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the dull, cold formula of fact? The best thing about the Land of Youth. is that there is in it such an atmosphere of the unknown and the unknowable. "A land without ruins is a land without

memories." The spiritually-minded Celt could not get along without memories or mysteries. It is they which make the Land of Youth so dear to those who have lived and loved there.

Tuesdays With Friends

The Agnostic Speaks

By MAURICE FRANCIS EGAN

THE Lady of the House and the Young Lady from Virginia were about to go out for a walk

when the Judge came up the lane. He seemed much disappointed. "I thought this was almost the hour for tea." he said, "and it's near that hour, as I see by the four o'clocks in the garden there."

"Both you and the four o'clocks are right," said the Lady of the House. "I wonder whether the four o'clocks are always right, and whether the pinklypurplish crepe myrtle does always bloom. when the watermelons are ripe? We're going off because we are not wanted— the Man of the House is smoking with the Agnostic on the lawn—and talking." "Too intellectual for you?" asked the Judge, with evident irony.

"You understand the situation exactly," said the Young Lady from Virginia, with a courtesy. "Now, we go!" The Judge found the Agnostic and the Man of the House at the tea-table, on which the cigars were piled.

"There is no religion now; there's a philosophy," the Agnostic was saying: "I learned that at college. It is in all the young blood of our time. I went into college a good Baptist, but I soon learned that I couldn't hold the fact of evolution-"

"The hypothesis" - corrected the Judge."

"The theory"-said the Man of the House.

"It's more than that," said the Agnostic, who was young, with some heat. "A dogma, then," said the Judge, sarcastically.

The Agnostic smiled.

"We leave dogmas to you," he said. "You would be more logical if you did," said the Man of the House, "but I think I heard you say a moment ago that you believed evolution,-as presented by Wallace and Darwin,-to be absolutely true."

"Well," said the Agnostic, smoothing his pointed beard into shape, "I think I can repeat it. Now, don't imagine that I am ignorant of what you religious people hold,-you needn't explain your terms to me; I was once a staunch Baptist myself, as I told you. I know what you mean by 'absolutely.' You ought to hear our Professor Weisermeith demolish dogma in the philosophy classes without even naming it. It's impossible to reconcile Christianity and evolution, ast he teaches it!"

"Evolution has its value as a scientific method," said the Judge, gravely, "but as a dogma-"

"Oh, you don't understand," smiled the Agnostic. "You were brought up before the splendor of evolution was known as -well, as what it is. I don't know one intellectual Protestant man of my own age, I know intelligent ones, but not one who can be ranked as intellectual. When they can't fall back on the mys

terious claims of your Church," he turned to the Man of the House, "there's no logical course left for them but to do as I have done."

"Enter the Agnostic sect?" asked the Judge.

"Sect?" repeated the Agnostic, with fire in his eyes.

"Well," said the Judge, "you can't call your 'assembly,' or 'group,' or 'school' scientific, since you say that evolution in the infidel sense is absolutely true. Now, a scientific law can not be absolutely true, since it is only a law while it is supported by discoveries

the result of sincere researches-which prove it. When new discoveries disprove the older ones, your law goes. Your theory of evolution is a working hypothesis, and will be only that until the chain of physical facts is complete." "Nonsense!" said the Agnostic, flushing. "I believe in evolution absolutely. It runs through all methods of study-" "Certainly," said the Man of the House, "it is an excellent working method;-but when you make a dogma, founded on faith, you must pardon me if I doubt whether you are even an Agnostic, a man who knows nothing absolutely, but whatever he knows he knows relatively and holds to in reverent scientific expectation."

The Judge laughed.

"You'll have an Agnostic ritual after awhile," he said.

The Agnostic dropped his cigar. "Why not?" he exclaimed, warmly. "That is what we need."

"An altar to the Unknown God," said the Judge. "With ceremonies modeled on Robespierre's famous feast of religion during the French Revolution!"

"You are unkind," said the Agnostic, as if hurt. "That sort of talk is bad form; but there is no doubt that the tendency among Agnostics is towards a solemn ritual as it is among orthodox Protestants; but the Protestants have

this advantage, they can borrow all sorts of splendors from the Catholic Church, while we can't. Professor Wiesermeith himself thinks that we need a ritual."

"Come, now," said the Judge, sarcastically, "isn't that a little too strong,an altar to Nothing-that-may-be-Something, with an act of faith in a scientific law that may be no law to-morrow? It's all as strong and logical as Robespierre's paper flowers!"

"It's as logical as Protestantism," said the Agnostic, turning fiercely to the Judge. "You people talk of logic, accept the Incarnation and refuse to believe in Transubstantiation! Logic! I know a thing or two!"

"You know too much,-for an Agnostic!" said the Judge, dryly. "I'm not a Protestant."

"I thought you were!" exclaimed the Agnostic, disappointed. "Oh, I admit that you Catholics,-your premises once accepted, are logical. But the Agnostics will have a ritual of their own yet."

"No stations of the cross," said the Man of the House, "but a series of pictures of progress from the protoplasmic stage to the highest form, which is yet unknown, hey?"

"It's not impossible!" said the Agnostic, while the Judge laughed again. "And daily prayer offered for the survival of the fittest."

"No prayer, Judge," said the Agnostic. "Richard Wagner once said that the age was out of joint when an artist could appeal only to the understanding of the world, and that philosophy must be so indeed, when its final appeal is only to the darkened mind of men. If you have faith, my dear boy, don't attempt to put your trust in the physical, changing facts of earth;-but here come the ladies,

good gracious! - clear the table! They'll think we are Pagan Barbarians!"

"We do," said the Lady of the House, "table-cloths are not made for cigar ashes."

T

The Vocation of Philip

XXII.

By GEORGINA PELL CURTIS

HE tidings that the young war correspondent had been found and rescued after two months' imprisonment, reaching England soon after the New Year.

His uncle heard it as he was coming out of church on a Sunday morning. Almost overpowered by emotion, the brave old General turned back and reentered the church, where he knelt down to return heartfelt thanks.

So he was well and safe-Philip, his boy! And it was not yet too late for him to win some honor and renown. The General went home and read the papers carefully. Mr. Everdeen was with Sir Redvers Buller, and it was hoped he would be able to get despatches through to Cape Town regularly. The Times commented on his imprisonment and regretted it, adding that his first letter from Estcourt had been a brilliant and interesting one.

After that General Hales was not disappointed; the letters from the seat of war were teeming with interest and written in a masterly and graphic manner. Sent from the Tugela to Cape Town, they were despatched to the London paper as fast as possible.

Then came the joyful tidings that the first step to decisive victory had been. won, and relief for Ladysmith was near. Unable to contain himself, General Hales hastened to London and put up at his club so as to receive the news from headquarters more quickly.

Coming down to breakfast on the first of March, he was met by the tidings.

that Ladysmith had been relieved on the preceding day. The General took the paper that was handed to him, and meeting an old Indian brother officer, Colonel Witham, he invited him to take their morning meal together. The two men sat down at a small table near a window looking out on the street, and while the waiter poured water and placed napkins in front of them, they conversed enthusiastically, wondering how much longer the war would last, and commenting on the splendid action of the Irish regiments, of which Colonel Withamwhose mother had been a Nugent of County Westmeath-was very proud.

"I have not yet read the details," said the Colonel when they had nearly finished breakfast. "Shall we look over the papers, Hales?"

"By all means," answered the General, who had been rather impatient of the enforced delay.

They shook out the morning papers as they spoke, and disappeared behind. them a moment later. There was a slight exclamation from Colonel Witham; just then the General dropped his paper and stared at his companion with a face that had suddenly become ghastly pale. Glancing down the column of the Times, the following paragraph had met his eye:

"We regret to learn that during the engagement of Majuba Day, on February 27th, Mr. Philip Everdeen, war correspondent for was shot and almost instantly killed. Mr. Everdeen had only lately escaped from a two months' captivity on a Boer farm, and gave promise of becoming a brilliant jour

nalist. Among the terrible losses sustained by the British force, this cutting short of his career is not the least lamentable." Here followed a brief record of Philip's life, age, and manner of education. In some overwhelming and crushing sorrows the full agony of realization does not come until later, and the General at first was too stunned to be able to grasp his loss.

"My dear old friend," said Colonel Witham, rising, "have courage, perhaps there is some mistake; let us go to the War Office."

The General also arose, and steadied himself by grasping the table.

"It cannot be true," he said, "my boy-my brave Philip; and it was I who sent him to Africa!"

He moved toward the door, supported by the Colonel and followed by several acquaintances who had been in the room and had quickly rallied around him.

"I-I-think I will go to my room," he said. Once there, his brain cleared, and with it came the desire for the help, that is not human.

"Leave me, all of you, for a few moments," he said. "You are very kind; "You are very kind; but I would be alone."

The alarmed friends moved to the door, some of them even wondering if grief had unsettled the old man's mind and made him contemplate suicide.

No

"I will go to the War Office at once and come right back," said the Colonel, patting his old friend on the back as if he were a boy. He closed the door as he left the room, and the General moved to his bed and fell on his knees. human eye saw the old man in his sorrow and bereavement; there are some spirits of suffering and anguish that learn resignation to the Divine Will only by prayer and fasting. The moments passed; but General Hales took no heed of the time; in spirit he was stand

ing by the rood of the Cross on Mount Calvary, near that Mother of Sorrows who was mourning for her only Son.

Perhaps it was half an hour later when there came a knock at the door; slowly the General arose from his knees and sat down in an armchair before he said, "Come' in." A waiter entered and handed him a card on which was written Father Basil's name.

"Ask him to come up here," said General Hales, to whom this friend seemed as a ray of light in his darkness. A moment later the priest entered the

room.

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"Misereatur tui Omnipotens Deus,' he said, making the sign of the cross over the stricken old man, who had knelt down as he came in the room. And then with infinite tenderness and strength Father Basil put an arm around his friend and helped him to arise.

"I heard the news only an hour ago," he said, "and came here at once. Have courage, my dear old friend. Remember that 'he being made perfect in a short space, fulfilled a long time; for his soul pleased the Lord, therefore hastened He to take him away from among the wicked.' ".

The General bowed his head, and bitter, scalding tears, the first he had shed, rained on his clasped hands.

"Oh! Father," he said, "pray for me-pray for him, my Philip-the joy of my old age. To me it seems as if this was retribution because I opposed his taking Orders."

"My friend," said the priest, "have no fear about that. I counselled delay; and I would do it again even if I knew the end would be the same. The boy was not meant for a priest. Besides, Philip himself told me. you never actively opposed him, but left him perfectly free."

For an hour they sat and talked-the younger man, whose almost daily and hourly duty it was to meet and soothe suffering, and the old man, whose few weeks of relief and joy had been turned to such cruel pain. Father Basil arose just as Colonel Witham entered with the news that the War Office knew no more, as yet, than the few details published in the morning papers.

"I think you had best return to Canterbury at once," said the priest, to which the General agreed.

"Let me go with you," said the Colonel," so, as there was nothing to wait for, the General, accompanied by the kind-hearted army officer, was back in Canterbury that evening, alone among the familiar scenes, every step of which recalled Philip.

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Meanwhile, Father Basil made his way to Hammersmith, where he had an engagement to preach a week's retreat to some ladies living in the world. The portress who opened the door allowed herself to utter an exclamation of relief.

"It is you, Father," she said. "Reverend Mother has been looking for you. Miss Blackwood is here, and in such terrible grief."

Father Basil divined at once the cause of the trouble. Natalie had heard, and was overwhelmed by the tidings of Philip's death.

He was shown into the reception room, and in a moment Mother Catherine entered and closed the door behind her.

"It is that poor child, Miss Blackwood, Father," she said. "She came to me ten days ago, after telling her father and uncle that she had decided to become a Catholic. She has only been waiting to be received by you after the retreat; and now has come the news of Mr. Everdeen's death which seems to have crushed her."

"Poor child," said the priest. "I guessed her secret, I think, before she knew it herself; but I am glad she decided on becoming a Catholic before she heard this news of Mr. Everdeen's death."

"The same thought came to me," answered the Mother; "the news that he was safe and well appeared in the papers not long before she came here. It led to her telling me of her feeling toward him. She said he was the noblest and most high-minded man she had ever met, and that his earnestness and devotion to the Church first drew her toward it." "Philip was one in a thousand," answered the priest, with deep emotion"a gentleman 'sans peur et sans proche;' and a Catholic of the loyalest type."

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"How few like him," sighed the Mother-"and that he should be taken!"

Father Basil walked to the window, then turned around and glanced at a fine engraving of Notre Dame in Paris that hung on the wall opposite him.

"I have often thought in the past year," he said slowly, "that if the Comte de Chambord had been entirely surrounded by men like Philip Everdeen, he would have been King of France, and the present unhappy war against religion would never have existed."

"I suppose, Father," said Mother Catherine, "that in almost any country we could lay our hands on some man, nobler and better than his compeers, and say, 'Had there been more men like this, such and such a wrong would never have existed.''

"Doubtlessly," answered the priest, "mine is probably a Utopian dream." A bell sounded in the distance, and the Mother arose.

"Shall I send Miss Blackwood to you now, Father?"

"Yes, do," he answered, and the Mother courtesied and withdrew.

Left alone, Father Basil locked the

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