that he was detailed for duty at the Praetorian camp near Rome as a teacher of fencing.

Luigi loved and was beloved by Bianca Cellini, a younger daughter of a nobleman. The Cellinis were of better blood than the Carranos, but there were a number of girls in the family to be married off, and on that account Luigi was accepted as a suitor for Bianca's hand. Her father was dead, and her brother, Ricardo, was the acknowledged head of the family. Not long after the betrothal between Luigi and Bianca Jose Herrera came to Rome from Madrid. On account of his wealth he created quite a sensation in society at the capital. When he saw Bianca he straightway fell in love with her and made application for her to her brother. He was informed that the girl was engaged, but he determined to have her in any event. Ricardo was always in want of money and found a ready lender in Herrera. In this way the latter placed the former so heavily in debt to him that he found little difficulty in forcing him to enter into a plot with himself to get rid of Luigi. Between them they worked up a case against Luigi of complicity in a conspiracy that was unearthed about that time to dethrone the king of Italy and declare a republic. Their written evidence was forged, and their principal witness was paid a large sum for his testimony. But Luigi was not able to prove this. He was degraded from his rank in the army and imprisoned in a fortress for a term of years. Since Bianca could not marry the man she loved, she was finally persuaded to wed the Spaniard, who carried her away to Madrid.

A dozen years passed. One day a man with a white beard and hair, whose other features indicated that he was prematurely old, appeared in Rome. A man named Roderigo Sanci, a man of good family, but whose poverty had prevented his taking his place in society, was sitting at a restaurant table on the sidewalk in the Piazza Colonna, when the white-haired stranger passed him and stared at him. Sanci naturally returned the stare. The Stranger asked why he was thus stared at. Sanci replied by asking a like question. The stranger, taking up a wine

glass from the table before Sanci, threw the contents in the latter's face.

The next morning two parties came together in a desolate place on the Campagna. Sanci and the stranger fought with swords used by officers of the army, and Sanci was killed. The skill displayed by the stranger was considered remarkable.

Within a few days after this affair Ricardo Cellini was sitting with some friends in the Pincian gardens when a man with white hair and beard approached him and said:

"Good afternoon, Signor Cellini."

"You have the advantage of me, signor," replied Ricardo, regarding the other curiously.

"But I know you, and I know you to be a liar and a coward."

Cellini flushed and half started up, as if to attack his accuser.

"Do not exert yourself here among your friends. If you have any message for me it will reach me at No. Via Nazionale."

With that the stranger withdrew.

It was impossible for Cellini to retain his social position in face of such an insult without resenting it, and he sent a friend to negotiate with the white-haired stranger. The latter refused to give his name, and had it not been for the gravity of the charge on this account Cellini would not have pressed the matter. There being no choice for him, he agreed to a meeting at a point on the Janiculum hill above St. Peter's. He fell before the steel point of his adversary.

The stranger was now recognized as the man who had killed Roderigo Sanci, and people began to wonder who would be the next victim of this remarkable fencer. But after the last duel he disappeared and never was seen again in Rome.

Jose Herrera at this time was a widower. Whether his wife had learned of the way by which he obtained possession of her or on account of his cruelty to her, she died within a few years after their marriage. One day Herrera was walking on one of the streets of Madrid when a man with white hair and beard obstructed his path. Herrera shifted aside; the white-haired man did the same.

"Get out of my way!" said Herrera to him.

"I was once in your way, and you forced me out of it, and that, too, by dishonorable means. This time you can force me to let you pass in one way only." "What is that?"

"Promise to meet me tomorrow morning at sunrise at the spot usually selected for the settlement of difficulties between gentlemen and you can pass."

"Who are you?"

"I will tell you after it has been decided which of us is to die."

By this time a number of persons had collected, among them several who knew Herrera. He agreed to the meeting and the next morning he received his quietus at the hands of the unknown stranger. As he was dying his opponent bent over him and said:

"I am Luigi Carrano.'

What Brought Her Home

BY ETHEL HOLMES

John Cook had been married ten years, during which time, except the first few months after the wedding, he had never been away from his wife for more than a few days at a time. But after ten years' living together there came a brief separation. They had not been able to go to the country during the summers, for John's income would not admit of an outing. But all of a sudden his business sprang up, and when August came around it was decided that Mrs. Cook and the children had better spend a few weeks in some rural district where there was pure air. John could not leave his business, which was increasing every day, so he packed them off without him.

Mrs. Cook had exacted a promise from her husband that he would write every day. The first day after her departure he kept his promise. He wrote the following brief letter:

DEAR ELLEN-I hope you and the children arrived safely. It's very hot here, but I presume you are rejoicing in cool breezes. I dined in a hurry last night at a restaurant and went back to the office, where I remained until 11 o'clock. I am obliged to work nights in order to keep up with the rush, so you see that I haven't much time to spend writing any letters that don't pertain to business. Ta ta. Kiss Tommy and Nellie for their

AFFECTIONATE FATHER.

"That," said Mrs. Cook, "looks as if he were very busy and that the children are the only ones who can draw from him any expression of affection."

The next day Mrs. Cook looked for another letter from her husband, hoping that it would be signed "Your affectionate husband" instead of "The children's affectionate father." But to her surprise no letter came, nor did she receive one the day following, nor the next nor the next. It was not till a week after the arrival of the first letter that another came. This one was as overflowing with affection as the first was devoid of it. Its beginning was as follows:

DEAREST NELL-It is three days since I have seen your dear face or kissed your sweet lips. It seems three years-no, not years, ages. If ever I get back to you I vow I will never consent to be separated from you again. Last night I wrote you twelve pages, which, I presume, you have by this time received and digested. Yours written yesterday is here, and I have read it a dozen times already. I woke up in the middle of the night and got up to read it again.

Mrs. Cook had read thus far when she stopped and shuddered. What did this remarkable burst of affection mean? The newspapers had noted that the thermometer in the city had hovered around 98 degrees and that the humidity varied between 90 and 100 degrees. There had been many cases of sunstroke, and several persons had been made insane by the heat. Could it be that her husband had been thus affected?

The letter trembled in her hands as she read on. Skimming over a lot more of this "incoherent nonsense," as she called it, the letter closed:

With a million kisses, your own true love, JACK.

What caused the greatest fear in Mrs. Cook's breast was the fact that there was not a word about the children. In this epistle there was surely no reason to be jealous of them. But if he had forgotten them his delirium must surely be terrible. What should she do-telegraph him to ask if he had been sunstruck? That, of course, would be absurd. She might inquire of others, but when she came to think over her husband's intimate friends she remembered every one of them was out of town. Besides supposing there was nothing the matter with John, or suppose--she wilted

at the thought-that he had written another woman while writing his wife and got the letters in the wrong envelope? No. Whatever she did she must keep the matter from the world. There was but one thing for her to do-go home. In an hour after this decision she had left her children in care of the landlady and taken a train. She arrived in the city before dark and drove directly to her house. She found the front door unlatched and entered. The table was set for dinner for one in the dining room. She ran upstairs and saw her husband in his bed

room tying his cravat before a mirror. He turned and looked at her in astonishment.

"Great heavens! What brought you home? Anything the matter with the children?''

Mrs. Cook, by this time convinced that the letter she had received had been written to another woman than herself, drew it from her bag and handed it to her husband. He looked at it, and a singular, shamefaced expression appeared on his countenance.

"Who is the woman?" cried Mrs. John. "My dear, did this bring you home?" "It did."

"Thank heaven!"

"What do you mean?"

Correspondence

All contributions to our Correspondence columns must be in not later than the 10th of the month to insure insertion.

Articles must be written on one side of the paper only. Noms de plume may be used, but every article must be signed with full name and address of the writer as a guaranty of good faith, and to insure insertion. No anonymous letters will be published under any circumstances.

While the Editor does not assume responsibility for opinions expressed by contributors to this department, he is held responsible in both law and moral ethics for admitting that which will injure or create ill feeling. Hence all communications are subject to revision or rejection if the Editor deems it necessary.

C. H. SALMONS, Editor and Manager.

The Wonder Wrought

Somehow, the sunshine seems a little brighter,
And fraternal handclasps are a little tighter,
And the spirits of all seem a little lighter,
At work and play;

Since we have heard the echo bounding,
Through vales, and over the mountains sounding,
The news so joyful, and quite astounding.
Of the Eight-hour day.

Let us doubly profit, in work and leisure,
Be as keen for duty as for pleasure,
Then will we reap the fullest measure,
Of good, alway;

Thus will the promise we oft have spoken
Of better service, remain unbroken,
That we may spread by that same token.
The Eight-hour day.

While on prosperity's wave we're riding,

And the storms which threatened are all subsiding,

With gratitude in our hearts abiding,

Have praise for they

replied he was not preaching, "just 'zortin'." When asked to explain the difference between preaching and exhorting, he said, "When youse preachin' you fines yersef to de tex; when youse 'zortin' you kin branch off."

I am going to do like the old negro, "branch off" on to more than one subject in this letter.

First of all things I wish to pay tribute to the Chief Executives of the four train organizations for the splendid manner in which they handled the recent eight-hour move. While they deserve every good thing that may be said or done, the glory is enough for all "and then some."

I would not take any deserved credit from a single member of any of the organizations, nor would I have anyone think I have any personal cause to believe all are not equally loyal to their respective organizations and the cause for which they were contending; but "the proof of the pudding is the chewing of the bag," and those Brothers who failed to be advised that the strike had been postponed forty-eight hours and who were placed on the "firing line" were not found wanting, and I wish to pay the highest tribute at my command to each of them. They are what I call loyal men and true, and it affords me much pleasure to doff my hat to each and every one of them.

I cannot understand why or how any member should have opposed the eighthour move after it had been so overwhelmingly approved by the rank and file. The President of this United States advocated it, and said it was not to be arbitrated. Congress endorsed it and passed a law regulating its enactment. We have been striving for years to obtain it, and have been taught since the early part of the fourteenth century, "eight hours for work, eight hours for the service of God and eight hours for sleep;" hence the move is nothing new-it is as "old as the hills." Let us hope, as Brother Carter said, "that we are witnessing the dawn of a new day," and that the day is not far distant when no one shall work in excess of eight hours out of twenty-four.

When I read in the press the day following the adjustment of pending differences, the "glowing tribute" paid the

Conference Committee of Managers for their manifestations of loyalty in averting the strike by yielding to the demands of the men, and assigning as a reason the sinking of three American vessels by the Germans, it sounded preposterous, and I am inclined to believe that the more rightful cause can be attributed to the fact that the men who had not yet been officially advised that the strike order had been extended forty-eight hours from original time set for same, walked out to a man and tied the roads up, and at points where the companies had proclaimed to the world "our employees will remain loyal to the company. That very act should forever dispel the claims that the organizations were not in earnest and that they will not walk out, if need be, to accomplish an end of justice. The loyalty of those men, in my mind, had a great deal more to do with bringing about an immediate settlement than the sinking of the three American ships.

In

Speaking of loyalty, it might not be amiss to go over the last four years' conferences and find out who has been the most loyal-the carriers or the men. the 1913-15 concerted movement, after a strike seemed imminent, the carriers called for the Government representatives. The men were not a party to the calling, but finally accepted the plans submitted for a settlement by the Government's representatives, while the carriers rejected the same. This is loyalty number 1. In the 1916 concerted movement the men accepted the propositions suggested by President Wilson, while the carriers rejected them. Loyalty number 2. Congress and the Senate passed the Adamson law. The men accepted it, the carriers rejected it. Loyalty number 3. The carriers fought the law in court and 'lost, consequently there was no other resource but to be loyal. The men accepted every suggestion by the Government's representatives, while the railroad companies rejected every recommendation, defied the President, and attempted to repudiate the acts of Congress. Then talk about loyalty!

Why can't the press be fair? Why charge the men with almost treason under these circumstances, and laud the op

position? For God's sake, are they throttled by the carriers, or are they naturally opposed to working men and women of this country and the rights of labor? Something is radically wrong somewhere when a lie suits better than the truth. Has there ever been a time since the beginning of this movement for an eighthour day that President Wilson was not assured by the men through their representatives, that, in the event of war, whether a strike was pending or actually in existence, the men would be loyal to the "Stars and Stripes" and return to respective positions, and if need be would sacrifice home and loved ones in defense of this country? Has the Conference Committee representing the other side done more, or even as much?

Loyalty indeed! Watch and see who will go down in the trenches; who will make the personal sacrifices; who will endure the hardships of warfare. See who will listen to the whistling of bullets and hear the sound of shot and shell and witness the death-dealing work of the cannons and see comrades fall by their side, yet falter not, holding the defense of this nation paramount to all else, even at the sacrifice of life.

Since war seems inevitable at this time, the question of financing the same is an important one, and in view of the fact that the working class have no money, and are the ones who will do the fighting, it is but fair that the capitalist and the corporations meet the financial end of the burden and already the laboring people are petitioning Congress to that end, so future generations may not be burdened with a large war debt. This is a deserved move and it is but fair that if the poor do the fighting, the rich should be made to foot the bill. EIGHT HOURS.

Pension Funds

EDITOR JOURNAL: We all note with considerable satisfaction the handsome sum that has accumulated in the Pension Association.

The members that were optimistic enough years ago to insist on having a pension of our own, and the few who staked their dollars in the beginning to