place at your service a suite of rooms on the first floor, consisting of two bedrooms, a large drawing-room, a small boudoir, and a bath-room. It is of course understood that this suite of rooms would be yours free of charge if you would consent to do as I ask.--Yours, etc.
"(P.S.) You would only have to pay for the fresh supplies of plants for your drawing-room."
This was the extent of the man's coarseness. I asked one of my friends to go and give the low fellow his answer.
I was in despair, though, for I felt that I could not live without comfort and luxury.
I soon made up my mind as to what I must do, but not without sorrow. I had been offered a magnificent engagement in Russia, and I should have to accept it. Madame Gu锟斤拷rard was my sole confidant, and I did not mention my plan to any one else. The idea of Russia terrified her, for at that time my chest was very delicate,
, and cold was my most cruel enemy. It was just as I had made up my mind to this that the lawyer arrived. His avaricious and crafty mind had schemed out the clever and, for him, profitable combination which was to change my whole life once more.
I took a pretty flat on the first floor of a house in the Rue de Rome. It was very sunny, and that delighted me more than anything else. There were two drawing-rooms and a large dining-room. I arranged for my grandmother to live at a home kept by lay sisters and nuns. She was a Jewess, and carried out very strictly all the laws laid down by her religion. The house was very comfortable,
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, and my grandmother took her own maid with her,
 
, the young girl from Burgundy, to whom she was accustomed.
When I went to see her she told me that she was much better off there than with me. "When I was with you," she said, "I found your boy too noisy." I very rarely went to visit her there, for after seeing my mother turn pale at her unkind words I never cared any more for her. She was happy, and that was the essential thing.
I now played successfully in Le Batard, in which I had great success, in L'Affranchi, in L'Autre by George Sand, and in Jean-Marie, a little masterpiece by Andr锟斤拷 Theuriet, which had the most brilliant success. Porel played the part of Jean-Marie. He was at that time slender, and full of hope. Since then his slenderness has developed into plumpness and his hope into certitude.
XV
THE FRANCO-PRUSSIAN WAR
Evil days then came upon us. Paris began to get feverish and excited. The streets were black with groups of people, discussing and gesticulating. And all this noise was only the echo of far-distant groups gathered together in German streets. These other groups were yelling, gesticulating, and discussing, but--they knew, whilst we did not know!
I could not keep calm, but was extremely excited, until finally I was ill. War was declared, and I hate war! It exasperates me and makes me shudder from head to foot. At times I used to spring up terrified, upset by the distant cries of human voices.
Oh, war! What infamy, shame, and sorrow! War! What theft and crime, abetted, forgiven, and glorified!
Recently, I visited a huge steel works. I will not say in what country, for all countries have
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her usual incisiveness, and Luke was listening gravely. When the piece was done, Mrs. Harrington said over her shoulder -
"Go on. You get on splendidly together."
And she returned to her conversation with Luke.
The Count looked through his music.
"How devoted she is to her nephews!" said Agatha, tapping the ivory keyboard with a dainty finger.
"Yes."
"And apparently to both alike."
There was a little flicker beneath the Count's lowered eyelids.
"Apparently so," he answered, with assumed hesitation.
Agatha continued playfully, tapping the ivory notes with her middle finger--the others being gracefully curled.
"You speak as if you doubted the impartiality."
"I am happy to say I always doubt a woman's impartiality."
She laughed and drew the stool nearer to the piano,
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. It would have been easier to drift away into the conversational channel of vague generality which he opened up. He waited with some curiosity.
"Do you think there is a preference?" she said, falling into his small trap.
"Ah! There you ask me something that is beyond my poor powers of discrimination. Mrs. Harrington does not wear her feelings on her sleeve. She is difficult."
"Very," admitted Agatha, with a little sigh.
"I am naturally interested in the FitzHenrys," she went on after a little pause, with baffling frankness. "You see, we were children together."
"So I understand. I too am interested in them--merely because I like them."
"I am afraid," continued Agatha, tentatively turning the pages of the music which he had set before her, speaking as if she was only half thinking of what she was saying--"I am afraid that Mrs. Harrington is the sort of person to do an injustice. She almost told my mother that she intended to leave all her money to one of them."
Again that little flicker of the Count's patient eyelids.
"Indeed!" he said. "To which one?"
Agatha shrugged her shoulders and began playing. "That is not so much the question. It is the principle--the injustice--that one objects to."
"Of course," murmured De Lloseta, with a little nod. "Of course."
They went on playing, and in the other room Mrs. Harrington talked to Luke. Mrs. Ingham-Baker appeared to slumber, but her friend and hostess suspected her of listening. She therefore raised her voice at intervals, knowing the exquisite torture of unsatisfied curiosity,
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, and Mrs. Ingham-Baker heard the word "Fitz," and the magic syllables "money," more than once, but no connecting phrase to soothe her aching mental palate.
"And is your life a hard one?" Mrs. Harrington was asking. She had been leading up to this question for some time--inviting his confidence, seeking the extent of her own power. A woman is not content with possessing power; she wishes to see the evidence of it in the lives of others.
"No," answered Luke, unconsciously disappointing her; "I cannot say that it is."
He was strictly, sternly on his guard. There was not the faintest possibility of his ever forgiving this woman.
"And you are getting on in your career?"
"Yes, thank you."
Mrs. Harrington's grey eyes rested on his face searchingly.
"Perhaps I could help you," she said, "with my small influence, or-- or by other means."
"Thank you," he said again without anger, serene in his complete independence.
Mrs. Harrington frowned. A dream passed through her mind--a great desire. What if she could crush this man's pride,
 
? For his six years' silence had never ceased to gall her. What if she could humble him so completely that he would come asking the help she so carelessly offered?
With a woman's instinct she hit upon the only possible means of attaining this end. She did not pause to argue that a nature such as Luke's would never ask anything for itself--that it is precisely such as he who have no pride when they ask for another, sacrificing even that for that other's sake.
Following her own thoughts, Mrs. Harrington looked pensively into the room where Agatha was sitting. The girl was playing, with a little frown of concentration. The wonderful music close to her ear was busy arousing that small possibility. Agatha did not know that any one was looking at her. The two pink shades of the piano candles cast a becoming light upon her face and form.
Mrs. Harrington's eyes came surreptitiously round. Luke also was looking at Agatha. And a queer little smile hovered across Mrs. Harrington's lips. The dream was assuming more tangible proportions. Mrs. Harrington began to see her way; already her inordinate love of power was at work. She could not admit even to herself that Luke FitzHenry had escaped her. Women never know when they have had enough.
"How long are you to be in London?" she asked, with a sudden kindness.
"Only a fortnight."
"Well, you must often come and see me. I shall have the Ingham- Bakers staying with me a few weeks longer. It is dull for poor Agatha with only two old women in the house. Come to lunch to- morrow, and we can do something in the afternoon."
"Thank you very much," said Luke.
"You will come?"
"I should like nothing better."
And so the music went on--and the game. Some played a losing game from the beginning, and others played without quite knowing the stake. Some held to certain rules, while others made the rules as they went along--as children do--ignorant of the tears that must inevitably follow. But Fate placed all the best cards in Mrs. Harrington's hand.
Luke and the Count Cipriani de Lloseta went out of the house together. They walked side by side for some yards while
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who possessed such powers of self-union; nor did his efforts make more effectual impression upon them. How the combat terminated I do not exactly remember, and have not the book by me; but I think the spirit made to the intruders on his mansion the usual proposal, that they should renounce their redemption; which being declined, he was obliged to retreat.
'The most singular tale of this kind is contained in an extract communicated to me by my friend Mr. Surtees of Mainsforth, in the Bishopric, who copied it from a MS. note in a copy of Burthogge "On the Nature of Spirits," 8vo, 1694,
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, which had been the property of the late Mr. Gill, attorney-general to Egerton, Bishop of Durham. "It was not," says my obliging correspondent" in Mr. Gill's own hand, but probably an hundred years older, and was said to be, E libro Convent. Dunelm. per T. C. extract., whom I believe to have been Thomas Cradocke, Esq., barrister, who held several offices under the See of Durham a hundred years ago. Mr. Gill was possessed of most of his manuscripts." The extract, which, in fact, suggested the introduction of the tale into the present poem, runs thus:--
"Rem miram hujusmodi que nostris temporibus evenit, teste viro nobili ac fide dignissimo, enarrare haud pigebit. Radulphus Bulmer, cum e castris, quae tunc temporis prope Norham posita erant, oblectationis causa, exiisset, ac in ulteriore Tuedae ripa praaedam cum canibus leporariis insequeretur, forte cum Scoto quodam nobili, sibi antehac, ut videbatur, familiariter cognito, congressus est; ac, ut fas erat inter inimicos, flagrante bello, brevissima interrogationis mora interposita, alterutros invicem incitato cursu infestis animis petiere. Noster, primo occursu, equo praeacerrimo hostis impetu labante, in terram eversus pectore et capite laeso, sanguinem, mortuo similis, evomebat. Quern ut se aegre habentem comiter allocutus est alter, pollicitusque, modo auxilium non abnegaret, monitisque obtemperans ab omni rerum sacrarum cogitatione abstineret, nec Deo, Deiparae Virgini, Sanctove ullo, preces aut vota efferret vel inter sese conciperet, se brevi eum sanum validumque restiturum esse. Prae angore oblata conditio accepta est; ac veterator ille nescio quid obscaeni murmuris insusurrans, prehensa manu, dicto citius in pedes sanum ut antea sublevavit. Noster autem, maxima prae rei inaudita novitate formidine perculsus, MI JESU! exclamat, vel quid simile; ac subito respiciens nec hostem nec ullum alium conspicit, equum solum gravissimo nuper casu afflictum, per summam pacem in rivo fluvii pascentem. Ad castra itaque mirabundus revertens, fidei dubius,
, rem primo occultavit, dein, confecto bello, Confessori suo totam asseruit. Delusoria procul dubio res tota, ac mala veteratoris illius aperitur fraus, qua hominem Christianum ad vetitum tale auxilium pelliceret. Nomen utcunque illius (nobilis alias ac clari) reticendum duco, cum haud dubium sit quin Diabolus, Deo permittente, formam quam libuerit, immo angeli lucis, sacro oculo Dei teste, posse assumere."
'The MS. chronicle, from which Mr. Cradocke took this curious extract, cannot now be found in the Chapter Library of Durham, or, at least, has hitherto escaped the researches of my friendly correspondent.
'Lindesay is made to allude to this adventure of Ralph Bulmer, as a well-known story, in the 4th Canto, Stanza xxii. p. 103.
'The northern champions of old were accustomed peculiarly to search for, and delight in, encounters with such military spectres. See a whole chapter on the subject in BARTHOLINUS De Causis contemptae Mortis a Danis, p. 253.'
line 508. Sir Gilbert Hay, as a faithful adherent of Bruce, was created Lord High Constable of Scotland. See note in 'Lord of the Isles,' II. xiii. How 'the Haies had their beginning of nobilitie' is told in Holinshed's 'Scottish Chronicle,' I. 308.
Stanza XXVI. line 510. Quaigh, 'a wooden cup, composed of staves hooped together.'--SCOTT.
Stanza XXVIII. line 551. Darkling, adv. (not adj. as in Keats's 'darkling way' in 'Eve of St. Agnes'), really means 'in the dark.' Cp. 'Lady of the Lake,' IV. (Alice Brand):--
'For darkling was the battle tried';
and see Midsummer Night's Dream, ii. 2. 86; King Lear, i. 4. 237. Lord Tennyson, like Keats, uses the word as an adj. in 'In?Memoriam,' xcix:--
'Who tremblest through thy darkling red.'
Cp. below, V. Introd. 23, 'darkling politician.' For scholarly discussion of the term, see Notes and Queries, VII iii. 191.
Stanza XXX. lines 585-9. Iago understands the 'contending flow' of passions when in a glow of self-satisfied feeling he exclaims,
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;
'Work on,?My medicine, work! Thus credulous fools are caught.'
Othello, iv. I. 44.
Stanza XXXI. line 597. 'Yode, used by old poets for WENT.'--SCOTT. It is a variant
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steps toward home.?These led him through a rustic, winding lane,?Lined with green hedge-rows spangled close with flowers,?And overarched by trees of noblest growth.?But when at last he reached the farther end?Of this sweet labyrinth, he there beheld?A vision of such pure, pathetic grace,?That weariness and haste were both obscured,?It was a child--a young and lovely child?With eyes of heavenly hue, bright golden hair,?And dimpled hands clasped in a morning prayer,?Kneeling beside its youthful mother's knee.?Upon that baby brow of spotless snow,?No single trace of guilt, or pain,
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, or woe,?No line of bitter grief or dark despair,?Of envy, hatred, malice, worldly care,?Had ever yet been written. With bated breath,?And hand uplifted as in warning, swift,?The artist seized his pencil, and there traced?In soft and tender lines that image fair:?Then, when 'twas finished, wrote beneath one word,?A word of holiest import--Innocence.
Years fled and brought with them a subtle change,?Scattering Time's snow upon the artist's brow,
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,?But leaving there the laurel wreath of fame,?While all men spake in words of praise his name;?For he had traced full many a noble work?Upon the canvas that had touched men's souls,?And drawn them from the baser things of earth,?Toward the light and purity of heaven.?One day, in tossing o'er his folio's leaves,?He chanced upon the picture of the child,?Which he had sketched that bright morn long before,?And then forgotten. Now, as he paused to gaze,?A ray of inspiration seemed to dart?Straight from those eyes to his. He took the sketch,?Placed it before his easel, and with care?That seemed but pleasure, painted a fair theme,?Touching and still re-touching each bright lineament,?Until all seemed to glow with life divine--?'Twas innocence personified. But still?The artist could not pause. He needs must have?A meet companion for his fairest theme;?And so he sought the wretched haunts of sin,?Through miry courts of misery and guilt,?Seeking a face which at the last was found.?Within a prison cell there crouched a man--?Nay, rather say a fiend--with countenance seamed?And marred by all the horrid lines of sin;?Each mark of degradation might be traced,?And every scene of horror he had known,?And every wicked deed that he had done,?Were visibly written on his lineaments;?Even the last, worst deed of all, that left him here,?A parricide within a murderer's cell.
Here then the artist found him; and with hand?Made skillful by its oft-repeated toil,?Transferred unto his canvas that vile face,?And also wrote beneath it just one word,?A word of darkest import--it was Vice.?Then with some inspiration not his own,?Thinking, perchance, to touch that guilty heart,?And wake it to repentance e'er too late,?The artist told the tale of that bright morn,?Placed the two pictured faces side by side,?And brought the wretch before them. With a shriek?That echoed through those vaulted corridors,?Like to the cries that issue from the lips?Of souls forever doomed to woe,?Prostrate upon the stony floor he fell,?And hid his face and groaned aloud in anguish.?"I was that child once--I, yes, even I--?In the gracious years forever fled,?That innocent and happy little child!?These very hands were raised to God in prayer,?That now are reddened with a mother's blood.?Great Heaven! can such things be? Almighty power,?Send forth Thy dart and strike me where I lie!"
He rose, laid hold upon the artist's arm?And grasped it with demoniac power,?The while he cried: "Go forth, I say, go forth?And tell my history to the tempted youth.?I looked upon the wine when it was red,?I heeded not my mother's piteous prayers,?I heeded not the warnings of my friends,?But tasted of the wine when it was red,?Until it left a demon in my heart?That led me onward, step by step, to this,?This horrible place from which my body goes?Unto the gallows, and my soul to hell!"?He ceased as last. The artist turned and fled;?But even as he went, unto his ears?Were borne the awful echoes of despair,?Which the lost wretch flung on the empty air,?Cursing the demon that had brought him there.
The Two Kinds of People
There are two kinds of people on earth to-day;?Just two kinds of people, no more, I say.
Not the sinner and saint, for it's well understood,?The good are half bad and the bad are half good.
Not the rich and the poor, for to rate a man's

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  had compelled him to leave teaching. He is one of the most far-sighted and practical men I ever met with. He taught me by familiar conversations, illustrating his themes by diagrams on the slate, so that I caught his ideas with ease and rapidity. I now began to see, for the first time, the extent of the mischief slavery had done to me. Twenty-one years of my life were gone, never again to return, and I was as profoundly ignorant, comparatively, as a child five years old. This was painful, annoying, and humiliating in the extreme. Up to this time, I recollected to have seen one copy of the New Testament, but the entire Bible I had never seen, and had never heard of the Patriarchs, or of the Lord Jesus Christ. I recollected to have heard two sermons, but had heard no mention in them of Christ, or the way of life by Him. It is quite easy to imagine, then,
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, what was the state of my mind, having been reared in total moral midnight; it was a sad picture of mental and spiritual darkness. As my friend poured light into my mind,The+Fugitive+Blacksmith_59, I saw the darkness; it amazed and grieved me beyond description. Sometimes I sank down under the load, and became discouraged, and dared not hope that I could ever succeed in acquiring knowledge enough, to make me happy, or useful to my fellow-beings. My dear friend, W.W., however, had a happy tact to inspire me with confidence; and he, perceiving my state of mind, exerted himself, not without success, to encourage me. He cited to me various instances of coloured persons, of whom I had

himself against primitive physical force, tried himself out in an emergency, and he had always longed for such a test before he died. When the test came it was a supreme one: the San Francisco disaster. ...
"On the last day but one of this visitation the fire, smoldering slowly in the redwood houses, had taken virtually all the district east of Van Ness Avenue,cheap jordan shoes, a broad street which bisects the residence quarter. ... By this time the authorities had given up dynamiting. Chief Sullivan, the one man among them who understood the use of explosives in fire fighting, was dead. The work had been done by soldiers from the Presidio, who blew up buildings too close to the flames and so only scattered them. Lane stood on the slope of Russian Hill, watching the fire approach Van Ness Avenue, when a contractor named Anderson came along. 'That fire always catches at the eaves, not the foundations,' said Lane. 'It could be stopped right here if some one would dynamite all the block beyond Van Ness Avenue. It could never jump across a strip so broad.' 'But they've forbidden any more dynamiting,' said Anderson. 'Never mind; I'd take the chance myself if we could get any explosive,' replied Lane. 'Well, there's a launch full of dynamite from Contra Costa County lying right now at Meigs's Wharf,' said Anderson. Just then Mr. and Mrs. Tom Magee arrived, driving an automobile on the wheel rims. Lane despatched them to Meigs's Wharf for the dynamite. He and Anderson found an electric battery, and cut some dangling wires from a telephone pole. By this time the Magees were back, the machine loaded with dynamite; Mrs. Magee carrying a box of detonators on her lap. Lane, Anderson, and a corps of volunteers laid the battery and strung the wires. 'How do you want this house to fall?' asked Anderson, who understands explosives. 'Send her straight up,' replied Lane.
"'And I've never forgotten the picture which followed,' Lane has told me since. 'Anderson disappeared inside, came out, and said: "All ready." I joined the two ends of wire which I held in my hands. The house rose twenty feet in the air--intact, mind you! It looked like a scene in a fairy book. At that point I rolled over on my back, and when I got up the house was nothing but dust and splinters.'
"They went down the line, blowing up houses, schools, churches. Then came bad news. To the south sparks were catching on the eaves of the houses. Down there was a little water in cisterns. Volunteers under Lane's direction made the householders stretch wet blankets over the roofs and eaves. Then again bad news from the north. There the fire had really crossed the avenue. It threatened the Western Addition, the best residence district. The cause seemed lost. Lane ran up and looked over the situation. Only a few houses were afire, and the slow-burning redwood was smoldering but feebly. 'Just a little water would stop this!' he thought. The whole water system of San Francisco was gone, or supposedly so, through the breaking of the mains. 'But I had a hunch, just a hunch,' said Lane, 'that there was water somewhere in the pipes.' He had learned that a fire company which had given up the fight was asleep on a haystack somewhere in the Western Addition. He went out and found them. They had
 
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