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shown by Taylor's method of government and in the trial of Goebel's assassins, was execrable. When this hatred had secured the demoralization of Republicanism in Kentucky, and the name of Goebel was no longer required to strengthen the party against their opponents, it was employed (and still is to some extent) to secure the victory or the defeat of aspirants for nomination by the party; and the dead man, sleeping for years in his grave overlooking the Capital, was used to elect a Squire or County Judge.

Howe's conservatism had not been strong enough to lead him to abandon the party, which fact had rendered him eligible when, for the second time, he presented himself as candidate for the office of Judge. He had known that neither he nor the party would gain by an effort to hold it to its ancient creed against the tidal wave of change. He felt that there would be a turn which would lead it pack to its old channel; if not, he would go down with it to destruction. When the foreshadowed time arrived, he was among the foremost of the reactionists. Prudent, cool, calculating, and silent, he had done more than men were aware of to restore the party, in his county, to its old moorings; and, as the whole depends on its parts, the change there was experienced elsewhere. and operated toward a similar good. Yet, he was wary. He did not place too much confidence in the strength, as yet, of the reaction. It was gaining, there could be no doubt, and, if not disturbed, in time the name of Goebel, mouthed by the unscrupulous, could not, as in the past, make men deaf to the appeal to reason. To foster that return to right principle was, he thought, worth any sacrifice.

The announcement of his wish to represent the district in Congress had met with a flattering reception, especially in Bourbon, where native pride was

touched. He was their own, and portrayed what was best in their land. In that national assembly they could not be shamed, with Howe for their envoy. But he was too well versed in the study of political life to confide too greatly in this outbreak of enthusiasm. He had kept clear of too close an alliance with candidates for county offices until Dick Talbot had decided to enter the race for Attorney. Talbot was one of the strong men of the county; furthermore, he was Howe's friend. The campaign managers asked Howe to support Talbot, and, as the instincts of friendship suggested the same course, he unhesitatingly complied. Talbot's opponent was a young lawyer and the son-in-law of Editor Brady.

On reaching home that Thursday evening, he found awaiting him a card from Brady, asking him to call at the office immediately. For a moment he stood looking at the words, whose halfdefiant tone presaged the future antagonism. As he slowly tore it into bits, Mrs. Delgare entered the library. The drive through the crisp air had brought a tinge of color to her cheeks. She carried a bunch of autumn leaves in her

hand. As she came toward him in the shaded light of the room, she was the incarnation of beautiful September.

"I need not inquire if you enjoyed your drive," he said. "Your face is alleloquent."

"I am tempted to use the language of girlhood and call my afternoon's pleasure 'divine,'" she replied, laying the tinted foliage on the table. "I do not wonder that you people of the Blue Grass are so enthusiastic over your country. It deserves all the praise given it."

"This is your first visit?" he asked. "I was here once, when a child. My home is in Boone County."

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eral Basil Duke calls it, and 'beautiful' he might have added," said Howe. "Are you acquainted there?" she inquired.

"I have friends living near Florence," he answered.

"Perhaps you knew my father, or some of our relatives-Grayson was his name," she inquired, lifting a shaded face to him.

"I have not had that pleasure," he replied, after a after a moment's reflection. "But that is not strange, as my visits there have always been snatches. One of the good things I am promising myself," he added, with a smile, "is a long vacation among the hills of Boone."

As he studied her face he noticed that the light had left her eyes, the color had faded from the cheek. The transition had been effected so quickly, it struck him as strange, and he wondered if reference to her home place had been the cause. Regretting his inadvertance, he continued quickly:

"Yet it is long in coming, and the present shows no hint of its fulfillment." She was looking at the leaves and touching them with soft fingers. His eyes fell to her hands as he spoke, and he saw they were white, slender, with ringless fingers, except the one on which shone her marriage band. His glance rested for a moment on it, bringing a pulsing pain to his heart. It was narrow and yellow. He saw it was like his mother's in width and color. He withdrew his eyes to meet hers. Their expression disconcerted him, at first. It looked haughtily questioning. After that electric pause, she said:

"I do not know but that it is better, on the whole, to be tied to the wheel of constant effort. I do not know that we are the gainers by rest. I should rather wear out by friction than by rust."

As she spoke she lifted the autumn bouquet and, saying something about the nearness of dinner, left the room, he

opening the door for her. As he returned to the fire, a red leaf on the floor caught his eyes. He stooped and lifted it with eager fingers. He imagined it to be one of those she had touched. Recalling her eyes, he felt that he had no right to retain this leaf which she had gathered. The thought came to him to lay it on the flames; instead, he opened his pocket-book and placed it beside a brown tress of his mother's hair. As he sat before the fire waiting for the serving of dinner, it was of Mrs. Delgare he thought, and not of Editor Brady. Not that he did not know the significance of his sometime friend's note, and shrink instinctively from the interview which the evening must bring. From the moment he had decided to aid Talbot he knew that the parting of the ways had come for him and Brady, as personal friends, but he did not think it would also mean their political severance; so he was unprepared for the reception he received on entering the office of the Sun.

"I wanted to see you," said Brady, without returning his greeting, "to hear from your own lips if you intend supporting Talbot?"

"It was thought-" began Howe, when Brady interrupted him.

"I don't care to hear what 'was thought,'" he said, bluntly. "I want to know, from you yourself, if you intend supporting Talbot ?"

The voice was harsh as the sound of iron striking stone, but, unaroused by it, Howe answered, in his quiet tones,

"I do!"

"Very well! You need not be surprised, then, when that appears," and he handed the proof of his leader to the Judge. As Howe read the bitter words he paused, saying:

"Brady, it is not possible that you will try to bring disunion into the party?"

"I shall try to defeat you-and I shall succeed," he returned. Then he sprang to his feet, his face quivering with rage. "I hate the Republicans worse than hell," he cried, "but I'd rather see the district represented by one of them, than by you! A man with no more honor-" "Be careful, Brady!" said Howe, quietly.

"Than he has who throws over a friend at the will of the machine, is not the man to represent the interests of the people," he finished, doggedly.

printing that editorial. Do not carry the firebrand through Democratic ranks. Your adherence to your party has ever been unquestioned. Your political faith has been held to be true. Do not disprove this in the minds of men, as this utterance of yours must do. In the name of that old devotion to our common creed, I beseech you not to work for its disruption. Its reunion is too recent. If again its forces are divided, we eventually hand over victory to the enemy; not for the present, but for the

"But young Blair is no friend of future, also. Your son-in-law is a mine," argued Howe.

"I was your friend, and he is my sonin-law," replied the editor.

"Suppose he had been a Republican, would you have wanted me to support him then?" asked Howe, with a slow smile.

"If he had been a Republican, he would not have been my son-in-law. A quibble, Mr. Howe, is not an answer."

"Then take my answer! Talbot is my friend, one of the few friends of my youth. Because I hold the past too, sacredly to permit the eyes of the unsympathetic to gaze upon it, I may not say what his friendship was to me then, and has been since. As none knows better than yourself, all through my public life he has been my staunch supporter. You may say that Talbot, through his influence, secured me my first office. Apart from all this, even if the tie that binds us were not so strong, as a loyal Democrat I must still give him my support. Who, in this county, has been more devoted and unselfish to his party than Talbot? No one! Now, when, for the first time, a man already advancing in years and needing the office, he comes forward to ask it at the hands of the Democrats, they cannot refuse it to him. If my own son were opposing him, I must have given my vote to Talbot. Brady, do not make the mistake of

young man. If he persists in keeping in the race, let it be without such support from you as tends to create a factional fight. This course will be wise for you and infinitely better for him. This is not the last time offices are to be bestowed in Bourbon County. He has all his life before him. He can afford to wait. If he would withdraw now, in favor of Talbot, that action would practically elect him again; while to continue in it, with the support you intend giving him, is political suicide."

Brady sat under the words as expressionless as a block of stone. Feeling their ineffectuality, Howe paused. Then the editor turned his head, with his stubby face made uglier by hate.

"If some Democrats have a long memory for Talbot's loyalty, they have a short one for his infidelity," he said. "If Talbot were the staunch Democrat you claim him to be, and is such a faithful defender of the party creed, why did he stand aloof during the Goebel campaign, and, by his affiliation with the Brownites, help to bring disgrace on Kentucky?"

"Talbot was not a Brown man," said Howe.

"Was he for Goebel?" asked Brady. "He was always loyal to the nominee," answered the Judge, and the editor broke into a harsh laugh.

"And his party nominated Brown," he asserted.

"You are mistaken, sir! His party nominated William Goebel," retorted Howe.

"I deny that, sir!" cried Brady.

"Then, prove the truth of your denial! Prove that Dick Talbot ever refused to support the man whom his party declared its standard-bearer, and you will do what no man living has done, or can truly do."

"I have here," and Brady laid his hand on one of the drawers of his desk, "proofs that he had not only voted against Goebel, but openly espoused the cause of Brown. At the proper time I shall bring forth my proofs."

That much, at least, might be said of him he was no coward.

"The people will decide that case, not Judge Howe," he said mockingly.

"Ah!" exclaimed Howe, with a quick drawing in of the breath, "if his case be given an unbiased trial before the people, I have no fear what the verdict will be. Talbot has nothing to dread from the people of Bourbon County, and you know it."

"It will be left to the people," returned Brady, with a sinister inflection of the voice. "And not only Talbot's record will be laid before them, but the record of others, also."

He rose as he spoke. Howe made another appeal to him not to attempt to

“Then, sir, permit me to tell you that disturb the growing harmony in the your proofs are lies!"

Howe's face had grown a shade paler, but, except for that, there was no other indication that the interview was drawing dangerously near the line where patience ceases to be a virtue. But Brady feared neither man nor devil.

party. His answer was an oath-bound declaration that he would defeat Talbot, and Howe with him, though it called for the overthrow of Democracy in Bourbon. So, enemies for life, they parted.

(To be continued.)

Francis of Assisi

Theodosia Garrison

Now, when the passion fell on me, I cried
Wild words and bitter, that I might not prove
To my own soul the vastness of this love
That swept me to God's feet as some great tide;
I yearned the torments of the crucified

As men yearn Heaven and the joys thereof,
That I might share the pangs wherewith He strove,
And bear anew His wound in mine own side.
And lo! the darkness fell, and for a space
I felt the torn flesh throb against the rood,
And a great anguish thrill to ecstasy.
Oh, blessed chastisement, divine disgrace!
Alive or dead, I bear the very blood

Of Christ upon the hands and feet of me.

St. Columba, Apostle of Scotland

By A. C. STORER

"How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of him that bringeth glad tidings, that publisheth peace."-Isaias, 52, 7.

N the foremost ranks of her great missionary saints Mother Church places St. Columba, "the Apostle of Scotland," whose zeal in founding churches and monasteries in Ireland, the land of his birth, and in Scotland, the country of his adoption, has won for him the endearing name, "Columbkille, the Dove of the Churches."

Born December 7th, A. D. 521, at Gartan, amid the picturesque wilds of Donegal, Columba's great future is said to have been foretold in a

vision to his mother, the Princess Eithne of the royal house of Leinster, an angel declaring to her: "Thou art about to give birth to a son who shall blossom for heaven, who shall be reckoned among the proph

been called, not to the company of the princes of this earth, but to the ranks of that royal and eternal priesthood whose mission it is "to preach the Gospel to the poor, to heal the contrite of heart" (St. Luke, iv, 18). His biographer, Adamnan, the ninth abbot of Iona, tells us his early childhood was passed in the care of a learned and holy priest, from

ST. COLUMBA.

By permission of the artist, E. A. McHardy-Smith.

ets of God, and who shall lead numberless souls to the heavenly country." Belong ing, as he did, to a race which had reigned in Ireland for over six centuries, Columba might himself have succeeded to the throne had he not given at an early age unmistakable signs of having

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monasteries in Ireland during this period, the largest and most famous being that of Derry, in his native province of Donegal. While ever deeply attached to all his monastic creations, Columba regarded beautiful Derry with special tenderness, as is shown by the following

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