank you very much, Judge Underhill. Mater will be obliged to go to a warmer climate for the winter, and I shall be able to take her I think. If I only had my piano and organ to work at my music, I could add to my income, perhaps. The Judge smiled. ''Ma mercy whispered Gabrielle as the carnage drove away, " did the piano and organ go .-* " ♦ An actual incident. 72 ,// Last, m "Qui C/uncr " Oil, I just wish I could be behind \.\y^ door and watch Harry when he first sees them!" And siie danced and clap[)ed her hands in glee. " Why, Muttcrchcn, there is a very brilliant light in our rooms!" cried Harry. " I fancy good Mrs. Trueman and Baklera are expecting us. Depend upon it, they have been making (nir rooms nice." Mrs. Trueman opened the door, and Baldera stood smiling. "Why! Little Mother! Whatever? — how beautiful those shades are! " Then he espied the piano, which stood open, just where his imagination hat! placed it, and then the organ. He flew to the piano, running his fmgers over the keys, then to the organ, then he es[)ied the printed note. " Whoever has it been i " Mrs. Trueman and Baldera could ofler no solution of the mystery. "It has been Lohengrin! I wonder!" — His face was pale with excitement as he hummed the melody of "The Lord is mindful of His own." " It is wonderful, MiUtcr- clun! wonderful! Oh, let us sing Little Mother! come! " He seated himself at the piano, ran his fmgers lightly over the keys, and began singing, his eyes gleaming with that leaping fire to which I have before referred, " Oh, for ihe wings of a dove! " And his whole being seemed to expand as the rich voice swelled and rose with the tones. He looked back at his mother with that radiant face: IS 'Hi It ,•// Last. 73 " You are not singinii^ Little Mother! sintr, sing! " And the instrument seemed impassioned like the young artist, as the melody rose and Hoated tlirough the open windows into the moonHt air. Mrs. Molada's pillow that night was the promise: " Call upon me in the day of trouble; I will deliver thee," also, " No good thing will He withhold from them that walk uprightly." i i 1 .♦: M|: I i ii 1 I II III SL.pfi Ih' CllAPlliR \'1I. A HOY'S c:oi)i:-riii-: anti-sin club. " 1 was as one, ulicn a forj;oltcii cltxMiu Dolh coine across him, and lie strives in vain To sliapc it in his fantasy a.^ain." HARRY kept his promise to Max Dorn, and went when lie could to the Newsboy's house, t(j help them with their reatliiiiL;', and writinj^, and "sums." He knew all the boys now, and had won their liearts, and Don Petlro was their delight. The tenth of all his profits, bci^^inniny;' with tiie tentii of Lohenirrin's double-eaj^ie, was carefully kepi in a box with a slot in the lid, and after much thinkin<^ about the matter, he liad decided it should be used for a News- boys' Hall, with a lar^e lecture-room, and a library and rcadinsj-room. Judge Underbill and Mayor Mowbank liad promised him to ".see the thing through," and such was the interest excited by the lad's striking personality, his distinctly pro- nounced individualism, his manliness and self-reliance and his singular history, that when he took Judge Underhill's book to the leading men of the city, they not only took it for its excellence, but they seemed to conspire as one to help this remarkable child, and they ad led their names to his subscription book for the Newsboys' Hall, His young soul ^i iMSt. it P IS was brimful of enthusiasm for his scheme, and the unselfish- ness of it "took." and many a one found an incentive, in the ardent zeal of a child, for nobler and more persistent effort. Hut my liero iiad larger [)lans still. Me not only resolved that the newsboys should liave a large and h.md- somc hall, but, with a true missionary sj)irit, he wanted tiiem " cured " of e\'ery bad habit. With this ick'a in his busy, inventive young brain, he prepared a card for an Anti-Sin union, and I give the card as he thought it out, not willing to cliange a single iota. One day he ran into Mrs. Trueman's rooms to "consult" with Baldera — to "ask her o[)ini()n." Baby was aslcej), and Jjaldc'ra was sitting on the stool that Harry had given her, rocking the cradle. Mrs. Trueman was at the ironing- table. Harrv sat down on the flocjr close bv the stool. '■'■ Baldera," he said, " I ani making a card for my Anti- Sin Club, {k)K the newsboys first, and all others who do ii.iughty things — drink and swear. I call it an Anti-Sin Club." "Anti-Sin!" exclaimed Mrs. Trueman. " \'es, Mrs. Trueman, because sin includes everything wrong, you see." Me proceeded to show Baldera the plan of his card, wh''di he had all written in pencil. " See, it is like this," he said. Mrs. Trueman stopped her ironing and went to look f)n. ANTI-SIX CLUB. I. I solemnly promise and \o\v never to take anv fl i h\ mH! ^ _ i' -. : '\ i ^ 1 AJil 70 Al Last. injurious stimulant, alcoliol, or other spirit, such as brandy, rum, whisky, iL^iii, wine, ciiamjxi.tjne, beer, citler, opium, absintlie, or any other injurious intoxicatini;;' thing, that may be invented in the future. "You are very foreseeinj^ Harry," remarked Mrs. True- man, smihnj^. " Have I omitted anytliinj^;^, Mrs. Trueman ?" "No. That is pretty compreliensive. " "So I think," said Balik'ra, giving the cradle an extra shake to (juiet the restless babe. II. I i)romise and vow never to take God's name in vain — never to swear that is. III. I promise and vow never to smoke, either a pipe, cigar or cigarette. I\ . I will never chew tabacco, nor lake snuff. \'. I promise always to l)e exactly honest to a mite. "Could you not leave out 'to a mite,' Harry?" asked Baldera. " What do you think, Mrs. Trueman ? " "Yes, I think so." \ I. I promise never to tell a lie, always to say the truth, nothing else. VII. I will never steal. \iii. I will never say an unkind word to anybody, nor of anybody. I.\. I will help everybody all I can, and do all the good I can. X. I will never hurt a little child. " That is nice," thought Baldera. I.' // LcL^L 77 ;)r >cl XI. I will be kind to animals. XII. Kvtry niorninj^' and nimht I will pr.iy to (iod, and read one verse at least in the Bible, or New Testament. "You see," said Harry, ".someone might only have tlie New Testament." "That is true," .said Haldc'ra. XIII. I will never think wicked thoughts. XIV. I will love (iod, and put Him first always. XV. I will love all peoj'le, even when they are not nice and t;(Kjd. " Hut you could not like their ways'' said Baldera. " No! That is true. I onlv said I would like them. Do you see the difference, Baldera? " Baldera looked doubtful. "That is liatd to do," she .said. "Did )()U think your card all out \'ourself, Harry.''" asked Mrs. Trueman. " I have had a great many talks with mater, and ha\e asked her such a number of questions. Now I will show her these rules. If she approves of them, I shall be so glad." Mrs. Molatla a[)j)roved of the card, and Mrs. Underbill liad a large number of cards j)rinted, with a beautiful border of snow-droj^s and passion flowers, and a large one to hang u[) in the newsboys' dining room. The next tiiue Harry visited the newsboys, he took his cards, and the first thing he did was to hang up the large card in the best light in the dining-room. Twenty boys gathered around it forth- with, and various observations were heard as to its beauty; one boy read one rule, another another. ^' I " \ w I i;' i| i ill, l! I, 'I 78 A/ /.as/. " He'd be a pretty perfect boy who kept them rules," cried Jack Driiikchx'i^s, i^on of the man who had tried to force Harry to di'aik in the Rub\-. " There never was no such l)oy, nor nian neitlier," saicl Mike Bally tara. " Nor woman neiiher," said Satn Ali\c — h's mother was a tirunkard. "Nobody .-ouldn't keej) them rules no how; 'tain't in 111, man n.iter; you bet your lite on ///a/," cried Bill Penny- man in some ccitement. ■'It's all ant!" cried one. " Nothin', but cmtl " another. Finally Max Doni spoke out, " Bill i'miniuan is right. 'Tain't in ' hiinni)) nater.' But ( lod told us //f>/ to st(\d or swear. What made Him tell us not to. \{ \sv can t (Awy Him? LV)n't He promis»j to help those who try to be good ? " " I guess so: ] guess I kin j)ro\e il! " replied a quiet boy — Adam Hysloj), from New Ha\en. His dead mother had been of the (^Id Puritan stock. The newsboys all respected t.liis quiet boy, wlio was aKva\'s kind and gentl(\ " We all know when we do wrong, don't w(; ? " "Yes, tl-.it"s right," cried the boys in a chorus. " Wliat makes us knoio and feel .so unhappy when we are wicked ? " " Con.science," said some. "Now, what is conscience? Where did we all .R^et that scHnefiiing we call cohscience ? " Dead silence. -If Last. 79 " \i)U know, all of you, it conies from God, boys! " said Harry, who liad been standini^ all this time silently by the table, on which he had laid his cards, and the copy-books which he had taken home for his mother to "set copies." "Will you tell us, Molada, the meanini; of the word con- science?" asked Ilyslop. "Yes, I can. My mother explained its etymology to me the other day. It comes from two Latin words, con, a pre{)Osition, with; and scio, a verb, I know. It is the faculty of judging- ourselves whether we do right or wrong. It is (iod's writing in evc/y human heart, just as those copies in the copy-books are my mother's writing. God wrote the moral law in us. Conscience is God's voice talking in the soul." " That's true, I've heerd it! " said Max Dorn. " Now," said Hyslop. " conscience lets us know when we do wrong, and we're often sorry, and think we won't do it again. I .said I ccjuld prove to you that G(jd hatl promised to help us be good. ' Ccdl upon me in the day of trouble, I will deliver thee.' What would God tell us to 'call,' to pray, for, if he didn't mean to hear and help.' ' Resist the Devil, and he will flee from you; draw nigh to G(jd and He will draw nigh to you.' ' I will be found of you.' ' He will answer thee. ' ' / ?« '/// /ic//) thee — the very word 'help. ' ' ' There was a litde j)ause, when Harry tovik w^ his cards, and, giving each boy one, said: ' I am not going to ask you to sign them to-night, boy.^. Think the matter over well first. See, 'ach card is made to hang up, like the large one, in your room, so that yoii can always see it, and re- member what you have promised to d^ ■:\'m\ nof to do," / 1 .. < \ So .// A./,v/. " That's a good idc'," said Max Dorn. "And, boys, I want you to get as many members for our Anti-Sin Club as you can." " I say," cried Ballytara " we'll hang a card round Don Pedro's neck!" " Hurrah for Don Pedro! " cried the boys, " he's a member of our club! " Don Pedro gave his paw to shake hands. " That means yes! " cried the boys. Harry ran home with a very happy heart, for his card had won the victory. Since the surprise of the Donthank organ and piano, Harry's music had made rapid strides. His Tcchnik was Liszt-like in its dawning brilliancy and power, and he played with such varied and subtle expression, and his conception was so original that one was profoundly moved with limitless and incomprehensible visions of an infinity of thoughts, emotions and powers, that are always excited by good music. And Roma sang gloriously the moment Harry struck a chord, and when out of his cage, which he frequently was, he would sit on the lyre of the piano, and stretch his neck to see where the sounds came from, or he would alight on Harry's hand, or sit on his head, or Mrs. Molada's. What winning ways birdie had, and how he loved the music! Beethoven was Harry's favorite, and when he played those divine Sonatas, and other works of the king of harmonies, one seemed to see one's inner life pass before one, and the thrilling themes awakened corre- sponding slumbering melodies and disharmonies of the r tl '// Last. oairc^raimit of the h.,mr,n , "- Ero,ca, and .„e Appassio u "^ °' '"^ ""^^^^ So„a,a, -Seldom IS a irr,r.A d ., f '-P.n. But n,y boy-di.,eip,e of A r,;' '''''^''' "' S^°l'e"- "■"> ■•'" the fcatherv-LhtncCof ' ' "■°"''' "'^'^ Chopin ;'■•'[ fe't and ,,ea.d tUeXl'':7'V°"''' °^ « »" ^-*en Poland, as Chopin °!f ;"";'"l' ^'>'".'f -oan of P"l..ncl and of Freedom, p^;'™^ "-—the wai, of vercan render Chopin as h s „,„ ^ "° """ '"" '^''^'- or '"'■ . '"^ »<;'«. hat , he „,aeo;tV""";'"' '"'"'^ Liszt ''^P-o and i„,itate Cho in™ K^y™ ' ■"'"^""-'f "' -, not l<„o.ving, conKl ot'd^r^,'^" P-fectly, that 'Jear old Meister! With „.|n „n' f"' ' ""= *'«"^'-<="<'e. '•y« /. <5«,V^ ,,/,^,.^, „ "''« Pnoe he would say: ■'/;„■ "'-n a ,i,„e ,,,3., ;,„^, ^/^^r^y^'i before Beethov '''^ed him, saying: ' "°"""'-'' B«tl,oven !,ad ^,M-i^^,:::l;,2e:^f"'"'^-^'-''-^^^^^^^^^^ ">'.^ ■■«- voice, bu, she would ac"' """'''' ■^''^■'^ '° '-'" ^"'tarre. both when he s:^^^! ll T"' ^''"y "" "'e '•"l"entlyg,id,d in at thesf h urs f ""' ""'■ ^'■^"-'"n -veno, listening ,0 the wo.t ou 'str '"'' '" '' '^'P""'-- '«t productions were evoked w ,,?"'"■ •'"" '°""^' "' >^- '''■I'"'' ^" 'hese times. "' "'^'^ ^--^ richness and •"i. -Musii;'; -'^ M- ■^""•'-';' ™ -nc ,>f .h,..e -'or as well as in sou„d-,o ^ , T , '"' ''^'^" ■""■^- '" -■™ " this, a color sy,„p,Cv o , ' /' '"«' •"•'"'*U-s 0''«'"ald. We were dr vil? ; ™ • T '" '" ""^ '^"""f"! "-"'"^.mountains, and, one d .v H "'"- -".•.ntic, ricb- -'"-sett,ng, „.e reached the smli' ^i '' '^"''"'"^ '« 'I'- "--- "ere tire«"• ^>- -iver transparency, a go d "'" *•""''■ ■^''""'-' ""•""'j'' Alpengluhcn-After.g low of t le Al"' "V"^>-t-''l. 'ike the -«■'. but there was the ^1 e^,/'^'"'^'. ^■^"-''■"^ ".ove- 'truce oi a sj)irit. mi !(! fH S4 At Lasl. m In my dream these rose to tlie zenith, and as they swept on, a soft, pale, blue mass rose from behind the mountains, rising ever and extending, deepening into varied shades to the rich sapphire. Tiien these were followed by vast masses of purple, and such purple methought I had never seen, and in grandeur inexpressible, these colors blended and swejjt silently on. Now to this succeeded masses of orange in wondrous hues, and then a glory of scarlet, followed by deepest crimson, rose and mounted higher, and cast a tinge on all the other cloud masses. Then all the greens, in sub- lime harmony of variety, floated up, and around and through, and there seemed no limit to this wonderful glory of color. And while this majestic symphony floated on and rose into the infmitudes, and while I was gazing, I saw a bridge of pearl and rose and crimsoji and scarlet wonderfully blended, leading to a castle widi many and lofty battlements, pinna- cles and towers, of all these colors in a united glory, but no black did I see there, and the castle was far, far beyond my ken, or boldest fancy, for I could not think up to its limitless extent. And on that bridge, and through those intermin- able castle halls, glided, meseemed, God -like forms in such a white as no human eye ever saw, or can fee, and on each head I saw a crown like nothing I had seen heretofore, only its dazzling glory blinded my eyes, and I whispered to my- self in awe and joy, the " crown of life " it must be. These silent ones listened too to this cloud-color-symphony, but they saw and heard what, to my dull senses of earth, were incomprehensible. How long this vision lasted I can not tell you, but the bliss of it will shed a joy over all my life. -^Z Ust. ^> "Oh, mater! \\o\\ itr-^y^A fi . i Jo love ,0 hear you ^^S^t^x """' """* ''"" '--' ' ' Olenavon would say ' °' '""'' °"'''^ "'aestro. Dr Ti>en,usicai;oulofl'r;rh7:-''' -P..n of the ,nusic i,, il^t^ ,t r^'" °"' "-' ->■ result was seen in the devS, ', ' ";^^'• S"-'^'"^^. •''"d .he "'■;'7- Every child-soul s eepel ^l ' '""' """'"'" ■-" «;t the chords a ringing. FWet 1? , '' "^^'^r-touch ;•" educators. Sweep' skiif^ „ f L'" T "°"'"-'^' ■■'"'I '■-rt-strings entrusted to your c e "T^ ""^^ ''"'^-' ;-n.s you have touchedltoh^^Lir^^^^^^ r^:s^:;rie:i;:f^^f'S£ri ;'>at he would take his n,o, ,e t^ o:!;"' ""'"' '^^'^^^ ■;;P.te of her resignat.un and CdrT""''"" '='"''■ '■•'J undennnied her p),ysie^i , °1 ' ' ^"'''' '""o^" f nge of climate could saveV 7^' •T'' """""S but ■■^he crossed the Atlantic tW ^^" "^ "'^" »""■ If 'ii pi I So W/ Lii.sl. a concert in the pavilion, Mrs. Molada could accompany him with the piano for his singing, and the guitarre for his playing, and he could vary the entertainment by "an inter- spersed Viit of elocution." And this thought simmered in his brain for some days, until an unexpected occurence led to an expression of it CHAPTER viii '>-' acquired l.i.s „,.a,th, he buHt , '"^u '"'"■ ^V''"' '"^ "»n na„,e, and left ,l,e church /'rf ,"■'"' '^^^''^ ''' ^i^ "f-d. where his parents l" d ■. '!, ' ■ "^ ^ad been bap- -'-■re he had ..roln to n l1, ^ 1 •"" ""•>■ "'^d' -d church for ..better soeiet^ ' °"';,:'"'' .J°'""' '" '-shionable say so many things, p.-o,, ,. i ', '' ' '"" "'™ P™ple "™- with such at object ', the "'^' ""^ ^''"-'' »"- -ho form the bulwa ks a„d b " /'" "°' ''"' ^'''-.^ --'^. Chnst. battlen.ents of the church of "There is no one in fh,. c i --yo speak to, you know " 'r^ ^Tu'r" '°" -"'^' Sous? Hovvnn^ 1 -^^'^ ^^rs. Raben. P".:e;heyhair::i^^r;$'"''-''^"-' Ves, Z .up. „"hot,ght one would always SvantWn , Those people who leave the -, ° ■'^P'^'* to a .soul.- ;-,athers, have very nebulous ide": ^'V'"'"" °'' "'- rh's conternptible .snobbishnC p"; '"'•'•'■■ "'^'■^■'>'- •• Book on Snr,(«. ■ ' '^">' <'» re.id Thackeray's What is best society ' Th^,. , u ■ i f II; Hi '|i i ' ■1 ^'i'^ i : '' • / m 88 A/ Las/. if they happen to know a Httle French, and assure you that they only " move in the best circles," when their ancestors were bakers, butchers, shoemakers, or what else, not that n/.t' toil is not honorable, but the snob «s ashamed of labor. Their definitions of best L,ociety are crude enough. IncKccI I have seen them sorely put to it to give a sensible definition at all. Some think the best must dance perfectly, wasting hours every week to learn how — "waltz like a top," fre- quent the theatre, the horse-races, play cards, give "pro- gressive euchre" parties, dress in the extreme of fashion, have '' beaut if ur' manners, and be accomjjjished in talking senseless nothings by the hour, and all the rest o{ it. Mind .'' Fiddlesticks! One can not dance any better for knowing Greek and Latin, German and mathematics, Spanish and Italian, saying nothing of all the ologies. "Reading? I hate to read!" said Mrs. Raben. "I have so much money I do not know what to do with it." And yet, she had her good points. She had false ideas of money, and the true value of the perishable. The sum- ming up of all thoughts on the subject, produced this false syllogism : " Money makes worth, makes a lady, I have money, therefore I have worth, am a lady." Mr. Raben had been a .son of toil, as his father before him, only he had given a wrong aim to his toil. Labor just to gain money, with no higher aim behind, warps and disfig- ures. His poor mother had been long a widow, and so poor that she could not afford a common "dip" for her only son to learn his lessons by, antl he had done hib i ■// fMSt. i so her hib •stuclyin.q mostly lyino on hi. r , • • '""ney. and he be^^an early f i , "'■"■^' ''"" '"^''^-'"^ '"'^ ^^^^ ^''^J the best he ^L ' "^^ ^'"' '"^'^'' ^''-h. «'"'<• at l.,st. and horses L '.'""■• ^""' >'''"' "'""-y 1'""^ Mrs. K.ben'.s frail bark 1 '■'■'■' ''"'■''■ '^^"•^">' '""'^^"^■S M-. Molacla asked i to JT'T •' ""' """■'■■^' ^""' "•''- ''fi- Everylxxly .seems to ,1 M ^ ' ' '"«'" '" «>Jov |Vi.at have the/to Zl f /,:"f' " '° ^« "■'•» -c, tl^at' ■M'.ss,o„ary Society if thev want ,'. "'™'J"'" "'<= Woman's -<^ places, and hunt up 'h Xtv T '"' '" ""-' ^■''-'■''■- ^"''' P~Ple. I an, no aoin. ' , ' ""'' '''"'>■ '""--^ "f"-.. Doyouea.1 tS ot™7""" """«• ^^'■ ;''^" >-°" have > Hun,ph! ;; r "' ^'"'r"' """ '^"^ '>ave one eent in a month if „.e „ f ^'"'' ' "■°"''' '"" Mr. .nd Mrs. Raben v eThrr" °" '" """ '''''■" ;■"«- branches;" the e 1,1 .. '17^ r""''^ "^ "-- -:rre":fi'-'Tr'<"'*^^^^^^^^^^ "-;«-tdaughterofRaS:7r:t''f '"'' ^'°^>'' ""■ ""We girl of nineteen, as unse^h ""''' "-^'-'S-"— , •-. was haughty and se ::*,;' 'T^'^f*^' ''-" '''---n.er parents, and h^':L a;;ir:„:'\.:i: \p\ Ilii %^ ilii ( 1 IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) ^ /!/ / V t^- :/ v ^ Ua 1.0 I.I :^ia IIIIIM ■ IM 1 22 ii III 2.0 1.8 1-25 1.4 1.6 "* 6" . ► V] .^^ /. VI e. e, % a. O 7 /A Photographic Sciences Corporation iV M ■^^ % v« 40^ :\ \ o^ V % fi? 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) 872-4503 v.% -%^:^^ c^- C/j h "It ! ^ii ..I ' i)i> Al /.iist. seen every where. Where slie found her character was a question. Probably from that dear old, simple-hearted, pat- ernal, grand' mere, whose greatest extravagance had been a common tallow candle for her boy on rare occasions. Oer- trude's loving hands had prepared that basket for Mrs. Mol ada, in the delivering of which her mother had so bungled, though she never discovered that bungling, and which had raised such resentment, and questionings, in the mind of our young hero. Gertrude Raben had been a member of Mrs. Molada's Bible-class in the Kleur-de-lis Sunday school, and her beloved teacher had led her to Christ, and now, in her turn, she was endeavoring by her loving attentions, to repay all the love — and she was one of the most ardent workers in Mayor Mowbank's Cross Street Mission. Dinner was over at Rabenshort, and the family were gathered according to custom on the veranda, to enjoy the cool of the evening and the sunset. Mr. Raben was buried in his papers, now and then reading something to his wife. Hester was reading a sensational novel, and Gertrude was writing at her lawn table. "Mamma," exclaimed Hester, " when are we going to give our garden party? " " I have been thinking about that," replied Mrs. Raben. "I think we had better have it next week; what do you think, Richard?" " Not later, at any rate, I should think* It will be the middle of July, and summer will be gone in a jiffy. Invite every body you know, and make it a grand affiiir. We are not going to entertain all the tramps like the Underbills." ,"11 Last. qi "Whoever is to write all those invitations?" moaned Mrs. Raben; " they must be sent to-morrow. I'm sure I can t. "I will mamma," cried Gertrude, looking up from hrr writing, "and Hester can address the envelopes." " Who told vou so? " asked Hester. " Oh, you will, sister mine; we can do it all in a morning." " I don't know whether I will." " Mamma, of course we invite some good pianists and singers for music in the evening, and Mrs. Moladaand Harry, who sing and play together .so beautifully. It is wonderful what strides the laddie has made since the advent o^ those Donthank i! struments." " What GO w..- anL of the Moladas ? " asked Hester in a scornful tone. ' They are nobody now. I don't fancy .Mrs. Molada has a gown fit to appear." "If I knew she had not, she would soon have one. I would give it her as to a sister miles beyond me." ' ' I hate her. We do not want such learned paupers. ' ' " Oh, Hester! how can you ? Money is not everything. Mrs. Molada is a perfect lady, the most highly accomplished and widely travelled in Toronto. Whose fault is it that the Central Bank broke and robbed her? It does not touch lu^r character. Harry will be a star of the first magnitude. I should not be interested in anything if they were not here. and I will invite them in person. I fear they will not come." "Yes, yes." said Mr. Raben, "the Moladas must come. Let Gertrude do as she likes, and manage the affair in her own wav. " \\ !i .! 5 m 1 I 92 .// Last. "Thank you, papa, so much. So that is settled, is it not, mamma ? " ' ' Certainly, dear child ; I never had an idea of not inviting them." Gertrude made her call when she knew Harry would be at home, and playing. As she mounted the flight of stairs that led to their rooms, she heard the sweet strains and majestic chords of Schumann's greatest Concerto. Dr. (ilenavon was a rapt listener, and Mrs. Molada had the guitar re. "I am sorry to interrupt such music," said Gertrude, entering; " pray finish what you are playing." "That is sublime music,' said Dr. Glenavon. " I heard PVati Schumann play her husband's Mcistcr- st'uck when in Germany," said Mrs. Molada. " Her chords were majestic, and she put such a spirit in the music, as no one else ever does or can, it seems to me." " But Harry plays it well," said Gertrude. And then she had to play and sing with Harry, and Mrs. Molada forgot her cough and joined in, and Dr. Glenavon paced the room, now and again putting in a favorite strain. "I have a brilliant idea Dr. Glenavon," exclaimed Ger- trude, leaving the piano. " I propose that Harry give a concert in the pavilion. I will start the ball a rolling at our garden party." " I have entertained the same thought in part for some days," replied Dr. Glenavon, "and Harry shall also vary by some of his elocution. He has quite a repertoire." * ' Will you do it, Harry ? ' ' enquired Gertrude. I«;t •// Lasr 9.> Mrs. lavon lain. Ger- " Will you help me Gertrude? You play so well." •Yes, I will." " Good! Then I put myself in your hands, and you and dear Dr. Glenavon may do what you think best. Is that right, mater mine? " "Yes, dearie, certainly." " Oh, another brilliant thought! Little Gabrielle Under- liill would play a harp solo or two. I am sure they will allow her, and she is such a lovely little creature, and plays so nicely. It would create a furore — two children giving a concert ! No danger of a fiasco ! ' ' .So they settled the point by fixing the first week in August, and Gertrude would see to the tickets, and secure the co-operation of her friends at the garden-party, and she would obtain Mrs. Underhill's consent for Gabrielle to play, and Dr. Glenavon would secure the pavilion. " Now I call this doing business," said Ciertrude laughing, "and the newsboys will sell tickets for us." "Yes, and they shall go to the concert in a body," said Harry. With much persuasion, Mrs. Molada consented to go to tiic garden-party, and Harry was to take music — Liszt's Harcola, Chopin's Berceuse, Beethoven's Mondschein •Sonata, and Gertrude was to come for them with the carriage the morning of the party. The glory of Rabenshort was the music-room, which constituted a wing added to the main building, to please <^"iertrude, who was a lover of Die Miisika, herself a royal Muse, and queen of the immortal Nine, though not one of ■1 • f I 94 Af Last, them. It consisted of two stories, with a broad jj^allery ex- tendin^f around it above, and a horse-shoe-stairway at one end of the room led up to it. The room was finished in white and gold, containing white marble busts, and portraits of great composers, Beethoven and Handel filling the niches of honor, and the chamber contained two grand pianos, and an organ. My readers may imagine all the banalities of a gay garden- party. People laughed and gossiped, ate ices and fruits, drank unlimited quantities of drinks, and one heard the click of the croquet-ball, and the merriment of lawn tennis and archery. Hester, "got up," in a dashing toilette, thought of noth- ing else but to gain admiration, and indulged in a good deal of violent flirtation. Gertrude moved about with quiet, unobstrusive dignity and grace among the guests, and somehow, made everyone feel pleased to chat with her. She told them in a confiden- tial way of the coming Molada concert, of Harry's striking talent, and of his mother's failing health, and received the j>romise of every gentleman, and most of the ladies to go. She told them that Mrs. Molada ought to go South, or she would die. That Harry was determined to take her to the Riviera, and that she herself had proposed the concert, and how Dr. Glenavon had the idea first, and was very enthus- iastic in helping it on. Then she told them that little Gabrielle Underbill was to play the harp, and Mrs. Underbill would accompany her on the piano. She ended by exciting their curiosity to the highest pitch. Meanwhile Judgp Ai Last. 95 y ex- t one ed in •traits liche? i. and f noth- od deal Underhill ind Dr. Glenavon, aided by their host, had taken advantage of such a large re-uuion, and had set on foot a little plot of their own, the result of which shall appear later. Mrs. Raben had received her guests on the wide veranda, and there she chatted with Mrs. Molada. Mrs. Underhill, and others who came and went during the afternoon. " I hear you arc going to the Antipods for the winter," she remarked to Mrs. Molada. " Perhaps. It is not yet decided." "I have not traveled much. Mr. Raben is always too busy to get away. I went with him once to Penetanguish-e- nee, and we saw the church containing the memorials to the Jesu-ites, Lalemant^ — 'Lalemant' — and Breboof — 'Brebeuf ' I should /ove to cross the ocean. A good many of the aris-to- krassy have left Toronto already for Europe. We let Ger- trude go with her friend Kate Marron, and the governess, to Germany for nearly three years to study music and German, and they visited France and Italy. Hester, she didn't want to go. Ah, see! there are little Gabrielle and Harry trying grace hoops! They look like figures in a fairy-tale or a mazurka. They are the only children here." This chat was interrupted; Mrs. Glenavon joined them, and Dr. Glenavon stood looking over the books on Gertrude's lawn-table. Among them were " Layard's and Rawlinson's Travels in Babylonia," also *' A Miracle in Stone " by Syce. " I suppose you are greatly interested in the cunieform inscriptions," he said to Gertrude, as she, her friend Kate and Mr. Brenta, the great Canadian artist came up. " I confess those Runes excite in me a wish to be a 1 1 ;3" 96 y// LasL fc:.'; pansophist. I find the subject most fascinating, and I liave been so glad to find those skeptics silenced, who made such capital out of the first verse of the twentieth chapter of Isaiah. But, Dr. Glenavon, what is your opinion concern- ing the great Pyramid of Gizeh ? Do you think that vSyce is right?" " Now you attack me with a broadside. I fancy only time, and the development of events in the world's advancing history, will prove adequate to the solution of the problem. I confess frankly, that lidless sarcophagus presents diffi- culties. We are told that the builders were obliged to build the sarcophagus in as they built, also, the lid, natur- ally, if there were one, for it is claimed neither could have been introduced after the completion of the pyramid, hence could not have been taken out. Where is that lid ? Plainly there never was one. And the inevitable hypothesis is, that polished granite was never designed for a sarcophagus. And there are no hieroglyphics." *• I want to ask your opinion if I may. Dr. Glenavon," said Kate Marron. " Gertrude and I have just had a little argument with Mrs. Narrowviews. She maintains that we should only wear drab and slate-colored, or black, which is, truly, always distinguished. Oh, I think she permits brown. Now I can not see how a bright and lovely color can be injurious to true religion. God did not make all the birds drab or slate-colored, and then there are the exquisite greens and purples and grays, and the brilliant tints of sun- rise and sunset, and of all the flowers." " Religion is a state of mind, the attitude of the soul. ^. ■li Last. toward God." rcDlipH n r-. ^'^ - ^- cow, not'roni.'^'nr- ."'''--''- a iu„,p, -hned .astc will .each one ho voT"' ''"'"°'^' '°-- A wear in harmony with one's Lon"'/"' *''"' ™'°'- '" can be no harm in .o\or pise Z ""1p°'*'"'°"- There a bnght scarlet gown and J p "V "'"'^'■a'^cd lady in --what i„co„/.„ou;. 4-'oS't"" '"'• '^°"''' "<-• "•espect on occasions. God Lvl ''' °"<^ ^'"P'-cs^ie.s ;n all the emergencies ofl^. f ^d " T'"'? ""^^ '° "- '■ke s,tti„g down to write wlthol '"'''"^ "• »""''' be ''""k." ""''°'" pen, or, ,o read without ; "- - sp^d tri:; tr"'"^'" -''^ ^— . '■at will become dust. ■ ,„ t J ^''^ "'^^'■' PO"-" bodies ''-'-of n,y soul, and I an" bou t "'' ""^ "^^^ '» "'e -" l>e turned out into space bv" r T""^ "' °^ "'y »"l ■• 't depends on what Cdtf''""'''''=*P^-" ■^P^d an hour brushing a dt'^r"*^ ^'"'^- '' » ".an '■ "-e true A la Napolln twi, .nT' " '"°"«ache, to give e^regrious weakne. and ^^ T'""' ""^ "-"W argue I'crson condusive to the health and ""^ f"'"'°" '° "-e :""'• thus, indirectly, to the iln ?"^'"' "^ "'e body '•'-fble, butabsoLe;;!;;*'"^'' ^-^'. '•» not onf; ";^' f 'P'-V the'^i:?^!':^ 'd'^' >- ''"^'■es arc «"nfied and 'made like unto Ch ■ '^" ""^^ -" be The question of • identical part"eL d ■■^' ' '''°"°'^^ ''"dy/ , /"'• «e change these 'mJ^ ""' "'"""'^ "" "' ^ > ■ W e slull all be e/,a„^eci' ' .;S /li Last. How, then, can I esteem the care of this i)ody too hij^hly ? To neglect it is suicidal. It is like this, God has lent me myself, and the talents lent, must be returned with usury. Destroying the body, I destroy my oj)portunities for useful- ness. ' ' Just then Judge Underhill joined the group. "I have not seen you for some time," he said, addressing Mr. Brenta, " have you been out of town ? " "Yes, I was in New York, Boston, Philadelj)hia, where I took occasion to study Mundcacsy's 'Christ before Pilate.' " "Ah! I saw that painting in New York, exhibited by gas- light! It impressed me irofoundly. What is your estimate of the work ? " "On the whole it is a grand work. The grouping and the coloring are masterful. There is much to be said, and that suggestion of the coming church, prc-tigured by the woman with the child in her arms, is a beautiful conception. In all that mob, her lovely countenance alone expresses sympathy for that lonely figure, protected by a suj)erb Roman soldier, standing before the craven-coward Pilate. Many have named the scene ' Pilate before Christ.' What a tragedy! " "Touching impressionism, realism; if you artists mean by realism truth in art, l)e realistic when need be. but it is not de rigeur to paint all the truth in any form. Let me illustrate my meaning. I prefer one of Raffaello's grand cherub boys, to that hideous old Romaness drunk, that one sees in the Capitoline at Rome. Do you imagine a single being ever reformed by a view of that work ? ' ' I'^S •i /// l.a. iiMM ID, .-■// A.rsV. li!) •1 i lliem laiii'li. Say 'Oh, Jesus! help me, take away this thirst for drink.' " " I'll do it. (iod help me!" At the door stood Jack. He had heard all, and he was busy rubbing his eyes with his coat-sleeve. Dr. (ilenavon /lad work. Catch him ?io/ having work, when work was needed to help a soul. Dr. (ilenavon seized the horns of an opportunity, and held it, and shook it, and got all out of it, there was in it, and never let go, and never missed one. You can never catch an opportun- ity, once gone past. As well try to catch the mighty, swift- winged eagle or to iind that lost chord in the music now forever silent. Pick up every good act as yoii go. *' Baldera, is your papa at home? " " Yes, Harry, he has not been out yet this morning; he is in his room." " Then I will take him this card now. Jack Drinkdregs' father has signed one. We have just come from Trap Lane. Mrs. Drinkdregs is dying, and she asked to see mater." Mrs. Trueman was in the kitchen at the ironing-table, and the streaming perspiration from her face fell sissing on the flat-iron. Baby was playing and cooing on the floor in the living-room, and Baldera was tripping around the room laying the covers for dinner. Harry tapped and entered Mr. Trueman' s room. "Good morning, Mr. Trueman," said he with a smile; " I have brought you one of these little cards; I have come to ask you to sign it, and if you will, and keep its rules, you may soon become as happy again as you used to be before you visited the Ruby. ' ' . // Last. i^>5 'I should like lo, H;inv; I would if I thoui>^lit it would l)e of any use at all. My poor wife killing herself, and my little Baldera losing her education. Your noble nianinia has been so good in giving her music and French lessons, but the dear child has no time for study. And all this is my fault. Woe is me! What shall I do ? ' " Mr. Trueman." "Well Hcirry." " Have you spoken to (lod about it ? " "No." " Why do you not ? " " What would be the use ? " "Do you not believe He could and would strengtlien you to keep a promise — a vow? " "If I made one, perhaps. But this awful thirst, this mad craze, it is paramount to a disease. Fever is ice com- pared with it. It is a living fiend tearing my very heart out. I must drink to live. Is this being j)Ossessed of a devil, I wonder? " "Jesus ' cast out devils' when he lived a man down here. Could he not just as easily up in Heaven ? " " To be sure, Harry — if this is a devil." " Mater told me he cured Gough; took all the desire for drink, all the thirst itself quite from him, so that he never wanted it again. If God did that for Gough, could not He do it for you ? " " I suppose he could, if I could see it that way, and could decide. ' ' " He will cure you, if you will let Him." li' ! t I t' ■ i. ; ! I! II U)6 .4/ J.asl. t lil m " Oh, if I thoui(lU I could stand! I have been fighting a duel with this foul demon all morning. I can not hold out much longer. He will trip me up. I shall go down those steps three at a time. Oh, God! oh, God! " ' ' Have you 710 will ? ' ' " It .seems not, Harry. Will-power is paralyzed by the deadly demon alcohol." "Alcohol is a drug, Mr. Trueman, and you have taken the poison till you are .sick unto death. I knoiu God can heal you." " Oh, if I thought I could stand! " " You can not. You never can. But Jesus Christ will stand for you, and hold you up." " You dear little boy! .Surely God sent you to me, thi. morning. " He did, yes. I am His, He told me to come. Now I will leave a card, and this is my own pocket pen; write your name with that, will you ? Tell Jesus, talk to Him just as you have to me. Good-bye." And the little fellow- ran away, leaving no time for a reply. Mr. Trueman sat very still, looking at the card and the pocket pen, like a man in a dream. He heard the cooing of baby, the light steps of Baldera, that hurrying flat-iron, unconscious that he heard; a great crisis in his broken life had come. He knew that he was standing at Which-VVay- Crossroads, and that he must choose now — or die. Suddenly a mighty impulse shook him, as the strong on sweeping wind shakes the trembling leaf Something in him stoo'^ ''p like a giant and said " I will." It was so it Ai Last. lo: ting ci d out those by the taken od can •ist will me, thu Novv I i; write to Him le fellow land the cooing lat-iron, Iken lite |h-Way- )ng on- [hing in was so great, so strong, that it seemed ready to burst him. A loud cry broke from his quivering lips — "Oh, God! I will!" and he fell upon his knees. The flying flat-iron stood still and listened, the girlish steps stopped and listened, only baby cooed on. "Oh, Lord Jesus Christ, I am at your feet, at your cross, all broken, and bruised, and crushed, and ruined — ruined! \o\\ gave me talents, and I have burnt them well-nigh u[) in alcohol-fire. A loving wife, and I have broken her heart, and my oath to her, made at your hal- lowed altar, and my darling little Baldera I have left to grow up as she might, like an evil weed. Oh, Jesus! can you do anything with such a poor broken thing as I am ? I want to stop drinking. Oh, God! I want to stop drink- ing. I want to pick up the dropped threads in my life, fallen through my sin, and begin again. How shall this be accomplished ? My promises are like silken cords in ihe paw of the lion. There is no strength in me. " Oh. God! oh, Christ-Jesus, help me. I am so miserable. Tills great movement 'n my inner life I know is God. Jesus! Jesus! can you heal me? Will you heal me? Now! Noiv! Why wait? ' Now is the accepted time.' Give me your strength, for I have none. Everything is against me. Vou know all, Jesus. You know my need, which is so great, I can not fathom its de[>th, but you, the great God- man, on the throne of Infinity, you are omnipotent, and you are on my kide. You died for me! Oh, how could I (li)ubt your love? All the fiends of perdition are less than .1 breath before the on-rushing tempest, when you speak, II s Mi; io8 Ai Lad. If ^^ i\ if f \ I -m. and command, and the sinful soul says / will. Jesus says ' I will, be thou clean.' " I accept the promise. Burn up this raging, raving thirst in the fire of your love. Wash me in your life-blood, give me the 'white robe,' the 'new name!' Here on my knees, in a very Gethsemane of anguish, at the foot of the Calvary-Cross, I write my name on this card, and I will keep these vows. Oh, (iod! Jesus Christ! help me. Son of God! hear- help. Amen!" Writes — " F'elix Trueman." He j)aused but a momrnt, when a joy-wave swept through his soul. He rose to his feet, crying: " I am free! Hallelujah!" He opened the door, calling: "Costanza! Baldera! Come here quick — quick! Jesus Christ has healed me! Set me free from my sin! I shall never touch alcohol again." He was unaware that they had heard his prayer. Alone with God in the chamber of his immortality, all other con- sciousness had been lost. Baldera flew to her father, Mrs. Trueman caught up the cooing babe, as she hastened to her now transformed hus- band. He threw his arms around the three — " No more ironing for thee, my sweet Costanza. Canst forgive me? And Baldera shall have her governess again. Oh, we ■vill be happy ! ' ' Mr. Trueman was a "genuine case." He had found the strength he so sorely needed, and he never did touch alcohol again. His brilliant talents were so well known, and his piteous history, that the whole city, and, in fact the whole ^1/ Last, 109 country, were t^reatly moved l)y his remarkiible convcTsion. Sonic doubted, and said: " it is all nonsense! No man can change so suddenly." They forgot that conversion is simj)ly a turning with — con, with; verto, I turn — tiie one whom you have hitherto opposed. One may take a year, a month, a week, a day, .1 moment, to decide; but, the act of turning with, must be in- stantaneous, (iod is always ready. The instant the soul says I 7vii/, the work is done, the reconciliation complete. It is that will not that keeps the face, and the heart, turned Irom the " Light of the world." Mr. Trueman stood -he was a very Ciibralter. Several law-firms offered him a partnership, and he fmally united !iimself with that distinguished Toronto law-firm of Messrs. Goodwill, Seaklere *S: Deep. Everybody knows The Towers, the Trueman home. It is the sunniest, brightest house, full of flowersand light. In the library is a jiortrait of Harry. "That is the God's- angel who led me to say no forever to the Ruby," Mr. Trueman would say to friends, "and I am a member of the Molada Anti-Sin Club." When Harry left Mr. Trueman, he had another visit to make that morning, and he hastened to the home of Pat I Donegal. Pat had taken a severe cold the previous winter, which had been unusually severe, standing so much in the streets; this had seized the lungs, and he had grown grad- ual' y worse, until, finally, he was obliged to give up work, and now it was plain he could not last much longer. Harry l)ought a white lily and some fruit on his way. Pat's face lighted up when he entered. •>\\ : m 1. ! f IM I ■ i V.' ■■ii !, no /// Lasi. "Oh, Molada, I'm so glad to see you! " "How do you feel, Pat?" he asked, handing him the lily, and peeling an orange. " Weak, weak, but so happy. I had a lovely dream last night. Nora came to me in such a white robe, and she said: ' be patient, Pat, I heard Jesus say he wai; coming for you soon.' Oh, won't it be nice to see Jesus ? There's one thing troubles me. Poor mother! " "God will care for her, Pat. " "I know; but I forget that sometimes — or I lose my faith." " You are not afraid to die, Pat? " "No, never -now. Vm jusi g^/ad." Harry drew out his little pocket-Bible, and read the "Shepherd" Psalm, and then the " Hills" Psalm. •' Now," said Pat, " read me ' Let not your heart be troubled.' I just hear Jesus saying the words." As Harry read, Pat cried: "Isn't that foine? ' I will come!' He's coming Himself I'' Then Harry knelt down and had a talk with Jesus about Pat, and the newsboys, antl all the poor, and sick, anil tempted ones. It was a wonderful prayer. When Harry was leaving, P.it said: " I hope I'll die before you and your lady-mother go." " I will come and see you the day before we leave for New York." "If I'm here. I'll maybe be home before then." "Good-by, dear Pat." " Good-bv. Good-bv." CHA PTKR X. THK CONCKRT. nnfU '.^''''^'■'^ ^^''^i with His deu- On thy grac oils ^old h;,ir J^ Heau Canada for his ^Wdo^e'd ^ T'rH "•^^ '---"' >f '';d a child's si,np,„,„, and „;'a f^ 'l""''"' -'"^ »''" -l"la.,on. People ,,,„, f^„,„ ^ ^ ac. „f ,.,„;,,, „^ ^^,^ K.nffston, Quebec and M„nt e.l ' T'' '-"'"'°"' fro™ hefimning the concert, the n-,vit "*-' ''''"'■'■ ""-' ""'e for The two children - L ""■"'■""■'I"!- '■""cert, and when they „>„e„, , "'"■''>■• "I>«ied the '-*n« Gabrielle by the r^":^;;;"" ''^ "'a'^""", Harry a"d.ence, there was an enth slat ,c ^^ '"^'-"'^^ -'"'^■d "-e "av.ng of handkerchiefs The h',,! '''""■'-' "^ ''^^^^ an,l --e, n,elody ..O, „„;, ,,,/, ^ ;"?, "'a'clcn played ,h.,t '"'>'«! heron the pia„„. and ,^'' H ""'' "^'^^^ ^'^"^o"'- <-ncorewith ■■O. Be!lc,.a' oni "^' '■^■''"""l"' to the N"«- Harry n,ado h^ «,!' ^"tr"':' '^ A RviJm of Life." vr,,,.. ,, ' , "> elrKution, Harry played Liszt's " C.rniv ,^\["''''''''^^ Rabcn and ^~ ^^-H..yX;;'^:--:v..thi,..^ ■^ ^'■•^'^ts Spinnlied." Mrs. m :i ) ■ i;! if ! f ' '. ( ;' 1 I * ■ i I 1 I 12 .// /MSi. m. m Molacia accompanying him on the guitarre, tlic accompani- ment her own composition. And now he sang " Oh, for the wings of a dove! " Mrs. Molada accompanying him, with Gertrude on the piano, and encored to the echo, he gave "Angels ever bright and fair," and little Gabriellc accompanied him on the harp. But the enthusiasm of the audience was so untamable, that Harry sang again an ex(iuisite composition, words and music by Mrs, Molada, " My love lies far in a Soldier's grave," and she accompanied on the piano. Next he recited "The charge of the Light Brigade," and in response to the enthu- siasm of his audience, Scott's fascinating ballad " Rosa- belle." Now came Beethoven's sublime " Kaiser Sonata." Harry played first, Gertrude second piano, Gabrielle harp, Mrs. Molada guitarre and Mrs. Underbill lute, and for an encore, Gertrude and Harry played a Nocturne by Chopin. And Harry closed the concert by singing ' ' Gide Nacht! ' ' all his artist friends accompanying. As Harry returned to bow his thanks to the excited aud- ience, Don Pedro following him in with the calm dignity ol a German Kaiser, Judge Underbill came forward, leading Gabrielle, who carried a small round salver of pure gold, with a silken purse on it, w^orked by Mrs. Underbill and lierself, with the letters G. U. worked in with the beads. Harry, understanding nothing, hesitated a moment, when Gabrielle handed him the salver, saying: " Dear Har — I mean Master Molada," — the audience laughed and cheered, ' ' I am to iiand you these from your friends of Toronto, because — because you have been such a good son, and they .'// Last. 1 1 S ,tll wi.^li you and your mamma a safe and hapjjy jouriu •y. a plc.isiMt staN , and a safe return to ToronK •Bravo! liravo! " cried the audience. 'I'lif pursr was filled with Kn,L,dish gold sovereigns. Tl le Mil, ill gold salver bore the legend — (lERTRlJDK UNDF'.RIIILL ro m;K irikni) HARR^■ MOLADA. TiN'TKKN AhHKV. Harry bowed jjrofoundly and rej)lied: " Throuj^h you, Mi.^s Underbill, I beg to thank all my dear friends for their beautiful gift, and yourself for this little salver, and if my dear mater returns well, I shall have all the reward I ever thought about — and — and I shall never forget you all." " Bravo! Bravo! " Harry again saluted his audience, and turned to with- draw, when the newsboys rose as one boy, and Max Dorn walked up the steps to the platform, bearing a beautiful dog- collar and a leading-chain. " Master Molada." he said, "the newsboys wish me to j)ut this collar on Don Pedro's neck as a souvenir from tlum, and as a protection on his journey." Handing Harry the chain, he locked the collar on Don Pedro's neck, and '.;ave Harry the key. The collar had a silver plate on the lop, bearing the legend: " Don Pedro Molada, Toronto." On the under side were the words: " From the Newsboys of Toronto." i ,1- i I I ' i 1 1 ir^^ 4 :i JM A/ Last. " Dear Max," said H.irry. " I w.uit y<>n 'f* thank the newsboys very much for this lovely rollar and rliain. I am ^dad you put it on Don Pedro's neck, for you are tlic l)oy who taujLjht me how you bou^dit the newspapers." The artists of the cveninj; now j)layed " Ciod save the Oueen!" and evt.ryone saiii; with a will, and a more satisfied and delighted audience never broke up. r f m I i ml >i.: m n k 111'- I am c boy /c thr niori' CIIAITI-.R XI. THK jk\vi:l caskkt. AT tlir tiiiU' of the hankruptry of the (A-ntnil Bank. uIr'II Doiilhank and its rich trcasuR's had heeii all Mnrt'iKicrfci, Mrs. Molada had retaiiu'd nothing lu'loiiijint; to it. All that ri'inained to her were two beautiful works ot art, a yift of her girlhood, from a friend lon^*^ dead, a rich Koiuan cabinet of inlaid ivory, containing an ex(iuisite rasket of pure silver, richly scul|)tured. and inlaid with precious stones. Preparations for the fast-approachinj^^ journey were ui proi^ress. It had been decided to leave the piano and origan with the Truemans, and Baldera was in jjreat ^lee at the prospect of having the two Molada rooms, and Ger- trude Raben had promised her two les.sons a week. IJttle dabrielle Underbill was to keep Roma. " Mater, what are you .yoinj^ to do with your Roman cabinet? " "Take it with me, c/ttri. This leather trunk, apparently, is really its case, and was given me with it. Do you know what is in that cabinet, Harry ? " " No mater; I have never seen its interior." .Mrs. Molada proceeded to open the lock of the cabinet. " What a peculiar lock this seems," cried Marry. I 1, I m' ■ ,' ' ' mi: m 11^) A/ Last. " Yes. No mortal could ever open it without knowing its secret;" and Mrs. Molada told him the letters on and through which it was opened. She took out the casket and placed it on the table. "What a magnificent, what a beautiful object of art," cried Harry. " On the lid is C. M. in sapphires." "It is a monogram." ' * C. is not for you ? ' ' " No. This casket contains the treasures of the dead — hence forever sacred." She unlocked the casket. First there was an enameled portrait of Harry's father in youth, then a brooch bearing his portrait in enamel, at the time of his marriage, a gift to his bride, and a rare old Sard ring, engraved with some- thing from Homer's Iliad. A delicious rose-fragrance, fresh, as it would seem, from the Rosen-Ernte of Bulgaria, filled the apartment, and two gilt bottles of attar de rose, lying in their soft velvet nest, betrayed the source of it. " Mater, why do you not wear this brooch and lovely ring?" " That is my betrothal ring, Harry. Your papa brought it from the east. He treasured it highly, and he said that was why he made it our engagement ring." Then came a rich, enameled, book-shaped-locket. Harry oi)ened it. It contained the face of a babe, and thn*- shades of hair intertwined. " Who is it, mater ? And whose hair? " " You, the day you were three months old; the gold hair IS the first cut from your head, the dark is your j)apa's, the other you know." ill A/ Last. IT7 Touching a spring, another side showed the face of his father. "Papa! how beautiful! What a pretty idea the whole thing is, mater! You should wear that." Next came an enamel of a youthful maiden face. " Is that you, mater? " " Yes, when I was fourteen. You recognized it? " " Yes, Carissima mia, it is very like you now. And who is this?" It was a girlish face. "That is my beloved and only sister, Ren6e; she died when a young girl. ' ' ' ' Who are these two faces together ? ' ' "Enamels of my father and mother when they were married." The inner side of the lid was adorned with an exquisite copy of the lovely Carlo Dolce Madonna and child, in the Palazzo Ccrsini at Rome. "The friend who gave me the casket," said Mrs. Molada, ' ' had that painted from the original by a Roman artist, and l)laced there. It was his favorite Madonna after the Rafifael- los." "And now, that is all, Carissima." "Are you sure, Harry? " " Surely; I sec nothing more." Mrs. Molada touched a hidden spring, Harry could not see where, and the inner side of the lid slid down, revealing a compartment behind, and a glorious enamel on the inner ^ide of the true lid, of a noble countenance, beautiful as ApolKj. vi II h !h lis A/ /MSi. I'Ki IfifM I! t,;' ! 1 '.'■ I yA " Mater! my Lohengrin! Oh, how beautiful! How Hke him! (Golden locks, blue eyes, and that noble look! " "Your 'Lohengrin,' Harry? That is not possible. That face has been dead for years." " It is my Lohen^-rin. exactly! He must have sat for that portrait. Oh, mater! he is just grand, my Lohengrin, I mean. I wonder if I ever shall see him again!" Mrs. Molada seemed struck by the child's persistency. " Why did your unknown friend call himself ' Lohen- gnn Did he sav wliv ? " Yes, he .said he was travelling incognito." " It is singular." "It is my Lohengrin, mater. Nobody could look like him." There were three divisions in the inner compartment, each opened by an invisible spring. The first contained an enameled gold watch, with a large M in Indian rubies. Mrs. Molada opened it, on the inside of the lid was a costly enameled portrait. " Mater! Lohengrin again! " " It is, certainly, the same face as the enamel on the lid, only smaller, and set with diamonds and sapphires." The second jivision contained a ring, a great sapphire of the richest of stones. " What a gorgeous ring, mater! " The third division contained a rich, old Roman bracelet, enameled in laj)is lazuli, bearing the legend: "Amo te. A ma tne.' * Amo te. Ama inf. 1 love thee. Lo\ e me. :;; -// Last. < ( That is all »o^v. Close "<; contents belon.^ to the d we up the Alatei ! d ox marble And tl '^^t look like th ead-to the unforgotten ''^'^^^- It, and 1 rowing hi ^^f- Vour fa aroui past. ce is as white :ts as co^orinj. her /ace .T' '"■'"■' ^^"""'1 ""."?-^. and grow stron.,, ■ ' ''"■''^' ^""' f'"-ffet all ,s„| riien he seated himself if ,1,0 • •' Chopin wait., Ro„,a joined Tn'"T':"'' '"^='" "'''y-S »"y^ and Mrs. Truemm! ^^ '"' 'a^cinating littlf .Ha<*-ra carrying a loveWbaXrTr''"^'"'''' "■" '-4 '"'tern Abbey ^ ^''"'' °'^ fr"" and /louvers froni It- i I: ](| i CHAPTER XII. A CO-DITCH-IL. CUI BONO? " Lo! the fell monster with the deadly sting, Who passes mountains, breaks through fenced walls And firm embattled spears, and with his filth Taints all the world." 'hi MR. RABEN, of Rabenshort, had made an appoint- ment with Goodwill, Seaklere and Deep — and True- man now — for a business interview, and he presented him- self, punctual to the moment, as was his wont, at the office of Mr. Goodwill. He desired to add a " Co-ditch-il" to his will. " Punctual as usual, Mr. Raben," said Mr. Goodwill. " I su.spect that that trait in your character has contributed largely to your success in life." " I shouldn't wonder. I never was late in my life, and I have generally risen with the sun. My whole life has been an up-and-down race, and the minutes arc few that I have s(iuandered. I have heard folks talk of 'lost time,' but I never had much of that commodity, a losing business I should .say." "You are j)erfectly right, Mr. Raben. You know tiit> te appoint- ed True- ed him- oftice U" to he :n Goodwill, itributecl e, and I has been t I have le, but I visiness 1 Liiow tho A/ Last. 121 story of the unfortunate man, who had an appointment with the Duke of Welhngton, and arrived late, but the victor of Waterloo had no time to wait. Bad for the late comer, doubtless. ' ' "Served him right. I have known people, do what you might, were always late, late on 'Change even! There will be a once they can't be late." "When will that be?" " When they die. Death won't wait for nobody." Mr. Goodwill laughed. " How about taxes? " " 'Taxes?' The country's taxed to death. Shut up the saloons, and the prisons will be less crowded, and a use- less, dangerous class might be lessened. I never see that ' Black Maria ' dragging some miserable criminal or ' tlrunk ' through the streets, with a batoned policeman or two on guard, but I feel like swearing. We begin at the wrong end for a revenue. We put the horse behind the cart." "Toronto is not in much danger of becoming Utopia just yet. Selfishness is the great obstacle to the world's tinancipation from evil. We begin wrong, as you truly say. Cjovernments destroy the dest a7iy nation can possess tDigain, for a revenue, I would call your attention to an article from the pen of Archdeacon F'arrar in the Forl- nii^^hlly Revieii', which is just to the point. He says: ' In 1724 gin drinking began to affect the masses, and Mr. l.ecky, in his ' History of the Eighteenth Century,' draws a terrible picture of the way in which the fatal passion for think was at once and irrevocably planted in the nation. f ilT" M 122 .-// /.i/s/ m On that account he fixes on that year as one of tlie blackest and most fatal epochs in Eni^l' ' history. And are we now to he told that drink in those days did not cause crime? One may suj)i)ose that the granil jury of Middlesex were under no such utter delusion, for soon after 1724 they declared that ' much the greatest part of the poverty, the robberies, and the murders of London, might be attributed to drink.' In 1750 the London j)hysicians also drew up a memorial, and said that there were then 14,000 cases of fital illness due to gin alone. At the same time Bishop Benson, of Ciloucester, one of the best bishops on the bench, used these words so diametrically the opposite of Mr. Walker's insinu- ation. 'Our peoj)le,' he said, 'have become what they never were before, cruel and mhuman. These accursed liquors which, to the shame of our government, are so easily to be had, have changed their very nature.' At the same time the whole bench of bishops interposed the unsullied purity of their lawn between the nation and the curse of the drink traffiic, as in their days, our judges have interposed 'the stainless sanctity of their ermine.' They protested against the Gin Act as ' founded on the indulgence of debauchery, the encouragement of crime, and the destruction of the human race.' Lastly, John Wesley was far from thinking of those days, as Mr. Walker now thinks, that ' it would have been a palpable absurdity, to speak of a relationship of cause and effect between drink and c-Ime. ' He said: ' But all who sell dram or spirituous liquois in the common way to any that will buy, are '■it Last. '2.3 poisoners general. Tliev ,ln\- '■•;st century, ho„- ,„,„I, ,„,„, o„,nh i ' ^^ ""' "' "'<■ nineteenth century. In .„,, '^ "''''■""•^"r •« it true of ,h,s •■. -""' '"■ n-s is the corner-stone ofl^i' '^' "'"•'-l^ -<1 seitlsh- "That is terribly tru A,":'""'-" ""'crtheless, some splendid '' °"^'''"'- ^"^ "'<^^^ ^re. »".'^. towering .bS^^JZT: ''"'^' ^"^ ^-«' ; «^ rays of light. There i h' Z"""'' ""^ ''"''^"'^S "Oman's Christian Temp" n t ni "r""""" "'" "-e £^«'rfen,, Miss Willard Ind , H "t,"'"' ""'' 'J"^<^"'y ••-"Kland, and Mrs. Voum'a.H n '' ^""'' ^""'^^^^t in ■' V'es, you are right" ^y m"/""'''^''' '" Canada." -men have the courage o t, ■ " ''"""^'"^ ""'^e fearless ^--tHatwoma^^x^ir:;:::'-:;'-;:-;;^ »«"• Since that tie n, tnTh^'^'^ '"""' "^ ^-- ■'W.v, and I can provide for ^ ,,''"' ""^''^'^^^ consider- l><"l.v of the will •• '^'^ "''^' "'"""" changing the maTn "C^ood. Quite right." ^■•■«*oJ 'na^ 'That'r""', '""^^ •" "'^^ • Molada --d ">e idea, and Tu eeded ^ h' """"■ ^"^ ""^^ ■^•■^-'' ' -ill and bequelth ,t;r ""*-"" '" ''« hull, q t«o ,hou.sand, five hundred I5 1 ^ ' \ ■ m^ '■1 1 -^ " i[ ■ 11'' f 1 J ( r ^ 1 1 ; III i! t|J! 154 At Last. .f. hi; dollars to Mrs. Molada, and the like sum to Harry Molada. only son and child of the said Mrs. Molada, and of the late Dr. Oscar Molada. .Should either one of these two persons be dead at the time of my decease, the survivor shall receive the five thousand dollars." "And should both be dead at your demise? What then?" " The next legal heir of both shall inherit the sum." "And if there be no heir? Mrs. Molada has no relative beside Harry." " In that case it shall form the nucleus of an endowment for the Toronto Molada Newsboys' Hall." "Good." "One more item. To little Baldera Trueman three thousand dollars. Mayor Hector Mowbank, the Rev. Dr. Glenavon and her father to be executors. She may draw the interest, if needed, for the completion of her education. It is settled absolutely on herself, she to have control of the princij)al on her twenty-fifth birthday. Trueman is a true reform, I am convinced, but my Gertrude wishes this thini; done. I am a better man since Ciertrude grew up. I do all this ' co-ditch-il ' to please her." " She is a noble girl. This thing does you credit. Is that all?" "Yes. I will call on Saturday morning at lo o'clock, and have this co-ditch-il executed." " Good. We will be ready. That Molada concert was an original affair, and an immense treat. Mrs. Molada is a remarkable personality. Harry is a new edition of her, and she has trained him wonderfully well." •// Last. , le late >ersons r shall What relative-' lowment an three Rev. Dr. y draw ucation. ol of the IS a true 11S thini; I do all redit. 1^ o'clock, licert was jolada is a If her, and " (jertrude raves about her. She says nobody has an idea of her pure and exalted character." ■ I hope she may recover by her stay in Italy. The l.iddie, hunianl)- speaking, could ill lose her, such a uKJther, now. How much did the concert realize? " ' 'Over two thousand dollars, Gertrude tells me, and then there is the purse beside. ' ' "Oh, that will take them well to next June. The Htdc icllow did a good thing for poor Tr jeman. 'A little child siiall lead them.' Even Dr. (ilenavon could do nothing." " There is another matter, Mr. Goodwill, but it must be strict confidence between you and myself Gertrude has g.iined my promise to do it, and she is the only being on e.uHh who knows anything concerning the matter. I hand \()U a cheque for two thousand dollars, payable to yourself It is destined for Mrs. Molada, and Gertrude desired to give this sum out of her own fortune, but I would not permit that. Do me the favor of sending this sum to Mrs. Molada through your agent in Paris, in such a way that she can never discover whence it came, and at once. She is to spend a few days in Paris before going further south, so there is sufficient time to accomplish this. There are so many expences in foreign travel, and Gertrude wishes her spiritual mother to enjoy every comfort, and to be able to have a villa, for home quiet and perfect rest — and to drive. Roth my daughter and myself owe this noble woman a changed life and higher aims, and from my wealth I can well do this without injury to either my wife or daughters. We are taught to 'bear one another's burdens,' but men's I I «fH V< 126 At Last. talk don't 'bear' anjtliing; tlic-re is so much talk, so littlr Ho. Do not fail to sond this money with this week's mail. Post restante is the address." " It shall be ai roiftc to-day." |,i s s, t( CHAPTKR XIII. •r . [ '•i THE BISHOI' OF HOLLIKn.LIWOCiONY. I T KNTSAGEN — liNTSACiEN. HAT last week before the voyage flew by on swiftest win^, and wa; a nicni( )f this true stor lorablc one to some of the friends There was a re-union and 5 o'clock tea tor the innermost circle of Tinteni Abbey, and among the quests was the Bishop of HoIlikulliw(j_i;ony, who had returned to Canada from his mission-field in India, for a year's rest from the troi)ical heat, and his arduous pastoral and literary work. Hishop Taborno was still in the prime of his manhood, tall and stately, with a princely mien, without a trace of hauteur, great suavity of manners, and kindness of heart. His black eye had lost none of its keen penetration, and his l)Iack curly hair had not yet been touched with snow. One needed not to spend many moments in his fascinating society without making the discovery that here was a consecratcfl soul, and a consecrated life. One was reminded of the sainted Bishop Heber, who made a holocaust of his being to the King, and whose writings breathe such a pure spirit. Bishop Taborno was a life-friend of the Underbills and the Moladas, and the Rev. Dr. Glenavon was to his heart ■ n'^ !i I, tt I .t' : "^M 128 .'// Last, lift ill 'I'-t' H knit, not only by a pleasant student life at Oxford, but by the holy vows they had each assumed. This little re-union was both in honor of the good Bishop's return, and of the Moladas who were so soon to depart. It was a warm Au,i(ust afternoon, but not opj)ressive; tea was served on the lawn, and the perfect freedom of the hij^;hest breeding reigned. Bishop Taborno was highly de- lighted with Ciabrielle and Harry, neither of whom he had seen, and it was his great regret that he had not arrived in time for the now famous concert. He was himself a passion- ate lover of music, could sing a tenor well, and had trans- lated and set to music, some of our grand English hymns for the use of the church in India. The Bishop wat, not long in proposing music, and the friends repaired to the Doria, where Gabrielle had still her piano and harp for summer practice, and Mrs. Underhill her lute. Harry, by special entreaty, had brought Mrs. Molada's guitarre. Beneath the burning lights of a radiant sunset, they sang some of the hymns so precious to all Christians, no matter what their church, for is it not the deep-lying sentiment of all holy souls, — Christian unity and brotherly love ? A holy union and unity for work for souls, even if they can not agree on all points, so long as they /fve love .^ The various churches are hastening to learn this great need, and truth of the age. Bishop Taborno' s favorite hymn was; — Baring Gould's " Onward Christian Soldiers, marching as to war." and they sang that first. Then Lyte's "Abide with me. last falls the eventide," then followed that pathetic I Ai Last. 129 )Ul by -union of the ve; tea of the hly de- he had •ived in passion - id trans- \ hymns and the , still her erhill her Molada's hey sang lo matter timent ot A holy can not ie various truth of I — Barinii ito war.' [with me. patheii' and ill rilling hymn from the German, by Alexander Her- iiard, "O Sacred Head, once wounded," (" O, //«///>/', I'oll Bird itnd Wtoidm''), Then Toplady's "Rock of Ages cleft for me," that no church could do without now, and Charles Wesley's "Jesus, Lover of my soul," no less precious and dear. Now came the consecration, " Take my life and let it be," " Forever here my rest shall be," " Cio i.ihor on, spend and be spent," and " I gave my life for thee." Then the part iii of the hymn, "Jerusalem the golckn, with milk and honey bless'd," and they concluded with Faber's " O Paradise, O Paradise, Who doth not crave for rest ? Who would not seek the happy land, Where they that loved are blest; Where loyal hearts, and true, Stand ever in the li^ht. All rapture through and through. In God's most holy sight? " While these hallowed melodies and words floated over the rip|)ieless Ontario, many an oar ceased its rowing, and the numerous boats on the lake took up the strains and bore them far, and it was as a divine benediction descending from the expanding heavens. "Oh," said Bishop Taborno, his countenance aglow with an exalted enthusiasm, " I have listened to ravishing musi( on the Swiss Geneva and Neuchatel, but not so sublime and soul-inspiring as this." Then Gabrielle and Harr)- went out on the terraces among ll! 130 A/ Last. 1' n the whispering' flowers, Jik1j.^c Underhiil and Dr. Glenavon rambled down to the barclietta at the pier-head, Mrs Under- hiil carried ofi Mrs. (ilenavon to show her some hne passion flowers and pomegranates at the Ionic Temple in the wilder- ness, and so it chanced that Mrs. Molada and Bishop Tab- orno were left alone. "Will you play that beautiful composition, Mrs. Molada, you used to play before I went to India ? " asked the Bishop. " It was your own, and you called it Kntsagen." Mrs. Molada had written it at Lake Como, as the outlet of a bitter grief, and she played it to-night with a depth of feeling that was a partial revealing of her life- history. " That is most exquisite, but very sad," said the Bishoj). She went on sweeping lightly the strings of her guitarre. " I regret your leaving us so soon. I hope you will be benefltted by your stay in the Riviera." ' ' Thank you heartily for your wish ; I hoj^e so too for Harry's sake." " He is a remarkable lad. No doubt God has some gnat work for him." " I believe he has. It is also Harry's idea. When do you return to India, Bishop Taborno ? " "A year from this September is the command. In the meantime I have much wt)rk laid out — much translating for the mission work. You propose returning to Toronto next June, do you not? " "That is the intention, if my health be restored. I am much better this warm weather; it is the severity of tlie Canadian winter of which my medical adviser is >o ( lavcm ndi-r- ission ikler Tab- olada, ;isho\). Lltkt C)( cplh of Bishoi). uitarrc. will \n- too for [f\\v\\ il" In llu- lilin^ t(n no iH-\l oi I am tl 11' .-1/ Last, J 31 IS >" iippreliensive. A cold wind or a lieavy rain excites the cough to an alarming degree." " I need not assure you what a delight it is to me, dear Mrs. Molada,. to renew our old friendship. Will you permit ine to ask you that question again ? Upon your reply my happines, and, possibly, my usefulness, largely dcjx-nd. Should your health be restored, will you be my wife, and go uut with me to India? Do not give me your answer, now, dear friend. I need not tell you my heart has never changed >inte our last interview and parting at the Hermitage. And you see I have kept my word. I have not married. I shall iR'\ er marry if you say me nay. I need such a counstilor ;iik1 friend as you. My soul yearns for you in the lonelines.s of Indianism. I could do my work infinitely better pos- sessed of your love and coi .panionship. Be my wife, and together we will toil with the Master. And I will be a true fatlier to Harry." He seized her hand and kissed it. "Do not answer me now. I can not return to India without you. You have not forgotten that last ramble along ilir banks of the leaping Silver Brook ? I never. I was lit it aware till that hour that you were an aftianced bride, .111(1 your attianced found a soldier's death in a loreign land, uul you did not become his after all. Do you remember what you wrote that sunset hour, sitting on a granite rock > S.vhere!" He drew from a breast-pocket a little morocco case, and ili;-.j)layed a poem written in pencil. " I begged you for it, 1 have carried it ever since. You are free now, and I dare approach you. Listen till I read the sweet lines so dear to it i\ r? 132 Ai Last. me, for you say ' we. ' You wrote them as a sudden impulse, you thought the lines worthless, — to me they have been as pearls." He read: \ We stood by the stream in the twilight, 'Neath the sunset's crimson glow, And the fire of the dying sunlight Gleamed bright in the river's flow. The rosy blush of the waterfall Met gently the sky's deep blue. And the floating cloud-fleece over all, Lent its tints to the blending too. With (luick'ning pulse and throbbing heart. We gazed on the wondrous scene, And gladly we took a trembling part In the anthem of praise, I ween. And mystic dreams of the Great and True United with murmur and song; And purple, crimson, and softer hue Spoke to us of the angel thron*;. Thy moods are sweet, oh brooklet fair, And lovely thy rock-strewn glen; Shine on, sing on, in thy beauty rare. Till I greet thee with joy again. ' ' You cut off all hope for me then by that ' I ' in the last line. That was inevitable then — the case has changed." Mrs. Molada had turned very pale; her frame trembled; she was incapable of uttering a single word. Her gaze was fixed on the splendors of the golden sunsetting. A couplet rang" in her ears, uttered long ago by a voice now silent — %\ At Last. 133 " Lo yonder golden-sun! The sky aud waters blend in one." That friend was now a "shade," a "light" in Dante's Paradise. A thousand memories awoke and trooped through her soul. There was a pause. The two children were near the Doria, and their voices could be heard. The Judge and Dr. ("ilcnavon were returning from their walk, Mrs. Underhill and Mrs. Glenavon were descending the Dante allee. Mrs. Molada's trembling tingers swept lightly the guitarre, and Bishop Taborno said leaning toward her: " You will write me from the Riviera? You will corres- pond with me? " ' ' Yes, I will write, but, amico mio, you do not wish for a broken heart ? ' ' " No, no, say not so. A new love, a new life will awaken. Oh, my love, my love! Ten weary years since we met, and now to part again so soon ! ' ' Mrs. Molada let the guitarre speak again. The chords rang out deliciously, but sadly, on the evening air, their bur- den entsagen, enisagen! * " Listen amico mio,'' she said, " ' Entsagcn ist dcs Men- schcn Schicksal' ' Take up thy cross and follow me,' ' The servant is not greater than his Lord.' What if it be India alone?" * Enstagen signifies to abdicate, to rejiK"- It contains the idea of perfect sell renunciation, and the yielding up of all. We have no English word that conveys us tuii meaning. i W A h '. il [ ^ ' ' !'■ i 5 ■ ■A i: fi •j n:i Chaptp:r XIV. THE A TLANTIC VOYAGE. W: " That which befalls, She said, befalls not otherwise Than as it hath been willed." SO! Then what becomes of free will ? Man has free will. ()o(l, the Omnipotent, the Omniscient, governs this universe. Man has nol free will ? He is incapable of choos- ing right, since his will is perverted by the fall ? Then he is not at all responsible. Where there is no freedom there can not be responsibility. That is indisputable, as a priori, as that one body can not occupy two spaces at the same time, or that twice nothing make nothing. If man can not obey, why did God command " Love thy neighbor as thyself? " If " God is love," and if he governs this universe for the universal good, the happiness of His creatures, he can not, consistent with his nature and attri- butes, give any impossible law, one that can not be obeyed. That is as clear as where total darkness is, there is no Hght. Evil is. Sin is. Sorrow is. Suffering is. Monstrous wrongs and injustice prevail. Did God decree them ? Did He will evil, sin ? " God is not the author of evil." God is not the author of sin, for He is absolutely holy. Here we stand face to flice with an inscrutable mystery, -7/ Last. 13.^ Tht orij^in of evil, sin. has nut been clearly explained. But, as there can exist only one Infinity, and since that Infinity is holy per se, sin must have had its origin in the Finite. God created man and all intelligent beings, with power to choose, pointed out to them that holiness, and holiness alone, meant happiness, and gave a command. Self opposed itself to the Creator, and chose self-gratification to God. Ii is not my province to follow out the argument here; but to ii)y own mind the thought underlying all, and that which It'.ids up to it, are clear. "God is love." Faith waits. ' (Jodishis own interpreter, and he will make it plain." Let us consider some of the characters of this true story with reference to this question. It was not God's will that Mr. Trueman should drink himself into a beast, almost into perdition. He had the consciousness all the time, that he was breaking God's law, fur the law is, " Look not upon the wine when it is red, "hen it giveth its color in the cup, for at the la.st it biteth like a serpent, and stingeth like an ; dder. " But self, in the person of appetite said, " I will drink; it gives me pleasure." He knew that it was suicidal, that he liad no right to injure his body, because it was not his, and because to injure the body long enough, meant death, — eternal. He knew per- leclly " Ye are not your own, ye are bought with a price," why? To secure happiness, true happiness. And .\Ir. Trueman always meant to stop "sometime — soon," just as you do; but you will find, as he did, that self, long indulged, ^.lins strength with every yielding and fall, till he becomes the strong man among tlie tombs, that can not be bemud with chains. > - ■ f 136 A/ Las/. Mr ||.|;;! Did God will that the Ruby should sell him alcohol to the death ? You dare not maintain that. Even the Ruby dare not. Will you say it is God's will that Hellgate Brewery shall go on disti'lir.g that which so degrades man if he drink it ? You dare no. maintain it in your dying hour. Your blinkers will fail then, and yon will see. Oh, Christians! — in name at least, why will you not take the stand that William Beatty, Esq. of Parry Sound has taken ? If you all wf .uiu do that, this accursed traffic would soon find an end. H\. u'll not permit a drop of the infernal brew on his estates, nor among his men anywhere. " Touch not, taste not, hand^'^ not." • Come out from among them, and be separate." You ciu not u'*hom the mystery of sor- row. Can you not in Mr. Trueman's cast ? " Christ must needs have suffered." Why? Sin. And you, like Paul, must " fill up that which is behind of the afflictions of Christ." Why ? Sin. Sin — death. Cause and effect. There can be no other answer. Jack Drinkdregs had become a light among the boys. He always carried his Anti-Sin cards in his pocket, and many a boy on the downward road he rescued. Dr. Glenavon found a permanent place for Mr. Drinkdregs, and he is working among the sots. Poor Pat Donegal had never fallen through the wine-cup, though his temptations had been great, his environment un- favorable. Why did he stand? My reply is God's word, "The Holy Spirit is given to every man to profit withal." Poor Pat had his wish. The day after the happy re-union at Tintern Abbey, his soul degarmented and went to God, i> to the )y dare Irewery e drink Your lot take md has ic vvoukl infernal "Touch ig them, y of sor- rist must ike Paul, Christ." here can he boys, .nd many rlenavon Ind he is /ine-cup, lent un- 's word, [withal." I re-union to God, /J/ LasL 137 and the sonless widow wept. All the newsboys, and other biiys, went to his funeral, and planted a Lcbcns Bafim — tree of life, cedar, by his grave, and laid tlowers upon it. and sang beside it — "We shall meet beyond the river," and there was one poor boy less on earth, one more in heaven. As our friends, Mrs. Molada and Harry sailed past Staaten Island and Sandy Hook into the ocean, the New York Harbor was resplendent under a brilliant sun, and the beau- tiful Liberty on her islet, stretched forth her flaming torch as resolutely as ever. Oh, thou divine Liberty! What would existence be worth without thee? All told, there were eighteen hundred souls on board, and when they had finally reached a rough sea, many of the passengers seemed to be suftering from a violent attack of Lokomotor Ataxia. On Sunday there was a most solemn and impressive ser- vice, and the people sang hymns on deck in the afternoon. Monday brought one of the most singular and beautiful sunsets ever beheld on any sea. I draw a picture of it in words as I saw it, and at the time. The sun's golden disc, set in a frame, as it were, of soft clouds, gradually approached the horizon, now and then a band of soft purple floating across, and then slowly sank into the deep blue of the ocean, reflecting upward vast masses of ruddy-golden lights. And then followed the most striking and wonderful developments of cloud-land scenery. First, on the southern horizon marched Ruskin's " Silent procession," inexpressibly lovely in sapphire blue and white. Beyond, behind, above, spread a vast sea of translucent •J? if ft f 1! r%i t38 .4/ Lasl. w 1) ;■' ' hi ■ ■■; Pi hi! r m pearl, with another sea of delicate rose behind, shining throug^h. On its surface seemed to Hoat innumerables isles in varied forms, and most delicate tints of amber, crimson, purple, blue, while behind towered titanic mountain-ranges in opals, pearls, rubies, sapphires. On this crystal-rose sea, through an opening amid the isles, and far behind them, and below the mountains, seemed to move forward a stately shij) in blue, its masts like pearls, while from its funnel a soft gray smoke curled slowly up and away. These wondrous forms and lights varied with every instant, and were distinctly be- yond the power of language to describe, or the painter's brush, for the changing forms and colors were produced by ])erpetual motion. As Mrs. Molada gazed, she thought of Elijah's cohorts in panoply of fire, and imagination filled the vast perspective with the existences of those unapproachable spheres to us now incomj^rehensible. Almost imperceptibly the glories faded into grays, until night added her finishing touches, and, .somehow, she felt she had almost caught a glimpse of the empyrean. There is a tit answer to the searcher after truth, whose eyr would fain pierce the veil that hides the infinite; he is not left with only the reply of Nirwana. " What thou knowesl not now, thou shalt know hereafter." The inexhaustible refreshment ol the salt air seemed to till our friends with un tiring energy. Harry was very busy learning sea-terms, and how to trll time from the bells, watching the lights in the water at night, feeding the sea-gulls, above all, talking to the officers and les isles rimson, I- ranges ose sea, em, and ;ely shij) ioft gray us forms iictly be- painter' s Juced by Af Last, 139 ir.en. with whom he had become an immense favorite. They landed at Liverpool at night-fall, and no passenger was more rejoiced to set foot on terra rtrnia than poor Don iVdro, who leaped and pranced and wiieeled like a dog insane at the recovery of his liberty. \\ 1 ! i i t m ohorts in irspective res to US e glories touches, limpse ol /hose eyt' he is nol knowt^sl Ihaustiblf with un )vv to tfU |at night, icers and i' ul dl '"!? r^c W: i CHAPTER XV. DOLCE FAR NIENTE. |i:!?« I' 'i •1 ,' f II " Oh, the wild joys of living! the leaping from rock to rock." " Still ailing, Wind ? Wilt be appeased or no? Which needs the other's oftice, thou or I ? Dost want to be disburthened of a woe, And can, in truth, my voice untie Its links, and let it go ? " OF all the sea-side resorts of South England, none cm outcharm the Devonshire Queen Ilfracombe, dream- ing among the flowers, and gazing with such a happy fa( c on the English Channel. "Oh, how lovely mater!" cried Harry, as they sat at their late breakfast the morning after their arrival; " the sea is so blue, and there seem to be boats going in every di- rection." " You may gather lovely ferns here, the gold fern and the maidenhair, and we can ramble by the sea as much as we please, it is so deliciously mild. We will stay here a little while — a week, I fancy — and grow strong. And while I sit, and write, and breathe this invigorating air, so full of osofw, you and Don Pedro can roam the beach, and plunge intd the waves, and climb the rocks." Ai Last. 141 Many, too, were the quiet rambles, and the sweet sur- prises they had together in this lovely spot. One morning, Harry laden with ferns, as they were walking among the lanes and hedges, listening to the various sounds of sea, and bird-songs, a new viotif was added. The words rang out lull and clear — "Jesus, my heart's dear refuge, Jesus has died for me, F'irm on the Rock of Ages Ever my trust shall be. Here let me wait in patience — Wait till the night is o'er, Wait till I see the morning Break on the golden shore. .Safe in the arms of Jesus, Safe on his gentle breast, There by his love o'ershadow'd, Sweetly my soul shall rest." It was a pathetic girlish voice, and it seemed to give a strong emphasis to "night" and "see." Mrs. Molada and Harry followed the sounds of the voice, and soon, at a sharp turn in the winding path, a pretty white cottage, half-buried in flowers, stood before them, at a short distance to the left. Honeysuckle covered the porch, the windows were full of flower-pots, and a carefully-kept flower- garden surrounded it. In front of the cottage, on a low chair, sat a blind girl. Her face was turned upward as she? sang. They paused and listened. She repeated the lines — >■ J 1! f 1 \ ■} li li Jill 1 f \ ■ i i P¥ in I'M , 1 ili 142 At Last, " Wait till tin.' ui^lit is ..'c-r, Wait till I sec thi- moniinj; " — At tliat moment a woman caiiK; to tin- door, and Mrs. Molada motioned to lier to keep silence. The blind jL,nrI fmislietl the last verse, and tlien i)ej.jan the hymn attain. I' was evidently a favorite. When she had tinished the I'nM verse, Harry eoiild keep silence no lonj^i-r and he joined in the second verse. The blind girl stopjx-d to listen, but Harry went on, and she began again. When the second verse was linished, she said: "A strange voice, mother, do you hear? '" "Yes, Ksther." Mrs. Molada ajjproached and explained that they \Kv\r strangers, and on their morning walk, had heard thcsingint;, and followed the voice. " Ciood morning, Esther," she saiti, "do \-oii see me?" "Oh, no mam! I have never seen. I was born blind. " " It is my son Harry who joined in your hymn. Wo ar^ very fond of singing. Shall wc sing that beautiful hymn together? " Mrs. Kemp, the mother, brought out a couple of chairs, they sat down, and all sang the lines that brought such jdv to Ksther. " I wonder what it will be like to see ? "" she said whdi they had finished. "Will you let me take your haul, Harry ? I like your voice. I have never heard one like it. Will you sing something you like ? "Gladly," and he .sang, "I know that my Redcc liveth." The blind girl clapped her hands — she seemed all ni'r cat )ni 1)1111(1. 1. Wo ai'" itifiil hviiin ^4i Last Oh. h ow sweet I Please U3 ff /^ncj Harry snn«. -.God SI '"g again. "". "lust worship ff 's a spirit, and thev th Oh. h ovv to nil 'f ,1 " good it "" in spirit and in truth at worshir she cried "as of God to J ^«^ tlie morn "Ig- I '^liall know ^^ yf>u ronu' and you bv yoii r voice whe-n AAer a h"ttle con vers, fw,,, r i "•;■';■■"> "«t runs behi„d ours, s^riive:";, '",'"• """""'^ "cik'libnrs t.ikc care of h,T Will "" ■■*'"'"■• ^'"1 the ""Iv be here to.,norro« • ' "'"' >'"" ^"S"''"- VVe shall ■•Ju-sth-ff the latch ami „,;„■• , • . m >vay «e all do. Al,-, u , ' T ■''■ '^•^'"''•- " ">« ■> ■r.s. Molada ••lift,.] nj •* f! ''«»«""l a,r,.„a,,- "•■ ■•H'»vdo,o::L:'';;;r,.,,;'-'""o ."o.«M,er Strangers, and V.tU..^ i.- ' ' -^"^^ -said. ' VVe are str; tin's is my son f farrv would like, f an, ojaci ^t'lnj, told us ab ii'i- come to see y out >"U, and we- Ye; ■liail be going 1 »lit.' replied, '-J g'-'^i you know Christ ^u. and sing if vou f^ius is WI glad to i"me soon, ft •^e-e you; please sit dov th nu- ail th t- time, f Mrs. Afolada began in a Jo itr. "Ahiil«. w.M, .. ivn. •'" "^Jt Ix- long now. f am niy h nearer "Abide with "^^•" And then H '"' voice to .>,ing. H, ""ry join in fr Wv honKr^and .. Tell it ,., 7:':;^""^- ■''•■■"-' and h ^'■e and there tli ' Jfsus," and '-Dr I'm. '" •' "ote. And then M iIh- aged .saint. Molad <■' qua\ering aged aw me voice put ' ^^'-'^ and prayed with ( "; . \ ■ ^- i ! V^ 144 .-// Aff.f/. " I shall know you," she said, "when we meet above. Thank you for coming," she added as they took leave. " M'uttcrchcn! Little mother! " ' ' Yes, dearie. " Was it not good of God to let us comfort those dear people? Whoever would have thought of anything so pleasant? I do feel so happy when I can help anyone." ' ' God does us an honor we do not deserve. ' ' The following morning they found a little comj)any as.sembled at Esther's cottage, and some of her child-friends, and together they sang several hymns, and Harry had to sing for them, and many a tear was brushed away, and many a troubled one was comforted. And then they went to sa\' a thial good-l)ye to old Mrs. Hill, for whom Harry had brought a basket of fruit. Returning by another path, the\- rould hear voices at Esther's cottage singing "There is no night in Heaven," and the melody floated out over the sc;i. One evening, just at sunset, Harry found Mrs, Molada kneeling on the sands, the tide was out, stylus in hand. " WHiat are you doing, mater? " " Drawir g an illustration of the lines I have just written.' " The rising tide will wash it all out." *' Yes, that is true. To me that is the best part of it." "So! I see a cross — an anchor — a star — a — " " Listen till I read the wee poem; then you will uiult r- stand the sketch." Harry sat down on the sands, and Don Pedro j)laiit(d himself near. " Now little mother! Read. Don Pedro is waiting. Hi Af Last. 145 ibovr. sc dear e. -friends, had to nd many nt to say arry h^^'^ iath, thrv lerc is no r the s(.'.i. . Molaci.i and. looks like a poem himself. He understands more than we diink." " I believe you arc rimht. He is a ' knowini; dog.' Oh. \'ou laugh at me. But lu; is." THK CROSS ON THH SANDS. At evening I walked on the oce.m sliore. When the shadows were jijatliering fast. The sun seemed to linger, then pause, to pour His fadinj; crituson on sea and mast, And the waves jjently siglied hi their jjold-purple pride, ' Leave us lujt; oh! come hack once more." In the ebbinj; tide a shiverin.a; moan Struck a chord in my sorrow! njj; heart; The sea, like my life, lay there bleak and lone, Where no light, or joy, or hope had part. Dull gray in the gloaming, Ouivering and moaning, " O light! O beauty! come once more " I knelt in the gray on the moistened sand, And drew there a cross, the type f)f woe. Then the crown and anchor, with tremhhng hand, And p.'iin in the heart that none could know, Above I drew the star. — Of suruiy hope the star, — That in the west afar In golden letters wrote, ' once more.' The darkness was past and the morning fair, .Again I roamed by the shining sea, I sought on the sands — mv cross was not there. Neither mist, gloom, nor cloud could 1 see. ' f i ■i ! 1 1 ■■:;--#*» TH |i 1 1 * '; ■ i 7 1 ,m '.'lip I' ii'li 146 A( Last. And the waves seemed t(i say, Tossing lightly their s|>ra\ , " Shrink not from thy sorrow, A brighter to-morrow Shall bring thee eternity's land, Keep the sunshine within, Lay thy cross upon Him Who hath borne it for thee, Then thy cross shall but be Like thy cross on the sea-washed strand." " Sweetest mater! Carissiina mia! You ' keep the stinshhir within,' for it shines in your face always, even when you look so sad," cried Harry, embracing her, "and I know dear blind Esther /97/' that ' sunshine.' though only with her Faith-eyes. Look! How Venus shines to-night! " "And these lines may do for our sail to F" ranee, — May we not be like ships at sea, That perish in the storm, But always Him, our " Refuge " see, Whose ever-living lorm Once here the raging billows trod, As Son of Man — and God." jM: " Read something else, Carissima. " " Here is a little thing " — R K V E R I K— K A R K WELL. ill Birds and pleasures come anil go, The flower, withering, falls. The light of sununer's richest glow, Fades in drear\ winter's halls. .// Last. \V;ives tliat otMilly (Utu, and kiss The* uiidulatiiij;, i)i'l)bly IkmcIi, Slet-p and dream of endless bliss, And seem to he beyond the reach (jf raging- storm and tempest wild. The w inds shall lash to snow y loam, And friends and strangers Hee in dread, None daring on the sands to roam, Blackness beneatii and overhead. '47 sunshinr rben yen I know with b^v r Xow ill soft and gentle ripples, Ufii'.ombe her face displays, In ill • sunlit, crystal dimples l.w.ger notes of other da\s. Shades of vanished froms tloat past me. Songs and laughter strike mine ear, Voiixs that will no more greet me, Ti-nes I never more shall hear. i lands that I fain would clasp are g(jne, Smiles 1 loved are veiled and lost. Ah! faces that in love have shone, To the golden shores have crossed. The steamboat whistle wakes my dreams, Far 1 see thy tlutt'ring robe; The daylight fades in sunset-gleams, — Now no eye the dark (an probe. "Tiiat i.s so sad Carissima! Will you never laugli again -i.s you used to do ? " 1 P " ■ ---It* )i 1. ■{ ■ \l k u CHAPTER XVI. LA BELLE ERANCE. " I see thee yet., fair Franct — thou favor'd land Of art and nature— thou art still belort- nie. Thy sons, to whom their labor is a sport, So well thy grateful soil returns its tribute; Thy sunburnt daughters, with their laughing eyes, And glossy raven locks. But, favor'd I'Yance; Thou hast had many a tale of woe to tell, In ancient times as now." THE white cliffs of Dover, and Dover Ca.stle, seated aloft on its rock-cliffs, offer an imposing view to the steady brain from the steamboat on the restless straits, but I fear the recollections of many travelers are somewhat indistinct, among whom I find myself comj^elled to reckon the hero of this story. He had not become sufficiently " salted down," and his "sea-legs" firm enough from a single Atlantic shaking and sifting, to defy the turbulent waters of Dover straits. Mrs. Molada remained on deck during the transit, and was rewarded with an emj)ressee salute from a huge green wave that rolled over her to the shoulders — she was never a victim of ma/ do met\ arul Harry, assuming a manly air, seated himself beside her. .'U Last. 140 illl ted aloft ,e steady ut I fear idistincl, I hero of down," Atlantic f Dover isit, anil " Mater. I am goint^ to stay on deck with you all the way from Dover to Calais! " But the winds grew wilder, and the waves joined in the j)lot, for it was not likely that they, generally victors, were to be defied by a mere Toronto laddie. Poor Harry grew yhostly pale, and finally disappeared to be seen not again till the short voyage was ended. En route a Paris^ at Abbeville they contented themselves with a distant view of its cathedral, and at Amiens they had an amusing experience — to Mrs. Molada not the first. Tht* lonvoi — train — drew up in the station, and one heard "twenty minutes for dinner! " accompanied by a ferocious ringing of bells. Our friends made their way, with many more, to the buffet. A most tempting repast was served ready at each convert, and every guest was required to jxiy before dining. No sooner was this demand complied with, than "all aboard! le convoi part pour Paris.''' resounded with starding vehemence, and they had not been more than fi\e minutes at the buffet. Don Pedro grew e.xcited and began to bark. Mrs. Molada quietly handed Harry a serviette and a news- paper from her lunch-basket. " Do what you see me do." She took the chicken, buttered a coujjle of rolls, gatlu*red up tarts, cakes and grapes. "These things are ours — wt- tan not fast to Paris." The others followed her example, and the j)assengfrs carried their luncheon with them into the convoi with much merriment, minus cofiee, knives, forks and spoons, while the attendant garyons stood and looked on aghast and upen- mouthed. ■rr 1 1 '50 .'// /m.^L While our Iriciuls ale tlieir rcscuctl rt-jjast, Mrs. Molada saitl: " 1 have a sketch made in the Cathedral at, Amiens, arches and foliated corbels from the nave. I have brought my lra\(l-sketch-book, and we will j^o through it this evening. I'h*' Catht^lral is a chef d' oeuvre of architecture, many think it the tincst in France; it is one of the noi)lest types of the mediaeval Gothic, with its magnificent Icjfty na\'e, and the majestic perspective through a perfect wilder- ness of arches and columns. And the front fayade is not less imposing, adorned with rich carvings, light pyramids and bas-reliefs, representing the Last Judgment, crowned with those noble towers and the slender s[)ire. " .Saturday, their tirst day in Paris, they consecrated by a visit to the M'All Mission, and they enjoyed a pleasant interview with Mr. and Mrs. M'All, who, in all the fervor of Christian love, have dev(jte(l life to this great work. On Sunday they attended those points where Mr. M'All was to s])eak, and never did our hero sing the beautiful hymns in the French language with more passionate fervor One was forcibly struck by the humility and the deep earnestness of the Rev. R. W. M'All. How quietly yet how valiantly he fought against the vices of Paris, and how he strove to win vsouls. Many a hardened one. he won by his ardent love and pity. What power there was in the simple expression. ""Je vous aime, et Dieu vans aimey * On Monday they began to explore a few of the wonders of the gay French (Mpital. ♦Since this was wi ittoii t li»- ^u-.il nussu'naiv, the Rev. k. W. .\I'.\11, has jfoiic up highei. .// Last. 151 lolada miens, roughi it this ecture. noUlesl U Infly wikler- ; is not y ram ids ;ro\vneci xl by a pleasant fervor ot rk. On 11 was to ■mns in ine was itness ot [antly he to win :nt love hression. Iwonders ll, lias gone "We must omit miidj. Harry, but we shall jjerhaps rrtiirn at some future time — you at least, cheri! " " Not without you, mater — that would be no pleasure. " "You see your education is goinj^ on constantly, f/stV/, .iiul you are preparing to take your place in the great Canij)adrome of life fearlessly, to assume every duty and responsibility co)i amorc. See, there is the site of ihr Tuileries, ruins even all gone now. I saw it in ruins, and in all its splendor, too, the long suites of apartments, the throne-room, be-frescoed, be- inirrored, graced by the lovely Eugenie Napoleon III, et ' K- Petit Prince.' I fmd it difficult to think of Paris with- out the interestin;; old palace, such a landmark in French hi>tory, the scene of such jjageantries and tragedies. In the time of the Franco- Cierman v.ar the French themselves cut down all the grand trees, more than a century old, oi the j)rivate gardens of the Tuileries, under whose shade a million of little children have played, among them that poor little Dauphin who should have been Louis XVII, whose fate was so wretched. Poor wee laddie! They cut down, also, the Bois de Boulogne, the trees 01 the Chamj)s ElysL-es and the Boulevards from dire necessity, to keep from freezing. Le Chateau de Saint Cloud is also in ruins, liestroyed by the French themselves in their frenz}-. Quiet Malmaison, too, truly a shrine, the shrine of a great heart tiroken. From this site what a brilliant vista down the j^retn Champs Elysees to the Arc de Triomphe! How the Place de la Concorde, its obelisk and its leaping fountains, throw up the light into the blue! " it M ory;eous tombeaiix of Bourbon and earlier monarchs. The effect of the whole is most grand, impressive, solemn. Mrs. Molada and Harry had been walking and studying this petrified history of France, and were leaving the chaptlle in whicli is the sculptured figure of Marie Antoi- nette, kneeling before a prie Dien, near her Catharine de Medicis and other queens, when they were suddenl)' startled by u voice at some distance, e.xclaiming: ZT I - ■- ■■ I*;:; '31 A/ Im.sI. "There now! I've broke my pencil! 1 cant take tny aotes, and when I go back to Kentucky, everybody' 11 expect me to know all about Saint Denis, and I can't remember it all no how. Here, Susie, you u^o rit^ht over to that shop and buy me a pencil — quick! " Mrs. Kentucky and Susie were with a party bein|Lj conducted to see the hidden treasures of the abbey, .md t»ur friends joined it. " Never mind, mother," said Susie, " I will remember ami write it all for you afterward." "A^^, Susie, I want my own pencil — what this jjeMiil wanted to j^o and break for! " A French jrentleman approached her — "'Vok/cs vous me permcttre Madame f Je taillcrai voire crayon. " What does he say, Susie ? " " Monsieur offers to sharpen your pencil, mother." "Well, that's real kind." Monsieur le Crayon sharpened the pencil. Later, look- ing at the paintings in the sacristy, Mrs. Kentucky cried: "Susie, what did the man say that big yellow thing i-^ standing over by that 'ere window? " "I do not know, mother; I did not understand him." " ' Didn't understand him! ' And you've been in Paris three hull months to learn French! Good land! " Monsieur le Crayon explained that it was the gold has relief of the Last Supper, the communion salver presented to the Abbey by Fran9ois Premier — Francis L " La, now, you don't mean to say its all gold ? " " Si, Madame:' At Last. 155 ke my l)ody'il 1 cant ovor to ■ bein;^ and i)ur iber and is pencil vous ffw Iter, loc»k- cried : thin^f I-' When the rehcs of S.iint Denis were shown, in their costly casket, Susie tried to translate to her mother, but \vh(^n the sacristan told the legend, Mrs. Kentucky's indignation burst forth. "Tain't true, no hozv. No man never run without his head, with it under his arm. all that way, dead! Such -^ thing ain't possible." " ^S7, Madame; c' est tout a fait vrai, r V.y/,"said Monsieur le Crayon. " It am t true. You needn't tell me. I guess I know." During the great revolution, the Oriflammc, the banner of the Crusader- King, St. Louis — nciif — was torn in pieces by the infuriated mobs, the stained windows shattered, and the tombeaux injured, and had not some unknown friends of royalty concealed much, these splendid works of art of former ages, would in all probability have been totaly des- troyed. How much of rare and costly art, so precious to the history of nations, has been scattered and lost by insane, unreasoning multitudes. The tombeau of Dagobcrt I, the most ancient, is very curious. The tombs of Franyois I, and Queen Claude, and of the V'alois sovereigns Louis XII, and Ann of Bretagne, and Henry II. and Catharine de Medicis, are the most magnificent, the last in blue and white marble. That of the sumptuous Franyois 1, is of white marble, cunningly sculptured, and in front of it, on a slender pedestal, is a white marble urn containing the monarch's heart. In one of the transepts is the broken-at-the-top marble j)illar, made by order (jf Mary of Scotland, to the if I.S6 .'^Z Art.sV. iiuniory of licr youiij^^ husbaiid, Fr;m(;()is II. and in tin- other transept is the jjorphyry pillar in honor of Henri 1\ , the Martvr-Kin''. Wy coniniand of tlie ''Fii^/ia Dolorosa,'' Louis X\'I, and Marie Antoiiv tte were exhumed and borne in pomp to tiic old Abhev and laid amontj their jieers, at the restoration of the Bourbons, Their mangled remains had been con cealed by a faithful royalist in his orchard-garden, and on this hidden grave was built the beautiful C/iaprl/c Expiatoirr at the Restoration, which contains fnie marble statues of tin King and Queen, and j)oor Madame Elizabeth. " Hij^li and mighty monarchy, " crowns and thrones! things of the ])ast for la Belle France. They show you five or six crowns, that of Marie Antoin ette, small and glittering, that of Louis X\'I. Charlemagne's crown — not the Iron Crown. What coronation-scenes ha\r t«kcn place in these ancient gray walls! At Rheims tli( Sovereigns of PVance were annointed with the sacred oil, and at first crowned there, later they were crowned at thr Abbey of Saint Denis. Driving to Notre Dame. Marry asked what had becoiiir of the guillotine by which Marie Antoinette was guillotined. " It was at Madame Tussaud's in London. It is now at the Chicago Exj)osition. They will probably place it in tlir Musee of the Louvre. It is an awful landmark in Fren history, and ought to be in Paris." Notre Dame is much admired by some for its harmon\ design, though built in so many ditferent times; by others ii is as severely criticised. The cathedral is of the Transition enrl 1\ . .VI. :uvl ip to ill*' stor;ilit>'i een cow 1. ;uul »>n xpiatoix jes of thf IgS of the ic Antoin- HM1CS h;ivr heims tli'' sacred oil, ncd at thr id bccoiiif [uillotincd. is now at :e it in ilif lin Fren' larmons |y others u Vansitiou IIH .7/ /.^/,nV. 157 period, l)el\V(^'(.'ii llic Roni.m and llu- (lothir, bill it Ij.is l)i'cn ^Iiorn of its ancient tine statues of tin- Kings of F'rancc. and imirh other ornamentation. Charlemagne laid the first stone (il this " symphony in stone," though, following some of ilic critics, il is a very discord.ml symphony. 'V\\v fayade, (Iciorated with statues of the Virtues, the Vices, Apostles .md Saints, with its two m.ijestic towers, is an imposing oi)it.'('t. "W'c mu>t read Ruskin this winter, Harry; he will form \(nir judgement ant! taste, and prepare yoii to apj)rcciate the nurit> and beauties of architecture. Let us cnti-r. " Thr numl)er and lofty height ot the pilliirs, terminating in thd^r |)ointed arches, jjroduce a striking effect as one enters tlu' nave. The choir is jiaved with many colored marbles. Ill \\hi( h is wrought the Hourlx^n Fleur-dedis, tlu; altar steps .ire of Languedoc marble, and these diHerent marbles, com- hiiicd with the white marble altar-piece, a Descent from the Cross, and the snowy marble statues in the chancel combine to produce great magnificence; but il is a cold beauty, that almost sends a shiver through one. The windows are stained, the " rose" windows at the extremities of the na\'e and lransej)ts are gorgeous. Notre Dame has her memories — they are legion. One al nuptials in that beautiful chancel, full of hope, 'fttimes to dire woe. The sacristan showed them ly 1, sacerdotal vestments, some relics, and the Mon- anct , sparkling with gems, used by Fran(;ois Premier, riipy climbed to the gallerv extending around the base of the towers, up t< 'ue of the towers — only one is visited — is8 At Last. and with that clear atmosphere, what a superb view of Paris, the Seine and her bridges, and the environs. " You know. Harry, Mary Stuart and F'ranf^ois II, then Dauphin, eldest son of Catharine de Medicis, and brother of Charles IX and Henri III, were married in Notre Dame, and she in her wondrous beauty must show herself to the people, and the youthful bridal pair walked around the cathedral on an elevated o{)en gallery, previously constructed for the purpose, by order of King Henri II. that the people might see their future queen. The beautiful bride was in blissful ignorance of Darnley, Bothwell, and Fothering;n Castle then. Old Notre Dame has weathered terrible j)oliti- cal tempests, and still she looks undauntedly forth into the future, while her towers seem struggling into the blue, as if they would penetrate the inscrutable mysteries of the verv heavens.'' " Oh, mater! this is j'ist grand, and to hear you talk is a feast! Mow do vou remember everything so ? " Thev returned jiast the Abbey Church of Saint Germain I'Auxerrois, opjxxsite the Louvre The interior of tin church is dark, the pavement much worn, the stained glas> is esteemed among the richest in Paris. "Mater, where is the bell (if the old tower.'* Is it stil! there?" " No. When the F^rench Revolution burst upon j)our Louis and his Oueen — who were murdered to atone for tin sins of long centuries — the church-bells were confiscated taken down from the towers, thrown into the crucible ami r(' cast into c.mnon. It chanced that thf company of ilu \l II' Ai iMst. 159 ■ of Paris, is II, then brother of tre Dame, •self to the iround the constructed the people )ride was in FotheringJ^y rrible i)oliti- irlh into the le blue, as if of the verv [OU talk is .1 lint Germain [rior of the Itained glass ? Is it still upon p""^ itone for tbt confiscated Icrucible ami ipany ^>^ 'l^^ Thertre Fran9ais were playing Charles IX. A bell was neeaed, and Marie Joseph Chenier usked the Convention for tb.s bell of Saint Germain I'Auxerrois; the request was '.granted, and the bell is still the property of this theatre," • Jome, mater! away to the Market of FlowersI What jrlorious blooms! what colors! How bright the Seint- looks with her bridges! We are on the Pont-Neuf n(nv, still adorned with the tine equestrian statue of Henri le (irand of Navarre, the iirst King of the Bourbon line. What are all these boats for here and there, full of womt- n only ? " ''T\\G h/a)irhiss€uscs — washerwomen — reign there, and beat the linen of Paris on flat smooth stones, and break all the huttons, and devour every fabric speedly with (Uiu dc Javclle, MHcJ laugh and make merry, and quarrel sometimes over their work. Ecoutcz! Paris is all the merrier for them. Hou they laugh! Are they then so happy? Kn^ardc.z/ They are all in blue and sabots,* as are all the peasants." " We are in Paris the Beautiful — Paris the Gay! Prance mm\ caper, Don Pedro! laugh thou })rince of dogs! Car- risinia mia, cat<.h the spirit of Paris and be merry." "Beware Harry. They will be taking us for escaped lunatics. Now we are at the great irregular Place de Greve on the Seine-bank. It was the scene of bonfires and execu- tions and burnings of condemned books, for long centuries. and a permanent gibbet and pillory, in the first centuries called a justice and an ichcllc, were set up in the middle of the Place. Thousands of beings on this fatal spot have siil tered their last agonies, in health and strength, somtinu'T in vouth. Mais nous avails rhaai^r tout rr/a." * l.t Snbnl is ;i wnoi.lfii stii If I)(i 1111I -I'liii'l lliL- I. ! I I. ■ m' i6o A/ Las/. Drive lor hours in the lovely boulevards, full of Parisien- nes, with that indescribable air degagc, no where to be seen out of PVance, through le Boulevard des Italiens, des Cap- ucins, under la Porte de St. Martin, litde round tables ar- ranged outside the cafes, on the trottoir, under shinintj awnings, where gay {)eople — always gay — drink cafe noir ox cool liquids, absinthe, that deadly ])oison that is filling la belle France with lunatic asylums, eat ices laugh and chat. The wine-shojjs are busy, very busy. Sorrow in Paris ? Poverty and sin ? Do not come here with your blinkers on, if you desire to see the true inward- ness of all this dash and glare — this fanfaronnade. Who would ever dream of guillotines, French Revolutions, mur- ders of sovereigns, the Place de Greve, the Bastille, and la Plilce de la Concorde, and those jets d' can shining so? What events on this spot! La Place de la Concorde, first la Place de Louis Quinze, XV, when this Place, and les Champs Elysees were planned, and le Palais Burbon, now the Elysee- Bourbon, was built. Then la Place de la Revolution. As la Place Louis Quinze it was adorned with ,i 1 equestrian statue of that King, le Bienaime, Wellbeloved, designed by Love, and was the chef d'oeuvre, master- piece, of the great artist Pigalle. The peoi)le loved to salute this statue in passing, after it was unveiled, and recalled their Bienaime as he rode forth to win the great victory of Fontenoy, and to cover France with glory twenty years before. They seemed to see the King as he rode through their midst, and turned back lo smile, lielas! Wv. ouf/ived this love long before the end ol H: Af Last i6i Parisien- Lo be seen des Cap- tables ar- jr shiniuii jft' noir or s filling la \ and chat. come here ue inward- ide. Who itions, mur- itille, and la ihining so? corde, first his Place, ais Burbon, Place de la ned with .I'l ellbeloved. re, master- [ing. after it rode forth )ver France to see the led l) (jf mourning for the king, clad in white — the royal mournini; — her apartments hung with black, and the day and sun ex eluded. Beautiful Cluny with its arches and columns, and many objects of historic interest. Near is the ancient Roman palace with its fme semicircuhr arches — the Baths of Julian — the oldest relic of architectun in Paris. What a contrast to the Grecian Bourse with its white colonnade, and le Corj)s Legislatif Now to th(^ Hotel des Invalides with its vast dome. 'Tis there tl.r captive of St. Helena sleeps — Le Grand — the Great — one calls him. Why? They e.iter a gallery extending around the mortuarv cha|)el above, and look down. The Mauso/tc is of red I'inland granite, i)olished almost t(^ transparency, the t)alus- trade above, the )avement beneath, pure white marble. The bronze doors lead into the vault. Now they pa.ss la Place de la Bastille, on its centre la Colonne de Juillet — the Column of July. " P'ree France, chivalric P" ranee," pronounced the doom of this terrible fortress-prison, in whose strength the cruel Louis le Onzc, XI, took such prid Then to the Place de Vendome with the famous brazen Lolonnc — Column — com- j)osed of melted cannon. Under it the French nation would at fu-st bury then' returned exile. Thev placed his bronz" ir .^/ IaisI. i^^;. -;t:itue on its summit — then, in biinii fury, tore it down as^ain — as if the dead were blameworthy for the blunders of suc- cessors. " We can only walk through the vast double square of the Louvre Palais, once adorned with a colonnade of towers — that is the old Louvre, which was demolished.* That is the arc — arch — of the Place du Carrousel, between the Louvre and the Tuileries. The long galleries uniting the two palaces, were built later. Now, instead of looking out on the Tuileries from the Louvre, one looks down the green Champs Elys6es. To see the art of the Louvre would de- mand a month; but you will have a dim remembrance of boulevards of pictures, Harry, and shall see it at leisure 1.1 ter. They stutifed the windows with bags of sand to pro- tect its priceless art-treasures during the Franco-German war. Many costly works of art were buried." They visited the beautiful church of the Madeleine one morning directly after breakfast. There are no windows, the church is lighted from the roof. It is rich in marbles, paintings, statues. There were three wedding functions in process, one in the beautiful chancel. The bridal -pair par- took of the communion, and then swept out into the sunlight of life in the daintiest of toilettes, with a troop of friends, while the joy-bells rang, and the bridal robe, wreath and * It was at the old Louvre that the Prime Ministcrof M;.riede Medicis, Conciiii, was assassinated, and the Queen was imprisoned in it. The picture-galleries loti- tain Itie historical paintings of her life as Oneen of P'rance, by her painter-friend, Rubens in whose house she afterwards died in I'olngne, her heartless and uii- graielui son, Louis Trei/;e doing nothing lor her comfort, and Richelieu, whuui she had befriended, followed her with undying hatred. Franyois 1, le Magnifique, began the modern Louvre, and, in fact, he was the founder and builder of many palace*. 1 64 ^/ Last. I veil were driven away in a ricli carriage. In two side cliapels a simple pair, the bride not in veil and wreath, were bein*^ wedded, and they too walked out attended by no troop ot friends, but they had God's sunshine, and the joy-bells too, if not rung in their honor, (iod bless their simple lives! Then our friends went out into the sunlight, and walked around the church in its (ireek costume, and admired the classic fluted columns, and the snowy marble statues. They crossed the shining Place, with the leaping fountains again. " People seem very fond of setting up fountains where some evil deed was done^" remarked Mrs. Molada, as they went on. " I suppose they do it because a fountain is always gav and beautiful," said Harry. "Do y(Hi see that exquisite fleche-like spire? That is la Sainte Chapelle, with the richest stained glass in Paris. It was built by Saint Louis to receive the sacred relics of the Crusades. It was part of the old Palais de Justice. This vast hall we are entering is the Salle des pas pcrdus. The more ancient Palais de Justice was far more magnificent, with statues of all the sovereigns of France. It was cK^ stroyed by tire, and there has been much discussion as ti) the cause of the fire. And now, Harry, we will make our j)ilgrimage to the far-famed old prison, la Conciergerie, which stands on the Seine-bank. There it stands with its querr pepper-box turrets, and its pinnacles, true type of the ancient French chateau. The huge Salle we first enter is the reception -hall of the prisoners, and is the scene of that famous painting in the Luxembourg, ' The Call of the Af Last. 1 65 Death-roll in the RLMi^n of Terror,' at your left, enterini^, the wee registry office. The Martyr-Queen's cell is as she left it, a stone floor, a miserable bed, screened with a ridcau in blue and white check, all that separated the Queen of France, the daughter of the great Maria Theresia from the 'citizen ' on guard." "I do not know if you enjoy this as I do, Uiater, " said Harry, as they drove to their hotel through streets and boulevards. " I could drive all day among thesji crowds of people. What a variety! Peasants in blue gowns and sabots, priests and monks in their cowls. Sisters of Mercy in their cjueer, coal-scuttle shaped, snowy bonncts^'^ the servants in white aprons and bonnets — caps — bonnes]' with children or de- moise/Zes, and no demoiselle may go out in Paris without her attendant bonne. How amusing it all is! " ''Cest vrai\ Harry. I like it also. One learns much about the people, their customs and manners, and national ilress in this way. And what faces one sees! And every nation is different. Compare this j)ublic with that of Rome, lierlin, London, Edinburgh. It is like a different worl each." Now our friends drive through the world-renowned Fau- bourg St. Antoine, full of blue and sabots, narrow ruelles and courts, dark and foul-smelling, over the Place du Trone il la Barriere, and on to the Court of Peace, la Cimetiere de P^re la Chaise. There are many cemeteries of note, where one finds great and distinguished names, but no final ♦ Pronounce like bonnay, the " t " is silent, t Nurse ;\\\<\ wnitinK-maid. ill fl it rf 1 ' i ! ■ ' i I 106 Ji Last. •' .sl(.'ej)iag-placc " on this whirliiiir worM caw boast so ni,m\ illustrious dead as this. " Yes, Perc La Chaise was tin- Jtsuit Fere Confessor of Louis XIV, and a friend of Maintenon. He planned that private marriage function at niidnij^ht in Versailles. See, many are sittincj at the j^ates weaving wreaths of immor- telles for the graves. What a striking grave-yard scene. This mausolee-and-chapel-crowned hill contains eighty thousand monuments. Pretty children, laden with blooms, and sprays of wonderful roses, are bearing them to chapel, monument or green graves. The view of domed-towered- spired Paris, Seine and country, is superb. Yonder stretches Montmartre — the Martyr's Mountain — everywhere are the beautiful trees. The gaiety of the city is hushed here to an unbroken silence." They seated themselves on the highest point, and viewed and discussed the scene. "I once 'assisted' a<^ the Fete of all the dead here, Harry. All Paris visited and decorated her graves, none came empty-handed. This is the St. John's Fete of Pro- testantism, the midsummer fete, and is observed with great enthusiasm in Germany. The fete here was unsurpassed by any I ever saw. only to be compared with the like festa in Rome, where, as here, the city repaired to the cemeteries, with thousands of priests, clerical students, the Misericordia and nuns." I n»an\ ssor of ?d thai See, immor- scene, eighty blooms, chapel, ovvered- itretches are the ire to ail highest CHAPTER XVIII. LE CHATEAU DE RAMBOUILLET. AND MALxMAISOX. TO- DAY, Harry, we will spend at Rambouillet, and in the park I will tell you about my visit to Malmaison. when staying in Paris; we will take our lunch-basket, and spend much of this sunny day under the grand old trees." " You are just a magnificent Mi'itterchcyi — you plan such delightful things. How Don Pedro will caper and prance! " " Let us hasten sans detour to this rich nursery of history, and plenty of park, where one can ramble one's self weary. What a queer old chateau it is! Its beautiful wood is one of the largest and finest in France, containing 12,000 hec- tares — a hectare is two acres." The estate belonged at one time to the ancient Counts of Toulouse, whose armorial bearings one sees in the cast-iron plates of the fire-fiues. It became later a dotation of the Crown, frequently a royal residence. Fran9ois Premier died here, morose and gouty. Cath- arine de Medicis and Charles IX were here during the batde of Dreux, an engagement of the civil war. Madame de Maintenon and Louis XIV held their court here, and Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette. Napoleon slept here before going to Rochefort, and Marie Louise, mother of the .rf' I k i I i6,S ,// /.y Marie Antoinette; it is a pretty Doric pavilion of two rooms, paved in red and white marble; in the inner room Venus enteriiii:^ the bath in the midst of a i^^rotto. But Rambouillct has another Royalty, and can boast almost unecjualed literary a.ssociations. La grande Mar([uise, wife of Charles d'An gennes, a Roman lady, antl her accomplished and fiscinatin^ dau:>"hter Julie, made the old chateau the home of the Muses. This talented and distinguished woman was contemporary with Henri Quatre and Louis Treizc — XIII. Di.sgusted with the Court, she retired to this lovely jjark, and here, for sixty years, the great minds of France shone in all their brilliancy. If you count up all the authors of renown of the period I have mentioned, you will agree with me it nin>t have been a right royal society. Corneille read his ' ' Melite. his first literary production, before this classic circle, pre- vious to its representation on the stage. Boileau read his satires, and Richelieu made his debut, and tried his unfledged wings here. — the heartless, selfish, (^old, cruel, false Richelieu, the crafty and astute statesman, to whom men were but puppets to be played with and thrown away as useless toys, when the game was won. Mis powerful intellect, the strong grasp with which he held an idea, and brought it to a /a?V accompoli, found their equal in the truly great and unselfish William IIL of England, the last of his race, the great House of Orange. The.se two // Art.sV. i^k; ^Vancc 111 lere. In romance, by Marie ivs, paved i enteriiiii uillet hiis d literary -les d'An- "ascinatinii he Muses, temporary justed with [ here, tor n all their own of the u' it must Melite." :ircle, pre- iiuii governed from diametrically opposed principles, and lor a totally ditVerent oijject. One ruled for [)o\ver, for abso- lutism — the other to make men great and free. Mais, rc- iournons a nos moutons! The inimitable Moliere drove his hearers into convulsions of laujfhter, and finally set the \v(irld a laughing over his " Les Precieuses Ridicules," in which he does not spare the affectations of the Rambouillet "set." Mademoiselle Paulet delighted its circle oi beaux (Sprits with her exquisite voice and skill in music. La Duchesse de Longueville. sister of the great Conde, the heroine of the Fronde, graced its salons with her splendid beauty and faultless grace, as did the brilliant Madame de Scvigne — that queen of letter-writers — Manemoi.selle Col- iv^ny, and many more, whose talents, grace and virtue adorn the pages of French history. The lovely and amiable friend of Marie Antoinette, the I'rincesse de Lamballe, was a daughter of the House of .•\ngennes. These literary memories have left a charm about the place that will forever remain for the student of the history, literature and art of P" ranee, and uuvler the refresh- ing shade of its fine old trees, one would fain linger, and re- call to fancy those personages who have figured here in the tragedy-comedy of the past, and vainly wish for a return of its golden age, but hi)i ist /tin, and nc^where is the German proverb truer than at Rambouillet. "And now Harry, we have seen the chateau, and we will just find the nicest spot and enjoy our luncheon. I think you might remove the leading-chain from Don Pedro's collar, and let him have a run." i. 111. 170 '// /.ad. ' 'I i t; I "Yes. and then for iIk- sti^ry of Maliiiaison! Conir hillur. thou amber-robed scion of a hundred heroes of Mount St. Bernard. Dost see these pur[)lc grapes of sun- warmth and sunli|L,dit ? Fvit. Mater, look! the Don eals j^ra|)es! Now see him roll on that ^reen sward! Oh. he is a beauty ! ' ' "A clear blue sky, a delicious breeze, all nature just suited to plea.sant rambles and quiet reveries in lonely places where Beauty finds her favorite retreat. We are walkinj;^ n\) throug^h the allee of lindens to the home of Josephine* after her divorce, and where she died. In the park she received Napoleon when he visited her, and it was there he showed her his little son and heir to the Napoleonic throne — built, alas, upon a sand-hill. " Have you not often wondered at the rapid workinjjs of the mind? Like a flash of litjht thoujj^ht rushes through infinite spaces, free and unfettered as an eagle on wing. I like to think that Dick is right when he .says that in a future state we shall possess powers of locomotion like unto these mental ones. While we linger under these beautiful lime- trees on the cool, soft grass, among lovely blooms, we have, in truth, made several long journeys. We have been in Martinique, have roamed with Josephine and her first lover William, through the wood, and seen them cut their united names on the trees. Again we have seen her in the Lux- embourg Palais, condemned to the guillotine, her husbaiul Beauharnois already its victim, when the death of the terrible ♦Josephine, for a time after the divorce, had for residence the Elys^e — Bourbon palace; but she preferred the retirement of Malmaison, which is thirteen miies from Paris. ^/ Last, 171 Come ■rocs <»t of sun- )on eats )h. ho i> ist suited cs whtrt.' kin^ up ,ne* after received e showed le — built. ;:)rkings of througli wing. I n a future nto these tiful lime- we have, been in first lover ir united the Lux- husband e terrible Le_Bouiboii In miies ttom Robspierre saved her. Now wo see her crowned with Ch.irlemaji^ne's iron crown, then her own set upon her fair head — l-jiipress of France. Now we see her stand broken- hearted in that gorgeous .Salle, supported by her Eugc^ne and Hortense, — she signs tlie decrees, and divorces herself from all earthly happiness, tlie splendor mocking her agony. And what came of it all ? Oh. selfishness! what a monster thou art! Is anything safe within reach of thy grasp ? "The chateau of white stone, j)alest gray, decorated in front with statuary, stands, simple and unj)retending in the midst of a lovely park, soft lawns and many flowers. I am not surprised that the Greeks, Romans, Scandinavians, peopled their landscapes with so many gods and goddesses, nymphs and fauns, Mu.ses and Fates, and all the rest of that ilk. One has a fancy in .solitary places, especially of historic celebrity, that one is surrounded by invisible beings, as if the spirits of the long-ago had lingered or returned, and hence the sensation as if treading on haimted ground, and Realism has been made holy here by a great .sorrow. Per- haps it is only fancy, perhaps not. Who can tell ? Rut we will enter and hold a tete-a-tete with the Lares and ^^■nates. " The entrance hall is paved with black and white marble, the rooms are bright and home-like, not cold grandeur, where (me's heart would freeze solid if there were nothing else. The furniture and decorations are as Josejihine lett them. " One sees marble busts of the Emperor and Empress and llurtense, a fine sitting figure of Napolecjn in bronze, with *-■ ■JJJIiJJ'F'"'' 1 r! iT "il- 1 . 1, •m 10 172 At Last. flaps and compasses. The billiard room contains a beau- tiful marble statue of the Emperor and Empress. In the boudoir are the embroidery frame, the designs nearly fin- ished, the needle threaded ready, awaiting the skilled fingers nover to take it up again, and the easel on which is one of Josephine's water-color sketches of Napoleon entering the dcor. On every hand one finds memorials of a lonely but beautiful life. There are m.my fine paintings, a portrait of |ose{)hine unlike all her others, but very interesting, one of the little King of Rome, and a statuette of him carved in ivory. " We found in the sa/ofi, the upholstery of which is orange trimmed with black, Josephine's harp, finished with an eagle of PVance; Hortense's lute lies on a table with music; in a window near stands Josephine's davenjjort with the much- used blotting-i)aj)er and the pen. There is also a piano. As I stood by these touching reminders, a note of discord broke on my reverie like a profanation. "A girl came bouncing up, and I heard a loud, coarse voice from behind call out: 'Mary, what do you see?' ' I don't .see nothin' but an old piece of blotting-paper and a ])en.' ' Well, cvome along; I wish we hatin't come — a wastin' our time! ' " "Mrs. Raben would call the interruption an anmsiiii; 'episod!' " interrupted Harry. '• We went up stairs. Josephiiie's chanibyc a cyuchcr is a lovely room, from the windows of which, simply hung willi v.hitest finest nuisiin, there are charming \ ieus of the park. The walls and ceiling, except the central portion, are huni; >•, ^t Last. JQW see 1 ainu-siiii; w.th crunson embroidered in irold- ,!,„ -ve, and is a fresco r.JzL n '^^'^'^-^'''"S i.s con- The Sevres basin and euer '^-.^f '"' ''^>" ^"'' ^'^^»- ;;- or wl,i,e silk, e,nbroiderTd i tlT"' ""' ""-' '""■^"'^■' "«;I".I.enal Eagle and t.vodove Th T" """ '^'^«'' ■;"<' Sfold, over which is sn 1 ' ' ^,''?. ^^'-^--'^ i^ crimson 'Inipery worked in gold' bee F /, ?"" "'"'^ "'"■•^!'" Josephine died, Napoleon's port 1 r'"''"' '''''^""'^'-■^ Pi-'ver for his happiness on he Ih ,", ''^ ■'^""'' ""^ ■•• Aed at St. Helena, of course ^-""P-^ed on which he ,^'» «"- «^^«'.;w ,, ":tr- "' ™' "-•-'>-. '■■"-portraits of Josephine a h^ "" '"'""'-''«' '"<-'d^.l- ''"Sered too long .> The, i " ?"T*'- ^^^ ''"ve we " ">e silent park''an,ong , / I f' ""l','^.' ^ ""'e ."on,e„t ''»""= ag..in, and we wHl eo to ^^ 1 '" "'" """ I'- - K"-!. about a n,ile dist nf wl! 1 ' "'■'■''' "' ""^- -"'">- "f J-l-hineand Hortense ^""""" "><-■ '"-beaux. ., --^":r;;::::'::'-7-"--eforea,... I'>;'-' ""-■ «■■'"' 'I IJ. • Hortense is kn, "'"''['""■■ ""'' 'he n.ono- ;7''- ''f Holland, and , a osSht f ''"'" """" --' :,,;j„'':',"'"^'-' '^™'" =!■ H.,ii.„,.i. ■'■ "'• ''■"■-"d n„, i'"' ^'m ul^ \,,^ .s I ( . 1 • ( i 'Hf Ik 174 y^/ A«^/. " Who was Napol6on II. mater ? " '' Le Rot dr Rome tluy count, though he never wore a rrown." " What Ix.'came of iiini ? " " Poor wee laddie with the groat title King of Rome! \\p died an exile at Vienna, a ])auj)er on his imperial grand father's bounty, at the age of twenty-one years, with faint memories of his j)ow('rful father and a brilliant ehildhoofj, imder tlie obscure name of Ilerzog von Reiihstadt — Duke of the imperial C'ty — and in the Royal Crypt beneath I'lr Franziskaner church in Vienna, whcTc over a hundred Hapsburgs sleej), in the centre the suberb monument m( Maria Theresia and her beloved Kaiser Franz, one sees two plain oaken coffins side by side, no Dcnkmal, no name, no sign to distinguish them — those of Marie Louise and her son, once the little King of Rome! In the Jlofburff, Rov;il Palace of Vieima, one sees the famous herccaii given by the city of Paris to the I'^mperor and F.mpress on the birth of this prince. Two of the gold bees which adorned it havf been stolen by travelers. " Hortense and Josephine were avenged, for the third Napoleon was the next younger brother of the eldest son of Hortense, adopted by Napoleon I, as his heir. There is 1 celebrated tableau of the scene when Josephine hears of th(^ death of this child, in Gobelins tapestry, in Sevres porcelain, and in oils. These were all in the Tuileries and Saint Cloud. These you will see at Comi)iegne, and they are at Versailles and Fontainebleau. I remember once reading in Germany a touching j)oem on Hortense, beginning: pver wore ;\ '75 -^/ Las/. '-""•''"' "orUer gelu;.: "* • "^'almaison was the fivnWt. i- I'-Phine hro„,lu i, ,' t '''"'■'" '^^ '^''P'-I&n, and r-r spent some 1..,,,,,. ,,,,, ^^ ^^''-e the i„,penal V'poleon visited Josephine's .rav t R T"' '"'" ■•-''"• ""r una,ten,le,i. sh„ in alone " • "'' '''"^ ^P«" - - ''-^..h-cha„,ber. The "" '' "■'""■^'^ -'' ^nefin "-"•I-. ..S09, and J<,se, ': "/'^ P-"""m-ed the ,5,,, "After the fatal bat. e \ , ' '""v '" "'^ ''^'>'°f '« 4- •'-one and po.er then l^t^l ^f'""- P-'«i Tron. broken n,an, to be sent to S »\ '''■''^""^^^•- ■•' '""elv. --h An.erica, uhere his iatnih-terH ''''''', *"" ''""'"' '" '•r.'nco.(;er„,an war, the Te " ™"''-- ''"""'^ 'h- '-«cll-d is otTered I '^'--ded up into sn,a„ bniiS" ots"t b!' ^T;'"" "'" '-°-• -l-,itsriehworksofa;;ar;sr;.;r;::;r esoU,ers Who posses .he power '"^• 'J'llhegre^•nsoilof ^,amv ^^■-•■"te not this Queen uho passes '-'-'her go by unnoticed ii' ' .aP' '■III 17^ Af Last. :i![ Poor Josephine and Hortense sleep peacefully side by side, undisturbed by the world's false allurements and ambitions. They both lived long- enough to learn tiie worthlessness of all glittering baubles and dreams of power. I have pictured Malmaison to you cherie, in its glory, for Napoleon III. made it the pro])erty of the State. It fell with the Napoleons to rise no more. i CHAPTr:R XIX. LE CHATEAU DE COMPIEGNE. ^Y WHAT do you say to a day at Conipiegne, Harry ? If you choose to go to the Marchi' aux Fruits — fruit-market — and obtain some grapes, and any other fruit vou fuicy, I will put up some sandwiches and ^^rt/^'/^.f, and w( will go." " I will go tout dc suite. We will see the chateau, and 'iinch dans la foret! — in the forest." North by the chemiyi de fcr — iron road — through the pleasant country, and the pure air. The god Pan was taking his mid-day siesta, and the Nymphs were holding Nature in a hushed silence, not to disturb his repose. There it is at last, the ancient white palace, looking on broad, beautiful lawns, and a fine park. What a sweet rural picture of sylvan beauty! Silent enough now; its royal days are done. There are many paintings and other objects of deep interest here. I may say, the fact is, when oiu' has seen one of these royal chateaux, one has, in a sense, seen them all. The same arrangement and style of ornamentation prevail. Compiegne is very ancient. Since the reign of Clotaire I, 558 — who died here — it has been a lavorite hunting-seat of the Kings of France. One vast tarade stretches along green banks sloping to the river Oise, rjS At Last. Ill across whicli extends tlie ancient bridge (;ii whiih Jeanne d' Arc was figliting- when taken prisoner by the I'Lnghsii. On the other side a niagnihcant terrace, flanked by canal>, hnks it to the grand old foret. Will you walk with n- through Comj^iegne? Long suites of chambers, waxed ami polished floors, reflecting every object like mirrors. Slippo i — I have seen more than one lose footirig on this treacherous smoothness, (jobelins and other tapestries, long mirr()r^, gilt consoles, Sevres vases, clocks, paintings in (iobelins, Sevres and oils, gildings, frescoes, marble carved chimney - j)ieces, huge chandeliers, Lcjuis Ouator/.e and other clocks, — all resting — what is the use of ticking to nobody? Mar- bles in statue and bust, costly cabinets, full of objtu^ts of virtu, and so on ad i}ifinitN))i. These are the state rooms. The private rooms, which we .saw also at Saint Cloud, the Tuileries, Fontainebleau, are carpeted, and comfortably furnished, without this glare and splendor — (t/nwst i(\\w\AQ and homelike. There arc many historic facts associated with Compiegne. The King of .Sj)ain, Charles IV, forced to abdicate by Napoleon I, dwelt here, and it was here the young Louis X\T, then fifteen, and his Austrian bride of fourteen and a half years, first met. It is 1770. A brilliant assemblage of the court of Louis X\^ fills Compiegne. The King, his three grandsons, ttn' Daujihin, the Comte de Provence, his brother, afterwards, at the Bourbon Restoration, Louis XXTII — the voungt\st brother, later Charles X, and /a hautr A\-)bk'sse of Fran-^p are there. They await the Austrian Princess. Tlu: public rejoicings continue six weeks. Twenty millions of francs •// iMSt. 179 nnc d' canals, u'(\ ami :herou> iiirrors. obelins, liimney- - clocks, ? Mar- objt'cts he state at Saint (•(1. aiv! Icndor — oric facts CharUs k1 it was Austrian are squandered on the fetes, ending in that tragic event on the Place Louis Quinze, now Place de la Concorde, and the people look (jn and cry for bread. Hapless princess! An eartliquake Ubhers in her birth, a Revolution her death. Our friends partook of luncheon by the beautiful restored ruins of the Chateau de Pierrefonds dans la forct, and Mrs. .Molada sketched it a second time, and Harry made his first sketch from nature, and put Don Pedro in the foreground. ' ' Mater, I like this .sort of thing much better than sight- seeing in the city. I have quite an idea of Paris already, where places are, you know, and all that." ' ' Yes, but to know the art of Paris, and its history, would demand a full year, and you would yet have much to learn, very much. To-morrow we will visit Fontainebleau, and you may cater for the fruit." "Good, and I shall procure you some roses. You are Juoking much better Mi'ittercJien. Dost know that? " "It would be a wonder if I did not, with these dear old scenes, and your sweet society laddie mine." "And Don Pedro's. He is never de trop. But, mater, vou were to tell me about .Saint Cloud." SAINT CLOUD. " Beautiful Saint Cloud, in ruins now, once enfolded in ^rii-n undulating hills, \ el vet lawns and noble avenue?; de- .^-auding to the .Seine. On the topmost verge of its em- bosoming hills once stood .1 Roman watch-tower, looking towards Lutetia — ancient i-*aris — now sup])lanted by the Layiterne de Diogint. The terraces are broken down, the ■■If ' I So /I/ l.asl. II: oascacU'S are non est, the flower-jL^ardcns are tliinjj^s of the jjast, in.u^ulfecl in the destruction o\' the Revolution; the pahice escaped tlien, hut was destroyed at the time of th( P>anco-C}ernian War. -'^ What a lesson for tyranny, for sell ishness! It is in the history of France as in that of thf Chosen Nation. God is speaking to the people, uttering; his displeasure with oppression and vice, overturning tyrants, rewarding the true — but how slow the nations and sover- eigns have been in learning! In recognizing the Fatherhood of (iod, the brotherhood of man! "Stately and beautiful Saint Cloud, the renowned palace for centuries, the pride of France, in itself a history, graced by brilliant courts, resplendent in masterly works of art, stands now a desolation. Again in imagination, in the jjres- ence of this destruction, I linger in its stately throne-room and superl) chambers, filled with priceless treasures, for it was more magnificent than Compiegne. For agcb half the history of PVance transpired at Saint Cloud, always a favorite and important palace. Here Henri III was murdered, Henri le Grand proclaimed King. Here the brother of Louis XIV, Philippe, Due d' Orleans dwelt, and in its gor- geous chambers his poor Duchess-wife, Henrietta of Eng- land, daughter of Henrietta Maria of France, and Charles I, was poisoned and died in great agon)'. In this palace the luckless Duke of Monmouth, son of her brother Charles II, visited her. " Napoleon the Great held court here, and Napoleon III, the lovely Eugenie with her idolized Louis loved to come, * Saint Cloud was destro\i.il by the (.'oniiiiuiiisls. .// /.as/. iSi of the )n; til'- ! of the for sell- ; of llif utteriiv^ tyrants, I sover- hcrhood d palace '. graced s of art, the i)res- 3ne-room es, for it half the favorite uirdered, rother of II its gor- of Eiii;- Zharles I, ilace the larles II, )16on III ito come. and hen- they entertained their roy.il guests from all parts of Euroj)e, who usually had for residence the Palais IClysOe Bourbon." " Tliere will be letters for us by this time a la Poste Res- tante. You might go and see while I rest a little before diner r "Three letters for you and two for me, mater!" cried Harry breathlessly; " we have time to read them before we go down, have we not? " "Here is a very mysterious letter," said Mrs. Molada, "simply desiring permission to enclose me a cheque for two thousand dollars on a Paris bank. How singular! Who is such a noble friend ? I begin to know that there are more great souls than one generally thinks." " Could it be my Lohengrin ? " "You forget, Harry, that your incognito friend knows nothing about me, and has no idea of your whereabouts." "Would it be Bishop Taborno, mater ? " "No, ch^ri, for different reasons no. For one, he does not possess that much money. ' ' " I have a letter from Kilk — Gabrielle. She sends you love, and she says that poor little Roma did not sing a note for two weeks after we left. They put him out in the con- servatory, and brought the two other canaries, before he forgot his loss. Poor wee birdie! And here is a letter from Gertrude Raben, and she says Baldera is doing wonders in her music, and that Mr. Trueman is lecturing on temperance. Mater, I am so glad." Mrs. Molada' s other letters were from Mrs. Underbill and i It' i«; .•// I.^ist. Bishop Taborno. both full (jf bright words of comfort and cheer, full of hope tor a return to health and to home. "We are quite rich now, little mother," said Harry, pat- ting Don Pedro's beautiful head, while the noble d(jg looked up with dignity into his face, seeming to say " I know all about it. I am glad too." "There is all tlie money from the ' Molada Concert!' and the i)urse, and my money for the sales of Judge Under- hill's 'Will,' for we found our ocean passage paid for, on arriving in New York. You can drive now all winter, and have a villa — a (juiet home and grow sh'ong! You are always sure of God, and I am sure too, and I owe it all to you Carissima. " "The great lesson of life is to become sure of God, Harry, and how simple it is when you once have learned the 'k7tows.' And we have proved the word of promise, and God recognizes chlld-like-faith with special gifts." " But. Carissima, all who have suffered loss and trouble, and ill health, have not been so taken care of as we have. How is that ? " " No. These are insoluble myteries. More are helped on their road than the world ever knows. There are more great souls than is generally thought. Qiiant d moz, I am an Optimist. The human strata are ■war?ning under the sun of Divine truth and love." irt and ry, pat- ; looked cnovv all oncert! ' J Under- i for, on liter, and You are ■ it all to of God, e learned promise, Its." trouble, we have. "M' CHAPTER XX. LE CHATEAU I)E FONTAINEBLEAU. ATER! Mater! I have seen my Lohengrin!" cried Harry, rushing in in great excitement. "I was just leaving the Marchc aiix fruits, when I saw a carraige driving rapidly past, Lohengrin seated in the inside, Ales- sandro on the box beside the cocker. I waved my chapcaii, crying hello! hello! till the people turned to look, and Don Pedro began to bark excitedly, and the crowd of carriages and people was so great, I had to give it up. Where can he be going ? We shall meet him somewhere. I want you to see him. I know you will think him grand as I do." "We shall solve the mystery soon," said Mrs. Molada, laying the fruit in the basket " Carissima mia, look what a spray of roses! I pin them in your dress. There! Why, you look like a Malmison rose yourself! " This time their way is due south by the iron-road, which soon whirls them to the celebrated Fontainebleau. The memories of the old palace are legion, and the ancient chateau makes a life-size figure in the history of France. Everywhere one encounters the crowned F. with the sala- mander of the luxurious monarch, and the N. of the great Emperor, who made this gorgeous palace his private home. IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 I.I •-illM ilM '■ '""* lilllli M 1.8 1.25 1.4 1.6 ^ 6" — ► Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, NY. 14580 (716) 872-4503 A iV \ \ ^^ \% f^ c<^< m ns^ m 1.S4 .// /.as/. i ■ I I: yueen Christina o( Sweden resided in this palace when in France, and one of her acts here commends her character little. There are miles of tapestry, and the paintings and the frescoes are especially worthy of study, and the marhK- statuary and busts are of great beauty. Add all the splen- dors mentioned of Saint Cloud, and to this we may still add, for the palace is vast, and the long suites of chambers seem ingly interminable in looking down the vistas. The chairs and sophas are gilt. But it is a lonely splendor, and gives one the heart-ache. The private apartments of the lovely Eugenie are comparatively simple. The walls of the play- room of her precious little son are covered with frescoes of all manner of animals, and is full of costly toys. "Poor little Louis!" said Harry; "I hope they will always leave this room as it is. The French nation loved their ' le petit Prince,' as they always called him, and they will keep this room a memorial of him." The great testered beds of velvets, satins, silks, laces, look too ghostly to invite repose. The most exquisite room in the chateau is Marie Antoinette's bath-room. All the wood is in white and gold enamel, the plafond — ceiling— and the walls are mirrors, and above them are Cupids trail- ing lovely festoons of roses. What queens have used it since, and Josephine and Eugenie. What a travestie this room is on their tragic lives, as if life were only for pleasure, and there were nothing to do but drag roses about. What a group! P^uicy them in this lovely chamber- Marie Antoinette, Josephine, Eugenie, and their sorrow, their heart-break. One enters the chateau by La Cour da I m it,'i .// /aisL 1S5 Adieiix, with the famous horse-shoe csai/icr — stair-case. hi this vast Cour Napoleon I. took leave of the Army ol I'lance and his weeping generals. Then came the return irom Elba, and the review of the troops before the fatal and decisive Waterloo. The divorce took place in this gorgeous salla with the heavily-draped table. Poor Empress! On dit ^lK• never smiled again. And here, Napoleon signed his abdication. One walks adown the brilliant avenues of art, fancying jjrocessions of kings and queens, weeping queens sometimes, princes and courtiers, bepowdered, bewigged, belaced, be- buckled, beknee-breeched, in rustling trains and glittering ^rems, leaving the road the French Revolution would travel! M'^llr.vv laughter, paint, sham! The prayers in the chapel, ;u.J the laughter In the theatre, are alike silent. What a history! What a lesson! Is the world better for them ? Pope Pius VII, whom Napoleon commanded from Rome to crown him and Josephine with Charlemagne's iron crown, dwelt here. And he was not permitted to act at the coron- ation after all, save to be present — Napoleon crowned him- self, he took the crown from no man's hand! Napoleon was the first, after Charlemagne, to be crowned with this crown. It was the ancient crown of Lombardy. " Was it of iron, mater ? " "Oh, no; it is a band of gold, with enamelled flowers and precious stones, in form like a diadem; in the centre of the inner side of the band is a fine line of iron passing iround it, said to be a true nail of the true cross beaten out to that thinness. Tradition asserts that it was given to the \ 1 ''■ 1 ' '. n : \ \ * ■ 1 1 ;•■ p 1 86 At Last. Gothic or Lombard Queen Theodolinda by Pope Gregory the Great; but this is unauthenticated, and the origin of this famous crown remains unknown. The Lombard king- dom lasted in Italy at first over two hundred years, from 568 to 774. Then Charlemagne conquered Lombardy in 774 and seized the Iron Crown. Charlemagne had pre- viously married a Gothic princess, whom he afterwards sent back to her father, King Desiderius, and this gave rise to subsequent hostilities between the Carlovingian and Lom- bard kingdoms. After his death it was created a separate kingdom in 843, and from 888 to .961, was ruled by its own kings again. The Lombards — Longo bardi or Long beards — are Teutonic, and are first heard of on the left bank of the Elbe. Some authorities maintain that this Gothic and warlike race derived its name Lombards, not from their long beards, but from parta, or barte, which signifies battle-axe. They invaded Italy in 568, led by their King Alboin. They were worshippers of Odin. King Authari, grandson of Alboin, married the Christian Princess of Bavaria, Theo- dolinda. Queen Theodolinda was to the Lombards what Bertha was to the Anglo-Sa.xons, and Clotilda to the Frank.^. She solemnly placed the Lombard nation under the patron- age of St. John the Baptist, and built their first Christian church, the Cathedral of Monza — re-built in the thirteenth and fourteenth century, and the palace near it. She was a great woman, and had so won the hearts of the chiefs of the kingdom, that when her husband, King Authari died, they begged her to choose one of their number as consort, and to wear the crown as their queen. Liutprand was the most A/ Last. 187 powerful kiiv^ of tlie line. The Austri.ins carried off this t.inious crown, but wore forced to return it in 1866, after the defeat of Sadowa, or Konigsgratz as it is often called. "All those ancient sovereigns of Lombardy from Theodo- linda, were crowned with this crow n, now so precious to the world, and it is justly kept in the Queen's Basilica at Monza, near Milano. " It is exhibited on an altar in a costly casket of gold, crystal and gems. This is the most celebrated crown in ex- istence, and the most ancient. Napoleon brought it to France, but he had to return it to Italy, together with the t.inious bronze horses of San Marco at Venice, and other triHes." There are five courts around the chateau of Fontainbleau, stone-paved, with gardens of flowers. One of these, La Cour de la Fontaine — the name-giving fountain — contains the petted, over-fed carp, many of them aged, even to a cen- tury or older, and they are a source of amusement to the visitors. La Foret de Fontainebleau is of vast extent — some sixty miles — with fine rock-scenery, and white drives and paths winding and interlacing through the green glades. It is a delightful [)lace to ride, drive, or walk in. "La Roche qui pkut " — Weeping rock — " ne pleid pas, ma mere! " " It is also called the Sjionge Rock, ' ' said Mrs. Molada, " for it resembles a huge sponge, and it really does drip, except in summer aridity; it is, you see, very porous." The spot where it is situated is one of the loveliest in the whole foret. Here an old man sold fruit and dowers, assisted I i iSS Ai Last. by an old woman in blue gown and sabots, and blue kerchief on head, whose face was nothing but wrinkles. Two rocks much alike in form and size are Les Soeurs — the sisters. Two other rocks are Les dciix Frtres — the two brothers. " Here is the oak planted by Queen Marie Th^rese, the wife of Louis XIV." "I must have a leaf for remembrance," laughed Harry, springing to reach a branch. The Robbers' Cave, once the haunt and sleeping-place of F*rench banditti, in a dark part of the forest, is distinguished by its crest — a cup and a dagger, rudely sculptured on the front rock. But the robbers are gone; the gay royal hunt, with bay of hound, and bugle-horn, is ended. Silence, save the rustling of the foliage, gently kissed by the Zephyrs, or the wood-notes of some Jenny Lind of the foret. Even Echo seemed asleep. In a delicious sylvan spot, the cocker let down the blinkers, and hung the bag, that the horses might eat, and our friends found a cozy seat, sought out the luxuries of that cornu- copia-lunch-basket, and Harry made an assiette — plate — of green leaves and ferns, and spread out a treat for the cocker, and they refreshed themselves and chatted, and Don Pedro gamboled, and so a new chapter was added to the education of my little hero. But the sun did not stand still, and the blinkers had to go up again, and they returned through the green glades, on the white winding roads, to the station, and back with sun- set to Paris. What a pity the day is ended. Well so; one can not always wander a dreaming in a wood. ^erchicf 3 rocks ; sisters, hers, ese, the i Harry, -place of nguished d on the yal hunt, Silence, Zephyrs, ;t. Even ; blinkers, lur friends at cornu- -plate — of e cocker, on Pedro leducation lad to go dades, on tvith sun- \\ so; one CHAPTER XXI. VERSAILLES. SEVRES. LE CHATEAU DE MEU- DON, GOBELINS TAPISSERIE, ST. GERMAIN- EN-LAYE, MARLY. LE PALAIS-CARD- INAL, LATER PALAIS ROYAL, LE PALAIS MAZARIN. r 'HERE are the ruins of St. Cloud away to the left, on that rising: ground," said Mrs. Molada, as they whirled on to Versailles. ''To the left, in the vale below, is the village of Sevres, where the celebrated porcelain is made, and a little further still to the left, on a gentle hill, not visible from us, lies Meudon." They pass, in the Grande Cour, the noble equestrian statue of Louis XIV. one of the finest in the world. Ver- sailles was one of the great blunders of Louis XIV. It might be called the King's Folly. Perhaps it has been. Its extravagant and unrestrained splendors hastened the on- coming Reign of Terror. The King was no father of his people. His subjects starved, but he was so full of L' Etat, cest 7noi, I am the State, and self assumed such huge impor- tance, that his head was completly turned. Puffed up to bursting with the insane idea of the "divine right of kings," he forgot that his people might, possibly, have souls, and an 1 mi'- i t 1 m I go At Last. \ K eternal future too. What did he care for the people of France ? His intense egoism is astonishing and incredible in view of the condition of national affairs. The Versailles of its builder, and of Louis XV and of Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette, has put on a very differ ent dress. One roams through the great Salles where those splendid courts moved and glittered; but few vestiges of them remain. The gorgeous Salle des Glairs — Hall of Mirrors — is now hung with paintings. It was so called from its seventeen great mirrors from ceiling to floor, and opposite each mirror is a window of corresponding size, through which the beauties of the tine trees and lovely lawns are added to the interior magnificence. In this gorgeous Salle they crowned the aged Kaiser Wilhelm Kmperor of United Germany. The celebrated bed-chamber <^)f le Grand Monarque remains as the King used it. The couch stands on its haiit pas, enclosed by the gilt niclle\ there hangs his portrait, the Louis Quatorze clock is silent, there are costly ornaments and articles he used. The anticlianibre, Ic Salojt de /' Qeil de Bocuf — the O.x-eye salon, from a window of that shaj)e high up in the wall — leads to the bed-chamber of the Queen, afterwards that of Marie Antoinette, in which nothing re- mains in situ, save the great iron hook in the ceiling, that held the bed-hangings. One recalls that terrible night when the infuriated mob burst in, and thrust their spears into the couch, the Queen having escaped through the Salon de r Oeil de Boenf, to the King's chamber. Poor Queen! Happier would it have been for her, had she been slain then. *■? m Ai Last 191 cople of edible in I and of ry difTer ere those jstiges of s — is now seventeen ich mirror A-hich the ded to the y crowned Germany, je remains hauf pas. irtrait, tiif ornaments de V Oeil :hat shape |he Queen. >thing re- :ihng, that ight when Irs into the Salon de ,r Queen! slain then. And one stands in that balcony and fancies that awful mob of women in the Cour de Marbre, marched all the way from Paris in that unfriendly weather, coming up that way to the entrance, demanding the Queen. Brave Queen! She puts back King and children, and poor timid Madame de France, and stands forward alone. She can die, she will die. Only King and little Dauphin shall be safe. And those Furies are moved, they cry ''Vive ia Reinef but 'tis only pro- longing the torture. Poor lonely Queen! helpless to quell the storm. Memories. Intangible dreams. Queens re- turn here no more. Now one walks through miles of tableaux — pictures, by the great artists of France. Famous, grand battle-pieces of huge dimensions, historical paintings, royal portraits of great interest, portraits of all the Marechaux — marshals — of France, of all the Conetables — constables — of France, many of them princes, some of them princes of the blood royal, portraits of men of letters, of great poets, of great writers. And statuary of exquisite beauty, marbles of Valois and Bourbons, Napoleons, Josephine, Hortense, Eugenie, Prince Louis. One finds at the end of a vast Salle, near the King, Charles le Victorieux, the lovely statue of Jeanne d' Arc in armor, but with uncovered head. And the varied colors of the sumptuous frescoes of the ceilings, are reflected on these objects, and on the highly polished floors. And these frescoes are an edifying study, for kings, queens, princes and princessess figure up there among the Olympian deities. What arrogant assumption! Louis Bourborj will not sit on I i 192 ^4f Las/. the tlirone of France only. The Bourbons enthrone them- selves among the gods like the old Pagan Emperors of Rome. It pleased them, and affords us a laugh at their folly. Well, what would you have ? Should not Royalty have royal faults ? One finds the beautiful chapel as of yore. Oh, the hy- pocrisy that has been practised at those early matins! The courtier must hear mass with the King, he must not dare smile anywhere unl'^ss the Majesty sees fit to be gay. It taught the hollow-hearted one good lesson at least. Thcv were compelled to aci humility, and deny self at court at any rate. In the theatre they were more natural, truer. You need weeks to study the art of Versailles. It is not only the marvel of France, but of Europe, and it is an ex- cellent place to discover how little one knows. The park ol Versailles is of vast extent, beautiful with noble trees, de- licious bosquets — thickets — and the loveliest lawns, windini^f walks radiating in all directions. The view of the whole from the palace, is very beautiful. The fountains are on a grand scale, and when they all play at the same time, the world has nothing to equal the wonderful scene. They are all seldom permitted to play now, the expense being too great. Queen Marie Antoinette loved the two small palaces, ie Grand Trianon and le Petit Trianon, in the park, which re- tain their furniture and decorations as she left them, and a fine portrait of her still hangs there. There the Queen and her favorite friend, the lovely Princesse de Lamballe, tried to escape the dreaded and hated etiquette of Versailles. .// Last. 193 them- :rors ol at their [loyalty the hy- i! The not dare gay. It . They irt at any It is not is an ex- le park of [trees, de- windin^^ le whole are on a time, the They are )eing too lalaces, le Iwhich re- km, and a ueen and Idle, tried 'ersailles. There is also a pretty Laiteric de la Reinc, embosomed in flowers and trees, where la Majeste attired as a beri>;^re — shepherdess — drank milk, and played with her precious little Dauphin, that poor wee prince who said "I know a Queen who weeps every day." Beautiful Queen! Precious Dauphin, thy mother's pride and joy! Ye both deserved a liappier end. A visit to the royal manufactory of Sevres porcelain will atford much delight. No one is admitted, either here or at the Gobelins manufactory of historical tapestry, without a special permission from the (ioverment. It has been feared an attempt might be made to i)urloin the art. The treasures to be seen here at Sevres are beyond compare with any other china made, and they are of great value, a cup and saucer l)eing worth four or five guineas. How lovely the designs, how brilliant and pure the colors! There arc wonderful vases from one foot to six feet in height. The pictures in Sevres are exquisite. Many of the cele- l)rated paintings have been copied in Sevres for the royal palaces. Napoleon III and Eugenie presented their portraits ill Sevres to our Queen and the Prince Consort, and they are magnificent productions, and of immense value. The reason of this is the difficulty of executing a large; piece uitiiout a flaw, and if it crack, the work is, of course, valueless. These portraits are at Windsor Castle. It is a l)leasant walk from Sevres to le Chateau de Meudon, seated on a rising ground in its park. Meudon is noted for its terrace with a flight of steps at each end, and its lovely flower-garden below. Its interior is much the same as that n ■''' ■ ,1 t ; 1 ;Jl 1 1 : •! ( ^ 1 I I ill l« 194 Ai Last, of the other royal j^alaccs, but it is only of medium size. The work at the Ciobclins manufictory, particulary the copies of paintings, is charminj^. Tlic marvel is how finr and perfect the gradations of shading- and color are, and however this effect is secured. Many j^reat paintings have hccn copied in riobelins tapisserie for Royalty. They are so finely and wondrously wrought, that it is only by a care- ful and close inspection, that the observer can discover that they arc Cjobelins. It is as wonderful as the art of Mosaic. These pictures are to be seen in all the royal palaces of which mention has been made. It is most interesting to see them at work. Two persons work at the same time, at the same piece, one on each side, but nothing of the design can be seen during the work. They seem to work in a mean- ingless patch anywhere; it looked mysterious enough, but the result is a marvel of combination and loveliness. The famous Palais Royal,* rendered so celebrated during the great Revolution, as the abode of the false and fickle Flgalite, is living on its memories. Its /^ej de Chaussee — ground floor — of the Cour, is devoted to jewel-shops. The j)eculiarity of it is, that on one side of the Cour, all tht; gems are genuine, on the other, they aie all false! Glancing in the windows at these precious stones, they all seem the .same. I am not sure that you could distinguislud them. Are you a " connai.sseur " ? If not, do not stake your head on it. These shops are not a bad emblem of Egalite, who helped the Royal Family to their awful doom; he made sham *'rht* Fal.'us R()\;il was ilestioycil In- thf Cotninunists during tlie l-'ranco-t'ii.t- m.m W.ir. .// Lar- an iififl '' '■ i 1 •■ . 'i ; '■ 2u(j .// /ms/. " Passing away, passing away, Is the fate of everything here, The flower blooms but to decay, And sinks to its cold snowy bier, The song of the bird is soon hushed, The music of woodland soon gone. Oft our joys are laid low in the dust, In all their bright glory and bloom; The land where death conieth never, Where brightness shall never grow dim, Where is known no fading nor sorrow, Is the home of bright seraphim." Ut ilk ' Did you think of poor broken-hearted Marie Antoinette, mater, when you wrote those thoughts ? She and her little Dauphin often walked on this lovely terrace, and sat here {o see the view as we are doing now. ' ' ' ' Yes, Harry, I was thinking of the faded leaves of earthly greatness and of human hopes. Shall we see the interrior now ? And then we will return here and lunch. What a comfort our basket has been to us! " Saint Germain-en-Laye has played a prominent part in I'Vench royal days. There were two chateaux, one built by Franyois I, in the period of the Renaissance, another l)y Henri Ouatie, le Grand. The chateau of Henri IV and the gardens are vanished, only the terraces remain. It has a royal foret of ten thousand acres. The old palace is crystal- lized in memories. Its famous terrace runs above the Seine, is two miles and a half in length, constructed by Lc Notre in 1672. Saint Germain was the favorite residence of the kings of ij Al A that sht- l(i\cii almost all !'!.■! old friends in all the conchtlons of her life. rr nil] i B nuM II ; > 1 M IB ■ n ' B 1 ' 1 1 ii'i i| n 1 11 1 It { SB ' *; i i dates from l'"ran(;()is I. who miji^lit br called the lather ofits modern magnificence, its Renaissance. In the time of L(niis XIV, two t)f Molicre's plays were niven there for the first time, Monsieur dc Pourceaugnac, ,md Le Bourgeois (lentilhonune, now world-lanious, and among the ciioicest P'rench classics. The delightful chapel is still called the chapel of the Queen of Poland, having been built by the old exiled King vStanislaus when a resident there. One visits Chambord from Blois. The drive is through a bright country, dotted over with vineyards, woodlands, and white stone villages, animated everywhere with those inevit- able blue figures busily at work. One enters the park, and all becomes silent as a vault. There was once a noble foret, rich in game, but the Princesse de Wagram cut it all down half a century ago, and the woods are dumpy and dismal. 'Hu' drive through this wood is without one single hint of a turn or a curve, wearisome enough. At last you emerge, and before you rises a marvel in the Renaissance, inex- pressibly lonely and desolate, a huge mass of towers, turrets, pinnacles, gray roofs, high ornamented windows, astonishing < himney-pots and vanes — this mass of bewildering fancies and idealism, fretted, sculptured, the crowned F. and the Salamander showered over it as thick almost as the bees on tlie vast Palazzo Barberini at Rome. La devise, device, of Fran9ois I, was a Salamander with ilu' legend — ''Niitrio et cxstinguo,"' ''Nudrisco il biiono e ■^pfUiTO il reo! " — I nourish the good and extinguish the bad. Franyois le Magnifique made it superb with every art of iff' 2lO ■U Last. liii % \ I m decoration, and entertained his royal t;ucsts there, anion j^'' them the I-lniperor Charles Quint, in the sumptuous Sa//rs, and the royal hunt made /a forct dc Solognc rinj^, and Roy alty laughed its laui^h arid was gay. Aye di mi! Tempoya Mhtanfuy.' And I'"ran(;ois I. spent much of the last year> of his life here, and Louis XIV loved this Versailles r)f Touraine, and fre<[uently held court here. The palace or chateau of Chambord is of gigantic dimen- sions. There are thirteen great staircases, and four hundred and fifty chambers. The chief is the great double-spiral staircase in the middle of the palace, ending in a lofty lan- tern, the most elevated point of the building. The pictures at Chambord are very interesting. There are many por- traits of Bourbons, and other royal lines. There is a fine portrait by Vanloo, of Queen Marie Leczinska, daughter of poor old King Stanislaus of Poland, who once dwelt here, a smiling countenance, animated with beautiful brown eyes. What a sarcasm of fate it seems, that the daughter of the man who put this Queen's father off his throne, and sat there in his place, should have become her belle fiUc, daugh- ter-in-law, and Dauphine, Dauphiness, of France, after the death of the Infanta of Spain, her predecessor, the first wife of the Dauphin. This Polish Princess was the mother of Louis X\^I. She and her husband never succeeded to the throne. They did a wiser thing — they died. A portrait of Maintenon strikes one as a face full of jjower. She would have taken her place among the few great Queens of the world as a ruler. After the brilliant victory of Fontenoy in May 1745, Louis A/ r.asL 1 1 amon^ i Sa//rs. id Roy rempoiii ist year> ,ailles nt c dimen- hundred ble-spiral lofty lan- s pictures lany por- is a fine lughter of [velt here, \vn eyes. Iter of the :, and sat ^c, daugh- after the first wife ,other of led to the (ortrait of Ihe would ns of the I45, Louis X\', presented Chambord, for his hfe, to tlie famous, noble and brave Marechal de Saxe, Prince Moritz or Maurice von Sachsen, son of Augustus the Strong of Saxony and King of Poland, and the beautiful Aurora von Konigsmark. German by birth, he had become French in sympathy and by the law of naturalization, and was a faithful servant of Louis XV. This great victory was due to his military powers. The desolate Chambord is a distinguished mile-stone in the long descent of royal lines, and their ofttimes tragic history. How different the lights in which men regard them now, with their lives and the hidden intricacies of their motives of action unveiled by the hand of impartial history. " Mater! Mater! Are you up ? Do you hear the morn- ing-bells — the Ave Maria? Surely ks cloches, bells, are having a fete! " ' ' 02(i, 0U2, 771071 fils^ I shall be ready in one little minute. Are you quite ready ? ' ' "Old, via 7}iiette, yes my crumb, and breakfast is ready." Mrs. Molada descended and found Harry waiting in the jardi7i. The d^jetiner-table, decked with the most exquis- ite flowers, was laid in a lovely arbor half smothered in honeysuckle and jasmine, and fine tempting strawberries lay half hidden in green dewy leaves. " Good morning! carissima. How well you are looking! So rested. These drives, and this wonderful air, are work- iii,i( a magical effect. Dr. Kurewell was right. You feel better?" And he produced a spray of conservatory roses, fastened 212 A/ Las/. it in her gown, and led her to her seat. It was ever a study and a delight to see these two together. Harry rang the little silver bell with the air of a prince entertaining a queen. " You are my guest this morning, carissima, and I have ordered breakfast just as I know you like it. Do listen to the cloches! ' * And they breakfasted, these two, and the gar f on attended them as only a French gar f on can, and brought them devilled chicken, hot and hot, and they chatted, and the mother's heart was comforted in her loneliness, a loneliness none could fathom, not even her gallant laddie. Then they went to the beautiful church of St. Nicholas, and roamed through its shadowy nave and aisles, and through the old streets, through deep shadows and golden sunlight, stumbling on the sweetest flowers in the oddest nooks, and up a staircase, or down, admiring the quaint old houses, and how pretty it was to see the children make that graceful French reverence and say ^'bon joiir Madame! bon jour Monsieur!^'' sometimes offering the lovely flowers with a shy smile, and many a pat fell to Don Pedro's share. And then it was time for their train, and they went on to Totirs la Belle, on the Loire, spanned there by its three- bridges, a wooden, a stone and an iron bridge, where tlicv proposed making their headquarters in Touraine. "What a beautiful city, mater!" cried Harry, as they came in full view, "lying in that deep valley, with the silver, serpentining Loire, and those enclosing vine-clad uplands." A/ Last. 21 " Yes, it is a charming place, and like a home-coming to n , for I and my dear father once spent six months here with friends in their viaison de campagne, country house. And dost thou know what I have in this satchel? " "Oh, carissima! ' Quentin Durward!' How good of you to remember it." " We will read it a little on our drives, and consult it here and there. You know much of the locale of the tale is in Tours." The cathedral of Tours is one of the finest and oldest in France, and forms the most prominent feature of the city, ixovci whatever point you may look down upon it. The present cathedral, which is the successor of one much more ancient, was commenced in 1170. It is in the form of a Latin cross, with two massive towers, and is of gray stone. The facade is richly carved in a marvelous lacework of gar- lands, crowns, pinnacles, foliage, flowers. It was while looking at this fafade with its magnificent towers, that Henri Quatre e.xclaimed: " Ventre saint gris! Voila deux bijoux! II n^y vtanquc phis que dcs etuis f The harmony and grandeur of the interior, the majesty of the nave and choir, the grace and lightness of the pillars and lofty arches, the numerous decorated chapels, there are tifteen, and the soft lights falling from the two immense rose windows at the extremities of the transepts, all awake a deep and solemn impression, particularly when the organ- harmonies ring and echo through the vast tejn[)le, and light up the soaring arches as only music can. The effect of music in one of these cathedrals is indescribable, the mystery Hf 214 .^/ La!;t. <':■; (I of the tones blending with the mysticism of tlie Gothic architecture, as if both united to give expression to that deep yearning of tlie soul after the hidden infinity so deeply rooted in man's being; it always suggests to me that " great voice like the sound of many waters." There is a white marble tombeau in the nave to the two little sons of Louis XII, the effigy of the Dauphin bearing a crown. "Oh, mater, let us come here often! " said Harry, as they listened to the organ; " if I could speak to the organist and try the organ, do you think I might? " " I fancy so, we will see. We are not hurried in our stay in Tours. We need only to go southward when it becomes too cold to stay here, and these drives are so restful and invigorating. There are several royal palaces to visit in Touraine, all within pleasant driving distance, so that we can visit one in a day. I will write a note and ask the organist to call." LE CHATEAU d'AMBOISE. The chateau is twenty- seven kilometres — a kilometre is three fourths of an English mile — from Tours, the old palace of Chevionceaux is thirty-two. One pays for a carriage and pair, with the cocher, who boards himself and his horses, l)ut, of course, always receives •A pour hoirc iox himself, only four dollars for the entire day. They started for Amboise in the early morning and returned with a gorgeous sunsetting. On the outskirts of Tours they passed near the gray convent of Marmoutier, one of the ^/ Last. 2\ Gothic lo that deeply t ' ' great the two , bearing I, as they ;anist and 1 our stay t becomes estful and :o visit in that we ask the mietre is the old ;her, who Is receives itire day. returned tours they le of the oldest and richest in France. The nuns have a lovely chapel, and a beautiful tlower-garden. "Mater, what are those doors in the j^ray rock-hills 1 (Ordering the vale ? " " They are the entrances to the raves de vin — wint'-cellars —which frequently extend far into the hill, and arc ice-cold." All through the helds men and women in blue, sometimes a red kerchief, are tending the vines, driving well-laden carts, weeding and mowing, and once a wee gar^on offered Mrs. Molada a nosegay, and Harry gives him a silver piece, to his great surprise and delight. But they reach the town of Amboise at length, drive through the white, narrow streets, over the Place with trees, up a steep slope with long grass and flaming poppies, under the great grayish white walls, overgrown with green, and a profusion of wild flowers, through a tunnel-like opening in the rock, with ancient gateways, and enter the vast Cour of the chateau, which is seated on a royal plateau high above the town and the Loire. The view is superb, one of the most fascinating earth has to offer, over the mighty Loire cro.ssed by its many bridges, losing itself in the distance as it sweeps on into the Bay of Biscay, into the sunset, watering the fertile plain. Directly below the chateau, the Loire widens into a lake, divided by an island, and here two bridges span the stream. On one side of the Cour you have that vast structure, glittering in the sun, all that is left of the ancient fortress-palace, on the other the beautiful Chapelle de Saint Hubert, the scene of royal christenings and nuptials in by-gone days, with a high delicate spire and the most wonderful carving, a perfect gem mmm n 'If r .1 'M ^ 2l6 A/ Lasf. of architec* 're, one of the most exquisite chapels in Europe. It was a volivr chapel built by Ann of Bretagne. The vast clidteau, long suites of chambers, are perfectly bare, abso lutely not a single article to be seen. The long scul])turu(l balconies are there still, overhanging the river, strong and massive. The associations of the Chateau d'Amboise arc numberless. What tragedies, what comedies, what assassin- ations and weary incarcerations in dim dungeons, whost- history haunts the spot. The beloved King, Charles \'III was born and died here, and one still passes under the low stone doorway, where ho bent his head to pass under more than four centuries ago For the origin of the chateau we go back to the times of the Romans in Gaul. Julius Caesar founded it. Here Alaric nut his conqueror Clovis I. Louis le Onze — XI — , dwelt in th« fortress at times, to the grief of its captives. Louis XII, ie Pcre du Pcuplc, Father of the people, came here to visit the royal widow of Charles VIII, and, in fact, Ainboise was a favorite with all the ancient royalty of France. Fran9ois I. and his gifted mother, Madame Louise de Savoie, Duchesse d'Angouleme, Regent of France, and his brilliant sister Marguerite, " Pearl of Valois," found this a favorite home, and this trinity of love, as they called themselves, roamed in its wonderful terrace gardens, where the " Heptameron " wa^ first meditated. In la Tour des Minimes is a winding carriage-drive, built by Francois I. for the visit of Charles Quint, through which one walks now to the top of the jilateau to enter the palace, and when the Emperor Charles Quint visited Fran9ois I, .^/ Las I. 2\ [1 Europe. The vast lare, abso- sculptured strong and rjboise are at assassin - )ns, whose , died here, ^', where ln> nturies ago times of the e Alaric mei dwelt in lh(' Louis XI 1. here to visit mboise was Frantjois lie, Duchesse liUiant sister ,'orite home, s, roamed in ncron ' ' w;^^ this tower-ascent was decorated with arras, flags, and illumi- nated, and as the two sovereigns were driven up together, these combustibles caught tire, to the great dismay of the Emperor and his suite, who at first suspected the King of treachery. The celebrated Arab Chief Abd-el-Kader suffered a long captivity here, and one sees his table-tomb in a neglected corner of the plateau. This lofty platform, lifted high above the landscape, is strongly suggestive of Julius Caesar's idea of strength, and its gardens are still a marvel of beauty. Masses of roses, and many lovely flowers, greet the eye. There are broad terraces rising one above the other, to which one ascends by stone steps, each terrace bordered by lime trees whose thick foliage interlaces in arches of lis'ing green above, making the loveliest, coolest arcades. And ever from these bewitching bowers one looks away into that imposing view. Of all the kings and queens and royal children, and haughty guests, who once rambled here, none was more truly great and royal than the ' ' old Master ' ' Leonardo Da Vinci, whose pensive bust adorns this sylvan Elysium. He was the guest of Frangois I, died in the King's arms at Fontainebleau, and finds his last sleeping-place in the church of St. Florentin in the town of Amboisc. " MUtterchen mine, I never dreamed o{ such a wonderful spot. Up on this topmost terrace let us lunch and face the view. See this camp-stool, you wondered what I wanted to bring it for! I will open my fruit-basket, you have the cold tea, and all the other luxuries in yours; but first I must run clown with a treat for cocher Gilbert, who has no doubt uiuci'sse et fromage'' lit 2rs .4/ Last. " It is more than twelve years Harry, since I was lierc with your grandfather, and from this very spot I sketched the scene." "Now we have another good hour, Miitterchen, and while you rest, I will read a chapter in ' Quentin Durward.' " PLESSIS-LES-TOURS. They visited it fresh from the perusel of this celebrated romance, where Louis le Onze, the first to bear the title of tres-Chreiien — most Christian King, and the first Majeste of France — was wont to roam about, his hat stuck round with those little images, and the romance has thrown a charm over the district, but they found nothing of which the poet sings: " Full in the midst a mighty pile arose, Where iron-grated gates their strength oppose To each invading step, — and strong and steep The battled walls arose, the fosse sank deep." Plessis-les-Tours is in ruins, and of the park with its gins and snares, not a tree stands. The donjon tower still exists, and the room in which the cruel King died. But the King, with his faults, knew the difficult art of governing men, and of subdueing haughtiness and presumption. The "Hall of Roland," methinks, reads much more fascinating than we should have found the original, with its squeaky doors. In one part of the ruins is the celebrated Cage-de-fer — iron cage — in which the Cardinal la Balue, the inventor, was shut up by Louis XI, eleven years. Within it one can not assume any natural position; standing Ai Last. 219 as lierc ketched len, and ward.' " elebrated e title of Majesty of lund with a charm the poet |th its gins still exists, I the King, men, and ich more ll, with its Icelebrated |la Balue, [en years, standing is quite out of the question; to lie down, one must coil oneself like a serpent, if that is thinkable, to sit. one must stoop! The marvel is how a man could exist there eleven years. The house of Olivier le Daim, from the stag he wore in his arms, le Diable by the people, le Mauvais, the Bad, his true name, le barbier, promoted to be Prime Minister of France, is near the ruins. The house of Tristan I'Hermite, the King's executioner, is in the city, a queer old dark-gray stone house, with a rope carved above the door and win- dows. Louis was wont to summon this functionary by means of a flag from the donjon tower, and Tristan knew from the color of this signal what his work would be. Red was instant death. In this gloomy fortress, filled with nameless terrors, the unfortunate Princesse Joan de France, spent much of her life before her marriage with the Prince, the King's heir, afterward Louis XI L Become King, he divorced her and married the widow of Charles VIII, Ann de Bretagnc, nevertheless, it was not permitted him to found a royal line, and he died sole monarch of the Branche d ' Orleans. The famous Jeanne d'Albret, ''la petite madame, le tnig- non des rois,'" child of the Queen of Navarre, was pardy educated here, and hither came her talented mother, authoress of the ' ' Heptameron. ' ' LE CHATEAU DE CHENONCEAUX. Its exterior is enchanting and perfectly unique, white and C^rav, shining among the flowers, with its lovely windows. 2 20 A/ Lasl. its many turrets and chimney-pots finislud with j;j^il(li