Fortunately for Colonel Withersby, the tender nature of Mrs. Mortimer had not been appealed to in vain. As she herself had said, the Colonel had done her many good turns in the past; and she saw no reason for doubting that he might do her many more good turns in the future-which latter consideration may have been remotely the cause of the flood of kindly intention that now welled up within her gentle breast. She was a pronounced freetrader, and her knowledge of the world assured her that reciprocity could not always be only on one side. Had the Colonel asked her to join him openly in carrying on his campaign against the Marques, she certainly would have refused his request. That would have been asking too much. But the Colonel's proposal to fight his battle alone-and to divide the spoils in case he should be victorious-put the matter on a basis that enabled her to give free play to the generous dictates of her heart. She therefore added her entreaties to his appeal to Monsieur Duvent for assistance; and even went so far as to offer to join equally with that gentleman in providing the small amount of capital without which the little venture in ivory could not be launched.

Whether or not this liberal offer would have sufficed to overcome Monsieur Duvent's parsimonious hesitancy, never will be known. At the very moment that he opened his mouth to speak the words which no doubt would have been decisive, there was a knock at the door; then a servant entered bearing a great bunch of magnificent roses-all of which, however, being very fullblown, were somewhat past their prime. An envelope directed to Mrs. Mortimer was attached to this handsome yet slightly equivocal floral tribute. Within the envelope was the card of the Marques de Valdeflores, on which was penciled the request that she would accept the accompanying trifling souvenir of the very agreeable evening that he had passed in her company and in the company of her friends. In the right-hand bottom corner of the card were added the letters P. P. C. In many ways Mrs. Mortimer was not a perfect woman; but among her imperfections was not that of stupidity. As she looked at this bunch of toofull-blown roses, and realized the message that it was intended delicately to convey, the dove-like and olive-branching sentiments departed from her breast-and in their place came sentiments compounded of daggers and bowstrings and very poisonous bowls!

As for Colonel Withersby, having but glanced at the fateful letters on the card that Mrs. Mortimer mutely handed him, he

the first floor.

descended to the office of the Casa Napoléon in little more than a single bound. In little more than two bounds he returned to Consternation was written upon his expressive face, and also rage. In a sentence that was nothing short of blistering in its intensity, he announced the ruinous fact that the Marques de Valdeflores had sailed at six o'clock that morning on the French steamer, and at that moment must be at least two hundred miles out at sea!

VI

DR. THEOPHILE had but little to say when Madame told him with triumphal sorrow that the Marques de Valdeflores had paid his bill in full and had departed for his native Spain. Madame's mixture of sentiments was natural. Her triumph was because her estimate of the financial integrity of the Marques had been justified by the event; her sorrow was because so profitable a patron was gone from the Casa Napoléon. The few words which Dr. Théophile spoke, in his softened French of Guadeloupe, were to the effect that a man was not necessarily a Marques because he happened to pay his bill at a hotel. Madame resented this answer hotly. It was more, she said, than ungenerous: it was heartlessly unjust. She challenged Dr. Théophile to disprove by any evidence save his own miserable suspicions that the Marques was not a Marques; she defied him to do his worst! Dr. Théophile said mildly that he really could not afford the time requisite for abstract research of this nature, and added that he had no worst to do. Madame declared that his reply was inconclusive; an obvious endeavor to evade the question that he himself had raised. Dr. Théophile smiled pleasantly, and answered that as usual, she was quite right.

Had Madame only known it, she might have called Colonel Withersby as a witness in her behalf; for the Colonel, had he been willing to testify, could have made her triumph over Dr. Théophile complete. Being curious to get down to what he termed the hard-pan in regard to the Marques, he had made an expedition of inquiry to the Spanish consulate on the very day that that nobleman had sailed away.

"Certainly," said the polite young man who answered his pointed question: "the Marques de Valdeflores had been in New York for nearly a month. His visit had been one of business: to arrange with a firm of American contractors for the building

of a tramway in the city of Tarazona. He had completed his business satisfactorily."

The Colonel's usual ruddy face whitened a little as he listened to this statement. The tramway project really, then, had been a substantial one after all! This was bitter indeed. But perhaps it was not true; the young man might be only chaffing him. His voice was hoarse, and there was a perceptible break in it as he said, «Honest Injun, now-you're giving it to me straight?"

The young man looked puzzled. He was by no means familiar with the intricacies of the English language, and his mental translation of these words into literal Spanish did not yield a very intelligible result.

Perceiving the confusion that was caused by his use of a too extreme form of his own vernacular, the Colonel repeated his question in substance in the Spanish tongue: "Of a truth he is a Marques, and rich? There is no mistake?"

The young man perceptibly brightened. Oh, of a truth there is no mistake, señor," he answered. "He is a Marques, and enormously rich. To see him you would not think so, perhaps; for his habits are very simple, and he is as modest in his manner as in his dress. You see he has given much of his time

to business matters; and he has traveled a great deal."

Colonel Withersby withdrew from the consulate. His desire for information was more than satisfied: it was satiated. In the relative privacy of the passageway outside the consulate door, his pent-up feelings found vent.

"Traveled, has he?" ejaculated the colonel, with a series of accessory ejaculations of such force that the air immediately around him became perceptibly blue. "Traveled! Well, I should say he had! I've traveled a little myself, but I'll be "- the Colonel here dropped into minor prophecy-"if he hasn't gone two miles to my one every time!"

LOVE LANE

From 'In Old New York. Copyright 1894, by Harper & Brothers

S ALL the world knows-barring, of course, that small portion of the world which is not familiar with old New Yorkthe Kissing Bridge of a century ago was on the line of the Boston Post Road (almost precisely at the intersection of the

Third Avenue and Seventy-seventh Street of the present day), about four miles out of town. And all the world, without any exception whatever, must know that after crossing a kissing-bridge the ridiculously short distance of four miles is no distance at all. Fortunately for the lovers of that period, it was possible to go roundabout from the Kissing Bridge to New York by a route. which very agreeably prolonged the oscupontine situation: that is to say, by the Abingdon Road, close on the line of the present Twenty-first Street, to the Fitzroy Road, nearly parallel from Fifteenth Street to Forty-second Street with the present Eighth Avenue; thence down to the Great Kiln Road, on the line of the present Gansevoort Street; thence to the Greenwich Road, on the line of the present Greenwich Street-and so, along the riverside, comfortably slowly back to town.

It is a theory of my own that the Abingdon Road received. a more romantic name because it was the first section of this devious departure from the straight path, leading townward into the broad way which certainly led quite around Robin Hood's barn, and may also have led to destruction, but which bloomed with the potentiality of a great many extra kisses wherewith the Kissing Bridge (save as a point of departure) had nothing in the world to do. I do not insist upon my theory; but I state as an undeniable fact that in the latter half of the last century the Abingdon Road was known generally-and I infer from contemporary allusions to it, favorably-as Love Lane.

estate

To avoid confusion, and also to show how necessary were such amatory appurtenances to the gentle-natured inhabitants of this island in earlier times, I must here state that the primitive Kissing Bridge was in that section of the Post Road which now is Chatham Street; and that in this same vicinity-on the Rutgers - was the primitive Love Lane. It was of the older institution that an astute and observant traveler in this country, the Rev. Mr. Burnaby, wrote in his journal a century and a half ago:-"Just before you enter the town there is a little bridge, commonly called 'the kissing-bridge,' where it is customary, before passing beyond, to salute the lady who is your companion;" to which custom the reverend gentleman seems to have taken with a very tolerable relish, and to have found "curious, yet not displeasing."

JAPANESE LITERATURE

BY CLAY MACCAULEY

IVILIZATION in Japan bears date from a time much more recent than that generally ascribed to it. The uncritical writers who first made Japan known to Western peoples accepted the historical traditions treasured by the Japanese as a record of fact. In the popular imaginings of the West, consequently, Japan is a land in which for at least twenty-five centuries an organized society, under a monarchy of unbroken descent, possessed of a relatively high though unique culture in the sciences and arts, has had place and development. But during the last twenty years, competent students have discovered that Japanese civilization is comparatively modern. They cannot carry its authentic history much farther back than about halfway over the course that has been usually allowed for it. No reliance can be placed upon any date or report in Japanese tradition prior to near the opening of the fifth Christian century. Undoubtedly there was, as in all other lands, some basis for long-established tradition; but the glimpses of Japan and its people obtained through the Chinese and Korean annals of the early Christian centuries disclose the inhabitants of these islands, not with an organized State and society, peaceful, prosperous, and learned, but as segregated into clans or tribes practically barbarous and wholly illiterate; the clan occupying the peninsula east of the present cities of Kyōto and Ōsaka having then become leader and prospective sovereign. Certainly before the third Christian century was well advanced there was no knowledge whatever of letters in Japan; and certainly too, for a long time after the art of writing had been brought into the country there was no popular use or knowledge of the art.

I. HISTORICAL SKETCH

The knowledge of letters was in all probability introduced into Japan by Korean immigrants. Their language and writing were Chinese. In the fourth century there may have been among the Japanese some learners of this new knowledge. The Japanese claim positively that in the fifth century their national traditions, hitherto transmitted orally, were written down by adepts in the new art. But whatever may be true of the earlier centuries, it is perfectly XIV-510