love of praise, want of money-who knows all the motives that serve as spurs to a man of genius? But his discoverer has only one motive-love of the beautiful thing he has found. He meets his poet-perhaps a dirty, seedy young man of whom his family are ashamed, perhaps a shabby, miserable woman who has no relations to disgrace.' He recognises a genius-how can't other men? Just because they aren't great like him; because they can't spare time from money-grubbing to love beauty and look for truth! Because they never care to use their own eyes, nor to form their own opinions. They must have them all ready-made and cheap. Oh!"-and the poetess tossed back her short, heavy hair-" you don't know what it means to be discovered. Once, when I was in Munich, I met an Englishman who had lost his way, and hadn't a word of German. If you had seen the poor fellow's joy when I spoke and showed him I knew what he was trying to say. That's a little how we poets who are 'beginning' feel towards the first man who reads into our lyrics the one meaning we did mean them to have. I respect that man," the poetess went on, glancing up at Bally breaghin, smiling debonairly between two vases of September roses. "I owe him a debt that I never could repay-that I don't wish to repay. I am proud and glad to be his debtor. He found me alone, and he didn't wait for Tom, Dick, and Harry to pronounce judgment on me before he spoke himself. He looked right into my heart. He has done me the greatest service one human being can do another. ... I have never spoken to him. . . . Eh? . . . Yes, I've seen him often. . . . God reward him! God bless him!"

The friend whistled.

As for Ballybreaghin, his journal was on the verge of bankruptcy, and his affairs so deeply involved in this month of September, '98, that he had need of all the prayers of this red-haired woman to whom he had never been introduced.

Everyone thought that "Rigolette" would be the winner of the gold cup; it was a great surprise when Lis Lars shot past her and won by a neck.

Ayr race-course lay in a blaze of sunshine. The trampled grass was yellow and brown, the trees stood dark against the

hot blue and glittering silver-white of the sky. The grand stand was a veritable box of flowers-rose, blue, green, mauve, crimson, purple, white. On the hot grey-white gravel of the enclosure, a broken line of yellow chairs flashed their white top-lights back at the sun. The ground given over to the people smoked here and there, grey columns rising, fat and curly, from the fires kindled on the grass by potato-vendors. The glasses and bottles of the lemonade-sellers bubbled silver and glowed golden. There were little canvas tents crammed with the British public in turn cramming itself with potatoes and fried fish. Book-makers, multi-coloured or white as snow, stood on chairs, stools, and platforms, frenziedly chalking their boards. In a corner One-eyed Scottie, the champion tipster, trampled feverishly between his bills, spread on the grass, and passionately exhorted his hearers--"Tike a plunge, gentlemen; for Gawd's sake, gentlemen, tike a plunge!" There were would-be students of humanity in the throng with crush hats, sauntering gaits, and thoughtful eyes. There were girls in pretty clothes, and girls with loud laughs and clothes that were not pretty. There were children rolling on the grass, clinging to their parents. There were beggars, itinerant musicians with aching limbs tied up under their mossgrown clothes; blackguards English, Scotch, Irish, eviltongued, drunken

Bang, bang! "They're off!" people said; and the crowd rolled down like a wave and broke on the white railing enclosing the course. For a moment breathlessness, the thudding of hoofs on the turf, the quiver of the wood on which the crowd leant, the thrill of the people. The jockeys, like brightly-hued macaws, seemed to fly above the saddles.

"Rigolette! Rigolette! Rigolette!"

In the grand stand, Ballybreaghin was on the steps with. bis cousins. Geraldine, in pale green, was the loveliest woman present; Fitz was probably the most elegant man. As for the editor of the Papillon, he was hardly pretty to-day. His face was pale, his dark, round eyes strainingly followed the horses as they flew over the dull green ground. By his sideFitz was jumping up and down. Neither of them had a glance to spare for the pale-faced, red-haired woman, dressed in blue, who stood in the enclosure, just below the steps, and.

looked up at Ballybreaghin more earnestly than was quite consistent with good form.

Rigolette! Rigolette! Rigol Ah! Lis Lars! Lis La-ars! Rigolette! Lis La-a-arrs!"

"My hoss wins," murmured a footman on the steps of a carriage. "My horse wins." Ballybreaghin realised in a flash of emotion that warmed his heart and seemed to unbind an iron band from his brain. "My horse wins. Thank God! Thank God!"

"Keep still, can't you?" Fitz growled. He was nervous and irritable. Last night he had slept badly, had even thought he heard the family banshee. An unpleasant thing to hear during one's honeymoon.

'Rigolette!"

The iron band closed again round Ballybreaghin's hot brain. He shuddered, his race-glasses rattling on his shoulder. Lis Lars had fallen behind.

Rigolette! Hurrah! Rigolette! Rigolette! RigolLis Lars! Lis Lars! Lis-ss La-rrrs/"

They passed the winning posts, Lis Lars leading. The tiny feet beat more and more languidly on the turf, the head fell forward, all the muscles relaxed, the red eye began to wander. The jockey-in russet and green, with a face suddenly flaming-bent forward, mechanically stroking his horse's neck. Behind came Rigolette, her rider-in cerise and mauve-with cheeks like chalk, hideous eyes, and lips that blasphemed. Cries broke from the crowd, oaths, joyous congratulations. Lis Lars' jockey dismounted, and the winner's groom came to lead him round for admiration. And then

Then the editor of the Papillon fell forward, and, as his cousins rushed to support him, the blood from Ballybreaghin's mouth spouted forth over Fitz's exquisite cuffs and Geraldin'e lovely toilette.

And that was how the poetess was enabled to keep intact her faith in her discoverer.

A

THE PHILIPPINES.

BY KENNETH MATHIESON.

N eminent Scoto-American having recently fulminated the oracular dictum that the British in relation to the Boers are as culpable of aggression as the Yankee filibusters in relation to the Filipinos, we shall briefly review the latter limb of the proposition by the light of a twenty-five page quarto pamphlet, emanating from Saigon, Cochin China, August, 1899, entitled

Philippines."

"Benevolent Assimilation in the

The campaign has lasted months instead of the few days the military experts expected, and the truth of the criminal folly is gradually leaking out. It was the pernicious influence of the Vatican, employed through Archbishop Ireland, that placed General Otis in command, than whom Mr. M'Kinley could not have made a worse choice. In Philippine affairs the whole source of trouble for many years has been the baneful influence and tyrannical power of Theocracy in its most malignant form.

The New York Herald has defamed the Filipinos and perverted the truth in defence to the ultramontane sympathies of its proprietor. The soliciting opinions from clergymen of all denominations is but a Machiavellian move and a blind to favour the American High Catholic clergy and "protect religion in the Philippines."

The Portuguese colony of Mocao, fifty miles from Hong Kong, is filled with Spanish friars of the four leading orders, and many are returning to Manilla because they expect the Americans to reinstate them in power and repossession of their ill-gotten gains. Although Mr. Clinch in the New York Herald has asserted that the salary of these men is only 500 dollars, and that their vows prevent them from acquiring private property, they are in possession of the most valuable real estate in Hong Kong, purchased by the twenty million dollars they annually derive from the Philippines; and there are other places, on the China coast and elsewhere, in which

these friars have extensive investments, out of the reach of Spain.

Mr. Clinch would doubtless be surprised to learn that such vows do not eliminate man's inclination to possess the sinews of war and power.

It is only since the naval authorities were superseded by the military that any denunciation of abuses has been heard, and ignorance, haughtiness, self-laudation, and a desire to plant "real live American manners and customs" on the banks of the Ping have produced these abuses, whilst an undisciplined rabble amongst the soldiery, having supreme contempt for their officers, has completed the wretched job, whereas the capable, dignified, and loyal naval authorities would have prevented anarchy, and preserved peace and prosperity without bloodshed. The sagacity and masterly diplomacy of Dewey would have settled the question. He has clean hands, and always acted honourably, as the Filipinos know. They also know that the hands of the military are foul in the extreme, and the campaign will go on while there are millions of dollars to handle. So long as the American nation can be hoodwinked by the control of the cable, press, and mails, and a servile set of hangers-on, cringing editors, and paid hirelings of disreputable sheets, a reign of terror will be exercised over those who utter even half the truth.

Why did Dewey leave the commission and go home? Why is Schuman doing the same? Why are news censored ? And why does Mr. M'Kinley distrust the people?

These two men left because they are honest and declined to participate in a campaign disgraceful, ineffective, and unnecessary. Dean C. Worcester did not see any corpses of women and children on the battlefield; but the suburb of Manilla called Paco was burnt down before his arrival. The Filipinos formerly believed the Americans had an honest administration, but they now experience the contrary. The caprice of the military chiefs is paramount, and they cloak the shortcomings of their subordinates; while the notorious, vicious, and bloodthirsty clericalism of the Spanish Archbishop of Manilla influences the commander-in-chief to fight the battles of Rome.

The China Mail states that a false impression has been