seemed to hold so many pleasant things, the owners of these houses could content themselves to live here in their ugly piles. Then the ambition to encase one's self in a great house such as these had seemed so mean! Since then he had not questioned it. Now again he looked at their burly shadows and speculated without envy.

They loitered arm in arm beside the wall, listening to the heaving lake, the splash of cool water on the concrete embankment.

"We'll try it, Nell," he remarked, after a long period of silence. "It's pretty good of the old boy to take back a man who's been on his knees!"

“Don't!" she murmured. "That hurts! And you must n't do it just for my sake."

"I think you are rather fussy!" he retorted. "Why else should I do it, my dear, dear wife?"

Doubtless she asked too much of the man she loved, for most beings -instinctive creatures act from a philosophy of purely personal influences. Jackson Hart certainly would never have considered relinquishing his ambition to thrust himself forward, to have a career in this world, out of any intellectual convictions. Nor could it be said that his wife's half formulated arguments had persuaded him. But she herself had convinced him, the strong, self-contained womanhood in her, her undaunted spirit, with which he lived. Especially, these latter weeks of suspense and despair, while their child's life was in the balance, had made him hers. If it were a victory for the woman, it was an emotional victory, which she had won over her husband, and such are the only victories that endure in such matters. He felt her spirit as he had never felt anything else, and knew dimly, remotely, that in all the big questions of life she was right. Beautiful, loving, strong, and fear

less, she was his! And what was his "career" against her heart and soul?

"Perhaps you will regret it," he remarked half playfully, "and will want me to change later!"

"Never, never!" She drew his arm closer to her breast.

"Well, those fellows will grin when I walk into that office after my little splurge!" He swept his arm in an arc to describe the upward and downward course of a rocket. "Into the ranks at last!"

"To work and live and love, a little while," she added softly.

"It isn't exactly the way uncle Powers solved the question!" he remarked teasingly. "I suppose you would have had him stay milking cows on that Vermont farm ?"

"I did n't marry him!" she answered quickly. "And perhaps if he had it to do again, he would stay to milk the cows."

"You think so!" he exclaimed skeptically.

With her, at least, there was neither doubt nor hesitation. She answered surely the inarticulate call of the larger world, the call of the multitudes that labor and die without privilege, to share with them the common lot of life.

XXXII

That small fragment of Chicago society which had known the Jackson Harts, and interested itself in their doings, was mildly stirred over the news that the brilliant and promising young architect had been obliged to close his office, and had gone to work for his old employer. Indeed, for some weeks the Harts furnished the Forest Park dinner tables with a fresh topic of conversation that took the place of the strikes and poor Anthony Crawford's scattered fortune. It contained quite as much food for marvel and moral reflection as either of the others.

More information about the architect's

troubles than that provided by the press had got abroad in Forest Park and the Shoreham Club. It was known, for instance, that Hart had been obliged to dissolve his partnership with Freddie Stewart, owing to grave business irregularities, which extended beyond the recent disaster. It was agreed that his offenses must have been very grave indeed to necessitate at his age, with his influential connection, such a radical change of caste as had happened. Men commonly expressed contempt because at a crisis he had shown such a deplorable "lack of nerve." They said, and among them were some of the architect's more intimate friends, that nothing he had done could justify this tame submission. "Why," Mrs. Phillips exclaimed when she heard of it, "we've seen men live down things ten times worse. There was and -and -. They are as good as any one to-day! And he need n't have told everything he knew, anyhow, to that old coroner. The measure of a man's guilt, in her eyes and those of many others, was what he was willing to admit to the world. And, finally, it was held that under the circumstances he had shown singularly little judgment in staying on in the city: there was no "future" for him, under the circumstances, in Chicago. If he felt himself unable to hold his own against scandal, they argued, he should have the wit to leave the city where he had gone wrong and seek his fortune under new skies, where the faces of his successful friends would not remind him constantly of ignoble defeat.

Not that Jackson Hart had many opportunities of encountering his successful friends in the great city of Chicago. He had resigned from his club, and the Harts had moved very far away from those pleasant northern suburbs along the lake which were filled with their old acquaintances. They had gone to live in one of those flimsy flat-buildings in the southern part of the city, concerning which the architect had speculated the night the Glenmore was burned. It was near the street

car line, for the matter of a nickel fare was now of importance in their domestic economy. Occasionally some one of the Forest Park ladies would report on her return from the city that she had run across Mrs. Hart at Steele's, "looking old and queerer than ever, dressed in the old things she wore out here, as if she did n't care whether school kept or not, poor thing!" But in the murky light of Steele's great shop, they could not have seen the serene, almost radiant beauty of the face, the beauty of a soul content with its vision of the world, in harmony with itself.

And Jackson, "reduced to the ranks" by a few grades, in that career of his which he dubbed good-humoredly, "From shirt-sleeves to shirt-sleeves, in three acts," was developing certain patient virtues of inestimable charm in the domestic circles of plain life, though not essential for brilliant success. In his box of an office next Wright's large draughting-room, he worked almost side by side with his former draughtsman Cook, who had also come back to the old firm. For some months they hardly spoke to each other; indeed, the men at Wright's generally held aloof from Hart. But they have accepted him at last. Cook has begun, even, to regain some of his old admiration for his chief, comprehending, perhaps, that there in the office by his side is working out a career of real spiritual significance if of little outward display.

As to Wright, who knows more of the man's story than the others, he treats his old employee with a fine consideration and respect, realizing that this man is doing handsomely a thing that few men have the character to do at all. His admiration for Hart's work has grown, also, and he frankly admits that the younger man has a better talent for architecture than he himself ever possessed, and also great cleverness and ingenuity, so necessary in an art which is intimately allied with mechanics. For it is true that after sluggish years there has revived within Hart the creative impulse, that spirit of

the artist, inherent to some extent in all men, which makes the work of their hands an engrossing joy. The plans of a group of buildings that the firm have undertaken for a university in a far Western state have been entrusted very largely to Hart. As they grow from month to month in the voluminous sheets of drawings, they are becoming the pride of the. office. And Wright generously allots the praise for their beauty where it largely belongs.

Thus the social waters of the fast-living city are rapidly rolling over the Jackson Harts. In all probability they will never again in this life come to the surface, and call for comment; for the architect and his wife have already sunk into the insignificance of the common lot, so much praised by the poets, so much despised by our good Americans of the "strenuous" school. There has never been any question between husband and wife of a change in their social or material condition; they contemplate with equanimity leaving their children in the universal struggle no better equipped than with the possession of health and a modest education, there to meet their fate as their parents have done before them.

Almost the last public appearance of the Jackson Harts in that portion of the Chicago world which had formerly known them occurred at the elaborate dedicatory exercises of the JACKSON INDUSTRIAL INSTITUTE. When the handsomely engraved invitation came to them, the architect was disinclined to attend; but Helen, who thought only of the old man's desire, induced her husband to take her. The exercises were held in the pretty little auditorium which occupied one wing of the large school building. There was much ceremony, and numerous speeches, besides the oration delivered by the director, Dr. Everest, on "Modern Industrialism," which was considered a masterpiece of its kind, and was afterwards printed and circulated by the trustees. A bust of the founder, which fronted the VOL. XCIV - NO. DLXII

stage, was first unveiled amid great applause. Dr. Everest in the introduction of his oration would turn from time to time to apostrophize its rugged marble features, while he paid his tribute to the founder of the institution. What the old man, who had always avoided voluble people like the pest, would have thought of the liberal eulogy scattered on his head, and of the eloquent discourse that followed, on the future of education and the workingman, no one will ever know. The rough old face looking inscrutably down on the little, bald-headed figure of the director gave no sign.

During the lengthy oration the architect's thoughts went wandering far astray back into his past, so closely involved with this handsome building. But Helen listened attentively to the director's flowing periods, searching his phrases for an interpretation of his purposes in regard to the school. Dr. Everest, however, was far too wary an educator to commit himself to positive ideas. Yet in the maze of his discourse there might be gathered hints of his attitude toward the problem of industrial education. After the opening tribute to the founder, "whom we may call a typical leader of our triumphant industrial democracy," the speaker dwelt glowingly on the advanced position of our country among the nations of the earth, attributing its phenomenal progress to the nature of its political and educational institutions, which had developed and encouraged the energies of such men as Powers Jackson:

"We lead the nations of the world in the arts of peace, owing to the energy and genius of men like our noble benefactor, owing, I may say, still more to the character of our institutions, political and educational, which produce such men as he!" Then followed a flattering contrast between the "aristocratic and mediæval education" of the English universities and the older American colleges, and the broad, liberal spirit of newer institutions, especially technical

schools. The intention of the founder of the Jackson Industrial Institute, he said, was to broaden the democratic ideal, “to bring within the reach of every child in this greatest of industrial metropoli, not only the rudiments of an education, but the most advanced technical training, by means of which he may raise himself among his fellows and advance the illimitable creative ingenuity of our race. Here may come the boy whose father labors at the bottom of the industrial ladder, and if he be worthy, if he have the talent and the industry, here in our workshops and laboratories he may fit himself to mount to the very top of that ladder, and become in turn a master and leader of men like our great benefactor! And we may well believe that the sight of those benignant features will be an inspiration to the youth to strive even as he strove. That face will kindle noble ambitions of youth, knowing that he once labored with his own hands at the forge not far from this monument to his greatness, and that he rose by his own unaided industry and ability to command thousands of operatives, to control millions of capital, yes, to influence the wide industrial world!

"In America, thank God, the poor man may yet rise to a position of leadership, if he be worthy. And what the world needs to-day more than all else is leaders, leaders of men. May we not prophesy that the Jackson Industrial Institute will be a large factor, yes, the largest factor of this great city, in educating leaders, and thus assisting to put an end to that wasteful and distressing antagonism between capital and labor? By the means of the education here provided, young men may raise themselves from the ranks of common labor to the position and responsibilities of capital! Let us hope that this will be the happy result of an educational foundation provided by a great captain of industry, and placed here in the heart of the workshops of Chicago. Thus may we assist in preserving and fostering the spirit of our noble institutions by means of which man is given

freedom to reap the fruits of his own labor and intelligence!". . .

And Dr. Everest continued on this plane of eloquence for another half hour, until even Judge Phillips, who had listened with rapt attention, began to nod in his chair. At last, when the doctor sat down, stroking his thick black beard and wiping his shining brow, loud applause broke forth from all parts of the auditorium. It sounded like the ironic laughter of the gods over the travesty of the old man's purpose, to which they had just listened. To Helen, especially, it seemed that no more complete twisting of his idea in thus bestowing his wealth were possible!

However, the great school stands there, in the neighborhood where his old operatives live, stands there and will stand there for many years, mistaken or not in its aims as one looks at this world of ours; and some day, maybe, when Dr. Everest has grasped some other form of the educational main chance, it may fall into other hands and become more nearly what its founder meant it to be, a source of help and inspiration to the common man, who must labor all his days at common tasks, and can look to no material advancement in this life.

After the exercises the rooms of the building were thrown open for inspection, and the guests wandered through the laboratories and workshops in little parties, discussing the oration and exclaiming over the magnificence of the appointments. The architect looked about him with a certain curiosity. As they returned to the main hall under the rotunda, he exclaimed, peering up into the dome, "Nell, I can't seem to remember this place: it looks queer and strange to me, as if somebody else had done the plans, and I had just looked over them!"

"Somebody else did do them," she answered, drawing him away from a group of people who had come out of one of the adjoining rooms.

In a little while they got their wraps

and prepared to leave the institution, having a long journey before them to reach their home. As they crossed the entrance hall, they ran into Pemberton, who was alone. He bowed to Helen, and then catching sight of Hart, he merely bent his head the fraction of an inch, and, stepping to one side, passed on. He could not, evidently, forgive a stain upon a man's honor, arrogating to himself, as so many of us do, the privileges of deity. The architect's face flushed at the slight,

IN watching a performance of Shakespeare's most famous play, the attention of the spectator is arrested by one essentially solitary figure. Surrounded by the personages of a barbaric court, who eye him with curiosity, respect, or secret apprehension, stands a grave young man garbed in black. His bearing is princely. He begins to speak; but he veils deep ironic parables in a tone of perfect deference and courtesy. In vain do the king and queen utter their resonant commonplaces, and cast troubled glances at each other. They cannot sound him. How much does the prince know? What does he think? What will he do? He is inscrutable.

As the play runs its course, certain traits of Hamlet become clear enough. He is of melancholy disposition, and of an intellectual cast of mind. He has "the courtier's, scholar's, soldier's, eye, tongue, sword." He has won the friendship of a man and the love of a woman. He possesses an exquisite humor, and delights in talk. He is reverent; believing in the

1 An address delivered at Bowdoin College in commemoration of the one hundredth anniversary of Hawthorne's birth.

powers of good, and fearing the powers of evil. He has a restless intelligence which probes into the secret places of human life. He broods over man's mortality, and plays with it imaginatively. He has infirmities of will, yet there is in him something dangerous, which on occasion sweeps all before him. For the space of some three hours we can observe this creation of Shakespeare play his part, listening, planning, conversing, avenging, dying. Yet no one has ever plucked out the heart of his mystery. No actor or critic or lonely reader has ever been able to pronounce to us, indubitably and without fear of contradiction, what manner of man this Hamlet really is.

In the best known and best loved circle of our American writers there is likewise one figure who stands in a sort of involuntary isolation. Nathaniel Hawthorne had, indeed, warm and faithful friends. His affectionate family have loved to dwell upon the details of his domestic life. He moved as an equal among a few of the best spirits of his time. The impression he made upon them may be traced in the journals of Longfellow and Emerson, the letters of Browning and Story