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EY‘ - -- ~ 1.: l f - h";’-‘7€“‘§"5‘<§“"§~~ ‘5' 79.9w ‘v antecedents +WWP++$M+~E~W f if] iiiffllfi if Ebb-I'Mri'é'éwwfi'mé'wé- ‘ ‘ I. He was the most disagreeable felâ€" low who ever sat on an office stool That was the opinion of everybody in the place, from old Mr. Maybury,’ the senior partner, to the youngest ofiiceâ€"boy. It was generally believed among his fellow-clerks that Stephen Wéstcotte had been born and educatâ€" cd in the workhousc, and that his mother had died there. And when one added to this disadvantage the further one that he was extremely ugly, and a gloomy, taciturn fellow at. best, it is quite easy to under- stand that young gentlemen, whose were' above reproach, looked down upon him and made him the butt of their timeâ€"honored Jokes. They made his life a burden to him by means, of these same jokes. Rul- ers were suspended in unlikely places .2; ..;..;..;..g..;..;..;..;. .3. ‘H". .ri'iwid“! 9 oz ‘3 ,and fell with a smart crack on the head of the unsuspecting victim; pins were stuck in his stool: hot cob- bler’s wax was spread upon it, and they almost ruined themselves buy- ing squibs and crackers to attach to his coatâ€"tails. It was only when Frank Lammont made his appearance in the office of Maybury 8:. Son that serious trouble began. It appeared that the two men had been fellow-clerks before and 'the hatred between them was bitter - comes boys," cried Lammont. and rancorous. In their frequent quarrels everyone sided with Lam- mont, and this was not surprismg, for he Was the very opposite of West- cotte in everything. In the first place he was a handâ€" some young fellow, with handsome dark eyes and a well setâ€"up figure; then he was always well dressed and was very openâ€"handed with his monâ€" ey. But, above all this he had a pretty little house at Tottenham, and a still prettier little wife. Business routine seemed particularâ€" 1y dull one Saturday morning, and the young men were at a loss to find means of enlivening it. Westcotte had been sent out on business, so there was no fun to be got out of him, until presently the oflice-boy, who was peeping over the wire blind, exclaimed:â€" “IIere’s Work'us coming up the street. Don’t he look a shabbyâ€"lookâ€" ing chap, that's all?" “ ‘Work’us’ is too good a name for that fellow, Tom," said Lammont, with a sneer. “A pauper may be re spectable.” ~ - “Westcotte does not look very re- spectable, it is t1‘ue,,"'said one. “I’ll bet you five'that ‘Westcotte in another suit on Monday “Just tell me .when he turns in at the door.” -“He is just aâ€"turningin now." Quick as thought Lammont jumpâ€" ed off his stool, selected the largest and fullest ink-pot, and, opening the door about an inch, balanced it careâ€" fully upon the top. The other clerks looked rather blank. They had neâ€" ver gone so far as this before, and if Westcotte complained there might be tr0ub1e. But there Was no time to do anything now, for the door was pushed quickly open, andâ€"well, itsis wonderful how far a pcnnyworth of ink will ‘go, in the wrong place. Westcotte stood glaring at them from the doorway, like an inky spec- tre. No one smiled, for the look on the man’s face was murderous. Just a moment he stood there, then, lift- ing the heavy ink-pot he hurled it straight at Lammont’s head, dashed after it, and the next minute the .two men were rolling over and over on the floor, tearing and wbrrying one another like dogs. It all hap- pencd so quickly that no one at- tempted. to stop them until the door of the inner office opened and Mr. Maybury stood on the threshold. “Separate those mac’thn some of you,” he shouted. “What is the meaning of this disgraceful scene?” ' It needed no second word: in a moâ€" ment a. dozen hands were stretched out and the combatants were forced to opposite sides of the room. “Is this the way you spend the time for which I pay, gentlemen?” said Mr. Maybury, coldly. “I am very sorry, sir,” began Lammont. “Sorry, indeed! I should think that you were thoroughly ashamed of yourselves. Such disgraceful conâ€" duct was never heard of in a respect- able office. No," as Lammont was about to speak, “I want no explanaâ€" tions from either of you. I care noâ€" thing about your quarrels; all I want is some assurance that this sort of thing shall not occur again. So shake hands with one another, and promise me that this shall be the end of such nonsense.” “I will apologize to you, sir.” said Lammont, with an evil light in his eyes, “but I hope that you will not ask me to shake hands with that fel- low. I cannot shake hands with a gaolâ€"bird.” "What did you say? You had betâ€" ter be careful, sir.” “I said that I refused to shake ‘hands with a gaol-bird." “And what do yOu mean by that?" “Westcotte can tell you better than I can, sir.” ' “You hear, Westcotte,” said Mr. Maybury, curtly. “He means to inform you, 9’ said Westcottc, scornfully, “that I spent six months in prison for a theft of which if was absolutely innocent.” “They are all innocent,” Lammont,, sneered . "That is enough," said Mr. May- bury. “I cannot ask you to apolo- gize, Lammont. Westcotte, when you have made yourself fit to be seen came to my room." When Mr. Maybury left the room Westcotte walked up to Lammont. All his rage was gone now, and he was cold as stone. ’ “You coward,” he said, in a. low, passionless voice. “You mean, piti- ful coward. If I Wait for twenty years I will be even with you for this morning’s work.” And for once Lammont had no word to say in answer. After that day no one expected to see Westcotte in the office again; but when Monday morning came, there he was in his place as usual. II. Stephen Westcotte was alone in the office. Lammont had not put in an appearance for two days, and a den- ble share of Work had fallen upon Stephen in consequence. He had been working late, but had finished now, and was just locking up when he heard a soft tap at the door. “Come in,” he cried, and after a short pause the door opened slowly, and a pretty, fragileâ€"looking‘girl, carrying a small child in her arms, came in and leaned wearin against a desk. Stephen had only seen her once, but he knew her quite well: she was Frank Lammont’s wife. She was deathly pale, her pretty eyes were red with crying, and she seemed ready to drop with fatigue. Stephen gazed at her stupidly for a few moments, then he awkwardly brought forward a chair and the trembling girl sank, into it, with a. grateful glance at him. The Sleep- ing child stirred uneasily, opened her blue eyes, and calmly fell to exam- ining his face. “Whlat a welly ugly man ’00 is," she lisped, in a sweet little chirrupy voice. Stephen flushed hotly. Somehow the babyish words stung him. “Is Mr. Maybury here?” asked Mrs. Lammont, hushing the child against her breast. “No, indeed. I expect that he is at dinner by this time.” “Can you tell me where he lives? I must see him to-night." “He lives at I-Iampstead.” Mrs. Lammont, sank back in her chair and burst into tears. “What shall I do?” she sobbed. “I cannot go all that distance, and I shall not be able to come back again.” “He will be here at ten o’clock in the morning; you can see him then,” said Stephen, shortly, as he picked up the office key and put on his hat. “I cannot come again. The docâ€" tor kindly offered to stay with Frank while I came here toâ€"night; but I am sure that I shall not be able to leave him to-morrow." ‘ “The doctor! Is there anything the matter with Lammont?" . “Oh, yes, he met with a dreadful accident on Monday night.- He fell from his bicycle and was run over by a. van. The doctor says it will be months before he can go out again.” “That is had," said Stephen, cold- ly. ' “Well, if you> cannot come again you had better write to Mr. Maybury.” “I cannot write what I have. to say,” said the poor little creature. “I don’t know what to do.” The child, who had all this time been gravely studying his face, sud- denly stretched out her little arms with a. pretty, babyish gesture. “Ugly man carry Maisic,” she do- manded, with a radiant smile. The burning flush rose once more to Stephen’s face. He hesitated for a moment; then he opened his arms and the child nestled in perfect con- tent against his breast. “Maisie loves ’oo dear, ugly man” she coocd, softly. “Maisie will tiss ’00 if ’00 likes." “I cannot let her trouble you,” said Mrs. Lammont. “Maisie, come back to mother, darling."‘ “She is no trouble," said Stephen, roughly. “You are tired. I had bet- ter carry her to the ’bus for you." Stephen had looked the office door ‘and was just turning into the street with his unaccustomed burden claspâ€" ed close in his arms, when he felt a cold little hand laid on his, and two tearful grey eyes were lifted to his face. “Won’t you help me?” sobbed the trembling little creature. "I am sure that I can trust you. Won’t you speak to Mr. Maybury for me?” “I will take a message if you wish it. What shall I say?” “Tell him about Frank’s accident, and what the doctor says of him: and ask him, oh, beg of him, not to stop his salary, for we have saved nothing. Indeed, we are in debt a little, and there is nothing but star- vation before us if Mr. Maybury is hard on us." “I will tell him what you say, Mrs. Lammont,” said Stephen, gravely, “but I am ‘afraid there is very Little chance of his doing what you ask. I know that it is against his rules; and Lammont has not been in the office long.” When they reached the corner where the omnibus stood little Maisic partâ€" ed from her new friend with great reâ€" luctance, clinging to his neck and whispering her sweet baby talk into his ear until the last moment; and even when the vehicle rolled away he could still hear the bird-like voice crying:â€" “Doodâ€"bye, dear, Ugly man. Maisâ€" ie tum and see ’00 adain soon.” III . The next morning Strphcn West- cotte presented himself in Mr. May- bury’s private room and delivered. his message. “It is most annoying,” said Mr. Maybury, irritably. are getting too.” “Mrs. Lammont asked me to say, sir, that she hoped you would not stop Lamont’s salary, as they have nothing else to depend upon.” ' "What?" cried Mr. Maybury. "Not stop his salary! Is the woman mad? Does she expect me to pay someone to do her husband’s work and pay him as well? No, indeed. soon be in the workhouse if I conâ€" ducted business on that plan.” "You will not change your mind, sir?” Stephen said. “You will not make an exception in Lammont’s fa- vor?" ‘ “Certainly not. “Just as we into the busy season, I never break my rules. I shall pay him up to the end of the month, and not one penny more.” “Have you any objectiOn to letting me take Laminont’s money to him and telling him of your decision, sir?” “You seem very anxious to be the bearer of bad news, but it is no business of mine. I should send someone in any case, for I want no correspondence with the woman.” Mr. Maybury counted out a little heap of money and handed it to Ste- phcn. “You will go after business hours, if you please, Westcotte. We cannot spare anyone in the daytime.” Stephen bowed and, putting the money in his pocket, went silently back to his Work. IV. The winter had passed, and the breath of spring was finding its way even into dingy city offices, for it was four long months since Frank Lammont had met with his accident; when, one morning, a cab stopped at the door of Maybury & Son’s, and a. poor, shattered creature, who walkâ€" ed with two sticks, got out and limped slowly up the stairs. It was Frank Lammont. Everybody crowded round him to shake him by the hand, and Stephen came forward with the rest, but Lammont stared stonily in his face and passed on to the inner office; “Ah, Lamniont!” said Mr. Mayâ€" bury. “I am glad to see that you are able to be out again. If you are feeling up to work I shall be very glad to have you back." “Thank you, sir; I am not quite fit for work yet," said Frank. “I only came out this morning to speak to you about a. most unpleasant mat- ter, and to thank you for your great kindness.”' Mr. Maybury could not recall any particular kindness, so he only smilâ€" ed and murmured, “Don't mention it.” "No, sir,” answered Frank; I unâ€" derstood that you wished me not to mention it, and I shall. take care not to do so.” Mr. Maybury thought that his visâ€" itor had taken leave of his senses. “I wish that I had not spoken of it, sir; it is a most unpleasant thing. I am afraid that Westcotte has been robbing me, sir." “How, in Heaven’s name, could Westcotte rob you?” “He has been keeping back a part of my salary for a month past; only a few shillings, it is true; but even a few shillings make a. difference to me, with doctors to pay and all that." . “To be sure. For a month past, you say. Did you receive it regular- ly up to that time?” “Oh, yes, sir, and I am sure I am most grateful. I dare not think of what Would have become of us with- out it. We must certainly have starved." Mr. Maybury made no reply. He struck his handâ€"bell sharply and waited. “Send Westcotte here,” he said, when the boy appeared in answer to it. Stephen came in, looking pale and worried. “Lammont tells me that you have been robbing him. Have you any- thing to say, Westcotte?" “No, sir.” “When you first spoke to me about Lammont’s accident I gave you a message for him. - Did you give it? What message did he bring from me, Lammont?” ' “I remember quite well, sir. He said that it was against your rules to pay anyone who was unable to work, but that you would make an exception in my case upon condition that I mentioned it to no one.” “Then, if he told you that, he told you a most confounded lie,” cried Mr. Mayburystarting from hischair. “And I little thought, Westcotte, that I should ever be ashamed to look such a liar in the face. Listen to me, Lammont,” he went on, layâ€" ing his hand on Stephen’s shoulder; “you have not had one penny from me since last October, and if you have escaped starvation you owe it to Westcottc’s . generosity, not to me.” Frank Lammont cowcred in his chair as though he had received a heavy blow. "I did not deserve this of you, Westcotte,“ he moaned. “I know that,” said Stephen, roughly. "But I did not do it for you, so there is no more to be said.” “But you don’t know everything,” faltered Frank. "‘I think I do. no more.” “About that money, you know, when we were at Grayling’s togethâ€" You had better say er. It was I who took it." “Be silent man, for your child’s sake. .I know all about it; I have always known, although I could not prove it.” “And yet you did this for me?” “No, not for you; but for your I should ' ‘ example and absented himself. child, who was the first creature on God’s earth ta treat me as if I were a. human being." it- * * if Frank Lammont never came back to Maybury and Son’s, for in ,less than a month after his last visit there he Was dead. And now many years -haVe passed away, and Stephâ€" en Wcstcotte is alone and despised no longer. He is high in the confi- dence of his employers, and a fair, ‘greyâ€"eycd woman has found a refuge from sorrow in his loyal heart. Children’s tiny hands clasp his, and their sweet eyes greet him with love .and trust. “But I am sure that he loves Mais- ie better than any of us,” Mrs. Westcotte would often say to herâ€" self with a'heavy sigh.â€"London An- swcrs. + ROYALTY’S SUNDAY. His Majesty Spends the Day in a Quiet Way. When King Edward and Queen ,Al- exandra were the Prince and Princess of Wales, the following interesting account .of how they were in the habit of spending Sunday appeared in the Quiver. The writer 'sayszâ€" “Sunday with their Royal High- nesses the Prince and Princess of Wales is passed in much the same quiet way as with Her Majesty, the Queen, inasmuch as religious cereâ€" monies are faithfully observed, and the household and servants are spar- ed all unnecessary~ duties. The guests wend their way, as the hour of, eleven approaches to the little church of St. Mary Magdalene in the Park. There 'is a. private footway direct from the house to the church gate; by this, the Royal family and guests often proceed, driving round by the road only in case of unproâ€" pitious weather. Sunday afternoon is quietly spent in the house or park. Dinner is served at half past seven. Occasionally, however, dinner is a lit- tle later, as the Prince and Princess may be attending evening service in one of the village churches near. The small station, some tw0 miles away, where the Royal Family have their own Waiting rooms, is closed on Sunday as no train whatever is run on that day. By this means, the church is kept clear of an attendance prompted by curiosity, and also the men employed have the entire day’s rest secured to them. In fact, no unnecessary work in any shape or way is performed on Sunday on any one part of the Prince’s domains. Sunday-at Marlbgrough House dif- fers slightly from Sundayat Sandâ€" ringham‘, but the day is spent in comparative quietude. In the morn- ing, their Royal Highnesses attend divine service in what is known as the German (Lutheran) Chapel. Afâ€" ter luncheon, the Princess and her daughters may possibly. attend one of the West-End churches to hear some popularpreacher, or to be pre- sent at I A CHILDREN’S SERVICE. It is not only at Sandringham and Marlborough House that Sabbath observances are rigidly adhered to by the Prince and Princess of Wales, but also in any of the Continental places where they may' be staying. There is an old saying that when you go to Rome do as the Romans do, but our Prince honors this rule in the breach, for although he has ever been a constant visitor to Paris yet he has never seen the French Derby for the simple reason that it is run on the Sunday. In a. matter where hundreds and thousands of Chrisâ€" tians have followed the fashion of the gay capital they are visiting, and indulged their love of horses and of pleasure, the Prince has set a good In every way the Prince and Princess have always faithfully observed the Sabbath, and we, as a, Christian peo- ple, may congratulate ourselves that our future king and queen will steadâ€" fastly uphold the sanctity of the Day of. God, and the doctrines of the Christian church.” A recent quotation from the St. James Gazette of London, England, saying that the King had refused to- travel from Scotland to London on Sunday, and has “stunned society by putting all social functions and en'- tertainments on Sunday under the Royal ban," would seem to indicate that His Majesty’s accession to the throne of the “mightiest empire that has been” has not led to the relaxâ€" ing of his scruples as to how Sunday should be spent. If there is any truth in the rumors that are rife about Sunday yachting excursions, mounted paper chases, and the like, starting from Rideau Hall, it would seem that His Majesâ€" ty’s example has not much weight with his representative in Canada, nor indeed with society leaders gen- orally at the Dominion capital, where only a few months ago the servant girls had to form themselves into a mutual protective association in orâ€" der to get deliverance, among other things, from sevenâ€"dayâ€"in-th0-week bondage through having to dance at-- tendance on their mistresses and their guests at Sunday dinners, supâ€" pers, etc., as well as on all the othâ€" er days of the week. And we fear that if this Servants Mutual Protecâ€" tective Association does not extend to other cities, it will not be because there is not about asmuch occasion for it as there is at Ottawa. Sod-'- ety is fond of following the lead of royalty in many things. Why not also in the observance of the Lord‘s Day? ____.__+___._._. 149,818 British farms out of total of 520,106 are between 5 20 acres in extent. a and POWERS Yup FDR PEAUE EUROPE ANXIOUS TO HAVE BRITAIN FOOTLOOSE. Assistance is Necessary in Restor< ing the Equilibrium on the Continent. Special reasons just now cause the rulers. and statesmen of Europe to de- sire a speedy ending of thewar in South Africa. The stalking horse of intervention is no longer in evidence but from the capitals of all the great powers indirect pressure is being brought to bear upon the Boer reâ€" presentatives in Holland and Bel< gium to avail themselves of the only terms of peace the British Govern- ment will grant. The motive is not so much a wish to help the burghers as a wishâ€" which is especially strong in Vienna and Romeâ€"to free Britain’s hands, so that her voice may be more potent in the councils of Europe. This view of the situation is entertained in influential quarters in London. STRAIN IN THE BALKANS. Ever since the war began the relaâ€" tions of the continental powers toâ€" ward one another have shown symp- toms of increasing disturbance. The nicely adjusted equilibrium which had existed since the triple and dual alliances were instituted seems to have been lost. Signs ,of fresh strain in the Balkan regions have appeared on the hori‘ zon. Europe is never allowed to be without an eastern crisis for many years at a stretch, and it Would ap- pear as if the difficulty in the remote Orient was hardly adjusted before there is a menace of trouble in' a reâ€" gion where to two at least of the greater powers complications would be even more unwelcome. RIVALRY IN THE EAST. Rival ambitions in the near cast are again threatening to tax the re- sources of diplomacy to the utmost. Dispite the assurances from Vienna that Russia and Austria are agreed that, whatever happens in Servia, it shall not imperil European peace, these agreed as to the best methods of carrying out their self-appointed task of guardians of peace in the Bal- kans. that their views on this point are al- most diametrically opposed, and it is a matter of common note that Austria. is trying to secure Britain’s support in her policy. Meanwhile the new German tariff threatens the very existence of the dreibund, and the speech of Prince -von Eulenberg, the kaiser's friend and ambassador at Vienna, is inter- preted by many good judges as all but forshadowing the doom of that famous pact. ‘ ATTITUDE OF ITALY. As for “leaving Italy out in the cold" recent utterances of Italian statesmen do not indicate any burn- ing desire to renew the alliance with the two German states. It is strong- ly felt at Home that no renewal of the political convention should be tolerated which did not also confer substantial commercial advantages on all the members of the combina- tion. ‘ Unless some compensating benefits are bestowed upon Italy she may decline to renew the arrange- ment. France,.it is certain, can. if she pleases, offer to Italy some com- mercial inducements of the most al- luring character. By the bare suggestion that the dreibund, long and dominating fac- tor in continental politics, may be eliminated a vista of wide possibili- ties is opened up. It is not too much to say that there is at least a prospect that a new triple alliance on an altered footing might be con- structed or a. different grouping of the1 whole continental system be evol- ve . RUSSIA JOINS IN cnonus.’ This sentiment has repeatedly found expression in German and Aus- troâ€"Hungarian official circles. It is one of the commonplaces of the Ital- ian press. It is the hope that Great Britain’s voice might introduce a calming and moderating influence into these dis- tracted councils which underlies the nervous anxiety of the continent to see an end of the Boer war. Even the Russian journals begin to sin(1 the tune of Vienna and Home. a “If by some means, no matter what, says the Novoe Vremya, “an issue could be found from the South African war, then, and then only, would things in Eur- ope return to the paths of peace from which the events of the past two years have forced them fas as- tray.” REPLY FROM BRITAIN. liritain, howover, will not listen to the siren song of those who wodlc tempt her, even when the war is out of the way, to become involved it the calculations and combinations of the continent. She replies to all such seductive appeals: “With dual or triple or quadruplt leagues and alliances, whatever their component elements, we have noth- ing to do. We have definitely re nounced all attempts to maintair the balance of power or to secure at equilibrium of forces among flu great naval and military states 0' the continent. We have elected tr stand alone so far as Europe is con cerned. Isoffation, with all its draw backs, has at least one advantage It will probably prevent us from be ing dragged into' war over territoria ambitions or international jealeusie. in which we have no direct or imme diate share. Our reliance continue to be upon the strength and unity o the peoples of the empire.” two powers are by no means . No secret is made of the fact - .. .. .«».-x-.~,m.w.§& ‘ 4 ‘9‘”‘5 ‘."':""." . “:5: V 513,». i _, . _~, _‘ m- a. ~4wvuâ€"2‘ - Mm rm" ' " v‘. v ' Erisâ€"“saw Jo v i mumsâ€"“q 1... .. v. .A. «fivrwrm runs-14""; ~‘z‘1al'u'. A