powers, as Clark in the Northwest, Dearborn in Canada, Fremont in 1846, and Scott in Mexico. In one instance only, that of Quebec in 1775, has a committee of Congress gone out to supervise the military and civil operations, though there was something very like it in our civil war. In the cases where territory has been held for a time long enough to require any civil government, the commanders have usually proclaimed the temporary or permanent sovereignty of the United States; they have also deposed and appointed civil officials, and have even set up temporary revenue systems. In a few instances, as Quebec in 1775, Vincennes in 1779, Derne in 1804, Texas in 1836, California in 1846, New Mexico in 1846, Hawaii in 1851 and 1893, and Samoa in 1886, the United States has sought to come into relations with local insurgents, and has promised them protection, and sometimes incorporation into the Union. In not one of these cases, except Texas, have the natives really rallied to the aid of the invading troops, or taken any important independent part in military operations. fective, another arises. The necessity of dealing impressively with imperfectly civilized nations grows stronger as we come in contact with more of them, for to such people intervention is a swift and certain argument sure to be remembered. The appetite for annexation of foreign territory is hard to assuage; and interventions having annexations in view are war, and breed wars. Interventions in conjunction with other powers have so far been little known to our systemand our experience in Samoa is not reassuring. Looking back over the course of military interventions since the United States became a nation, three conclusions stand out clearly. The first is the remarkable success of all the serious interventions and expeditions authorized by the federal government, with the exception of the invasions of Canada. The second is the increase of territory and prestige which the expeditions have brought to the nation, even when unrighteously undertaken. The third is the free hand which the United States has so far enjoyed in entering either American, Pacific, or Oriental territory. But this last favorable condition has come to an end; henceforth whenever we send our ships and troops far outside of America we must confront a highly organized system of jealous foreign powers; and we must expect to find that no nation can share in the mastery of other hemispheres, and at But as the same time be sole master in its own fast as one set of causes ceases to be ef- hemisphere. The reasons which brought about the earlier interventions have now almost ceased to exist; our boundaries are established, our flag is respected, the most tempting near-by territory has been gained, the Isthmus question no longer requires much interference, and commerce is opened up all over the world. SIXTY THE ONE THING NEEDFUL. BY ALICE DUER. IXTY years ago there was an insignificant village in New Jersey which to-day has risen to be one of the most important towns of the State. A railway now binds it to the great city, and trains go screeching through its streets at all hours of the day and night. In those days, too, it was considered wonderfully accessible, for only three miles away there was a river, and twice a day the boat came and went to New York, across the bay, past Staten Island, and then through miles of green meadows. To-day, the less said about those meadows the better. Sixty years ago it was near enough to New York to receive a mail every daypostage twelve cents, double that for envelopes. To-day it has risen, or sunk, to the rank of a suburb, with its electric lights and asphalted avenues, but in those days its long main street, leading up to the white Presbyterian church on the hill, was made of no better material than New Jersey clay, which varied in color from a light pink in dry weather to a reddish purple in the rain. Upon this main street stood a square white house, with fan-shaped windows beneath the gables of the roof, and a fanlight above its doorway. Here Mrs. Phillips lived, the widow of the village doctor. The family had been known as wellto-do Presbyterian folk since before the Revolution, and Mrs. Phillips held a position of some prominence in the village. She herself was a New England woman, and had inherited all the rigidity of principle of her Puritan ancestors. It had been a matter of great rejoicing to her when her elder daughter had married the pastor of the church, the Reverend Elias Webster. Sarah was particularly well fitted to fulfil her new duties. She was unselfish, docile, industrious, interested in the work of the church-everything that her mother could wish her to be; and yet, in spite of this, Mrs. Phillips knew that her deepest affection went to her younger daughter, Jane-Jane, with the beauty of youth, and brilliance of coloring; indifferent to sewing-circles, but enthusiastic over picnics; an idle member of the household, but now and then notable enough over a new dress. Jane was the only person on earth for whom Mrs. Phillips felt tempted to balance the material and spiritual welfare. Now and then a wave of desire would sweep over her that her younger daughter should have all the good things of life, and feeling this, she frowned all the more sternly on Jane's love of enjoyment. The consequence was that the girl grew up to believe herself misunderstood and condemned, and became restless and discontented. Strange to say, in spite of the reputation for unhousewifeliness which Jane bore in the village, she had not been with out lovers. Indeed, her refusal of the suit of the doctor who had succeeded to her father's practice had caused unpleasant complications for her family, for he had taken it hard, and he was the only medical man within miles. As a matter of fact, Jane had not rejected his addresses without a pang, for not only did she find her life at home almost unbearable, but she was not without a sneaking fondness for him. To one thing, however, she had made up her mind: whomever she married, halt, blind, or lame he might be, but he must take her away from her birthplace and let her see the world. Yet, since she could have counted the strangers whom she had ever seen, she seemed likely to remain Jane Phillips to the end of her days. One afternoon in June, sixty years ago, this discontented girl was sitting in the garden behind the house. During the past week the village had been astir and aflutter at the approaching visit of a missionary, who had lately returned from the scenes of adventurous labors among the islauds of the Pacific. For a week Jane had heard him spoken of as of some successful general or great military hero, and for a week every time she had heard his name mentioned the same idea had obtruded itself upon her attention. In those days missionary marriages were not uncommon. Many an enthusiastic preacher, who might never have had time to woo a bride nor the power to win one, found himself leading to the altar some well-recommended and often unknown woman, whose sole attraction was a readiness to accompany him to parts unknown. Jane's own aunt had made such a marriage. In her enthusiasm for spreading the gospel she had consented to become the wife of an elderly missionary, so that she might join him in his work. It had been arranged through the clergyman of her church, and the second time they met they had been married. This was the story that kept recurring to Jane on this June afternoon-recurring again and again, until suddenly she leaped to her feet and ran out of the garden. Elias Webster, D.D., was sitting in his study considering the text, "Cry aloud, spare not, lift up your voice like a trumpet, and show my people their transgression," with reference to his discourse for the Sabbath, when the door burst open and his sister-in-law entered. He had never before been disturbed while writing his sermon except in cases of the greatest emergency, and Jane was the last person in the world to venture on such a liberty. They had never been on cordial terms. She had always taken a childish pleasure in disregarding his opinion, and he had never made any secret of his disapproval. "Elias," she said, panting a little, for she had run all the way from the garden "Elias, I want to marry a mission ary." For an instant words failed Dr. Webster, but only for an instant. "Would you have me believe, Jane," he said, "that one whose cold-heartedness has been the one reproach of a pious family-one who has always neglected even the sacred duties of her home life, and never sought to join the churchwould you have me believe-" "Oh yes, I know, Elias," Jane interrupted, soothingly; "but I'm going to be very good. If you only knew how good I was going to be!" "I am rejoiced to hear it," he returned, unsoftened. "When I bave seen the change, it will be time enough to speak of so serious a matter. Until then I must refuse to discuss it with you." Jane sighed. She feared she had not begun in the best way. It was almost the first time she had ever been in his study, and meek as she wanted to appear, her youth itself stood out with impertinent brilliance against rows of musty sermons and darkly bound church histories. "But it will be too late if you wait," she said at length, in desperation; "Mr. West will be gone." 66 room she executed a dance of triumph in front of her high, gilt-framed glass, which reflected her in libellous distortion. She felt the game, if not won, was at least well begun, and she twirled up and down, and then stopped as a dreadful thought struck her. Suppose Mr. West should be willing, suppose it should all be arranged, and suppose he should be so hideously repulsive that not even her freedom could repay her? But no; whatever he might be, he could give her something better than her seventeen years of stagnation had ever known. But, unfortunately for Jane, her diplomacy was overthrown and brought to naught by an unforeseeable circumstance, as may happen to the most diplomatic. Scarcely had she left the study when the mail brought news to Elias of the serious illness of his brother. In those days even bad news travelled slowly, and by the time the letter had reached him Dr. Webster knew that there was no time to lose. So Sarah packed his bag, bedewing his clothes with her tears (she had never seen her brother-in-law, but she loved where her duty demanded she should love), and Elias just caught the boat; and Mr. West, who had been coming to rest and recuperate, was asked to fill Dr. Web Mr. West! Mr. West!" cried Dr. Webster, his eyebrows almost meeting. "My child, do you know that Mr. West is today one of the most prominent men in the great field of foreign missions! It is mere levity to speak of yourself in connection with such a man.' Jane was a little alarmed at the storm ster's place until his return. she had raised. "I know I know it is presumptuous, Elias," she said, hastily. Some people thought even Sarah was presumptuous, good as she is, when she aspired to being your wife; but can I disregard the inestimable spiritual benefit she has received from your constant companionship?" Dr. Webster's frown relaxed slightly, and Jane, new to diplomacy, was so childishly delighted at her success that she could scarcely forbear from sharing her enjoyment with him. She conquered her impulse, however, and became more gentle without relinquishing her point. They talked on for an hour or more. When she went away, Dr. Webster had so far yielded as to promise to put the case before Mr. West. Further than this he would not go. He absolutely refused to be anything but explicit concerning her former uuregeneracy, or to use his influence in her fa vor. She was content with this much, how ever; indeed, in the privacy of her own In the few days which followed Elias's departure, Mrs. Phillips noted, with surprise and doubt, that a change had begun to come over Jane. Her demeanor was more gentle; she evinced a wish to be of use in the house, and offered to help her mother in the annual rite of sweetmeatmaking, which was then in progress; she even accompanied Sarah on a charitable visit, and on Sunday she was ready for church before any one-standing in the old-fashioned hallway, clad in her best china-blue print, large in the sleeves and low in the neck, but supplemented by a deep embroidered muslin cape. Jane never forgot those minutes she waited at the foot of the stairs, nor the slow walk up the steep hill to the church, nor, most of all, the time of breathless anticipation after they were seated in their pew, before the service began. For the first time she was to see this man with whom she had volunteered to cast in her lot. second she imagined that he would be young and perhaps bearablé, and then she felt convinced that he would have no need of her assistance; the next she pic One tured him to herself as old and austere, and then she knew he would accept her proposition. An indescribable stir and rustle rippled over the congregation, and Jane raising her eyes found that she was looking at the goodliest man it had ever been her lot to behold. He was apparently a little over thirty, taller and stronger than the men she had been accustomed to see wearing the long coat and high white stock, which were then the distinguishing marks of a clergyman. Nature had originally intended him for a blond, but he was so browned by the sun that it was almost startling to be met by the vivid blue of his eyes. that he was to come to the Phillipses' the following Sunday. Altogether, the day had been a thrilling one for Jane; nor did the week that followed prove less so. She saw Mr. West constantly, and though sometimes they did not exchange a word, and often when they did only a conventional greeting passed between them, it did not seem strange to Jane that his individuality was beginning to shut out all other objects in her thoughts. One memorable afternoon she went to fetch the mail, and coming out of the post-office she met the missionary. Abandoning one of the most prominent members of the church with whom he had been in conversation, he came to speak to Jane waited anxiously for the sermon, Jane, and then asked if he might walk but when he came forward and, leaning home with her, and the permission havon the high reading-desk, began to speak, ing been obtained without much difficulshe forgot to think critically of the man ty, he straightway accompanied her down in listening to what he was saying. He the wide main street, in the sight of a spoke without the slightest attempt at elo- large number of the congregation who quence, but with a literary ability which had assembled to get their letters. Jane had never heard before. There were none of those misunderstandings and complications with the English language which made Dr. Webster's discourses more like combats than sermons. She felt instinctively that Mr. West was not a teacher, but a worker, and it was of his work he spoke, with a calm of manner rather at variance with the subject, and now and then flatly contradicted by the flare of enthusiasm in his eyes. Coming out of church she heard, as if with the pride of proprietorship, the openly expressed approval of the congregation. By the time they reached the door Mr. West himself was standing there. Sarah introduced him to her mother, but quite forgot Jane, until he himself reminded her of the omission. Then he walked home with them, and Jane's blue dress caught on a nail in the gate, and he helped her to disentangle it with somewhat laborious care, saying that it would be a pity for anything so pretty to be torn, and Sarah murmured to her mother that she should think a man of Mr. West's perception might see that Jane's thought ran quite enough on her clothes as it was. Mrs. Phillips, however, was not displeased, for she asked the offender to come to supper that evening, and when he declined, with evident regret, on the ground that he had already accepted an invitation from one of the elders of the church, it was arranged VOL. XCVII.-No. 580.-81 It is true that their dialogue turned only upon the postal facilities, the state of the weather, and other subjects of total indifference to both of them; but there are some situations where what is said matters very little, and this-for Jane, at least-was one of them. When he left her at her door her head was in a whirl, while, saving her from too sudden reaction, she had the thought that on Sunday he was coming to tea. It was not usual for Jane to long ardently for the Sabbath, yet when Saturday night came, the thought uppermost in her mind, as she bade her mother goodnight, was that after a few hours of sleep she would open her eyes with joy on Sunday morning. Mrs. Phillips had just returned from an evening visit to her married daughter. 'Elias got back this afternoon," she said. "His brother is quite well again." Jane gave a gasp. "Already?" she said. "I thought he would not be back for weeks." Mrs. Phillips looked up in surprise at the terror in her daughter's tone; but Jane had fled. She fled to her own room, and locked the door. For the past week she had been drifting. For the last few days, whenever she thought of her conversation with Elias, she thought of it not as an ac She tion which would ever have definite results, but as a fanciful bond between herself and Mr. West, known only to herself. Now for the first time she felt frightened and shocked at what she had done. would give anything in the world to keep Mr. West from hearing about it; she felt she could never hold up her head again if he knew; and yet, even if Elias had not already spoken, she knew she would never have the courage to tell him she had changed her mind. As we grow older most of us have become familiar with the spectres that walk by night-fear, and poverty, and jealousy, and thousands of others-a sleepless night is no uncommon experience to most of us. But, oh! the first time we meet one; the first time when in a paroxysm of despair we do not even go through the form of seeking sleep! Jane threw herself face downwards on the bed, and lay there without moving, though downstairs the tall hall clock struck hour after hour. Yet, strange to say, the spectre at her side was not fear, but regret. For the first time in her life sympathy had come near her, and she had built up her hypocrisy like a wall; it had come near her, but she could not take it for herself, since it had been given to another person to the person she had appeared to be. This man might have been her friend; it made no difference that she had known him but a week, her spirit had recognized him as an old comrade; yet, after all, he was not her friend, for he had never known her. If only she had the courage to speak the truth to him, the result would be disastrous, but whatever she saved from the wreck would be indeed her own. Who can give an idea of the length of nights like these? Jane, sitting up at last, saw that the room was no longer in total darkness, and that the short June night was over; and so she rose to begin a new day, still exhausted by the struggle with the old one. It was a very different Sunday from the preceding one, and a very different Jane who went haggard and hollow-eyed to church. After the service there was no one waiting to speak to the Phillipses as they came out, and Jane waited through an agonizing day for the evening. But even when supper-time came, bring ing with it Mr. West and the Websters, she felt as if the strain had only begun, after all. She did not know whether Elias had forgotten the whole matter or whether he had already spoken to the missionary; she only knew that Mr. West, having once greeted her, had neither looked at her nor addressed her again. It is so dreadful to be ignored. Whether his neglect arose from forgetfulness or disapproval, Jane felt it was equally bitBetween excitement and distress she could scarcely choke down any food, and as soon as supper was over she slipped away to the garden, where she might be as miserable as she liked. ter. She sat there a long time. When she came out it had been still daylight, but as she sat there the moon changed from white to silver, and the garden which had been green grew slowly gray in the moonlight and black under the trees, and a large square of yellow light from the kitchen window fell on the grass behind her. A shadow crossed this brilliant patch, a step crunched the gravel on the path, and Jane, looking up, saw that Mr. West was standing beside her. There was a short silence; then he said, somewhat constrainedly, "I have been having a talk with Dr. Webster this afternoon." He came to a dead stop. "Are you going to help me?" said Jane, scarcely recognizing her own voice, and finding no meaning in her words. "I am going to scold you," he said, and smiled. "I don't know whether you will find that very helpful or not.” It is a kind of help I've had all my life," answered Jane, rather bitterly. "What has Elias been telling you to scold me about?" "Elias has been uncommunicative to a fault," he said, and sitting down beside her he went on, righteous indignation lending him words. "If I did not feel in a way so near to your enthusiasm it would not anger me so that you should be willing to degrade your work as well as yourself by marrying a man you do not love, a thing no good woman should be willing to do." Jane was silent. There were a thousand phrases taught her by her surroundings which she had meant to make use of, but somehow they would not come in the presence of this man, whose own sincerity accepted hers so unquestioningly. |