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The Princess is in an ecstasy

the marriage is to-morrow. of delight with her finery, her honors and her new lover, for she seems to dote on him. It is just as I would wish it! The terrible fall to-morrow will be so much the worse for her. We will see if she scorns the "clerk" then! All that remains now is to arrange with the half-witted Teresa, and the "clerk" is the Prince of Wegenwald! And Princess Frieda? A homeless orphan!

(Written a few days later in Berlin.)

"To-morrow" has come and gone. The history of the plan of my life I will put down in ink that it may interest or profit some future generations, for I have completed my work and am weary.

The great cathedral was gorgeously prepared for the wedding, and crowded with nobles and people. I had my position by the altar where the ceremony was to be performed. In the great chair sat the Bishop, and about him the priests; and in the choir all the voices were crying out a chant with the bellowing organ. It was a magnificent spectacle, and the more magnificent it became with the thronging people and brilliant costumes, the more I rejoiced at the effect my blow would have. At last the bridal procession moved up the great nave, and the choir came down to meet it singing mightily. As they reached the altar and the Bishop arose to pronounce the ceremony, I made my way to the side of the old woman who stood near me. It was the old nurse, ready to do my bidding. The droning voice of the prelate went on with the sacrament. Little did he guess what words it would utter that day. At last there was a pause. He had asked in Latin if there were aught to prevent the union of the Prince of Denmark and Frieda of Wegenwald. My time had come! I stepped forth quickly, and cried in my loudest voice, "There is!"

A dead silence reigned through the vaulted hall. All white staring faces were turned toward me in hushed expectancy.

"Speak then," said the Bishop after some moments, and his voice was trembling, while a fierce frown darkened his usually smooth brow.

"The lady is not Frieda of Wegenald, although you have known her as such since Sigismund departed this life!" I shouted.

An inquiring, half-angry murmur ran through the church. My voice was alternately high and low. There was something in the attitude of the nobles I did not like.

"Prove it, on peril of your life," proclaimed the prelate. "The man who can prove it," I shouted, "the man who furthered the imposition, stands there-yourself, the Bishop!" and I pointed at him. He started back. The crowd moved excitedly.

"Dare you deny, in the face of God and man, that this woman is Anne, orphan daughter of Duke Heinrich ?" My voice rang oddly through the church. There was a dead silence until the answer came. It was low and barely audible.

“No, I cannot”—the old man's face was pale and quivering as he shook his head.

"Is not that enough," I cried exultantly. "Our beloved Bishop has denied it. Gentlemen,”—turning to the Danish nobles upon whom I relied to save their prince from such a low marriage-"It is evident that the marriage is a mistake. I fortunately have just been informed by this old woman, her nurse, of the truth, and I spoke to save the prince the disgrace. It was most timely. Shall we consider the ceremony as finished?" One of the Danes bowed, and stepped forward haughtily to withdraw the prince. My moment had come and my plan had succeeded. The Bishop had removed the high crown and robes from his person, and stood with his face in his hands, a mere wreck of a man after the betrayal of his trust. I prided myself on the cleverness with which I had trapped him. The girl stood looking questioningly and despairingly at the prince, whose flashing blue eyes glanced from me to the approaching noble

man, and back again. I smiled at him triumphantly. Brains were the conquerors after all. Suddenly he waved the nobleman to his place, and drawing himself up to his full height, he said in broken German, in a voice which rang through the church: "Whether she is princess or beggar, she is mine. I will marry her! Proceed!" Compelling the Bishop with his tone, he seized the girl's hand, kissed it, and knelt for the rest of the sacrament.

Old Baron Kempberg, the commander of the army, whom I have always hated, suddenly arose, and standing before the multitude by the kneeling pair, cried: "People of Wegenwald, no matter what father our Princess owns, she is the Princess of Wegenwald because we love her, and because our good prince, Sigismund, elected her to follow him."

A murmur of assent ran through the church and chilled me to the bone. What manner of people had I reckoned on? A prince that would marry a beggar; a nobility that refused to take advantage of an opportunity for controlling the state; a populace that clung to an illegal possessor of the throne! Suddenly I received a stunning blow on the side of my face. I fell forward, clutching at the air, struck the steps, and rolled out into the center of the marble aisle, looking up into the angry face of one of the younger nobles who had struck me. "Long live the Princess!" he cried in a strong voice, and amid the excited cheers of the people the ceremony went forward, while I lay dazed and fearing to rise, on the steps.

To him who reads this in the future let it be a lesson. I made no reckoning of that men call the good in humanity. I reaped my reward. That is why I am writing now in a poor dwelling in Berlin with a poultice binding my right cheek and an irate landlady berating the first counselor of the proud principality of Wegenwald, while the woman I would have humbled is now the proud princess of two countries, and lives in happiness with the blue-eyed Dane. Gott! It is too much to endure when I think of it! This is the end of everything.

C. L. Watkins.


Where fields slope to the sea,
Where little, low hills be,
Green hills that call to thee:
"Lady of Light, come hither;"

Crowned with bright wreaths of Spring,
Roses fresh-plucked I bring,

Softly to thee I sing:

"Heart of my soul, come hither."

Blossoms from apple-trees

Fall in the slow May breeze,
Thou who art like to these,
Maid of the Fields, come hither.
Thee, Love, I would enfold
In soft robes, green and gold,
Fair-textured to behold,
Golden-bright maid, come hither.

The glory of thy hair,
Golden and debonair,

Sweeter than sweet Spring air,

-Dear Love, fair-haired, come hither-
Comes like a breath to me,

A fresh wind from the sea,
Laden with songs of thee;
Low-laughing Maid, come hither.

The calm depth of thine eyes,

Thy young breast's fall and rise,

The music of thy sighs,

-Heart of my heart, come hither—
Are like a sweet-toned mass,
Or summer winds that pass,
Soft-sighing through the grass,
Fair Love of mine, come hither.

Here would we rest, we twain,
Sheltered from cold, from rain,
Knowing not toil nor pain;
Lady of Joy, come hither,
To watch the cloud ships sail
While sunbeams, honey-pale,
Cast shadows through the vale,
Come, Sweet, to me, come hither.

R. E. Danielson.


The Ten Eyck Prize Essay.


IBERTY within the Law-that is the American system of government. But this obedience to Law, this price of Liberty, when the conditions of life and labor are tainted, becomes a travesty. Thus, lawlessness, whether social, economic, or political, is an index to approaching despotism and destruction.

Such a condition was recently reached in the State of Colorado. The prologue to that tragedy was spoken by the State legislature, when it defied the people's will. That law-making body, bowing to selfish business interests, repudiated the demand of the great majority of voters for the enactment of an eight hour law. Thus shown the impotency of the ballot, the working classes adopted coercive means. Immediately they instituted a strike in the smelting works in Colorado City to compel the acceptance of an eight hour working day. This led to more strikes, until a succession of sympathetic strikes paralyzed the industrial activity of the entire State. The worst sufferers were the metalliferous miners of Cripple Creek and Telluride. These five thousand contented and prosperous men were recklessly embarked on a strike by their two arrogant leaders. This unjust infraction of economic law recalled to the mine owners all their past injuries from the union; and thoroughly angered, they resolved to tear out unionism by the roots. The contagion spread to other trades and to other parts of Colorado, until this original economic lawlessness had engendered this devastating conflict.

Struggling in this death grapple were the miners and the mine owners. These latter, the employers banded together, and aided by the monied and propertied citizens, formed a union against all other unions. At their headquarters they posted the ultimatum, "the Western Federation of Miners

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