ness is ascertained, his friends invariably credit him with a host of shining qualities which, we are given to understand, lie balked and frustrated by his one unfortunate weakness. How many of us know these exceptionally brilliant lawyers, doctors, politicians, and journalists who bear a charmed reputation based exclusively upon their inebriety, and who take good care not to imperil it by too long a relapse into the mortifying self-revelations of soberness! And what wrong has been done to the honored name of humor by these pretentious rascals! We do not love Falstaff because he is drunk; we do not admire Becky Sharp because she is wicked. Drunkenness and wickedness are things easy of imitation; yet all the sack in Christendom could not beget us another Falstaff-though Seithenyn ap Seithyn comes very near to the incomparable model-and all the wickedness in the world could not fashion us a second Becky Sharp. There are too many dull topers and stupid sinners among mankind to admit of any uncertainty on these points.

Bishop Burnet, in describing Lord Halifax, tells us, with thinly veiled disapprobation, that he was "a man of fine and ready wit, full of life, and very pleasant, but much turned to satire. His imagination was too hard for his judgment, and a severe jest took more with him than all arguments whatever." Yet this was the first statesman of his age, and one whose clear and tranquil vision penetrated so far beyond the turbulent, troubled times he lived in that men looked askance upon a power they but dimly understood. The sturdy "Trimmer," who could be bullied neither by king nor commons, who would "speak his mind and not be hanged as long as there was law in England," must have turned with infinite relief from the horrible medley of plots and counterplots, from the ugly images of Oates and Dangerfield, from the scaffolds of

Stafford and Russell and Sidney, from the Bloody Circuit and the massacre of Glencoe, from the false smiles of princes and the howling arrogance of the mob, to any jest, however "severe," which would restore to him his cold and fastidious serenity and keep his judgment and his good temper unimpaired. "Ridicule is the test of truth," said Hazlitt, and it is a test which Halifax remorselessly applied, and which would not be without its uses to the Trimmer of to-day, in whom this adjusting sense is lamentably lacking. For humor distorts nothing, and only false gods are laughed off their earthly pedestals. What monstrous absurdities and paradoxes have resisted whole batteries of serious arguments, and then crumbled swiftly into dust before the ringing death-knell of a laugh! What healthy exultation, what genial mirth, what loyal brotherhood of mirth, attends the friendly sound! Yet in labeling our life and literature, as the Danes labeled their Royal Theater in Copenhagen, "Not for amusement merely," we have pushed one step farther, and the legend too often stands, "Not for amusement at all." Life is no laughing matter, we are told-which is true; and, what is still more dismal to contemplate, books are no laughing matters, either. Only now and then some gay, defiant rebel, like Mr. Saintsbury, flaunts the old flag, hums a bar of "Blue Bonnets over the Border," and ruffles the quiet waters of our souls by hinting that this age of Apollinaris and of lectures is at fault, and that it has produced nothing which can vie as literature with the products of the ages of wine and song.-"Points of View."

E. W. Townsend

Chimmie Fadden Makes Friends

"SAY, I'm a dead easy winner to-day. See? It's a fiver, sure 'nough. Say, I could give Jay Gould weight fer age an' lose 'im in a walk as a winner. See? How'd I collar it? Square. See? Dead square, an' easy. Want it fer a story? Why sure.

"Say, you know me. When I useter sell poipers, wasn't I a scrapper? Dat's right, ain't it? Was dere a kid on Park Row I didn't do? Sure! Well, say, dis mornin' I seed a loidy I know crossin' de Bow'ry. See? Say, she's a torrowbred, an' dat goes. Say, do you know wot I've seed her done? I've seed her feedin' dem kids wot gets free turk on Christmas by dose East Side missioners. She's one of dem loidies wot comes down here an' fixes up old women an' kids coz dey likes it. Dat's right.

"Well, say, I was kinder lookin' at 'er when I sees a mug wid a dyed mustache kinder jolt ag'in' 'er, an' he raises his dicer an' grins. See? Say, dat sets me crazy. Lemme tell ye. Remember when de truck run over me toes? Well, I couldn't sell no poipers nor nutting den. See? Say, she was de loidy wot comes ter me room wid grub an' reads ter me. Dat's wot she done.

"Well, I runs up to her dis mornin' an' I says: ''Scuse me, loidy, but shall I t'ump der mug?'

"She was kinder white in de gills, but dere was fight in her eye. Say, when ye scrap ye watches de odder felly's eye,

don't ye? Ye kin always see fight in de eye. Dat's right.

Well, say, dere was fight in her eye. When I speaks to her she kinder smiles, an' says, 'Oh, dat's you, is it, Chimmie?'

"Say, she remembered me name. Well, she says: 'If you'll t'ump de mug'-no, dat wasn't wot she says 'If you'll t'rash de cur I'll give ye somethin',' an' she pulled out her wad an' flashed up a fiver. Den she says somethin' about it not being Christian, but de example would be good. I don't know what she meaned, but dat's straight. See? Wot she says goes, wedder I'm on or not.

"Can you t'rash 'im, Chimmie?' she says.
"Can I?' I says. 'I'll put a new face on 'im.'
"Den I went fer 'im.

Say, I jolted 'im in de belly so suddent he was paralized. See? Den I give 'im de heel, an' over he went in de mud, an' me on top of 'im. Say, you should have seed us! Well, I'd had his odder ear off if de cop hadn't snatched me.

"Say, he ran me in, but it wasn't ten minutes before she come dere and squared me. See? When she got me outside she was kinder laffin' an' cryin', but she give me de fiver, an' says, 'I hope de Lord'll forgive me, Chimmie, for leadin' ye into temptation, but ye done 'im brown.'

"Dat's right; dem's 'er very words. No, not 'done 'im brown'; dat's wot dey meaned-say, "trashed 'im well." Dat's right. 'T'rashed 'im well,' was her very words. See?"

"Say, I knowed ye'd be paralyzed w'en ye seed me in dis harness. It's up in G, ain't it? Dat's right. Say, remember me tellin' ye 'bout de mug I t'umped fer de loidy on de Bow'ry? de loidy wot give me de five and squared me wid de perlice? Dat's right. Well, say, she is a torrowbred, an' dat goes. See? Dat evenin' wot d'ye t'ink she done? She brought 'is Whiskers ter see me.

"Naw, I ain't stringin' ye. 'Is Whiskers is de loidy's fadder. Sure!

"E comes ter me room wid der loidy, 'is Whiskers does, an' he says, says 'e, 'Is dis Chimmie Fadden?' says 'e.

"Yer dead on,' says I.

"Wot t'ell?' 'e says, turning to 'is daughter. 'Wot does de young man say?' 'e says.

"Den de loidy she kinder smiled-say, ye otter seed 'er smile. Say, it's outter sight. Dat's right. Well, she says: 'I t'ink I understan' Chimmie's langwudge,' she says. "E means 'e de kid youse lookin' fer. 'E's de very mug.'

"Dat's wot she says; somet'n like dat, only a felly can't just remember 'er langwudge.

"Den 'is Whiskers gives me a song an' dance 'bout me bein' a brave young man fer t'umpin' der mug wot insulted 'is daughter, an' 'bout 'is heart bein' all broke dat 'is daughter should be doin' missioner work in de slums.

"I says, 'Wot t'ell;' but der loidy, she says, 'Chimmie,' says she, 'me fadder needs a footman,' she says, 'an' I taut you'd be de very mug fer de job,' says she. See?

"Say, I was all broke up, an' couldn't say nottin', fer 'is Whiskers was so solemn. See?

"Wot's yer lay now?' says 'is Whiskers, or somet'n' like dat.

"Say, I could 'ave give 'im a string 'bout me bein' a hardworkin' boy, but I knowed der loidy was dead on ter me, so I only says, says I, 'Wot t'ell?' says I, like dat, 'Wot t'ell?' See?

"Den 'is Whiskers was kinder paralized like, an' 'e turns to 'is daughter an' 'e says-dese is 'is very words-'e says: "Really, Fannie,' 'e says, 'really, Fannie, you must enterpret dis young man's langwudge.'