men. What could they not accomplish in behalf of law and order, against anarchy and murder, if they chose to? Join with them the Baptist, Presbyterian, Roman Catholic, and Episcopalian pulpits, and who can measure the uplift that would follow toward law and order, away from anarchy and murder? Join the powerful newspapers in the same fight with these hundreds of pulpits, and how can any one dream that lynching would not be checked, would not be stopped, in every Southern State?

What is the matter with the Southern press, what is the matter with the Southern pulpit, that it should be necessary to say what they might do, in the face of a widespread, horrible, brutalizing, degrading evil? Are the men capable of editing and shaping the ethical policy of the leading newspapers of the South incapable of being horrified by this evil, corrupting like a cancer the very heart of our Southern civilization? Or, perceiving the evil and duly horrified by it, are they afraid to condemn it in the language and with the energy it should properly inspire lest their subscription lists should suffer?

And the pulpits-what is the matter with them? Are the men fit to fill them unfit to recognize murder when they see. it? Or, fit to recognize it, are they morally unfit to stand in their pulpits and call it by its name? Not much longer can the Christian preachers of the Southern States afford to keep silent on the

I

crime of negro lynching; they must speak out, and in tones that ring true to the spirit of Jesus Christ; they must speak out, or have it written against them that their ministry is a mockery of the spirit of Jesus Christ; they must speak out, or have it flung at them that perhaps it is their bread and butter which doth make cowards of them!

Will they speak out in tones like those that make the heart of every true man throb faster in gratitude as often as he reads the twenty-third chapter of Matthew? Will they? The question is a tremendous one in view of the possibilities to our civilization depending upon its answer. When pulpit and press speak together for justice, for law and order, and unflinchingly against the despicable injustice, the wild riot of anarchy and murder, that this Southland witnesses, and is brutalized in witnessing, every time a lynching mob gets to work; when they speak together, conscious that their speech rings true to the dominant beats of the great heart of the Nation, then, surely, the days of exultation for lynching mobs in the South will be quickly numbered; the black man accused of crime will be dealt with by the calm majesty of the same law which vindicates itself when it lays hold upon the person or property of the white man; the gospel of the rights of men as men, sadly ignored in the South to-day, sadly unheeded in the North, will have fought a way in which to lead men far forward to the amplitude of its final triumph.

N one of Emerson's last public addresses he referred in glowing terms to some poet whose name he did not think it necessary to speak. A group of school-girls, on leaving the hall, fell into conjecture on the subject, each offering her own solution to the problem. As one of them turned off into a side street, she espied the lecturer coming slowly behind. Impulsively she ran back: "Please, Mr. Emerson," she cried, "wasn't it Wordsworth?" With a smile half sphinxlike and all serene, the sage responded, "Why not?" For a moment both stood silent, then the

girl ran on into the fast-gathering dusk. Years have passed. The brief, unprinted address has faded from her mind; but the answer which was but a second riddle follows her still. In the perplexities of later life, when problems she could not solve have hedged her in, she has seemed to see a face of tenderness and wisdom turned upon her, urging her to solve her own riddles; she has seemed to hear a voice which, while never answering her petition, has comforted and cheered her. Is it thus that a kind Father answers our impulsive requests? Why not?

COPYRIGHT, 1901, FLEMING H. REVELL COMPANY

T

Kind"

HE story of the riot in which Ranald played so important a part filled the town and stirred society to its innermost circles-those circles, namely, in which the De Lacys lived and moved. The whole town began talking of the Glengarry men, and especially of their young leader, who had, with such singular ability and pluck, rescued the Ottawas, with Harry and Lieutenant De Lacy, from their perilous position.

The girls had the story from Harry's lips, and in his telling of it Ranald's courage and skill certainly lost nothing; but to Maimie, while it was pleasant enough for her to hear of Ranald's prowess, and while she enjoyed the reflected glory that came to her as his friend, the whole incident became altogether hateful and distressing. She found herself suddenly famous in her social world; every one was talking of her, but, to her horror, was connecting Ranald's name with hers in a most significant way. It was too awful! and if her Aunt Frances should hear of it, the consequences would be quite too terrible for her to imagine. She must stop the talk at once. Of course she meant to be kind to Ranald; he had done her great service, and he was her Aunt Murray's friend, and, besides, she liked him; how much, she hardly cared to say to herself. She had liked him in Glengarry. There was no doubt of that, but that was two years ago, and in Glengarry everything was different! There one was just as good as another, and those people were all her Aunt Murray's friends. Here the relations were changed. could not help feeling that, however nice

She

like him, Ranald was not of her world. "Well, tell him so; let him see that," said Kate, with whom Maimie was dis cussing her difficulty.

"Yes, and then he would fly off and I— we would never see him again," said Maimie. "He's as proud as-any one!" Strange, too," said Kate, "when he has no money to speak of !"

"Well, in this very unpleasant affair; every one is talking about Ranald and me as if I as if we had some understanding."

"And have you not? I thought-" Kate hesitated to remind Maimie of certain confidences she had received two years ago, after her friend had returned from Glengarry.

"Oh, absurd-just a girl-and-boy affair," said Maimie, impatiently.

"Then there's nothing at all?" said Kate, with a suspicion of eagerness in her voice.

"No, of course not-that is, nothing really serious."

"Serious? You mean you don't care for him at all?" Kate looked straight at her friend.

"Oh, you are so awfully direct. I don't know. I do care; he's nice in many ways, and he's-I know he likes me, andI would hate to wound him; but then, you know, he's not just one of us. You know what I mean!"

"Not exactly," said Kate, quietly. "Do you mean he is not educated?"

"Oh, no, I don't mean education altogether. How very tiresome you are!

"But," went on Kate, "I can imagine, too, how Ranald would look back at her if he caught her meaning."

"Well, perhaps," said Maimie, with a little laugh; "and that's just it. Oh, I wish he were "

"A lieutenant?" suggested Kate. "Well, yes, I do," said Maimie, desperately.

"And if he were, you would marry him," said Kate-a shade of contempt in her tone that Maimie failed to notice.

"There now, you think I am horrid, I know," said Maimie. 'I suppose you would marry him if he were a mere nobody!"

"If I loved him," said Kate, with slow deliberation and a slight tremor in her voice, "I'd marry him if he were a shantyman !"

"I believe you would," said Maimie, with a touch of regret in her voice; "but, then, you've no Aunt Frank."

very wealthy. Her house in Quebec is said to be the finest in the Province, and there are some English estates, I believe, in their line. Lieutenant De Lacy is her only son, and, from what you say, he seems to be a very charming young man. He will occupy a very high place some day. I suppose Kate will '-um—umum-oh yes,' And if Mrs. De Lacy wishes you to visit her you might accept '-um um-um-' and tell Kate that I should be delighted if she could accompany me on a little jaunt through the Eastern States. I have asked permission of her father.' But she wrote you herself about that, didn't she?'-um-um-um-and then listen to this: How very odd you should have come across the young man from Glengarry again-MacLennan, is it? Your Aunt Murray seems to consider him a very steady and worthy young man. I hope he may not degenerate in his present circumstances and calling, as so many of his class do. I am glad your father was able to do something for him. These people ought to be encouraged.' Now you see!" Maimie's tone was quite triumphant.

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Mac-something-or-other!

"Yes," said Kate, "I do see. 'These people' should be encouraged to make our timber for us, that we may live in ease and luxury, and even to save us from fire and from bloodthirsty mobs, as occasions may offer; but as for friendships and that sort of thing-"

“And I'm sure I don't want to offend her. Just listen to this." Maimie pulled out a letter and, turning over the pages, found the place and began to read: "I am so glad to hear that you are enjoying your stay in Quebec'-um—um—um, 'fine old city;' um-um-um-' gates and streets,' old days,' um-um-um-' noble citadel, glorious view,' um-um-um-um —' finest in the world-.' No, that isn't it-oh yes, here it is: The De Lacys are a very highly connected English family and very old friends of my friends the Lord Archers, with whom I visited in England, you know. The mother is a dear old lady-so stately and so very particular, with old-fashioned ideas of breeding and manners, and, of course,

know quite well what I mean."

"Yes, I know quite well; you would not invite Ranald, for instance, to dine at your house, to meet your Aunt Frank, and the Evanses, and the L ngfords, and the Maitlands," said Kate, spacing her words with deliberate indignation.

"Well, I would not, if you put it in that way," said Maimie, petulantly, “and you wouldn't either."

"I would ask him to meet every Maitland of them, if I could," said Kate; " and it wouldn't hurt them either.”

"Oh, you are so peculiar," said Maimie, with a sigh of pity.

"Am I?" said Kate. "Ask Harry," she continued, as that young man came into the room.

"No, you needn't mind," said Maimie,

"How very amiable of me !" said Harry; "but what's the particular issue?"

"Ranald," said Kate.

"Then I agree at once. Besides, he is coming to supper next Sunday evening." Oh, Harry!" exclaimed Maimie in dismay" on Sunday evening?"

"He can't get off any other night; works all night, I believe, and would work all Sunday, too, if his principles didn't mercifully interfere. He will be boss of the concern before summer is over."

"Oh, Harry," said Maimie, in distress, "and I asked Lieutenant De Lacy and his friend, Mr. Sims, for Sunday evening-"

"Sims!" cried Harry-"little cad!" "I'm sure he's very nice," said Maimie, "and his family—"

"Oh, hold up! don't get on to your ancestor worship," cried Harry, impatiently. "Anyway, Ranald's coming up Sunday evening."

Well, it will be very awkward," said Maimie.

"I don't see why," said Kate. "Oh," cried Harry, scornfully, "he will have on his red flannel shirt and a silk handkerchief, and his trousers will be in his boots; that's what Maimie is think ing of!"

"You are very rude, Harry," said Maimie. "You know quite well that Ranald will not enjoy himself with the others. He has nothing in common with them."

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that, Maimie," said Kate. "I will talk to Ranald." But Maimie was not quite sure how she should like that.

"You are just your Aunt Frank over again," said Harry, in a disgusted tone"clothes and people!"

Maimie was almost in tears. "I think you are both very unkind. You know Ranald won't enjoy it. He will be quite miserable and they'll just laugh at him!" "Well, they'd better laugh at him when he isn't observing," said Harry.

"Do you think Ranald would really mind?" interposed Kate, addressing Harry. "Do you think he will feel shy and awkward? Perhaps we'd better have him another evening."

"No," said Harry, decidedly. "He is coming, and he's coming on Sunday eve

and, besides, I'd have to lie to him, and he has an unpleasant way of finding you out when you are doing it, and once he does find out why he is not asked for Sunday evening, then you may say good-by to him for good and all."

"Oh, no fear of that," said Maimie, confidently. "Ranald has good sense, and I know he will come again."

"Well," cried Harry, "if you are not going to treat him as you would treat De Lacy and that idiotic Sims, I won't bring him." And with that he flung out of the

room.

But Harry changed his mind, for next Sunday evening, as the young ladies with De Lacy and his friend were about to sit down to supper in their private parlor, Harry walked in with Ranald, and announced in triumph, "The Man from Glengarry!" Maimie looked at him in dismay, and indeed she well might, for Ranald was dressed in his most gorgeous shanty array, with red flannel shirt and silk handkerchief, and trousers tucked into his boots. Sims gazed at him as if he were an apparition. It was Kate who first broke the silence.

"We are delighted to see you,” she cried, going forward to Ranald with hand outstretched; "you are become quite a hero in this town."

"Quite, I assure you," said the lieutenant, in a languid voice, but shaking Ranald heartily by the hand.

Then Maimie came forward and greeted him with ceremonious politeness and introduced him to Mr. Sims, who continued to gaze at the shantyman's attire with amused astonishment.

The supper was not a success; Ranald sat silent and solemn, eating little and smiling not at all, although Mr. Sims executed his very best jokes. Maimie was nervous and visibly distressed, and at the earliest possible moment broke up the supper party and engaged in conversation with the lieutenant and his witty friend, leaving Harry and Kate to entertain Ranald. But, in spite of all they could do, a solemn silence would now and then overtake the company, till at length Maimie grew desperate, and, turning to Ranald, said, “What are you thinking of? You are looking very

serious."

"He is 'thinking of home and mother," " quoted Mr. Sims in a thin, piping voice, following his quotation with a silly giggle.

Kate flushed indignantly. "I am quite sure his thoughts will bear telling," she said.

"I am sure they would," said Maimie, not knowing what to say. "What were they, Ran-Mr. Macdonald?"

began the beautiful air from Mendelssohn's "St. Paul"—

But the Lord is mindful of his own, singing it with a power of expression marvelous in so young a girl. Then, without further request, she glided into the lovely aria, "O rest in the Lord." It was all new and wonderful to Ranald. He did not dream that such majesty and sweetness could be expressed in music.

ant.

“And of your aunt, Mrs. Murray, and of what they would be doing this night-" "And what would that be?" said Kate, coming to the relief of her friend. But Ranald was silent.

"I know," cried Harry. "Let's see; it is ten o'clock; they will all be sitting in the Manse dining room before the big fire; or, no, they will be in the parlor where the piano is, and John Aleck' will be there, and they will be singing;" and he went on to describe his last Sabbath evening, two years before, in the Glengarry Manse. As he began to picture his aunt and her work, his enthusiasm carried him away and made him eloquent.

"I tell you," he concluded, "she's a rare woman, and she has a hundred men there ready to die for her; eh, Ranald?”

"Yes," said Ranald, and his deep voice vibrated with intense feeling" they would just die for her, and why not? She is a great woman and good.' His dark face was transformed, and his eyes glowed with an inner light.

In the silence that followed, Kate went to the harmonium and began to play softly. Ranald stood up as to go, but suddenly changed his mind and went over and stood beside her.

"You sing, don't you?" said Kate, as she played softly.

"You ought to just hear him," said. Harry.

"Oh, what does he sing?"

"I only sing the psalm tunes in church," said Ranald, "and a few hymns."

"Ye gods !" ejaculated the lieutenant to Maimie," psalms and hymns! and how the fellow knocked those Frenchmen about!"

"Sing something, Kate, won't you?" said Maimie; and Kate, without a word,

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"No, I never heard anything at all like that," interrupted Ranald. Sing some more like the last."

The deep feeling showing in his face and in his tone touched Kate.

"How would this do?" she replied. "It is a little high for me, but I'll try."

She played a few introductory chords and then began that sweetest bit of the greatest of all the oratorios, "He shall feed His flock;" and from that passed into the soul-moving "He was despised," from the same noble work. The music suited the range and quality of her voice perfectly, and she sang with her heart thrilling in response to the passionate feeling in the dark eyes fixed upon her face. She had never sung to any one who listened as Ranald now listened to her. She forgot the others. She was singing for him, and he was compelling her to her best. She was conscious of a subtle sense of mastery overpowering her, and with a strange delight she yielded herself. to that commanding influence; but as she sang she began to realize that he was thinking, not of her, but of her song, and soon she, too, was thinking of it. She knew that his eyes were filled with the vision of "the Man of Sorrows" of whom she sang, and before she was aware the pathos of that lonely and despised life set forth in the noble words of the ancient