wFIAPTER I.
The town .of Micklethwayte wag rising
.and thriving. There were salubrious
springs, which an enterprising doctor had
lately brought into notice. The firm of
Greenleaf & Dutton manufactured um
brellas in large quantities, from the stout
weather-proof family roof down to the
daintiest fringed toy of a parasol. There
were a Guild Hall and a handsome Corn
Market.
It was the afternoon of a summer day
which had been very hot. The choir prac
tice was just over, and the boys came out
trooping and chattering; very small ones
they were; for as soon as they began to
sing tolerably they were sure to try to get
into the choir of the old church, which
had a foundation that fed, clothed, taught
and finally apprenticed them. liih.nd
came the nucleus of the choir a slim,
fair-haired youth of twenty; a neat, pre
cise, well-trimmed man, closely shaven,
with stooping shoulders, at least fifteen
years older, a gentle, somewhat dro-iiuus
lady in black, not yet middle-aged and
very pretty; a small, eager, unformed,
black-eyed girl, who could hardly keep
back her words for the outside of the
church door; a tall, self-possessed, hand
some woman, with a fine classical cast of
features; and lastly, a brown-faced, wiry,
hard-working clergyman, with an air of
great energy.
'Ob, vicar, where are we to go?" was
the- question so eager to break forth.
"Not to the Crystal Palace, Nuttie. The
funds won't bear it. Mr. Dutton says
we must sieud as little as possible on loco
motion. The choice seems to be between
.South Beach and Monks Horton."
"I thought Monks Horton was forbid
den ground."
"So it was with the last regime," said
the vicar; "but now the new people are
come, I expect great things from them.
I hear they are very friendly."
. "1 expect nothing from them," said
Nuttie, so sententiously that all her hear
ers laughed and asked "her exquisite rea
son." as Mr. Dutton put it.
"Lady Kirkaldy and a whole lot f them
came into the School of Art."
"Aud didn't appreciate 'Head of Anti
nous, by Miss Ursula Egremont' " was
the cry that Intel s.ipted her; but she went
on with dignity unruffled: "Anything so
foolish and inane as their whole talk and
All their observations I never heard. 'I
don't like this style,' one of them said.
'Such ugly, useless things! I never see
anything pretty and neatly finished such
as we used to do.' " The girl gave it in a
tone of mimicry of the nonchalant voice,
adding, with fresh imitation, "and anoth
er did not approve of drawing from the
life 'models might be such strange peo
ple.' "
"Come in. my dear, you are talking very
fast," interposed Mrs. Egremont, with
tome pain in the soft, sweet voice, which,
if had been a little stronger, would have
been the best in the choir.
These houses in St. Ambrose's Uoad
were seroi-detached. The pair which the
party hau reached bad their entrances at
the angles, with a narrow gravel path
leading by a tiny grass plot to each. One,
which was covered with a rich pall of
purple clematis, was the home of Mrs. Eg
remont, her aunt, and Nuttie; the other,
adorned with a (Jloire de Dijon rose in sec
ond bloom, was the abode of Mary Nu
gent, with her mother, the widow of a
naval captain. Further u:;. with adjoin
ing gardens, was another couple of houses.
In one of which lived Mr. Dutton; in the
other lodged the youth, Gerard Godfrey,
together with the partner of the principal
medical man. The opposite neighbors
were a master of the Modern School and
i scholar. Indeed, the saying of the vicar,
the Itev. Francis Spyers, was, and St.
Ambrose's Road was proud of it, that it
was a professional place. Every one had
something to do either with schools or
umbrellas. Mr. Dutton was n partner in
(he umbrella factory, and lived, as the
younger folk said, as the old bachelor of
the Iload. Miss Nugent, or Miss Mary, as
every one still called her, as her elder
inter's marriage was recent, was assist
ant teacher, at the School of Art, and gave
private drawing lessons, so as to supple
ment the pension on whi b her mother
lived. They also received iris as board-t
trs attending the High School.
80 did Miss Headworth, who had all her
life been on of those people who seem
condemned to toil to make up for the
errors or disasters of others. First she
helped to educate a brother, and soon he
had died, to leave an orphan daughter to
be bred up at her cost. The girl had mar
ried from ber first situation; but had
almost immediately lost ber husband at
aea, and on this her aunt had settled at
llicktethwayte to make a home for her
and ber child, at first taking pupils, but
When the High School was set up, chang
ing these to boarders; while Mrs. Egre
aaoat went as daily governess to the chil
dren of a family of somewhat higher pre
tension. Little Ursula, or Nuttie, as she
was called, according to the local contra.
traction, was Ilka the child of all the parr
tr, and, after climbing up through the
liigh School to the last form, hoped, after
paaslag the Cambridge examination, to be
aowr a teacher there In another year. -
It was au hour later when Mary No
na -came out Into her garden behind the
low to see a pair of little Mack feat
a hoUaod skirt Matins; on a laurel
rMscsand. anina a few steps more, she
f bsU big shad bat. and a pair of little
" - hmmm aMth a neacil and a blank
! as I! ran la aat on the low wall be-
raertena ahadad br tke labur-
facilitated the ascent on her
i"-; ' v
"-tt'-nrjl Delicious! Come ap
' A bw bw ctwmng tbia
W('l'Vi'''tJ'?i'?.''-' ;'.:-. ..' '
-j-j. ti tsmre the ae
VI - t,"r al .
sketching?" said Miss Nugent, as the
book was laid on her lap. "It looks like
a modern no, a mediaeval edition of
Marcus Curtius about to leap into the
capital opening for a young man."
"Now don't! Guess in earnest"
"A compliment to your name. The
Boy of Egremont. poor fellow, just about
to bound across the chasm."
"Exactly! I always feel sure that my
father must have done something like
this."
"You know he sailed away in a yacht
before I was bora, and poor mother never
saw him again; but I know what hap
pened. There was a shiptm fire like the
Birkenhead, and the little yacht went near
to pick up the people. And the little yacht
was so close when the great ship blew np
that it got sucked down in the whirlpool,
and rescuers and all died a noble death
together!"
"Has your mother been telling you?"
asked Miss Mary.
"Oh. no! she never mentions him. She
does not know. No one does; but I am
quite sure he died nobly, with no one to
tell the tale, only the angels to look on,
and that makes it all the finer. Oh, just
suppose he was on a desert island all the
time, and enme back airain to find ns! I
sometimes think he is. Miss Mary, has
no one ever told you anything about my
father?"
"No one."
"They never tell me. Mother cries,
and Aunt Ursula puts on her there's-an-end-of-it
look.' Do you think there is
anything they are waiting to tell me till
I am older?"
"If there were, I am sure you had bet
ter not try to find it out beforehand." .
Miss Nugent had a few vague recollec
tions which she did not think it expedient
to mention. A dim remembrance rose
before her of mysterious whisiwrings
about that beautiful young widow, and
that it had been said that the rector of
the Old Church had declared himself to
know the ladies well and had heartily rec
ommended them. She thought it wiser only
to speak of having been one of their first
scholars, telling of the awe Miss Head
worth inspired, and the pleasure it was
to bring a lesson to pretty "Mrs. Egre
mont, who always rewarded a good one
with a kiss.
"I cannot help thinking that he
my father must have been some one
rather grand, with such a beautiful name
as Alwyu Piereefield Egremont," went
on Ursula. "Yes; I know it was that, for
I saw my baptismal certificate when I
stood for the scholarship; it was Dieppe
Ursula Alice, daughter of Alwyn Pieree
field and Alice Elizabeth Egremont, May
15, ISM. James Everett I think he was
the chaplain at Dieppe."
Mary Nugent thought it the wisest way
to laugh and say: "You, of all people in
the world, to want to make out a connec
tion with the aristocracy!"
Further conversation was interrupted
by the appearance of Mr. Dutton with the
information that permission had been ob
tained from Lord Kirkaldy to hold a picnic
at Monks Horton.
CHAPTER II.
In the shrubberies of Monks Horton
was walking a lady somewhat past mid
dle age, but full of activity and vigor,
with one of those bright faces that never
grow old, and with her a young man, a
few years over twenty, with a grave and
almost careworn countenance.
"Then your mind is made up," she said;
"you are quite right to decide on having
a profession; but how does your father
take it?"
"He is quite convinced that to repeat
my uncle's life, dangling on as heir, would
be the most fatal mistake."
"You expect Mr. Egremont to marry?"
"Not a future marriage; but one in the
past."
"A private marriage! Do you suspect
it?"
"I don't suspect it I know it I have
been hoping to talk the matter over with
you. Do you remember our first govern
ess. Miss Headworth?"
"I remember something happening that
your mother seemed unable to write about,
and your grandmother said that she had
been greatly upset by 'that miserable af
fair,' but I was never exactly told what it
had been."
"Miss Headworth came when I was
four or five years old. Edda, as we used
to call her in May's language, was the
first person who gave me a sense of beau
ty. She had dark eyes and a lovely com
plexion. I was extremely fond of her,
enough to have my small jealousy excited
when my uncle joined us in our walks,
and monopolized her."
"But Mark, Mr. Egremont is some
years oldeT thnn your father. He could
not have been a young man at that time."
"80 much the worse. Most likely he
seemed to her quite paternal. The next
thing I recollect waa our being in the Isle
of Wight, we two children, with Miss
Head'rorth and the German nurse. Uncle
Alwyp and his yacht were there, and we
went on board once or twice! Then mat
ters became confused with me. I recol
lect a confusion, papa and grandmamma
suddenly arriving, everybody seeming to
ns to bare become very cross, our -dear
Mies 'Headworth nowhere to be found,
ear attendants being changed, and our
being forbidden to apeak of ber again. I
certainly never thought of the matter till
a month ago. You know my uncle's eyes
have been much affected by bla i lines,
and he has made a good deal of use of me.
fie has got a relet, a fellow of no particu
lar country, a legacy, like other evils, from
the old general, and seems a sort of ne
ceeerty te my ancle'a existence. Oregorio.
they call him. Ha waa plainly nsed to ab
solute government, and viewed the corn
let down aasong ae as aa aeeertkoa of
Uatty mack against hie will. . Well, the
Ml itl I earned coUblei aaoat a
a grisrV On that ceaeven Ut.
Gregorio grew insolent, and intimated to
me :hat 1 need not make ao aura of the
succession. He knew that which might
make me change my note. Well, my fata
er is always for avoiding rows; he said It
was an unmeaning threat. But just after,
Uncle Alwyn sent me to bunt up a paper
that was missing, and in searching a writ
ing case I came upon an unmistakable
marriage certificate between Alwyn
Piereefield Egremont and Alice Head
worth, and then the dim recollections I
told you of began to return." .
"What did you do?" ,:
"I thought I had better consult my
father, expecting to hear that she waa
dead, and that no further notice need be
taken of the matter. But he was greatly
disturbed to hear of the certificate, and
would hardly believe me. He said that
some friend of my grandmother had writ
ten her word of goings on at Freshwater
between his brother and the young gov
erness, and that they went off at once to
put a stop to it but found us left with the
German maid, who declared that Miss
Headworth had gone off with Mr. Egre
mont in the yacht. No more was heard
of my uncle for six weeks, and when he
came back there was a great row with
the old general, but he absolutely denied
being married. 1 am afraid that was all
the old sinner wished, and they went off
together in the yacht to the West Indies,
where it was burned; but they, as you
know, never came to England again, go
ing straight off to the Mediterranean, hav
ing their headquarters at Sorrento, and
cruisuig about till the general's death ten
years ago. He came back, after the old
man died, to club life in London, and sel
dom has been near the old place; indeed,
it has been let till recently, and he wants
to let it again, but it is altogether too di
lapidated for that without repairs. So he
came down to see about it, and was taken
ill there. Aunt Margaret, he has never
seen or heard of her since he left her at
Dieppe! Would you believe it, he thinks
himself a victim? He never meant more
than to amuse hiniRelf with the pretty lit
tle governess, ami he rook on board a Mr.
and Mrs. Houghton to do propriety, sliridy
sort of people. I imagine, but that she
did not know."
"I have heard of them," said Lady
Kirkaldy, significantly. .
"She must have been a kind friend to
the poor girl." said Mark. "On some re
port that Lady de Lyonnais was coming
down on her, wrathful and terrible, the
poor, f(K)Iinh girl let herself be persuaded
to be carried off in the yacht, but there
Mrs. Houghton watched over ber like a
dragon. She made them put in at some
little place in Jersey, put in the bans, all
unknown to my uncle, and got them mar
ried. Each was trying to outwit the
other, while Miss Headworth herself was
quite innocent and unconscious, and, 1
don't know whether to call it an excuse
for Uncle Alwyn or not, but to this hour
he lit not sure whether It was a legal
marriage. He put her in lodgings at
Dieppe, under Mrs. Houghton's protec
tion, while he returned home on a per
emptory summons fro mthe general. From
that day he sailed in the Ninon be has
never written, never attempted any com
munication with the woman whose life
he had wrecked, except one inquiry at
Dieppe, and that was through Gregorio."
"What! the valet?"
"Yes. When I asked my uncle whether
he could guess what had become of her,
he assured me that he could make all se
cure to my father and me, as if that were
the important point; but finally he per
ceived that we had no right to stand still
without endeavoring to discover whether
there be a nearer heir, and my father
made him consent to my making the
search, grinning at its quixotism all the
time." "
"Have you done anything?"
"Yes. I have been to Jersey, seen the
register July 20. 3859 and an old
French-speaking clerk, who perfectly rec
ollected the party coming from the yacht.
I have also ascertained that there is no
doubt of the validity of the marriage.
"What's that?" as a sound of singing
was heard.
" 'Auld Lang Syne.' The natives are
pickuicking in the ravine. . They used to
be rigidly excluded, but we can't stand
that; and this is the first experiment of
admitting them on condition that they
don't make themselves obnoxious."
"Which they can't help."
"We have yet to see if this is worse
than an Austrian or Italian festival. See,
we can look down from behind this yew
tree. It really is a pretty sight from
this distance."
CHAPTER III.
"So you have ventured out again," said
Lady Kirkaldy, as her nephew strolled
up to her afternoon tea table under a
great cedar tree.
"At least you have survived; or Is this
the reaction?" said the nephew, putting
on a languid air.
"There were some very nice people
among them, on whom the pictures were
by no means thrown awy. What would
you say, Mark, if I told you that I
strongly suspect that I have seen your
lost aunt?"
"Nonsense!" cried Mark, as emphatical
ly as disrespectfully.
"I am not joking In the least" said
Lady Kirkaldy, looking up at him. "I
heard the name of Egremont, and made
out that it belonged to a very lady-like
pretty looking woman In gray and white;
she seemed to be trying to check and
tame a bright girl of eighteen or so, who
was in a perfect state of rapture over the
Vandykes. I managed to ask the clergy
man who the lady was, and he told me
she was Mrs. Egremont, who lives with
her aunt, a Miss Headworth, who boama
girls for the High School; very1 worthy
people, he added."
"I lead worth?"
Yes."
"But if it were, she would bare k town
your name."
"Hardly. The title bad not come in
those days; and if she heard of us at all it
would be aa Kerrs. I ventured further to
put out a feeler by aaking whether he
knew what her husband bad been, and
he said he believed he. had been lost at
sea." '
"I anpnose It la-worth following np,"
said Mark, rather reluctantly. "I wish
I had seen ber. I think I should know
Mrs. Headworth again, and she would
hardly know me."
Lord Kirkaldy, an able man, who had
been for many years a diplomatist, here
joined the party, and the whole story
waa laid before him. He advised that
I.ady Kirkaldy should go alone to call on
Mies Headworth, and explain that abe
waa come to inquire about a young lad
of the same name, who bad once been gov
erness to the children of ber slater, Lady
Adelaide Bgremont
Mia Headworth waa aocastoeaad to re
ceive visitors toast boarders, p whss
Lsiy CirtaX'y's ear wan bvaecit ta bar,
the first Impreaaion waa that some such
arrs'nayonf was to be made.
'It struck me," said Lady Kirkaldy,
oo hearing your name, that you might be
related ta to a young lady who lived a
good while ago in the family of my sister,
Ldj Adelaide Egremont."
A strange look came into Mis Head
worth's eyes, her lips trembled, she
clutched tightly the arm of her chair, but
then cast a puzzled glance at her visitor.
"Perhaps if you heard of me then,"
said the latter, 'It was as Lady Margaret
Kerr."
"Yea," said Miss Headworth. then paus
ing, she collected herself, and said in an
anxious tone, "Do I understand that yonr
ladyship is come to inquire for my niece,
being aware of the circumstances '"
"I only became aware .of them yester
day," said Iady Kirkaldy. "Mark Egre
mont, your niece's old pupil, came to con
salt us. having just discovered among
his uncle's papers evidence of the mar
riage, of which, of course, he had been
ignorant."
"Then." exclaimed Miss Headworth.
holding her hands tightly clasped, "shall
I really see justice done at last to my
poor child T'
'Do roa think your niece was abso
lutely convinced of her husband's death?"
, "Do you menn that he is alive?" ex
claimed Miss Headworth. in dismay. "Oh,
he is a wickeder man than even I sup
posed, to have forsaken her all these
years. Is my poor child in his power?
Must her peace, now she has attained it,
to be disturbed?"
"You forget that her daughter has
rights which must be taken into consid
eration." "Little Nuttie! Dear child! I should
like her to be provided for. But, no!
better be as we are than accept anything
fmm that man!"
"I quite understand and respect your
feelings. Miss Headworth." returned the
lady; "but may I return to my question
whether you think your niece has any
doubt of her husband being dead?"
Miss Headworth considered. "Since
yon ask me, 1 think she has kept the pos
sibility of the life before her. He Cap
tain Egremont does not know yet where
she is?" '. ,
"No. certainly not; but I fear he must."
(To be continued.)
Lincoln at School.
Mr. George H. Yenowlne contribute
a paper on "The Birthplace of Lincoln"
to St. Nicholas. Mr. Yenowlne quotes
the following from an old man named
Austin Gollaher, who went to school
with the emancipator: "Lincoln was an
unusually bright boy, and he made
good progress In his books, better than
almost any one else In school; and he
studied very hard, although he was
young. He would get spice-wood bushes
and hack them up on a log, and put a
few of them in the fire at-a time to
make a light for him to read bla tooka
by. It did not make a very good light,
but it was all he had at night Young
Lincoln, was never good-looking. He
was angular' and awkward. His mother
was a rather slim woman of medium
height Tom Lincoln, his father, was
tall. Abe was not very much like him,
for Tom Lincoln, had a fuller face, and
was of a heavier build."
In answer to a question as to Lin
coln's brothers or sisters, the old man
brightened up and said, '"Oh. yes, he
had a sister. Her name was Sally, and
she was about my age. That was one
reason , why I thought so much of Abo.
But when the Lincoln moved to Indi
ana, 1 did not say good -by to either of
them.
"I next heard of Lincoln several years
afterward. It. waa said that he would
make rails during the summer, and thus
earn money to go to school. Theu' I
heard no more of Lincoln, until he was
nominated for President I told the
boys that no matter what happened I
was going to vote for Abe. I said I
was going to vote for him If It was
the last act of my life, because I had
played with him when a boy, and I waa
glad he had gone up In the world; and I
did vote for him!" said the old man.
Tbe "New Journalism."
Elbridge T. Gerry, the superintendent
of the New York Society for the Pre
vention of Cruelty to Children, has Just
dealt the "uew JourualWm" a severe
blow In a report on the Increase of
crime among the youth of New York.
Mr. Gerry fluds there are many eausea
for juvenile criminality, but the moat
fruitful of all causes are the sensational
newspapers which are published In that
dty papers which seek to make vice
attractive to the young and Ignorant
by going into all the details of every
crime committed, and by picturing
criminals more or let In the light of
heroes. He says he Is not mistaken,
for he has questioned many Juvenile
offenders and has discovered that tbey
obtained most of their Ideas from the
sensational newspa iters, and lie regards
them as much worse than the dime nov
els and other flash literature.
Mr. (Jerry could have had only two
newspapers In mind, ami those are the
two exponents of "new Journalism"
which are striving for supremacy In
their particular field. Their Sunday edi
tiona are a disgrace to tbe Journalistic
profession, filled, aa they are, wtth hor
rible pictures of every deacription, and
It la a serious quf-stlon when the limit
of Indecency will be reached by these
unscrupulous publishers. Cleveland
Leader.
Hearses Race.
Tbe broad, asphalt-paved thorough
fare, known aa Lenox road, leading to
Holy Croaa cemetery, waa tbe scene
tbe other day of an uncanny triangular
race.
Three hearses, each followed by
fifty carriages, raced for tbe cemetery
fate. '
Tbe struggle waa bot, and waa won
by a pair of white boraea drawing a
black hearse.
Tbe enairlng Jam of carriages at the
gata prevented some of the mourners
from reaching the chapel until the bust
roaaa bad been celebrated. New York
Erenrnf World.
Some peopia beller that a man la
charge oi a btwtneae baa a rtgbt t a
eartaln amoavt of anmaooabto fro m
12a wfcn mnt Mt Ml fotxj it
"Old Abe" ad the Hill Boy.
"Here Is an echo from'Corlnth,"
Saying thai, the Past Commander-in-chief
A. G. Welssert pnx-eeded to
relate an incident full of Interest and
one not lacking pathos.
"While at the Eau Claire encamp
ment I met the Hill boys, brothers,
Thomas J. twid John F, You know ours
was tbe Eagle regiment, Eighth Wis
consin. The Hill boys belonged to C.
the Eagle company, the proud bird of
liberty having, been purchased of a
Chippewa Indian by Captain Perkins.
The eagle was with ns all through the
war. He was a friend of every man in
the regiment, but outsiders had to keep
out of his reach. 'Old Abe' that was
his name never missed a luittle. When
the bullets began to fly and cannon to
roar his wings would flap and the eagle
scream was heard.- Sometimes be
would remain on his shield, carried by
a man detailed for that purpose,
throughout a battle, ftnpplng hiR great
wings and giving bis orders In the
eagle language screams that could be
heard by the whole regiment, even
when the din of cracking muj.l.
whistling bullets and the roar and
bursting of shells was the loudest. The
next time he would liiNlst on leaving
his perch and gracefully soar high
aliove the regiment to sound orders
that were Inspiring. When the battle
was over 'Old Abe' would settle down
In our midst and Ktrut around among
the men to be petted aud commended
for the part he bail taken In the con
test. "I didn't start in to tell almut 'Old
Abe,' but to siM-ak of two members of
bis company tli Hill brothers.
"I was chatting with Mayor Frawley
the second day of the encampment
when Street Commissioner Tom Hill
approached, accompanied by another
veteran. 'Excuse me, Mr. Mayor, I
want Comrade WelHsert to meet this
man,' Bald Tom. 'Do you know him?'
I didn't. 'Don't know my . brother
John? Then I recalled the young hero
of Corinth and other battles. After a
few words with John I said: 'Mr. May
or, let me tell you something about
these Hill boys.'
"At the lattle of Corinth our regi
ment, after holding Its line for some
time, was compelled to fall back. While
n akiry? this movement Johnny Hill
was shot through the body and fell as
one dead. One of the Ixiys near him
his brother was at the other end of the
company stopped a moment to se
low lwdly he was hurt. When we
reached Fort Bob! net he ro)Hrted that
Johnny was dead. The enemy had
taken possession of the field over
which we had come and there was no
chuDoe to bring In our wounded or
bury the dead until we had defeated
Van Iorn and Price. It was about
forty-eight hours after Johnny hsd
loen killed that Tom, with pick and
Klde, set out to find and bury his
brother. I can see now how the poor
fellow looked as he moved away from
the company. He was heartbroken at
tbe loss of his brother and s-emed to
have become an old man In a night.
With the pick and spade on bis shoul
der he walked like one infirm from old
age, bla form lent, step unsteady and
eyes on the ground. So be was mov
ing when something happened. Tom
hoard a footstep In front of him. look
ing up he saw the white, pinched face
of his brother. Both stopiel and
tared at each other.
" 'Great God, Johnny, is that you?'
"When the lxy with a bullet bole
clean through him could master his
voice be answered, not much above a
whlaper:
" 'Yea, Tom, but I'm badly hurt.
Where are you going?"
" 'I was going out to bury you, John.'
"Then those two soldier boys fell In
to each other's a rnis.
"As I looked up the mayor was us
ing hia handkerchief and tears were
dampening the wrinkled faces of the
Hill loya, then something took my
voice away for a second, when Tom
came to the rescue by saying;: 'Augey
has told It Just ns it happened.' "-Chicago
Timea-Herakl.
Lincoln sad the Rlave.
. Many statements have been ' made
relative to the famous conference, Feb.
8, 1805, between President Lincoln and
Secretary Seward, for the United
State, and Vice President Alexander
H. Stephen and Messrs. Hunter and
Campbell, on behalf of the Southern
Confederacy, the object of the meeting
being the discussion of terms of peace,
and some persons have acquired the
Idea that President Lincoln waa willing
to make concessions to tbe Confeder
atea for the purpose of securing peace.
That such was not tbe case la evident
from two circumstance. Flrat, the
Southern Confederacy waa practically
In a atate of collapse at the time the
conference waa held. Two years be
fore Lee bad been defeated at Gettys
burg and tbe Confederacy had been
en In two by the capture of Vlcksburg.
Between 1863 and 186S tbe military hla
tory of the South waa one continued
narrative of disaster, and at tbe time
tbe conference was held the Union
armies ware advancing on Richmond
by way of Petersburg, while the oppo
sition to the Union armies in the Want
was weak and lll-dlrsctad. The sec
ond mtMldsrattosi Is thai all aecannta
f tat ewtawes murr b Km stats
Bscs Ct &. LtecLi tixaj n ttrst
Ipropoaltlona aa absolutely pin 'aaarw
even to the discussion of terms of
peace: "1. Iteatoratlon of a nartouai
authority throughout all the Rtatee. 2.
No receding from the position of the
national executive on tbe subject of
slavery. 3. No cessation of hostilities
short of an end of the war and the dis
banding of the fon-eg hostile t the
government." These oflilal i!3te.
ments of the substance and purport of
tbe conference should set forever at
rest the stories almnt Lincoln's willing,
ness to obtain peace at any terms.
Then might have been a time earlier
In the conflict when he would have
been ready to make some concession,
but never to the extent of allowing th
Southern slave-owners to retain theli
property iuterest in human lsdngs.
Oar War HLtorle.
It has been one of the misfortunes ol
the South that she has yet to produce
a writer who would describe ber jart
In the civil war intelligently, faithfully,
and Justly. Victor's chronicles, writ;
ten while the -cho of battles was still
ringing in bis pars, Is an absurd per
formance. Some critic long ago re
marked of him that If he bad been told
that one Southern soldier had confront
ed a Union army and had demanded In
stant surrender, and the army had im
mediately laid down its arms to him,
Victor would have swallowed the yarn,
book, bait aud sinker. Pollard's "Lo?
Cause" is a more Interesting and ljctter
written lxiok. but it Is Infected with
this exaggeration and with a partisan
ship which did the South much harm
when It was published, and which even
now, when we can be calm over these
things, jsecni very foolish. Jefferson
Davis' history is a cumlersmo affair,
which probably not fifty persons have
ever even read after tolling through the
first volume, and Alexander H. Ste
vens' narrative is too philosophical for
. popular comprehension. There has
Imhmi a swnrm of small writers In the
South who have evidently made Pol
lard their model. I have come across
one or two of th- lr histories for schools,
or for the people, within a year or two.
It Is Impossible to read them without
exceeding anger ' or convusions of
laughter. Dr. Jones, a clergyman, has
prepared one which Is a continuous
rhapsody of Southern valor from the
first to the Inst chapter and a gross ex
aggeration of Northern faults. It la
Intolerable that a new generation In
tbe South should be fed on such stuff
ns this at the hands of a member of the
sacred profession who has alxmt as
much Unless for writing history as
George Francis Train has to disburse
on the philosophy of human reason,
It Is a remarkable fact that Horace
Greeley's "American Conflict," written
post haste In his spare hour from edi
torial work, and In large part while the
rebellion was still on, and with Frank
Moore's "Kcconl" as chief authority, Is
really at this late day the best narra
tive from the pen of a Northern man.
Contentious, partisan that he was,
Greeley nevertheless, with his powerful
memory, his comprehension of the
whole subject from Its beginning In the
early slavery agitations and his news
paper Instincts, produced two volumes
which, If they were edited in order to
excise the Inaccuracies of hasty com
position, would still be one of the very
fairest accounts we have as to how we
got Into the war and how we got out of
It The truth Is that a complete, ac
curate aud Impartial history of the re
leIllon has yet to le written. The
Count of Paris has come nearer to it
than any one, but he lacks Insight Into
the civil and social conditions of the
people, and the great value of his work
Is from the standpoint of the military
critic, writing largely for tacticians In
the art of soldiership and for scholars.
The amount of Northern literature on
the subject from the pen of word mon
gers and partisan hacks Is appalling,
but In the past fifteen years, since
Northern newspapers and magazines
began to find that It was safe for them
to give the Southern versions of bat
tles, slegea and campaigns, there has
been a vast winnowing of the chaff, as
well as an accumulation of a great re
pository of solid information. There
could be nobler task for a w-holar of
leisure than to apply himself to it for
twenty years and evolve from it the
history which both the people of the
North and the South will accept, which
will have the spirit of the bench and
not the bar, In which the author will
look to 2000 and not lftOO for his fame,
and which, like Hallam's "History of
the English Constitution," will win the
encomium of all parties arid sections,
as It did seventy years ago, of being In
Its class the most Impartial book ever
written. Philadelphia Bulletin.
One of Lincoln's' DUpatrhc.
In his "Campaigning- with Grant," In
the Century, General Horace Porter
tells of General Halleck's fear of trou
ble from the enforcing of the draft, and
bis desire that Grant' should send
troops to the Northern cities. General
Porter soya: On tbe evening of August
17 Grant waa sitting in front of his
quarters, with several staff officers
about him, when the telegraph opera,
tor came over from Iris tent and hand
ed him a dispatch. He opened It, and
aa he proceeded with the reading Ma
face became suffused with am lies. Af
ter he had finished It he broke Into a
hearty laugh. We were curious to know
what could produce ao much merriment
In the general In tbe midst of the fry
ing circumstances which surrounded
htm. Tie cast hie eyes over the dis
patch again, and tbeu remarked; "The
President has more nerve than any of
his advisers. This la what he saya after
reading my reply to HaMock's dis
patch." He then read aloud to us the
following:
" 'J bar your Alapateh express
ing your unwillingness to break you,
bold where yon are. Neither am I will
ing. HoU on with a NIMof grip, and
ebaw gttfl cboks as much aa possible.
'K UNOOLN"
