lency, for all his iciness, would half forget his stern campaigns in laughing at your wit. As for poor André, I think he loved you well. Poor André! Margaret, had I insisted with more passion, think you they would have given me for him? I do not mean that André would have acquiesced. I know his mettle. He would have no exchange,- at least, he would not have owned that my value was commensurate with his. You recollect the day we saw his stone in Westminster Abbey? Ah, I shall not rest there—and yet compare my deeds with his, he but a young adventurer hardly breathed for battle, I old in valorous deeds! It is not just. But I was never treated justly. Gates stole my laurels, Congress passed five men above my head, and every meddling knave of Pennsylvania cried out at me for my administration of affairs, bringing disgrace on me for immaterial things, and forcing reprimand from Washington for trifling, inadvertent acts of questionable policy, tainting me with corruption,me, who was never venal! I cared for no authority save that I won on fightingfield. Oh, Margaret, the world has been but an ill friend to me. MARGARET. Oh, cease complaining of these ancient wrongs! Your sons shall give you comfort now. Your wars are passed. Be comforted and live at peace. His officers forget And in America I What other man can ARNOLD. Where? Where? The king has called himself my friend, but now his son rejects my sword. me when we meet. have not one friend. say this tragic thing? I asked once of an officer captive within the British lines: "What would they do, think you, if they should capture me?" "Cut off your shortened leg," said he, "wounded at Quebec and once again at Saratoga, and bury it with all the honors of fair war. The rest of you would hang upon a gibbet." That's what he said, that prisoner. No, not a friend have I, dear Margaret, save youalways my friend- always my mistress, reverenced beyond words, always my patient wife. MARGARET (kissing his hands). They are too moist and cold, these hands. See, I will warm them in my own. [Arnold lies half dreaming for a long time. The candles burn quite out. A faint light creeps into the room about the edges of the curtains. But it darkens again as if with sudden storm, and there is a renewed sound of the falling rain.] ARNOLD (dreaming again). A thousand yearsa thousand, thousand years. MARGARET. Awaken, love. Your dreams are troublesome. (She wipes his brow, and notes the moisture on the handkerchief.) Awaken, and look up in my eyes-the eyes of your poor wife, who loves you well. ARNOLD (feebly). Who loves me well. (Silence for a little, then faintly and happily he speaks again.) Peggy! Ah, there you are, my prettiest! Never was any nymph so fair as Peggy Shippen, my pretty Desdemona, who "loved me for the dangers I had passed"! What a grave suitor I must have seemed to her- was it not so, dear Peg? But then you came to me in spite of all, and left a train of loud-lamenting lovers in the lurch. Right gallant lovers, eh, Peg, were they not? Poor André nay, do not shake your head. He was of the company, though you may make denial. What a fair bride you were, sweet Mistress Arnold, and what proud gentlemen have made them merry at your board, and gone drunk on the subtle witchery of your smiles! Ah, you have always made me blest in spite of hell. In hell's despite and I have been in hell a thousand, thousand years. Why, that's the thing you did not understand, my dear. That is what I was trying to tell you. I must have been in hell a thousand, thousand years. Pray, am I never to be taken out? I think that mercy might take visible form once more for me. I care not in what guise she comes-how hideous, how singular, how desperate, so that I feel her intercession. I should not always be accursed, it seems to me - I who ever tried to act with wisdom. Why, what was my offence? Come, answer me, do you know why the world is snapping at my heels? Come, you must listen. You are the only person here - unless there is someone hiding beyond the curtains of the bed and you must hear the reason. was because I was not narrow-minded like the rest! I was no frantic partisan, but a man of open mind, of much experience, and with many friends of varying faiths. What folly to call me traitor! How often had I proved my patriotism? Think of the Boston massacre, of Lexington, of Ticonderoga, and the capture of St. Johns. Remember the long march through the wilderness to Quebec, of the starvation and the utter weariness, the treating with the Indians, the exploit on the Plains of Abraham, and how I held It Quebec. Recall the conflict on Lake Champlain, and how I played the British till my ships escaped, then ran my ship aground and burned her at the water's edge. Is it not history how I saved Fort Stanwix, fighting the French and Indians, and how at Saratoga I fought on two red fields, and to this day am maimed because of those experiences? Ah, Margaret, you recollect how they welcomed me home, the citizens of Connecticut, and how his Excellency, Washington, sent me the epaulettes and the good sword-knots? I was well loved then. I was well trusted then. Oh, why did the injustice of my country drive me at last to a revenge which has but victimized myself? Oh, why in God's name did I betray my trust? Margaret, Margaret, my guardian angel, where were you when I planned that dreadful drama for myself? Could you not read my mind you, who loved me so? Could you not have saved me from myself? I used to look at you, so innocent, so happy with your babe, so beautiful, all smiles and sweet content, and marvel that you could not know the tumult of my soul. I used to think my seething misery must show upon my brow. In my fancy I heard you join the hue and cry against me, and call me traitor before I was such, save in my mad, prophetic dreams-save in the deeps of my conspiring soul. General! Summon MARGARET (in much alarm). compose yourself. For love of me- for love of your poor wife, be calm. ARNOLD. Call Waterhouse. him quickly. I want my servant. [Waterhouse enters without being summoned, as if he had waited without the door.] ARNOLD (with a weak assumption of command). Waterhouse, come here! Go find the uniform I used to wear when I was in the wars. What's that? No, not the one King George put on me. Do you not see that I am dying, Waterhouse? Why should I clothe myself in a renegade's outfit at this solemn hour? I want the one I wore when I rode with Washington, and he held the right column and I held the left. I want my Continental uniform, Waterhouse, and the epaulettes and the sword-knots his Excellency sent with compliments and messages of love. (Exit Waterhouse.) MARGARET (passionately). 'Tis a capitulation, General! O, love, be true to your untruth. Stand fast to your position. You elected which side you were to take. You know you often have assured me you man, help me, help me handily into those garments. Quick, quick. Your aid, Margaret! (He struggles to his feet and stands wavering between his companions for a moment.) Adjust that lapel and secure those epaulettes. And now my sword, good Waterhouse. You've brought the old sword with you, have you not? There hold me up, between you, so! 'Tis a good uniform, my Margaret. And his Excellency sent me these epaulettes for valor at Saratoga, and to comfort me for wounds. Can you not hold me steadier? (He makes a futile effort to draw his sword, relinquishes it, and grasps his heart with both hands.) Peggy, Peggy, I am near the end, and death shall find me in my old uniform. Oh, would to God that I had never worn another! God forgive me! God be merciful to me! Would I had worn none save this! Peggy, open the-the windows. Let me lielie down again. The rust has eaten its way through my-my heart as I told you that it would. A soldier's heart will rust in such inaction, as you know. No use for me- the Duke had no use for me-in all the lands there was no flag for which I dared to fight. They - they feared I would-would betray it, Margaret! O God, what vile corroding rust! And now the vicious jest, to take me in this dress! Who would have thought Death was-was a jester, Margaret? (A momentary silence, then, suddenly, with sharpness of tone.) Waterhouse, open that window! EDITORIAL COMMENT Canada and One of the matters sought the Alaskan to be adjusted by the inBoundary ternational Joint High Commission in relation to Canada was, it will be remembered, the settlement of the vexed Alaskan boundary. When the Commission rose last spring no agreement was come to. Since then, as the matter pressed, in consequence of the discovery of gold in the Klondike and Canada's need of a port of entry at tidewater, an effort has been made through the American Secretary of State and our Ambassador in England, in concert with the English Foreign Office, to arrive at some satisfactory issue by a provisional modus vivendi. This, however, has failed, temporarily only, we trust,- owing to the stiff position taken by the Canadian government in regard to the point at issue and to an unyielding attitude on the question of submitting it to arbitration. The matter in dispute is surrounded by such difficulty that the lay mind, especially where the study of the problem has not been close and intimate, cannot readily determine on which of the contending sides the right of the question lies. The case is complicated by age, for the origin of the trouble dates back to the treaty of 1825 between Russia and Great Britain and to the interpretation put upon it in defining the boundary separating British territory from the prolongation of the Alaskan shore front, which extends southeastward from Mt. St. Elias to 54.40° north latitude; in other words, to the southeastern extremity of Prince of Wales Island. This strip of shore front, which extends inland ten marine leagues from the coast, was, with the entire area of Alaska, acquired in 1867 by the United States by purchase from Russia. The crux of the matter, so far as Canada is concerned, lies in the question whether the strip of coast, ten marine leagues in extent, should be measured from the coast proper, or from the outer fringe of islands which gem upper British Columbian waters. Solution of the difficulty is retarded rather than aided by the state ment in one of the articles in the treaty, to the effect that the line of demarcation shall run along the range of hills which follows the sinuosities of the coast from Portland Canal to Mt. St. Elias. If the American contention is the correct one, then Canada is deprived of the ports on the inlet on which Dyea and Skaguay are situate, in the vicinity of the Chilcoot Pass-the marine entrance to the gold fields of the Klondike. If, on the other hand, the Canadian claim can be made good, then our northern neighbor has what she desires, and the diplomats will have nothing more to say. Meanwhile, England naturally stands by her dependency in arguing the matter out, and until a decision is come to there will be sure to be more or less local, and probably some international, friction. In presence of the problem, which is an exceedingly difficult one to unravel, journalism can do little more than counsel patience and forbearance and wish a speedy solution of the difficulty. On Canada's account, as well as on that of the imperial country, with which we have the best reasons for continuing to be on amicable terms, everyone on this side the line must desire an early and satisfactory settlement of the contentious matter. Its solution, in any case, should not be beyond the powers of a select body of fair-minded and capable arbitrators. The Passing of The iconoclast, Colonel RobIngersoll ert G. Ingersoll, passes to the tomb, we apprehend, with few real and genuine regrets. The sudden demise of a man of his gifts and whilom prominence came, no doubt, as a shock to many; while his family and circle of immediate friends, in his passing from their midst, must have felt a sense of keen loss and personal bereavement. His was a career, however, with an unenviable distinction, as all must feel who respect the fundamental beliefs of mankind and regard with becoming reverence the religious foundation on which, rightly or wrongly, they are built. In Ingersoll's opinion, entirely baseless and illusory were these beliefs, though why they were so he did not, and could not with certitude, tell us. He was not himself a scholar and had no training in exegetics or in the science of criticism: he even seemed to lack belief in the moral sense as well as in the spiritual nature of man, since that must be non-existent which rests on no higher basis than utility and is without the sanctions of divine authority and conscience. In the mystery that surrounds life, as well as in the presence of the infinite, Ingersoll chose to play the poor rôle of the derider and mocker and to treat sacred things as a jest. He professed to pay tribute to truth; but truth is not reached in the intolerant temper of the demagogic platform declaimer, nor in that which mocks the humble, trustful worshipper, scoffs at religion, and traduces its professors. To ridicule faith and speak of Christianity as a religion of superstition is a pitiful performance; but the act becomes despicable when one sets out, as Ingersoll did, to make a trade of reviling sacred things and to inculcate the spirit of irrev erence. In this country especially, the evil of this deriding of religion has been appalling in its effect on the character of the masses. Not only has it lowered the tone of communities where the malign influence has had sway, it has also produced coarseness of speech and repulsiveness of habits and manners, taken the bloom from feminine delicacy, and in the stronger sex given a terrible license to evil-doing. The newspaper we opened that reported the death of Ingersoll chronicled no less than six murders in different sections of the country, all of them hideous in their tragic recitals; while a saturnalia of Satanism was indicated by other horrors set forth in the journal. It would obviously be unfair to hold Mr. Ingersoll alone responsible for such dark blots on our social system; but many of them are undoubtedly traceable to the removal of religious restraints, which to the reflecting mind is the great sorrow of the time, and to the spread of secular thought, with its habitual irreverence and jeerings at things sacred, with which the infidel lecturer long identified himself, and to the service of which he prostituted both his gifts and his influence. Nor can we excuse the mocking and the profane jesting on the gratuitous plea that religion is a superstition, the miracles a delusion, and revelation a priestly-imposed fraud. Ag nosticism, we may allow, is at liberty to doubt; but where it is honest, even though it is wanting in modesty and good manners, it is not free to assail. Secular thought may be impatient with the miraculous, but to our finite minds are not both man and the universe stupendous miracles; and has science, with all its strides, proved the supernatural out of existence? Until it has done so, and conclusively, surely Ingersollism makes a large demand upon human credulity in asking us to renounce our comforting faith-even though in holding it, in these days of much speculative thought and perplexing doubt, it at times satisfies our hearts more than it satisfies our intellects. The That there are difficulties in the theistic conception of the universe and our relations to it and its author, we all know. Evolution has altered our views concerning many things, and biblical criticism has put a new aspect upon our interpretations of many parts of Revelation. But these facts only prove that the world is still advancing and that the human mind has not yet reached its full development. There is hence little justification for being dogmatic in regard to things whereof we are ignorant. In matters of faith, it may be asked, is the negative doctrine any more susceptible of proof than the affirmative? If not, why assail beliefs that do honor to our better nature and are in unison with our highest spiritual aspirations? best of men the world has known have had believing minds. The greatest intellects have often been the most trusting as well as the most reverent and humble. Whatever the genesis of our personal consciousness, it is almost impossible to rid ourselves of the conviction that death does not end all, and that there is a Power above us in whose hands we are, whatever perplexities we may have as to our origin and destiny. That that Power has not chosen to manifest or reveal Himself to us as our longing hearts sometimes would wish is perhaps only that we may obey the scriptura! injunction to feel after Him that happily we may find Him. "As many as received Him,» -SO runs Holy Writ,-"to them gave He power to become the sons of God." Better surely, then, the hope rather than the denial and the doubt—the hope that in the sum of things it may be well with the race, and that each of us, when the bar comes to be crossed, may see our Pilot face to face. Meanwhile the braggart at titude of sceptical doubt becomes no man: far more seemly is the spirit of confiding trust, as it was comfortingly expressed by the poet Whittier, in the well-known lines "I know not where His islands lift The Secretaryship At last Mr. Alger with- The relief is great now that Mr. Alger has taken himself off, and it is a pity that public tolerance should have permitted him so long to cumber the office whose duties he has but perfunctorily performed. Why Mr. McKinley has himself not acted sooner, in relieving the Secretary of his position, is a question that need hardly be asked. We know only too well to what interests the President is himself indebted for his own election, and into what hands a so-called elective Presidency falls, which is the prize-however we delude ourselves to the contrary-of party wirepullers who control the nominations. Under such a system, which our best and most independent minds deplore, can we wonder that public offices, high and low alike, are so often filled by men of merely average ability, and that their occupants are so seldom men of either resource or distinction? We do not specially quarrel with average intelligence, so long as there are compensating qualities in the men who aspire to and accept positions of great responsibility and high trust. In Mr. Alger's case we shall be disappointed if we look for those compensating qualities. In the incumbent of the office we have had neither high intelligence nor, we fear, single-hearted devotion to the public service. Nor does the late Secretary seem to have had the least glimmer of a notion of the demands of his office at a critical juncture in the nation's affairs, or of the necessity incumbent upon him, either to make way for a more competent person to fill the post, or to put upon the proper shoulders the burdens and exactions incident to the efficient conduct of the war. This, we trust, is not to speak more harshly than the truth warrants, especially when we remember what calamities in the past year of the nation's history have come of inefficiency and partisanship in the administration of this important office. No little share in these reflections has Mr. McKinley to bear for prolonging the anxieties and delaying expected results, especially in the present Philippine campaign, as well as in the entire direction of the war with Spain and her late subjects. A proper conception of his duty, were there no political entanglements to stay his hand, would have led the President many months ago to demand Mr. Alger's resignation of his office, despite the scruple, which under the circumstances he might well disregard, that the Secretary was constantly "under fire." In the new appointment, of Mr. Elihu Root, the President, it would seem, has made ample amends. tion and the Philippines Situation The Administra- Now that Mr. Alger has withdrawn from office — and nothing, we ought to say, is more creditable to that gentleman than the manner of his retirement-the Administration has the opportunity of doing something effectively for the suppression of the Tagal revolt in the Philippines and the pacification and reorganization of the country. The task of reducing insurgency in Luzon has now been long enough on our hands, when we consider the little that has been accomplished, and the nation is naturally becoming impatient at the tardy and lagging conduct of the campaign. If the people |