"Lord knows, we-uns did n't want him," said Marvin. "We-uns ain't gifted in goadin' sech a critter ez him, like old man Griff. We can't git work enough out'n him ter make him wuth the stealin'. He jes' kem up ter whar we-uns lived, one night. I reckon 't war jes' a few nights arter he war flung in the water. He looked mighty peaked."

"An' I never see a critter so hongry," put in the pullet boldly from her seat in the chimney corner, her long yellow feet dangling beneath her short homespun skirt, her hair, which was luxuriant, gathered in a sort of top-knot on her head, "thout 't war Jeb thar." She gave a cackling laugh of elation at this thrust, as she knitted off her needle in a manner that might make one wonder to see a pullet so deft.

Jeb good-naturedly grinned, and Marvin went on:

"We reckoned he war a spy for the revenuers, kase they 'lowed we would n't s'pect sech ez him, sent ter find out edzac❜ly whar the place be, an' we war 'feared ter let him go back."

Harshaw winced.

"So we jes' kerried him off along o' we-uns. Mebbe 't war n't right, but folkses sech ez we-uns air can't be choosers."

"Naw, sir; else we can't be folkses," said "hongry Jeb."

How could he grin, with that lean, ghastly countenance, whenever he contemplated his terrible jeopardy!

"Ef Tad hed been well keered fur at home I'd hev felt wuss, but 't would n't hev made no differ," said Marvin; "but I know'd I could do better by him 'n old Griff."

"Mink's in jail now for drowning him," said Harshaw, surprised at his own boldness.

"Waal, stranger," said Marvin satirically, evidently going to make the best of it, "the court air gin over ter makin' mistakes, an' we pay taxes ter support a S'preme Court ter make some mo'.

The sound of the rain on the roof was intermitted at intervals, and the wind lifted a desolate voice in the solitudes. The sense of the vast wilderness without, measureless, trackless, infinitely melancholy, preyed upon the consciousness. Perhaps Harshaw, in the quick transition from the artificial life of the world, was more susceptible to the influence, more easily abashed, confronted with the grave, austere, and august presence of Nature. He had a fleeting remembrance of life gush of soft light; the mingled sound of music and the babbling of the fountain in the rotunda of the hotel; the Capitol building, seen sometimes through morning fogs and contending sunshine, isolated in the air above the roofs of the surrounding town, like a fine mirage, some castellated illusion; and again its white limestone walls ponderously imposed, every line definite, upon the deep blue midday sky.

in the city: the

That other sphere of his existence seemed for the moment more real to him; he had a reluctance as of awakening from a trance, as he gazed at the unkempt circle of mountaineers about the dying fire.

They were beginning to yawn heavily now. Marvin was laying the chunks together and covering them with ashes, to keep the coals till morning. Harshaw looked on meditatively. Once, as he lifted his eyes, he became aware that they were all covertly watching him with curiosity and speculation.

Charles Egbert Craddock.

THE various temperance organizations of the country have been endeavoring for some time to secure the appointment, by Congress, of a commission to inquire into and report upon the effects of the liquor traffic. During the last session, a bill providing for such a commission passed the Senate; that being the sixth time the upper chamber had testified its willingness to make the investigation. The annual report of the National Temperance Society relates succinctly the further fortune of the measure: "In the House of Representatives the Senate bill has been reported adversely, with a minority report in its favor, by the Select Committee on the Alcoholic Liquor-Traffic. It is not probable that the bill will pass the present House." When it is remembered that the public conscience is at present manifesting unprecedented sensitiveness on the temperance question, and that the gravity and extent of the drink-evil are recognized more generally to-day than ever before, the apparent apathy of the popular branch of the national legislature is the more striking. It is possibly true that the commission asked for would, if appointed, effect little. But the mischief done by drink is so palpable, the waste of capital upon it is so enormous, its action as a generator of crime is so direct and patent, its agency as an obstacle to progress and a check to civilization is so positive and undeniable, that it does not seem easy for an ostensibly representative body to make any valid defense of its refusal to inquire formally into a subject of such importance and scope.

But it is not Congress alone that in this matter appears to be in opposition to a strong and constantly growing popular sentiment. In two States, New York and New Jersey, the legislatures

have recently refused to give the people the opportunity to vote upon the temperance question. In neither of these cases have the politicians who took this course any explanation to offer which can be regarded as justifying their action. How is it, then, that while, in the absence of absorbing political issues, this great question is attracting more and more attention among the people, the politicians of both the old parties seem to close their ears, shut their eyes, and turn their backs with increasing obstinacy to all demands and solicitations on behalf of temperance? The answer to this question is not hard to find. It is that party politics in the United States to-day are controlled by the saloon, and that when action against the drink-evil is proposed politicians revolt as from a parricidal proposition. For many years the political corruption of American cities has been a source of perplexity to reformers. All kinds of schemes for amending and purifying municipal government have been devised, but none of them have proved successful. Changes of party control have simply substituted hungry spoilsmen for gorged

ones.

There have been now and then flashes of improvement, but they have passed quickly, and the old knavery, plunder, and bad government have returned. In vain have Citizens' parties, Independent parties, all manner of new experiments, been tried. Against every effort at reform the discipline and power of the saloon have prevailed, and have restored the old conditions. Long ago the saloou abolished party politics in our largest cities. To-day, in every such city, the local government is vested in neither party, but is in the hands of the saloon itself. Nominally, the government may be Democratic or Republican. Actually, it is in commission by

a band of venal politicians, who have no convictions or principles, who trade and "swap" opportunities for plunder with one another, who act as agents for the so-called party leaders, but who acknowledge allegiance only to the saloon.

A government" of the people, by the people, and for the people" is the ideal of democracy; but the American people assuredly do not enjoy it at present, whatever they may do in the future. The delusion that the suffrage as now exercised enables any citizen to express his own opinions is perhaps less widely diffused than formerly, but even yet it interferes with a just comprehension of the hold the saloon has obtained upon our politics. In order to make the situation intelligible a few figures are here necessary. There are in round numbers 135,000 saloons in the country. These places and the 8000 wholesale liquor stores together absorb every year a revenue estimated at from seven to nine hundred million dollars. It is in the cities that the saloon is most powerful. Now, the ten largest cities in the Union namely, New York, Philadelphia, Brooklyn, Chicago, Boston, St. Louis, Baltimore, Cincinnati, San Francisco, and New Orleans - contain nearly one tenth of the entire population of the country, while fifty other cities, of 30,000 and over, contain another tenth; so that sixty cities comprise one fifth of the whole population. It is in these cities that the saloon is most strongly intrenched, and it is here that it exercises that mastery in politics which renders it so formidable and so mischiev

ous.

What have the seven thousand saloons of New York city done for her? They have fastened upon her citizens the most shamefully corrupt government ever endured by a community indulging in the illusion that it was free; they have almost made it impossible for an honest, educated man to touch local politics, much less take office; they have

degraded the conduct of public affairs to their own low level; they have brutalized every institution they have had to do with; they have perverted and spoiled the democratic system, making a hissing and a reproach of American citizenship and the suffrage, establishing political shambles, pandering to the worst vices of the worst classes, defiling everything decent and pure with their ribald scoffing, and producing at intervals, as proof of their quality, tendencies, and power, such abominable scandals as that of the Tweed Ring, or the more recent sale of votes in the board of aldermen. But evil as are the results of the combination between the saloon and the politicians, it is not just to hold the latter responsible for all the mischief they cause. In truth, they are the result of conditions which could not produce anything better, and it is unreasonable to blame the product while refusing to interfere with the generating agencies. The saloon is an arrangement for the maintenance and propagation of the worst vice with which humanity is afflicted; a vice which destroys every elevating influence, kills shame, manhood, ambition, family affection, honor, all that makes life worth living; a vice which fosters brutality, self-indulgence, and all the train of ignoble and degrading passions. and inclinations. Now, the purpose and intent of the saloon being what it is, the developments noted are simply what ought to have been expected when so large a share in the government of the country was permitted to be seized by this sinister agency. The American system of government is theoretically sound. The means of education are accessible to all. But when our children have passed through the public schools and enter into active life, if they wish to take part in public affairs they must descend to the saloon for instruction in politics, and in the same institution the foreign immigrants must graduate before they can exercise the right of cit

izenship. These are our political schools, in fact, and they give the tone to our politics, city, state, and national. The candidate for office finds it indispensable to "make himself solid with" the rum power. He must buy the favor of the saloon-keepers. He must frequent these places and flatter the vanity of those who gather there. Through them he must obtain the votes of the idle, the vicious, the criminal, classes. He must become familiar with all the ward "strikers" and loafers. He must be represented at the caucuses which are always held where drink abounds. He must defer to the views of men of the lowest intelligence. He must subscribe to platforms drawn up by demagogues and time-servers. Is it any wonder that self-respecting men so often shrink from these ordeals, and prefer the obscurity of private life to a political career demanding such sacrifice and such debasement? The foreigner who lands in this .country obtains his first ideas of its governmental system from the saloon. There he is introduced to the lowest intrigues of factional conflict. There he is taught that the chief end and aim of politics is to make as much as possible for the "workers." There he is enlisted into one or the other of the great organizations which have reduced party politics to periodical battles for plunder, to contests for the opportunity to misgovern. There he learns that honor and principle are simply "molasses to catch flies," as a notorious politician once expressed it. There he is made to understand that he is not expected to think for himself, but that he must obey implicitly the party mandates, reverence the saloon-keepers of his ward, submit himself humbly to his "boss," and on election day be thankful that he can sell his vote for a couple of dollars or a debauch on bad whiskey. This is no fanciful picture. There is not a considerable city in the United States in which purchased votes are not cast by the thou

sand at every important election, and these votes are almost invariably bought and paid for in and through the saloon.

It is absurd to expect that under such a state of things politics can be anything but corrupt. It is absurd to look, in parties dependent upon the saloon, for enlightened patriotism, progressive policies, or any real care for the welfare of the nation. The country is now in a defenseless condition. All the riches of its sea-board cities lie at the mercy of any fifth-rate power with which we may happen to quarrel. Yet it has been impossible to rouse Congress to action. While throwing itself with feverish zeal into struggles over place and patronage, while exhibiting demagogic eagerness in squandering the public funds upon unnecessary local works, it has shown itself indifferent to this vital question; has betrayed a want of public spirit which would be remarkable and perplexing, were it not apparent that members have been desirous only of enacting measures redounding to their personal or party advantage. A Congress which refuses to investigate the liquor traffic, and will not authorize the necessary appropriations for the defense of the coasts against foreign enemies, is in one sense a pattern legislature. It is a pattern, that is to say, of the best that can be expected from the saloon in politics. It can be relied upon to protect the rum power. It cannot be relied upon to defend the country against invasion from without or corruption from within.

But nothing is to be gained by putting all the weight of responsibility upon the congressmen. It cannot be too strongly insisted upon that they are what the political system makes them. If the people want a Congress of patriotic, upright, independent, able men, they must provide other machinery for electing them. At present, they are for the most part representatives less of the public than of the saloon, and it would be carping criticism to say that they are

not worthy of their origin. In the ru ral districts and in a few Western States, it is still possible for a candidate to be chosen on his merits, without selfhumiliation. But in the cities those who seek office can scarcely avoid demagogism and venality, for they can only run subject to the indorsement of the rum power. As regards municipal offices, the record is so clear and full that little remains to be said. The kind of political judgment cultivated by the saloon has been exhibited lately in a startling way. What it produces cannot be better described than in the words of Tennyson:

"Men loud against all forms of power,
Unfurnish'd brows, tempestuous tongues,
Expecting all things in an hour,
Brass mouths and iron lungs !"

However wild and foolish and impolitic the demands of saloon-made socialism may be, nevertheless, he who seeks public office where it is influential must avow his belief in its wisdom and justice, and declare his readiness to further its aims. So it is that fuddled anarchism finds a hearing, and that the subversive doctrines which have been filtered through the beer-keg and the whiskey-bottle are sometimes paraded solemnly as the expression of American public opinion.

Yet it will not avail us to rail at the work of the saloon. If we choose to establish competitive examinations in politics on the principle of the Dutch auction, giving the highest marks to those who show the least merit, rewarding demagogism and lack of principle and venality with offices, and disqualifying for the public service such as will not stoop to baseness or corruption for their own advancement, we have no right to complain of the results of the methods we have adopted. Nor can we with reason find fault because, after subject ing our least advanced classes to the degrading and brutalizing influences of the saloon, they learn their lessons more thoroughly than we expected, and threat

en the country with the danger of a venal proletariat. We are reaping as we have sown. We have chosen to ignore the growth of this evil. We have shut our eyes obstinately to the real cause of the political corruption scourging us. We have allowed partisanship to blind us to the inevitable consequences of alliance or even compromise with the rum power. We have valued votes only, caring nothing how they were obtained. We have let things drift until the influence of the saloon in politics has become almost paramount.

Many men of sound capacity have wondered why the idea of woman suffrage has not made more progress in this country. The usual explanation has been that the measure is incompatible with "practical politics," and a variety of minor objections have been raised, as that women "know nothing of public questions," that "they are wanting in judgment," and so forth. When the fearful mess that men have made of politics is impartially considered, it can scarcely be maintained soberly that women, however inexperienced, could do much worse. It is, indeed, hardly possible to conceive of worse being done by any kind of creatures. But there are obviously some things now done by men which women could be trusted not to do. For example, we may be quite sure that they would not squander five hundred million dollars a year in strong drink, and then coolly ignore this extravagance, and threaten to revolutionize the country on the ground that they were not receiving their fair share of the wealth they produced. They would not, we may be confident, strike for eight hours a day while permitting their husbands to work sixteen. They would not, at the week's end, spend seven eighths of their wages in the saloon, and then beat their hungry and naked children instead of feeding and clothing them. But when one thinks of the suffering and misery which the saloon inflicts upon woman,