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DARBY AND JOAN':
DARBY AND JOAN': BY "RITA," Author of "My Lord Conceit," Durden," "Comma," etc., etc. ♦ ■—— (Continued.) At. my next nainng-piace a icuno. a letter awaiting me from the child herself, I he large, strangely -formed words had an odd look, She said <' DEAB Sib Ralph, This is the first letter I have ever written, and I write it to give you good news. Joan is so much better. Soon, I think, she will be quite well. I have a fancy, dear Sir Ralph, that one thing "would make her that, and very soon. It is you. I talk to her about you often and often, and she savs I know him. He was very good. I think he was the best man in the world. «0j you se0) ghe musfc remember you. We axe at Nice again, and—is it »ot funny r—popa got the very same house for us that we had before, when you and Jo were married. I think she remeIUbers t.. Every day she asks more ™ I out thinSs for herself. h f C01ne You have been away such a long, long tniip flnH t i Papa is not a hit like von W™ T TCU X>o please come. y 6 S always Your loving littie «« Afi T „ j Darby.' about rrtt i t'10Se sunPle "words the hard crust bant ivCa' seemo(i to be broken up. I looked JTnw i°Q ^w0 y°ars with a sense of wonder, Jjow lonely they had been How devoid of any- ° J. ^ove, or comfort, or sympathy Yet even W' .3. obeyed this summons, and went back to my wife s side, what would that life be like hence- forward ? However well I might hide the fox, its teeth would gnaw at my heart beneath the cloak of indifference. If she knew me-if she remembered the tie that bound us-wha.t could she be save the woman whom an accident had left to fill my home and claim my name, but never, never more the wife I had loved and. believed in ? A longing seized me to see her again, and yet TPvi'vo t1 g, ST°\ feared her presence would W hpn vf angU11 hi,ld tried t0 stifle—would add Ypf- T ? weary burden of my heart. ?rrI;Sfai<it0 myself> 'I cannot live like this for from tLVT,atUTl'aL 1 said 1 would sliieid her W™ 2 ^orld; I must shield lier still. I have i nough to give me faith in my own powers of endurance surely I can bear a little more.' From the hour I had last looked on her her face never quite laded irom my sight. So often I saw it, pale and infinitely sad, and drawn into pathetic lines of patience that were all unsuited to its youth. I wondered how it looked now I wondered^how it would look a time if I returned to her. I held long parley with myself, but the child's letter drew me as with links or steel. Day by day re- solve grew weaker and inclina ion stronger day by day I said, 11 ought to go:' then, I must go and at last, not giving myself time for thought, I took iny passage in one of the fastest steamers bound for ome, and travelled night and day from that hour << t >amc 0Tlce m°re to Nice. I had told no one I was coming. I had re- solved to take them by surprise. It was close on sunset when I arrived at Nice, and leaving my aeo'aDe at the station, I drove at once to the villa ed 110 °'^ °* ^le ay of Villairanca. i?w we^ remembered the time I had last seen rnil 1- k?uo of sky and sea seemed to dazzle me. The faint, familiar scents of the orange-alleys were almost stifling. When I reached the garden and let myself in, I found myself trembling like a woman. I think I had never so fully realised the change that had come over my life-tbe blight that had fallen upon it, as when I saw again the walks and paths that were haunted by a thousand memories of the woman I had loved, and who I had thought loved me. Keeping behind the sheltering laurels and arbutus, I made my way slowly to the house. The ,loor stood open. I met not a single soul; I passed in. )n the right of the hall a door stood ajar. From lie room within came the suiiid of voices. I listened. Only too well I knew them. The child's sweet, plaintive tones, and those of my wife. I crept up to the door and looked in, The room was half dusk. There was a couch drawn up by the fire, and lying on it a little shadowy figure—the child's hgnre. Joan sat beside her on a low chair. "'I am sure he will come,' Darby was saying. You will be glad, dear, will you uot ? Very glad,' came the answer in quiet, even tones -the tones I remembered of yore. I Because he will take care of you, and be good to you,' the child went on. Only, Joan, you must promise to tell him everything. He will not be angry. lie is too kind and good for that.' He was always good,' said Joan softly. do you think he will comc 'r' It struck me then, oddly, and with a half fear, that their positions seemed reversed—that the younger sister no longer leaned in helpless dependence on the elder, but rather that Joan seemed to trust and look to the child for comfort and advice. "'I think it will be soon,' Darby said sooth- ingly. 4 A few weeks-a few days, may be-not more.' 'He will not know me,' she said saa IV. I hardly knew myself when T saw my face again.' "She lifted it up as she spoke, and I saw in the dim light that there was something strange and unnatural about it and about her. My straining eyes looked again, and yet again, before they could make out what that difference was. Her dress brought back in some dim way a dress she had been used to wear. It was some soft, pale shade of gray but a man's eyes are not good at subtle distinctions of style and colour. I only know it was simplicity itself, and reminded me of the girl I bad known in those happy, far-off years. But as she raised her bead a little lace kerchief fell back, and I saw that the beautiful chestnut-hair had been all cut off that the sbort,pretty curls cluster- ing round the bead were white as snow. I stared at her in bewilderment,. The change was so startling, and yet it had not altered the face it. looked even younger and fairer than of old, with its delicate features and greaWJark eyes. I I cannot see yon,' said Darby softly, so T do ■not know but they all say you are as pretty as ever. Besides,* she went on wisely/ when one loves peopl e j one loves them always it docs not matter if they grow ugly, or old. or anything-tbey always seem el the same, I think." "'How you cheer me sweetheart!* said Joan passionately. What should I have done without you all these years I1 You held me back from sin and from despair. You gave me strength when I was hopeless, and patience when I was well-nigh dtOS- perate, and love when all other love failed. Oh, my child-my blessing It is Heaven's mercy that gave you to me I see that every day I live.' Do you remember,' Darby said, laying her arm round her sister's neck, as she knelt by her couch Coo you remember what. the boys used to tell me about when I was a little baby, and you were angry that I had come, and you would not look at me, or have me with you? Yet I think, Jo, God must have sent me to you to love you and help you, as you say I have done. And He meant me to stay with you until you should have no more need of me. Once I see you happy, Jo—once Sir Ralph comes back, I shall not mind. I shall feel my work is done. Your work for me will never be done,' said Joan tenderly for I cannot do without you.' to think,' the child went on dreamily, at I should never be of any use to anybody. I ««and there seemed no place for me.' « v arby> Darby loved don t mean that. I think you and loved y°u found out my misfortune, ever since let™ U10re because °f ifc- Jo» have heard motW™°m^er anything. I seemed to help you—to make tii,v,01Ce,tellins me to tr? and what no one else has 88 hard~to be to you Do you remember when co^foi;ter- was-oh, so proud of it!' you caUed that ? I "'You have always been tw always.' that> chlld~ Once they told me you would have a little child of your own, and I was very unhaonv V ? did not like to tell you. I tWht be angry but I used to lie awake at uig^t and when I thought of it. I fancied you would i0vo it more than me, and I could not bear to think of that.' 'You were wrong, 'dear,7 said the quiet .voice. I can love no child more than you.' Still, it would have been your own, said Darby. Then you fell ill,' she went on dreamily. C Do you remember, Jo, how strange you were, and h 0 what strange things you used to say't1 I remember' she said, very low and with un- steady voice, how dark and dreary all seemed, and how, step by step, you led me hack to light! I remember when I could hear no voice but yours- see no face but yours and oh, my child, my child I have heard such storieu of your patience and your tender care as makes even my love seem a cold and poor thing in return.' I did my work,' the child said softly. Every »ight in my dreams I used to see our mother's faCe. for in my dreams I am not blind any longer, jo ana sne always said the same ining to me- Do your work, and I will come for you when it is done." I think,' she went on after a little pause, 'that I have grown lazy of late-have I not, Jo ? I seem so glad that you are like yourself again, that I only want to rest and have you near tg y me, and hear your voice, and see you by the eyes of others. But, oh,' with a deep-drawn sigh, I shall be glad—so glad—when Sir Ralph comes back to see us again I think, Jo, my work will be clone then.' I stayed to hear no more. Noiselessly as I had crept in I took my way back, and in that quiet garden I paced to and fro. I felt I must summon all my fortitude-all my self-command. The words of a weak child had shown me where my duty lay, nid smote me to the heart with their unconscious reproach. If it had not been for the child,' I said to myself, nor even wondered that the hot smart of tears was in my eyes as I said it. The little,fragile, sightless thing, bearing her burden so uncomplain- ingly, doing her work in simple faith of a God-sent dream, relighting the lamp of reason, winning back by slow, sure steps the lost faculties and the lost power. This had been her task-the task from which I had fled like a coward, though I might have known that only through the light of my wife's recovery should I ever learn the truth of Yorke Ferrers' death, or the secret of that sad Sep- tember day. I thought of the little weak form I had seen lying on that couch of the changed, fragile face that had smiled its patient smile up at Joan's tender eyes. Had the task been too heavy? Were the little hands weary, and the heart tired even of its labour of love ? 'Thank Heaven!' I said to myself, standing there in the hushed and solemn dusk. 4 Oh, thank Heaven, that I have returned at last!' "Half-an-hour later I approached the house again. The door was shut now, and lamps were lit, and the gleam of fire-light shone through the windows. I rang for admittance, and was shown into the drawing-room of the villa-the same room where I had seen the two sisters a brief while before. My first glance showed me the child lying on the couch. At my step she sprang up her face first flushed, then grew white. 'Sir Ralph ?' she said very softly. It is you, is it not:" 'Yes,' I answered, it is I.' I had taken her into my arms, and kissed the little white face again and again before I could speak another word. She was so changed— so terribly changed, that there seemed no room in my heart for anything but a passion of sorrow and remorse. You don't ask for Joan,' she said at last. Oh, you will be pleased. She is quite well. She is just the same, only '—as her voice grew graver --I oilly after the fever that brought back her memory, her hair had all to be cut oif, and then it turned quite white. But you won't mind, will you -say you won't for she is so afraid of you, and if you seem to think her ugly, it will break her heart.' I shall not mind,' I said slowly. And are you quite well ?' the child went on. You have been away such a long, long time. Still, it was better for you, because now you will find Jo just as she used to be.' i Yes, I I said mechanically. I could not take my eyes oif her face. The little soft smile of content on her lips smote me like a reproach. "'It is quite time I came back,' I said, to look after you. What have you been doing to yourself Oh, I am quite well,' she said brightly. A little tired sometimes—that is all. The doctor says I have grown too fast. You have no idea how tall I am!' "I did not say anything for a moment, only stroked her soft hair—glad, I think, that she could not see the sorrow of my face. Shall I call Jo ?' she said at last. She has been so longing to see you again.' I laid a detaining hand on her arm as she slipped off the couch. One moment,' said 1. Does she remember- everything r Do you mean abont Yorke?' asked the child, very low. I am not quite sure—I fancy sometimes she has forgotten that day. She has never spoken of it—never,and I would not.' You were right,' I said. 'Perhaps it is better she should forget.' You will not be cold or stern with her, will you ?' she said coaxingly. I think lately-be-% fore you went away, you know-she was a little frightened of you.' Frightened ? I said—then paused, for with a sudden gesture the child pointed to the door, and X saw Joan! c_<> CHAPTER XLI. > joan's journal. For a moment we looked at each other m sileflCaj I had thought of her,, prayed for her, pleaded fOB her a hundred times in hours of solitude and paiiu I saw her again, so changed, so sad a vision that my heart was rent with a sharp and cruel struggle ere ever I could stretch out welcoming arms* Then, as I heard her low cry, and saw the warm blood flush her cheeks, I lost sight of all the sorrowful and torturing past, and for a moment remembered only that she was my wife. What mattered changed looks, or signs of care and sickness, or wreck of beauty, or vanished youth What mattered anything in that moment r For with no volition of my own, my heart leaped up to wel- come her, and she was folded in my arms, her sweet face raised to mine, her lips raining kisses on my hands, and all the old and unforgotten joy and love came back to me for one golden moment, and gave me brief forgetfulness of the shame and misery that were linked with our last meeting. Surely she was not acting now. Such delight could not be feigned. As the doubt crossed me, I looked searchingly down into her eyes. For a mo- ment they answered me, clear with the light of reason, honest, surely—if ever woman's eyes were honest. Then, quite suddenly, something-some memory or thought flashed up, and they fell and were hidden, while a shamed, hot flush crept up to her brow, and she turned aside to hide it. That movement undid the magic of our impulsive meeting, and brought me down to sober earth with a sudden shock of calmness. A sort of constraint came over me. The fond words that had longed for utterance were frozen on my lips. Fortunately, Darby came to the rescue with a torrent of questions and remarks, and a few moments afterwards Mr. Templeton entered. We all sat down then, and the conversation became general. They would not hear of my going to the hotel; so my luggage was sent for, and I did my best to return the cordiality of my welcome, and to seem at home and content once more. Joan was very qniet. Each time I looked at the slight figure in its soft gray dress, or the pretty head with its clustering curls, a strange feeling came over me. A woman, no doubt, would have found relief in tears. I-man lilce-was only conscious of a pain that tugged at my heart-strings, and sometimes choked the words in my throat. She looked so fair, and sweet, and fragile. There was such a delicate, tender womanliness about her, that I seemed to lose sight of that awful time of doubt, and the torturing years that had followed. When she went away with Darby, a silence fell upon Roger Templeton and myself. We sat by the fire and smoked our pipes in thoughtful gravity for a long long time. Presently he looked at me, and said: Have you noticed the-the child 1'" A es," I said unsteadily "she looks very delicate." He sighed. We all see it," he said, except Joan. Some- times I am glad she does not. But the wrench when it comes will be all the worse." The wrench I answered vaguely. Is it so bad as that ? Oh, surely not The doctors give no hope," he said sadly. She has always been so fragile and delicate, you know. Nothing but Joan's care and devotion have kept her alive so long, and I am afraid when she was ill, the mischief began. The child has overtaxed her strength, physically and mentally—she was so devoted to her sister; but it was too great a strain on her." It should not have been allowed I cried out suddenly. A child like that-" Who was there to prevent it ? he asked, and I thought there was reproach in his voice. It smote me to the heart as I recalled my own selfishness. They have always been so much to one another," he went on Joan would have done anything for the child, or the child for her. The doctors say she owes her recovery'to the little one's patience and love. If you had seen them these past two years His voice wavered a little he took out his pipe, and looked thoughtfully at it. It was very touching," he said—" very touching." "There may be hope," I said with an effort. She has rallied before." Yes," he said drearily, "But this is not the same. It is her heart; that"—and he sighed— that was the case with her mother. I have known about the child for a long time, but I dared not tell o)an." Does she suffer much?" I asked. I, J he raised his head and looked at am sure she must Put she will never complain •—sne is so patient. •' 0hV'6'^ aside- I 1 c»iod involuntarily, •• that patience oi a chdd-how xt wrin^s one,g he^t, It £ g0 thetic. H A w }'f Wad! passionate, plagues, worries- -tfhat they please, but not-not patient. He rose from his seat. His face looked drawn and troubled. One does not feel that," he said, until it is too late." "That," I said bitterly, "is when one feel most things,and learns the real meaning of regre: He did not answer, and after a few moments lie rose and left the room, muttering something abou returning presently. I laid down my pipe and fell into deep thought. Even here the little one's influence had made it- self felt, for the change in Roger Templeton sur- prised me. He who had been so self-engrossed and callous about his children—whom I had so often re- buked for want of sympathy'and cold selfishness- he even had been roused to wonder at and interest him- self in the events that were passing around—had stepped within the circle of love, and patience, and gentle care, that were so much a part of Darby's tender ministry. My eyes rested on the burning logs, but I don't think they saw much of them, for my heart was heavy with the prescience of coming sorrow—a sorrow that neither human love nor human skill could avert or evade. A soft, rustling noise roused me at last. Joan had come in, and was standing close beside me. Again, as I looked at her, some memory struck me dumb—some memory of another time, when a slender girlish figure, in a gray dress, had stood by my side. It was a ghost of that dead time—a ghost of the brightness and beauty I remembered, and I trembled with the shock and weight of the fear it brought, and the memories it awakened. I rose from my chair and offered it her, then stood, leaning against the mantelpiece. I tried to speak, but could find nothing suitable to say. Toough all this evening I seemed to have been recognising the change in her, yet now it struck me afresh, and as I caught sight of my own face in the glass by which I leant, I wonderf a little bitterly whether its worn and haggard lines told any story to her. If there was pain in my eyes, there was also pain in hers as I met their uplifted glance. I think I found myself wondering how it was words were so inadequate to express one's real feelings. Her voice recalled me. "I hope," she said gently, "that you are not sorry you came back; "\Vhy should you think so 'r'' I asked abruptly. For a moment she was silent. Then a sort of desperate appeal came into her face and voice. Everything is changed," she said, "since you were here before. I most changed of all. I think sometimes that when I was a girl—when you knew me years ago—that there must have been some good in me, or you would not have loved me. Oh and she clasped her hands, and looked at me with soft, wet eyes, "if I could only go back, and be that girl again Her voice thrilled to my heart. I dared not look at her. To go back," I said presently, is impossible. That is the worst of life. With all its mistakes and follies, it pushes you on—on remorselessly. You cannot stay—you cannot return—you can only go blindly forward, bearing the pain and the regret as best you may." We," she said humbly, have to bear both, I fear." Then she rose and stood before me. Her face was white and anxious, her hands were clasped tight, and hung before her; the folds of the soft gray dress caught light and shadow from the flames. There was something," she said, and her eyes looked at me piteously, like a child's. "It was about—about myself. I have tried to remember, but I cannot. I can remember the girl you met here. I know every walk we took. I know the very tracks of the season. I—do not think I was bad then," and her voice grew anxious. I did not mean to be, I I was happy, too, in away, and I had faith and hope, and life did not seem so hard and sad a thing. Now," and she put her hand to her brow and pushed the curls back, while her eyes grew clouded—" now it is all so different. Yet I "cannot tell why—I only feel as if my life had all gone wrong—as if, somewhere on its road, I had missed happiness and, when I long for it there is a gulf between—a gulf I can never pass." The words, and the young sorrowful voite, smote me to the heart. "My poor child," I said brokenly, I would it were in my power to give it back to you. Why should you care ?" she said, and half turnedawav. "I was not good to you. I have thought of that very often. And I never cared about your feelings—my own seemed to fill up every thing; and when I did Again the cloud came over her face, her eyes dropped, her little hand moved with restless touch among those soft whit.' curls. When 1 did," she said, it was too late.' I was silent. I seemed to have many words to speak, yet something kept me from speaking even one. In all my thoughts and dreams o{ yon," she went on, 1 always knew how good you were." I—I hcpr. you believe that. There are things I have 1 0id you that 1 -ffit you did not believe. Sometimes it is so liaij tor a woman to speak, and when we leel we are misunde rstood, it makes it harder. 1--1 have otlen tried to tell you of my feelings, but you chilled mo. You did not mean it, 1 know but always 1 felt, as 1 told you just now. that you were so good, and so true, and so strong. Oli, always—always I felt that And if I could have come to you and told you everything. I know I should havo been happier." "Perhaps," I said huskily, "you can tell IT") now." She drew back from me. shuddering and while. A change came over her, as if some hidden hand had struck at her swaying figure. She hid her face in her hands. 1 cannot," she cried pitcously "T cannot! It has all gone from me. Often and often I have tried to remember, but it is all dark." The light may come yet," I said eagerly, for I knew well enough that, until perfect confidence drew her heart to mine, my dreams of happiness would never be more than dreams, nor she. my wife, be more than the shadow she had been for those two years of suffering. Her hands dropped. She looked at me again. "You are my husband." she said. "I re- member you; and I remember what, you told me about love and trust. I—I lost both, did I not r I was silent. For a few seconds the room was still as death. Yes," she said, as I did not speak, I know it. But why have you come back ? I have come back," I said, and my voice was unsteady as her own, "because, after all. you are my wife your sorrows are mine; your troubles too. I have left them too long unshared. I have been selfish-" "You I" she interrupted, and looked at me with eloquent eyes; "you selfish I Ah, no, no! you never were that!" "Yes," I said, "I was; and I have much to reproach myself with but there is still a future for us, and we must make it as happy as we nan." One can't call back trust," she said sorrowfully. "If it goes, it goes for ever. And even if you loved me —" I do love you," I said earnestly, touched to the heart by the piteous sorrow in her eyes. She looked at me for a moment as if in doubt. "Until you love and trust me too," she said very low, "we shall never be happy. Between us, like a cold ghost, there is always that something-" I turned aside, sick at heart, but recognising only too plainly the truth of her words. 0 0 When I looked up again she had left the room. The flutter of her gray dress caught my eye as she disappeared through the doorway. 1 called her back, but she did not answer. I sank back into my chair, and bent my head on my hands, and gave myself up to the train of puzzled and sor- rowful thoughts that this interview had aroused. I tried to live the past over again, and read its bitter mysteries by a new light. But I failed. Even this interview taught me nothing, save that she was grateful, and that she remembered me. But I could read no more of her heart than she chose to reveal, and could see naught but its vanished hopes and its passionate regrets as I recalled her last, low, broken words. I went to my room, but I was too restless for sleep. I was racked with doubts and fears, and all the sorrowful events that had freshly come to my knowledge. For long hours I sat there buried in deep thought, when a slight noise aroused me. The door opened softly, and on the threshold stood a little white figure, with something clasped to his breast. She looked so unearthly in that dim light, that for a moment my heart stood still with fear. Then sud- denly she glided forward, and went straight up to my bed, and laid on it the book she held. The action gave me speech and courage again. I sprang to my feet. "Darby?" Ioried. She turned her startled face to mine. Do not be angry," she said beseechingly. I thought you would be asleep, and I wanted—oh, so much !—to bring you this." "What is it r" I said, coming forward, and taking up the volume from the bed. 1 It is to make you happy again," she said, "you and Joan. She is very sad, and you do not understand oven how she loves you, but I do And this," pointing to the book, this will tell you. I used to make her read it to me sometimes, and I thought often, oh, if you only knew I" But what is it ?" I asked, in growing be- wilderment. It is Joan's journal," she said, and even as she said it I felt her shiver. I dropped the book and seized her in my arms. You should not have come," I cried in alarm. You are as cold as ice you will be ill to- morrow." "Oh," she said, and drooped her head on my shoulder, as I bore her away to her own room, that does not matter if only you and Joan are happy. How can I meet mother until then ? (To be continued.)
THE PEACE CRUSADE.
THE PEACE CRUSADE. m ROUSING THE NORTH. I By W. T. STEAD, f The Crusade of Peace has had a splendid week —the best in many respects since the movement was proclaimed at the great meeting in St. James's Hall. London is giving abundant evidence of interest in the crusade, but it is in the provinces that our strength lies. The Far North of England has ever welcomed great ideas. Often it has given a lead to the rest of England on some question of moment. Its population is by nature one of fighters. Centuries of warfare with the tribes over the border have given a pugnacity to the Northern race which is not yet eliminated. The Tyne, which gives life to the whole district, is lined with shipyards in which huge war vessels are being constructed. The fame of the destructive weapons of Armstrong has travelled over the world. Half the population of Newcastle is directly dependent upon the great Elswick shipyard and ordnance works. Yet the meeting at Newcastle was one of the most rousing yet held. Earl Grey was primarily responsible for the fine gathering at the Town Hall in Newcastle. From the first he has thrown himself heart and soul into the Crusade. As soon as he placed himself at the head of the Northern movement its success was assured. He was accompanied on to the platform at the Town Hall by such a collection of public men as has not been seen in Newcastle for years. Old political friends who went different ways when the Liberal party was divided found themselves once more united in a common ciuse, and more than one former politician who has deserted public life came from his retirement to speak a word on behalf of peace. If Newcastle was the centre of the Northern movement, Sunderland and Gateshead were barely less to the fore. The audience at Sunderland was a little cold at first, but before the meeting had finished it was splendidly roused. These fine gatherings had been preceded by a local effort at Burnmoor, over which the Earl of Durham pre- sided. He displayed some confusion of mind as to what the Peace Crusade is. At Darlington there was a capital meeting, with the Bishop of Durham on the platform, accompanied by several members of the Pease family, the devotion of which to every good cause is almost part of the history of the North. Nothing quite like the enthusiasm of Scarborough and the neighbouring towns has yet been experienced. On Saturday and Sunday three huge meetings were held, and at the last it is calculated that there were not less than 3, COO persons present. There was no need to get up steam at any of these gatherings. The whole population seems inspired with the love of peace, and in the three meetings there was not a single voice raised up against the support of the Czar's proposals. Yet Scarborough is precisely one of those places of which a pro- fessional organiser would be afraid. The tone of London on this great question of the arrest of armaments improves week by week. The best meeting that has yet been held in the metropolis was that at St. Martin's Town Hall. The fine room was filled to practically it3 full capacity, and the response to the speeches as hearty as could be desired. Mr. G. W. E. Russell delivered a speech full of good points. At the very close of the meeting new life was given to the audience by the enthusiastic eloquence of the Rabbi of the West End Synagogue, who, though not on the list of speakers, begged to be allowed to say a word on behalf of the Jews. The Rev. Hugh Price Hughes was tremendously applauded. In short the meeting was in every respect notable beyond any which London has seen since the or,t,ninL, of the Bamnaism. At Westminster we did not do so well. "A good meeting for Westminster is the verdict of those who know the district. There is a world of meaning in the words. Westminster is one of the wealthy divisions of London in which there is the greatest difficulty in obtaining any public display on any question. It has a large business popula- tion, which migrates to the suburbs every night. Consequently, the task of organising a meeting of any kind is heavy. Yet, with no speaker of English reputation announced, the Westminster Town Hall was more than half filled, and those who were present displayed plenty of spirit and a keen appre- ciation of the object of the Czar. Very different to Westminster was the meeting in the Hampstead Vestry Hall. That building does not hold so many persons as that at Westminster, but it was packed to the doors, and the strength and enthusiasm of the audience was unmistakable. The veteran Dr. Newman Hall spoke with dramatic fervour, and referring to a letter from Mr. Brodie Hoare, M.P., in which the latter stated that he regarded the Czar's proposal as altogether impracticable, the great preacher declared that it was necessary even now to teach senators wisdom. If Alf. Hoare was against the Czar, that was not the case with a more distinguished resident in the neighbourhood. Sir Walter Besant wrote saying that if anything practical came of the Czar's proposal he should join the committee in rejoicing. So well has the organisation of London gone forward that the Committee of the Crusade, which determined to devote all its attention to the Metropolis and to leave the provinces to look after themselves, now feels that London is assured, and that it can give time to the great towns which have not already arranged for meetings. The number of these is now comparatively few. Without any aid from the central office most of the provincial centres have thrown them- selves into the Crusade. Examples of the extent to which the provinces have organised themselves are furnished by the meetings at Darlington and Kidderminster, which were arranged locally, and carried through without the headquarters being aware of the intention to hold meetings. After the provinces will come Scotland. There the Crusade has so far made but little progress. A few meetings have been held, but there is no evidence that the new gospel of peace has been seized with avidity. No fear, however, is felt as to the result when once work is commenced. Scotland will be untrue to all her traditions if she is behind England in her devotion to a movement which makes for the elevation of mankind and for greater brotherhood among the nations. The metropolitan campaign is to be brought to a conclusion by a mass meeting in the Queen's Hall, which will probably be held during the first fortnight of March. This will be a rallying-point for the whole of London before the National Convention is held. The principal speakers will be Mr. John Morley and, I hope, the Bishop of London, who is, of course, chairman of the Crusade. The gathering should be a fitting end to the movement, which has swept across London. An address to the workers of all Continental countries has been drafted and approved by the Labour Committee of the Crusade. This will be placed before a great gathering of London working- men at St. Martin's Town Hall, on February 15th, to which the representatives of organised labour in the metropolis are offering splendid support. Mr. George N. Barnes, the secretary of the Amalgamated Society of Engineers, is to preside. The labour manifesto, signed by more than five hundred leaders of workmen of every shade of opinion, has now been scattered broadcast. On the Continent the Peace movement is making progress. From England we are giving what aid we can to those who have the real battle to fight, but it is difficult to do this and not to offend foreign populations. Both in Germany and in France, however, local committees are at work, and the reports from the devoted workers who are giving themselves to the movement are full of evidence that progress is being made against every obstacle.
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AMERICA'S LOSSES, 175.
AMERICA'S LOSSES, 175. MANILA AND VICINITY PERFECTLY TRANQUIL. General Otis cables from Manila as follows :— The insurgents in large force attacked us at a quarter to nine on Saturday night. At four in the morning our entire line was engaged. All the attacks were repulsed. At daybreak we advanced and drove the insurgents beyond the lines they formerly occupied, capturing several villages and their defence works. "The loss of the insurgents in dead and wounded was large. Our casualties are estimated at 175, including a few deaths. Our troops were enthusiastic and fearless. The navy did splendid execution on the enemy's flanks. The situation is most satisfactory, and appre- hension need not be felt. Perfect quiet prevails in the city and the vicinity. The troops are in excellent health and spirits." CONGO MAHDISTS' VICTORY. According to a private letter, dated September, the Mahdists have taken Redjaf, in the Equatorial region of the Nile, after a fierce fight. The news does not seem probable. A number of officers and non-commissioned officers, among whom will be Major Chaltin, formerly commandant of Redjaf, with munitions of war, will leave on February 6, March 6, and April 6 in order to put down the revolting Congo tribes as speedily as possible. ENGLISHMAN FOUND DROWNED AT CONSTANTINOPLE. The body of Captain Cuming, an old British re- sident at Constantinople, who disappeared mysteriously on January 8, was found floating in front of the Galata Customs House by the police. The body seems to have been much knocked about, and attached by a cord to the neck was a piece of iron. A post-mortem will be made and an inquiry instituted, the result of which will be known shortly,
A DREYFUS DECISION.
A DREYFUS DECISION. REBUFF FOR THE GOVERNMENT. The Revision Committee of the French Chamber has rejected the Government bill involving the reference of the Dreyfus case to the entire Court of Cassation, by nine votes to two. This decision was taken after M. Dupuy had been heard by the Committee, and had strongly urged the adoption of the bill. The Premier begged the Committee in any case to decide quickly. In regard to the publication of the documents, he said it might cause some inconvenience, but he left the Committee at full liberty to decide. The Committee eventually resolved by a unanimous vote to have the dossier published, and it was ordered to be printed so that it may be distributed without delay in the Chamber. MM. Cruppi and Berthet were the two members who voted in favour of the Revision Bill.
---KAISER'S DIVINE WARRANT.…
KAISER'S DIVINE WARRANT. Presiding at the annual banquet of the Bran- denburg Provincial Diet, the Emperor delivered a speech, at the opening of which he referred to the allusion made by the Governor, Herr von Achen- bach, to the deeds of the Hohenzollerns. His Majesty said that the Hohenzollerns had ever con- sidered themselves as personally responsible to God for their acts, and that a sense of responsibility to the people had also been inherited by every Hohenzol- lern. Recalling Moltke's words to Bismarck after the Franco-Prussian war—" Now is the time to see the tree grow "—his Majesty said I hope that I shall soon see the tree grandly developing. Before it stands the German Michael, his hand on the hilt of his sword, looking afar, in order to protect it. Secure is the peace which is sheltered by the shield of the German Michael and is defended by his sword."
SPANISH SATISFACTION.
SPANISH SATISFACTION. Referring to the news from Manila, the Madrid "Impartial" remarks that the justice of God is beginning to be manifested. The Americans hav- ing completed the spoiling of the Spanish are now feeling the consequences. So far as Spain is con- cerned her only interest in the Philippines is now in the prisoners who have not yet been released. The journal adds that the number of insurgents is about 80,000, of whom 7,000 are armed with Mauser rifles and 10,000 with Remingtons. Part of these arms were supplied by Americans themselves, and part by Japan. The journal believes that if the j insurgents continue the struggle the Americans will be obliged to evacuate the islands, and that in any case they will never be able to establish their rule in the interior of the country.
CUNARDER'S ROUGH EXPERIENGE.
CUNARDER'S ROUGH EXPERIENGE. The Cunard steamship Lucania arrived at New York nearly nine days out from Liverpool. Seldom, if ever, has such weather been known on the Atlantic. Day after day came gales, fierco squalls at snow, thunder and lightning, hail, fog. and immense seas. One almost unceasing tumult of heavens and ocean. We had 16 hours of hurricane an one day at 100 miles an hour. The magnificent ship rode it out easily and unharmed. From 1.30 a.m. to 8.30 p.m. oil was freely poured on the troubled waters, helping a little, but not much. The day's run was 121 miles, 51 miles less than ever before. Another record. The barometer fell from 30in. to 27.92in again a record. Captain McKay, with a cool prudence and a wise seaman- ship, for which his passengers owe him thanks, forebore to drive his vessel. She was for almost tialf the voyage at half or three-quarter speed, with this result, that never has so rough an Atlantic journey been performed with so little dis. ,gmfort.
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A denial is given by the Government of tile Congo State to the report that the Mahdists have aake Red iaf. A letter announcing Mr. Evelyn Cecil's resigna- tion on account of the pressure of his Parliamen- tary duties has been read, at the meeting of the London School Board. On the motion of Lord Reay, a resolution of regret was passed, ordered to be entered in the minutes, and a copy to be sent to Mr. Cecil. Some alarm was caused at the Islington Work- house Infirmary, in Dartmouth Park-hill, N., by an outbreak of fire at 11-30 the other morning in the patients' portion of the small-pox hospital. Steps were at once taken to remove the patients to a place of safety. The premises were severely damaged and the roof destroyed. A handsome monument, erected by public sub- scription at a cost of £500., to the memory of the late Right Hon. Edward Stanhope, M.P., for Mid- Lincolnshire from 1874 to 1885, M.P. for the Horncastle division of Lincolnshire from 1885 to 1893, and Secretary for War at the time of hit death in 1893. has been unveiled at Bornc&stle.
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EPITOME OF NEWS. 1
EPITOME OF NEWS. 1 A serious epidemic of influenza has broken oilt on the training ship St. Vincent at Portsmouth. Over 200 boys are on the sick list. The worst cases have been sent to Haslar Hospital. Huntingdon Town Council has resolved to con- vene a public meeting to consider in what way the tercentenary of Cromwell should be celebrated next April. Fifty persons are reported to have perished and ninety to have been severely injured by a conflag- ration which reduced the Hungarian market town of Nagy Babrez to ashes. The appointment of Baron von Aerenthal as Austro-Hungarian Ambassador at St. Petersburg has been gazetted, likewise that of M. Pallavicini as Minister at Bucharest. The Maidstone Corporation are making arrange- ments for holding an exhibition of animal paint- ings during the visit of the Royal Agricultural Society to the town in June. The Master Bone Brush Makers' Association, in order to terminate the strike which has lasted six months, have conceded to the men an advance of 3d. a gross on tooth-brush fashioning. Canon J. M. Dolphin, vicar of Long Eaton, Derbyshire, has died unexpectedly from bronchial pneumonia while staying at Newark. The deceased was 61 years of age. The strike of tinplate workers at Llanelly is ended by the men accepting the employers' terms. These provide for concessions amounting to 22J per cent. off the staii (lard wages. The Chestnuts," Pilgrim-hill, West Norwood, a private house occupied by Mr. R. M. Manwaring, has been practically burned out. The inmates had to mah a hurried exit. At Kingston (Jamaica), for the first time, a full- blooded knegro has been electedto the Legislative Council. His opponent (says the Times corre- spondent) was an influential white man. Mr. T. C. Redington, Resident Commissioner of National Education in Ireland, has died. He was made a member of the Irish Privy Council during Mr. John Morley's Chief Secretaryship. A porter, named Ryan, employed by the London and Tilbury Railway Company, has been knocked down and killed by a train while he was walking along the line near Fenchurch-street Station. The total amount subscribed to the memorial to the late Baron Pollock iSE111 lls. Arrangements have been made to execute a brass, in raised letters, to be placed in the north wall of the Church of St. John's Putney. The American Line steamer Rhynland, from Liverpool, which stranded on January 31 last on Rehoboth Island, has now been refloated. Except for some damage done to her rudder and propeller, she is apparently uninjured. The Municipal Council of Athens has passed a motion conferring the title of honorary citizen of the town of Athens on the admirals commanding the British, French, Russian, and Italian divisions in Cretan waters. The Leeds engineers' labourers have sent in an application for an advance of 2s. per week, basing their claim upon the higher rate of wages paid in other towns. The application will be considered by the Employers' Association. Mme. Patti's husband, Baron Olof Rudolph Cederstrom, is listed in the London Gazette among the aliens to whom certificates of naturali- sation as British subjects have been granted. Baron Cederstrom's is dated December 27. A telegram from Airolo states that fresh moun- tain slides, accompanied by heavy falls of rock have occurred on the Sasso Rosso. They did not, however, extend beyond the region previously affected. It is said that Viscount Hinton has, or at one time had, a third brother who was born three years later of the same mother and was the child of the late Earl. But no one appears to know whether this third son is alive or dead. The appointment of Father Brindle, the famous army chaplain, as assistant-bishop to his Eminence Cardial Vaughan has been confirmed by the Pope, who has also created him a domestic prelate, with the title of Right Rev. Monsignor. The American liner St. Louis has arrived at New York after a tempestuous passage. Great seas washed over her, twisting her rails and caus- ing other damage. Two seamen and two pas- sengers were injured. The Right Hon. Christopher T. Redington, a member of the Irish Privy Council and a Resident Commissioner of National Education in Ireland, has died at his residence in Dublin from blood poisoning, following an operation The Lauour Committee of the movement in sup- port of the Czar's action in relation to armaments and arbitration have issued an address to the working classes of the United Kingdom, which has already been signed by 500 representative men and women associated with the trade, co-operative, friendly, and similar societies throughout the country. What is presumed to be an old Dutch ewe has been discovered on the shore at Ringborough, in Yorkshire. No one knows where it came from, how it managed the sea voyage, or what its visit portends. The only conjecture we can make, says the Globe," is that the ewe was tired of its own climate and wanted to make the acquaintance of the English wether. It is said of Earl Beauchamp, the new Governor of New South Wales, that some six years ago he was the leader of all the harmless "larks" at Christ Church, Oxford. Since then he has de- veloped what his old fellow-students considered an exaggerated interest in Church matters, and it is aow told that his guests have some difficulty in obtaining a second whiskey and soda. The first battle of flowers has taken place at Mentone. There were numbers of beautifully de- corated carriages, and the stands were crowded with people. Good humour and animation pre- vailed, and the flower-sellers did an exceptionally brisk trade. The French Mediterranean Fleet, consisting of six battleships, three cruisers, and some torpedo-boats, has just arrived at Vill.. tranche. As workmen were engaged the other day at a quarry near Sittingbourne, a fall occurred, and two of them were partially buried beneath the debris. One man was killed. j Darlington Town Council has consented to the introduction into the borough of an electric system of tramways. The cost is estimated at over Em,ooo. A little girl named Emily Ada Jones, aged four, has been burned to death at 10, Darrell Road, East Dulwich, in a fire which was caused through chil- dren playing with matches. The Very Rev. Watkin Herbert Williams, dean of St. Asaph, has been consecrated at Westmin- ster Abbey as Bishop of Bangor, and the Rev. Hugh James Foss, missionary at Kobe, as Bishop of Osaka. Prominent women throughout the State of Illinois are organising a crusade against the use of the female form in illustrations for advertising purposes, and a bill will soon be introduced in the State Legislature prohibiting it. L The Yarmouth Board of Guardians has ap- pointed Mrs. Preston, the wife of a Yarmouth journalist, registrar of births and deaths for the southern district of the town. This is the first ap- pointment made in Yarmouth of a lady to a public position. Mr. John Brigg, M.P., appears, states a Keigh- ley correspondent, to have get over the two serious relapses he suffered, but is still excessively weak. All hope of saving the right leg is gone, but am- putation will have to be postponed until he is a httle stronger. The 75.000.000 marks of Three per Cent. Im- perial Lean and 125,000,000 marks of Three per Cent. Prussian Consols, sold by the German and Prussian Governments to the Deutsche Bank, will be offered for subscription on February 9, the issue price being 92. Vanity Fair is responsible for the following school story :—Diocesan Inspector "Now, can any of you boys tell me how lying is denounced in Scripture ? Intelligent Pupil: Please, sir, yes, sir; I know. 'A lie is an abomination unto the Lord, but a very present help in time of trouble. Recruits for the railway police in Manchuria continue to be engaged at Odessa, whence they are sent to Vladivostock. It is understood that there are now nearly 30,000 Russian troops at Port Arthur, Ta-Lien-Wan, and the immediate neighbourhood. Lieutenant Wilde, who had his leg broken in a railway collision on the Paris-Marseilles line in 1897, has been awarded 100,000f. damages. The amount is heavy in consequence of the fact that the lieutenant will probably be incapacitated from continuing in the army. Mrs. Stuyvesant Fish, the New York society dame, has sent out cards for a reversible dance." Her guests will not be expected to stand on their heads, but it is stated that they are intended ta make themselves equally ridiculous by wearing their clothes hindpart before. William Wood, a music hall artiste, has sued at Lambeth the chemists from whom he bought a box of carbolated vaseline which contained too large a proportion of carbolic acid, and burned his face severely when he applied it.—The jury awarded him £20. damages. Senator Grady, described as a satellite of Tam- many Hall, has introduced a bill in the New York Legislature providing for the appointment of a censor of plays. The proposal (says a corre- spondent) has been met with a smile of derision from all quarters, although some managers are in- clined to approve of it. An interesting record of the ceremonies which took place in connection with the Queen's Dia- mond Jubilee has, by command of her Majesty, been deposited in the National Library at Blooms- bury, to be preserved for all posterity. The wcrk was prepared from official sources in the Lord Chamberlain's Office. The Duke of Grafton, who had been elected on the Northampton committee of the Gladstone Memorial Fund, has declined to serve on the ground that the present proposals are utterly ab- surd. If one great charitable or other institution had been agreed upon he would, he states, will- ingly have joined in the movement, and so alsc would thousands of others.
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AMERICA AT WAR AGAIN.
AMERICA AT WAR AGAIN. MANILA STORMED. A collision has taken place between the Philip- pine insurgents and the American troops at Manila. The Filipinos made an attempt on Saturday night and Sunday to rush the American positions, but were repulsed with heavy loss, the American war vessels taking part. The Americans loss was twenty killed and 125 wounded. The attack has not come unexpectedly, as for some time the situation there has been very critical. It is thought that the Filipinos' object was to in- fluence opinion in the United States against the Peace Treaty, the ratification of which is to be voted on by the Senate. Agoncillo, Aguinaldo's representative, has ad- dressed a practical ultimatum to the United States Government, declaring that America has no sovereignty over the Philippines. U.S. SENATE VOTES THE PEACE TREATY. The United States Senate has ratified the Peace Treaty with Spain by 57 votes to 27, or three more than the requisite two-thirds majority. This denotes that the American people has taken over the burden of the Philippines, which means the task of pacification and the establish- ment of a stable Government. Agoncillo, in an interview with a Montreal correspondent, stated that if the United States Government did not recognise the independence of the Philippines there would be a long war. The latest details of the fighting round Manila show that it was very severe. The insurgents were utterly worsted, and their loss is estimated at 4,000 killed and wounded. On the American side the total casualties are estimated at 175, of whom forty were killed. All is quiet at Manila.