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pany about them, but Mr. Choate seemed and outlines everywhere were a little a little more at home than any one else. dimmed by the rays of the heat. The To the right, straight across the long field, place was so large and the distance to be stretched the stands set apart to Yale and traversed so long that one wondered if Harvard, and a stroll along the front of any contagion of feeling would cross the these stands made one wonder if any. wide spaces; but, again and again, as the body was at home in the States on that contests went on, cheers seemed to roll particular afternoon. It was an enthusi in waves around the great quadrangle. astic company, and, it may be added, a At the upper end of the field were two very good-looking one. He who failed to flagstaffs, and the alternate appearance of think well of American girls on that walk the Stars and Stripes and the Union Jack must have been dead not only to patriotic was greeted with peals of applause from feeling, but to many and obvious charms parts of the field so remote that they of feature, carriage, and dress. Across seemed like peals of distant thunder. the bottom of the field stretched a dense The men, as they came strolling into mass of “half-crown ” witnesses, includ the field, were watched with deep interest ; ing many university men, but made up Oxford and Cambridge distinguishable largely of men and youths attracted by by the white dress of the men, trimmed the element of contest; on the opposite with light or dark blue, the Harvard and side of the field, and completing the im Yale representatives in crimson or blue mense quadrangle, was the general stand. “sweaters.” The Americans were conand a long stretch of level track.
fident of their ability to make a great Long before the first hammer was fight, and were not without hope of winthrown the great field was full to over ning five of the nine events. As so often flowing; the strains from the band sta- happens, they failed at the very point tioned in front of the royal box were where they were most confident of success. softened by the distance, while edges It was assumed that the half-mile race
would fall to Harvard, and this belief crowd, disregarding all barriers, swept in seemed to be shared by the Englishmen. one great wave across the field in a frantic To the surprise of both sides, the race desire to honor the victor. The latter went to a Cambridge man. If Harvard was protected by his friends from an had come in first, the Stars and Stripes enthusiasm which was likely to become would have gone to the head of the staff uncomfortable if suffered to rise to its full five times instead of one, and there would height. That mob of young men reprehave been a great American jubilee in sented the best life of two countries, and London that evening.
its generous zeal to honor success won by The fates had, however, decreed other hard work was characteristic of the Engwise, and the Americans were obliged to lish race on both sides of the sea. The be content with the consciousness that crowd melted away as quietly as it had they had given their competitors a deal gathered ; and the great field, which has of good, hard work. The hundred yards been the scene of 30 many well-fought race, the hurdle race, the high jump, and fights, was soon as quiet as those other throwing the hammer went to the Ameri- fields, far from the great city, where larks cans, and when the last event on the pro were rising that warm summer afternoon. gramme was reached the contest was still The courtesies shown the Americans undecided. The runners were conscious after the games were many, and of a kind that they had a three-mile race before which seemed to express the kinship them, and started off at an easy pace, the which the best Englishmen are recogniz Englishmen a little in the lead, with the ing upon all occasions. The men were Americans at their heels. For two miles of a kind to give their countrymen genuthere was no change of position, although ine satisfaction. They stood for the best two men dropped out. When the runners in bearing and manners as well as in entered on the last mile the interest began opportunity. There was, apparently, little to deepen, and when, on the second lap to choose between the representatives of of the final mile, Yale suddenly passed the English and American universities. Cambridge and took the lead, a half-mile The men were conspicuously well-made, of American enthusiasm broke into ecstatic wholesome, and attractive, with the un. shouts. But the advance could not be mistakable look of gentlemen. Athletics held ; with an ease which drew cheers are often overdone ; but the self-restraint, from friend and foe alike, the Cambridge discipline, and hard work which lie behind runner suddenly shot ahead of his com such contests as those at Kensington show petitor, and, in a vast circle of excited the fiber which has given the Englishspectators, completed the course and won
speaking race pre-eminence, not only in the race.
influence, but in responsibility in the Then came the most picturesque mo affairs of the world. ment in the day; the moment when the
London, July, 1899.
General the Marquis de Gallifet The most picturesque figure in the French army is the War Secretary, General the Marquis de Gallifet. He is almost seventy years old. He took part in all the wars of Napoleon III., and in the last one with Germany was as dashing and gallant as in the first one with Russia. He was only twenty-five years old when he was specially mentioned in an order of the day for his heroism before Sebastopol and named Chevalier of the Legion of Honor. He fought in Africa, Italy, and Mexico. In the last-named country he received a ghastly wound at Pueblo. In 1871 he ruthlessly put down the Commune; it was alleged that he shot down rebels without trial. Hence, when he went into the Chamber of Deputies the other day the old Communists cried : “A bas l'assassin !” (Down with the assassin !) During the yearly army maneuvers he has astonished every one by his wonderful skill as a strategist. He is the greatest authority in Europe on cavalry tactics. He has long been an intimate friend of Colonel Picquart. When General de Gallifet accepted the War Secretaryship in the present Ministry there was, therefore, a great deal of opposition among the anti-Picquart people and among the anti-Dreyfusards. To them the doughty old General remarked : “ I am very much honored and in nowise frightened."
By Seumas MacManus
Author of " Through the Turt Smoke," etc.
her beads, arose from her knees body is nothin'—nothin' at all to the
want to put pain on me, by the very little noise his mother's motion Hughie ?” made. Her gaze was bent upon her lap, “ Och, mother, don't be talkin' that where her hands, still holding the beads, way. Sure I know, an' I can't help lay limply. For several minutes Hughie knowin' the pains on ye. e're as brave watched her, noting the weary and worn a mother--there's no denyin'-as ever look which had asserted itself on her was ; but let the bravest i’ them come features.
through all you come through for the ten “Mother !” Hughie said at length. weeks gone, an' suffer all you suffered,
His mother started. “Hughie, a leanbh, an never for all that time sthretch them. sure I thought it was sleepin' ye were. selves six times upon a bed-let the bravWhat is it ye want, a theagair ?"? 3
est i’ the mothers do that, an' see what • Mother, what time is it in the night?” heart they'll have at the end of it."
" It's atween an hour an' two hours * Och, Hughie, Hughie, a mhic.!! I afther midnight, son."
can't stand ye at all, at all.
You mane Mother,” Hughie said, the heart o' to br’ak me patience now, at any rate.” ye is bruck with this weary sittin' up with No, mother, I don't. But if I didn't me every night"
say much all the time I've been lyin' on ** Arrah, Hughie, Hughie !" his mother me back here, I was thinkin'-thinkin' said, upbraidingly, “what is it ye're sayin'! a great dale. An' when I go, motherWhisht with ye, for God's sake !"
och, don't mother! Mother, dear, don't “Och, I know it, mother-I know it. go for to cry lake that or ye'll throuble If ye hadn't a holy saint's patience, an’ me sore ! Sure ye know yerself I must God's helpin' han’, ye'd 'a' given in long go. Didn't Father Mick tell us both it ago.”
was God's will, an' be reconciled to it? · What's come over ye, Hughie, to be An' didn't you yourself give in that ye givin’ such nonsense out of ye? Sure, it's were reconciled to it? An' surely I have not want to put pain on me ye do, is it?” a good right to be if you are. Mother,
“What day i' the week's this, tell me, when I go I'll have with me the knowledge mother?”
of the brave woman ye were, an' of all ye “ This? It's Friday night.”
sthrove with an' suffered, an' of how ye “ Friday night. An' it was on a Mon- did yer seven bests to let no wan see the day evenin' I lay down. Mother, was it throubles the heart of ye was comin’ nine weeks or ten last Monday evenin'? through. I'll carry that knowledge to I'm beginnin' to lose count i' the weeks heaven with me, mother dear.” lately meself."
His mother could not answer him, for “ Och, I don't know, Hughie. Sure, she was striving hard with the tide of that's all God's will, dear."
grief which swelled in her bosom and I know it's God's will, mother--an' struggled for outlet. God's will be done. I b'leeve it's ten Little Hughie was, to-night, possessed weeks; an' if it was his will that it should by an exceptionally talkative mood.
** If ye sthruggle on, with God's help, 1 Copyright, 1899, by the Outlook Company. All rights reserved.
mother, for another year, wee Donal, he'll ? My child, pron, à lan niz'. 3 My treasure, pron. à haigur.
1 My son.
be able an' sthrong an' wise enough then wee prayers as me an’ the powny jogged to go on the road."
on, an' afther that I'd know no fear, no Little Donal was then lying at Hughie's matther howsomiver lonesome it might be. back, between him and the wall, and sleep An', och, mother, the lonesomeness, in the ing peacefully.
middle i’ the mountains on a clear moonWee Donal ’ll then be able to take the light night, had somethin' gran' about it.” road with the powny an' cart; an' wee “Hughie, a thaisge,' I hope ye're not disDonal 'll be as good a son, an' betther, to thressin' yerself talkin',” his mother said, ye, mother, than ever I was. Though, I laying a gentle hand on his forehead. never kep’any money I could help, mother, “Oh no, mother! Oh no, mother! It barrin' (as I toul' ye the other night-an’ does me good to think over them things as I confessed to Father Mick)-barrin' now, an' have you listenin' to me. But three ha’pence for tibacky, days I got then, mother dear, maybe it's too tired to good sale for the fish. But I couldn't do listen ye are ?" without the tibacky, mother, wanst I give “Oh no, Hughie; no, Hughie a mhic. myself the bad habit. Och, mother, if Tell on-I'd never be tired listenin' to ye.' you would only know lonely nights that I'd " Thanky, mother. Och, mother, many be thravelin' dhreich' an’ lonely roads, an’ many's the beautiful journey I had an' me, too, hungrier than I'd wish-if with me wee cart i’ fish, if I only begun you would only know the comfort an' the to tell ye them, settin' off here afore nightcompany the tibacky was to me, I knew fall, an' thravelin' all night, an' bein'in ye'd forgive me, keepin' an odd wee Sthrabane market or maybe Enniskillen three ha'pence for it. Now wouldn't ye, market next day, an’ sellin' out me wee mother?”
load, an' maybe clearin' ten or twelve or "Och, Hughie ! Och, Hughie !" maybe sometimes fifteen shillin's, an'
“ I just knew the kindly heart i'ye then, afther a good rest an'a good hearty couldn't do else than forgive me. But male, not forgettin' poor Johnnie, startin' I know, too, I should have always axed on thravelin' back for home the nixt night yer laive afore I started out on me jour again, with me gains in me pocket—as ney—axed yer laive to let me buy the happy as the son of a prence; an' havin’ tibacky for meself. But ye always were an odd wee sleep in the bed i’ the cart, so dead again' us smokin' that I was too.” always the coward to ax ye.
"Och, Hughie, it was gran' surely, an' “ An’, ay, many's the long an’ many's no mistake.” the dhreich journey, mother, me an' the “Ah, gran’ was no name for it, mother! powny had with our wee cart i' fish. An', An' then, too, at the boats—when they thank God, many's the pleasant journey, came in, the men always give me such too_far, far more of that sort than of the bargains, bekase of whose son I was.” dhreich wans. I mind me many's the “ They did, a mhic. They did, Hughie, lovely moonlight night when we thraveled a thaisge. God bliss them, an' reward along the white mountain road goin' them.” through to Pettigo, or goin' up to Ennis “ God bliss them over again, an' reward killen an' to Cavan. An' where there'd them, mother. They couldn't be kinder to be miles an' miles of that road through An' I often thought it was betther, the Pettigo mountains where there wasn't afther all, that ye wouldn't let me join a a house or a house, or you wouldn't meet boat meself, mother.” a sinner in broad day, let alone i' the "No, no, Hughie, a gradh ! No, I night, I used not to have wan bit fear, wouldn't. Not afther yer poor father, a mother. You always shook the holy gradh ! No, no! God rest him !" wather on me when I had me cap lifted, “ God rest him, mother! God rest him! blissin' meself afore I left the doore with An' small wondher you wouldn't let wan out; an' then, when that time i' night belongin' to ye go upon the sae again. come that I thought yous was sayin' the It's a cruel, thracherous sae, mother, God Rosary here at home, an' I'd have got on knows! Mother dear, don't cry. What's me good lonely part i' the road, I'd take done can't be undone." me cap in me han' an' I'd say me own “Ay, ay, Hughie. Ay, a cruel, thrach1 Tedious.