cause she wanted to do it. Though not impulsive, conventionally speaking, she acted purely from impulse. And when she found Leona de Vere, known to the inhabitants of Reese Alley as "Dix," coughing her miserable life away upon a dirty pallet in a dirty tenement attic, which she shared with three others as depraved and poverty-stricken as herself, and heard the whole of her wretched story from beginning to end, told in a torrent of bitter invective and interrupted at regular intervals by paroxysms of chocking so terrible that it seemed the tortured soul and pain-wracked body. must part company, there was no question about duty. There was but one thing to do, and Elise did it promptly. Not until the wretched creature, refreshed by a bath and enveloped in the soft fragrance of clean linen, reposed in a narrow white bed in a warm, welllighted chamber in a suburban cottage, tenanted by a motherly widow of years and discretion-not until everything was done that could be done, and she had said good night and gone away to her own beautiful home, did the full horror of what she heard and its relation to herself, take possession of her. But never, then or thereafter, did she blame him who had wrought the ruin of that once fair human flower, Leona de Vere. She felt crushed, and bruised, and broken, she was too cruelly hurt to even pray, but could only bow in silence and shame, clinging to the hand of Him who helps the world, and hears and heeds the prayers that are unspoken. The days and weeks dragged wearily bv. Poor "Dix" was too far gone, morally and mentally, to regain even a measure of physical strength, and indeed death seemed the kindliest thing that could come to her. Every moment that could be spared from other duties Elise devoted to the girl who had unwittingly dealt such a destructive blow to her happiness. Aside from the bitterness and contempt that colored her view of life and everything pertaining to it, "Dix," or Leona, as she was called by the two women who ministered so tenderly to her wants, appeared to be mildly grateful. Suffering had done much toward restor ing refinement of feature, and as she lay among her white pillows, the hectic flush upon her cheeks gave her a look of youth and delicacy. "You are so good to me," she sighed once to Elise, "but it's too late. If I'd known you when I most needed a friend maybe I wouldn't be what I am. But it's too late now." "You are to forget everything that is not pleasant," replied Elise,with a smile. The girl laughed out shrilly. "Then I'll have to forget about twothirds of my whole life," she cried, tossing restlessly upon her pillow. "There's been nothing but misery for years and years." But Elise came and took her hands and smoothed her tumbled hair. "You are to keep very quiet and get strong enough to go driving with me when the sun comes out again. It is beautiful along the river road, and the buds are already beginning to swell on the maples." "I'm tired of being told to keep quiet," said the patient, petulantly. "You never let me get up, though I'm ever so much stronger." "Tomorrow," promised Elise, "if you rest well tonight, tomorrow I will ask the doctor to let you sit up awhile. I know you must find the bed monoto nous. " "O you, what do you know about it? You've never been sick, or had any trouble. You don't know what pain is." "Perhaps not," replied Elise, gently, and under her breath she added, "I am learning." But Leona de Vere was destined never to take that promised drive. The morning after Mrs. Natron's fete, there came a messenger in haste to the house of Colonel Randolph. Mrs. Randolph was sleeping and her husband would not suffer her to be disturbed, but the messenger would not be denied, and the tall footman was constrained at last to admit him to the Colonel, who was lingering over a late breakfast. "Well, young man," he said, "What is it that is of such importance that you cannot take no for answer?" The boy, it was the motherly widow's ten-year old son, paused just inside the door, twirling his hat akwardly in his hands. He had not counted on having to face the master of the house, and the grandeur of his surroundings awed him. somewhat, but he was a loquacious lad and soon found his tongue. "Mrs. Randolph said we were to send her word at once," he said, and then added, "Mother told me not to come back without seeing Mrs. Randolph." "Ah," said the Colonel, not unkindly, "Well, my lad, you cannot see Mrs. Randolph this morning. She is not well." The boy still hesitated, he glanced uneasily at the tall footman, and then in the direction of the door. Perhaps he did not know how to make an exit, perhaps he had no intention of going until he had executed his errand. The Colonel took pity upon his embarrassment, and made a well-intentioned effort to relieve the situation. "You can leave your message with me," he said, "I will see that Mrs. Randolph receives it as soon as she awak ens." "Mother said I was to see her," persisted the boy, "And I was to say that Miss de Vere was worse? "Indeed! And who, may I ask, is Miss de Vere? And why should it be necessary to inform Mrs. Randolph?" The boy looked both surprised and puzzled. "Don't you know?" he asked. "Miss de Vere is her friend." "Whose friend?" tone, "mother thinks she is dying.' The Colonel was startled, and the boy, emboldened by the evident impression his news had made, went on: "The doctor told Mrs. Randolph, two days ago, that she couldn't live more than a week, and Mrs. Randolph and mother both cried, and the doctor said she would be better off. I wonder why he said that?" "Really," said the Colonel, politely, "I cannot enlighten you, but perhaps I should be less in the dark if you told me more about the patient." "About what?" "Oh! Why there isn't anything to tell. She's just Miss de Vere-Leona, Mrs. Randolph calls her-and she's been sick ever so long, and she coughs dreadful, sometimes. But," he added cheerfully, "she won't cough any more when she's dead, and maybe that's what the doctor meant when he said she would be better off." The Colonel pushed his chair back and rose from the table. Tell Thomas to send around the dog-cart in ten minutes," he said to the tall footman. Then to the boy, "Where do you live? But it does not matter, you shall show me. Come out into the hall and wait till I return." He left the boy uncomfortably poised upon the edge of a carved oak chair many sizes too large for him, and went up stairs. And all the while, as he mounted to his wife's room, he was repeating to himself the name of Leona de Vere. (To be continued.) "Why, Mrs. Randolph's. She brought her to our house in her own cariage. And now," he added in an awe-stricken Light Beyond. At close of day, the Western sky, As autumn mellows to the close, It's veil about it lovingly. So, when the end of life is nigh, A tender sunset radiance flows P. L. Campbell. Our Prize Offers The Pacific Monthly is making two very remarkable offers to subscribers. The first is the right, given to every new subscriber, to participate in the distribution of $25,000 in cash prises for guessing the population of the United States for 1900, and the second is the gift of a Post Fountin Pen to everyone who sends us three new subscriptions. These propositions are thoroughly high-class and bona fide. Before taking them up investigations were made as to the reliability of the firms through which we are enabled to make the offers, and we can assure our readers that they run no risk as far as reliability is concerned, in trying either plan. Each new subscriber to the magazine who wishes to participate in the $25,000 cash prizes must send in his guess with his subscription, and a certificate will be mailed him, crediting him with his guess and giving the information necessary in order to follow the contest and collect, should his guess prove successful. This is acknowledged to be the greatest prize offer that has ever been made in the history of periodical literature, and our readers will do us a favor by calling their friends' attention to it. * The Monroe Doctrine While the treaty with Spain was under consideration, and subsequent to its adoption, there was an outcry by the press that the Monroe doctrine was being placed in jeopardy, if not entirely abrogated, by our stand in regard to the Philippines. Subsequent events, however, have proven very conclusively that the American people would never be willing to give up the Monroe doctrine, whatever else they may do. The doctrine has never been so strong or so universally recognized as today, and it must be inevitable that, as our country increases in numbers and power, this policy will be insisted upon and upheld more and more firmly. At The Hague Peace Conference the nations gave the doctrine virtual recognition as the great law of the western hemisphere, and there is no nation now that would dare violate it. If, as an American in high authority has recently pointed out, we may have to fight for it some day, there would be no other cause, short of resisting an invasion of our own land by a foreign foe, that would call forth the hearty support of every American. The Monroe doctrine is a fixture, and the time when it could have been placed aside has passed. A National Highway One of the most important factors in the upbuilding of a commonwealth is the condition of its highways. If they are good, intercourse between different sections is made easy, trade is facilitated, time is saved, and an impetus is given towards producing flourishing conditions. These facts have been appreciated by nations from almost time immemorial. The Roman empire was great, partly, at least, because of the high standard of it sroads, and "all roads high standard of its roads, and "all roads. led to Rome." Without these Rome sible. They gave the empire continuity, brought the people into contact, and while the railroads that cross our country like net work have accomplished the same thing for us, we have underestimated, during the past, the good that would accrue to the nation by having its highways in the best possible condition. The tremendous activity in railroad construction during the latter part of this century accounts for this state of affairs, and a reaction was inevitable. The reaction in favor of good roads is brought about through the demands created by bicycles and automobiles, and through the fact that railroad construction in this country has reached its limit. The next IF A MAN DIE, SHALL HE LIVE AGAIN? By HON. GEO. H. WILLIAMS. This is the greatest of all questions. Much has been said and written upon this subject, but the writings generally are so metaphysical and so full of technical and scientific terms that comparatively few, not scholars, can comprehend the theories or thoughts they are intended to advance. I must, of necessity, be concise in this paper, but I shall try to make my views clear so that, if not accepted, they shall at least be understood. Áll discoveries, experiments and inventions in the scientific world tend to prove the proposition of St. Paul that "the things which are seen are temporal, but the things which are not seen are eternal." Science has demonstrated the fact that solids and liquids-things which are seen-may be converted by chemical processes into things which are not seen. When wood is consumed or water evaporated nothing is destroyed, but by cohesions the visible is simply changed into the invisible. to All things living which are seen, must, by the law of their being, cease exist in visible form, but they are not thereby annihilated. They are simply disembodied by death, and go back into the unseen elements of which they were composed. These unseen elements may enter into and become the constituents of other visible forms, and so the change goes on, from the visible to the invisible and from the invisible to the visible, with never-ending succession and variety. St. Paul was writing about spiritual things when he wrote what I have quoted above, and it is evident that the uppermost thought in his mind was that God and His attributes are eternal. We are told that God is a spirit, which to our human comprehension means an invisible being, or a being without a visible body, and we know, as a matter of fact, that no one in this world has ever seen or can see God. Whatever else may be thought or said upon the subject, it must be admitted, and is an indisputable fact, that all people of all ages and all countries, have recognized the existence of a superhuman power. This is not proof conclusive, but it is cogent and convincing evidence that such a power exists. Some persons, calling themselves Agnostics, say that they do not know that there is a God, and therefore have no belief upon the subject. Every intelligent person knows, whatever he may profess, that the universe is governed by an invisible power or force, from the law of gravitation that holds the planets in their orbits to the law that produces life in a blade of grass. Herbert Spencer says that of one thing there is an absolute certainty, and that is, "We are ever in the presence of an infinite and eternal energy from which all things proceed." To speak of this as Nature, or the laws of Nature, is only to reject one name and to adopt another. The question is, does such a power exist, and if it does it is just as easy and just as reasonable to call it God as to give it any other name. Whoever observes the order and harmony of the universe, and reasons upon the subject, must reason himself into a conviction that they show intelligence and power. There is no more difficulty in such reasoning than there is in reasoning from the existence of a steamship to the existence of a builder. We are accustomed to say that the finite mind cannot comprehend the infinite, but this is only true in a limited sense. We cannot comprehend infinite space, but we can comprehend the immense distances between the bodies of the planetary world, and astronomy is constantly adding to our knowledge upon this subject. Whether the human |