HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Gazette, 1893-06-29, Page 2NGT WISELY,
rBuT roagryenergy; "notif I knowB uT 1 O t a wome" "
Hate eiri t -that s queer, remarks
Mrs, Bradshaw B. Woolltle. "° I surmise
something's wrong with you, then. Boys
There is a little titter among the fair at your age aren't women haters for noth-
worshippers at the shrine of tea and riches. ing." ._
" Dear Mrs. Woollffe, you do say such "I mean of course, those husband -hunt -
odd things ; but I think you quite mistake. ing creatures," says Keith, apologetically.
We are certainly particular with our girls. " Why can't they let a fellow alone, I won -
We must be Society would be scandalized der?"
if they went about in the free -and -easy lash- «Can't say, Pm sure, unless it's just
ion of their American cousins. But with their malice drives 'em on one against the
other, and ' each tries to be foremost
with the traps and gins. When a man has
got money I suppose they think it ain't
right unless he shares it with a female.
And there's such an almighty lot of women
in Great Britain. Nice enough, too, some
of 'em ; I like 'em better'n Amurcans.
They've a real good time of it out here,too.
When we get married, we're shelved -done
for. We let the young 'ons have their
time ; but, lor' bless me, here the married
women seem to have the best of the fun,
and are as skittish as colts even when they
are forty."
"Yes, that's so," answered Keith. " In
these days married women -so long as they
are pretty -command more admiration and
attention than the girls. The fact of being
appropriated seems to lend them a greater
charm. Perhaps, though,men think they're
safer. The mothers make such dead run-
ning, you know, an'l if you dance twice
with a girl, suspect 'intentions.'"
" it's bad, though," says Mrs. Woollffe,
shaking; her head. " Bad for Society -bad
for men -bad for the girls, too. They'll
marry the first man who asks them,because
you really know when he'll come back?"t they think they'll have more real freedom
with an odd little smile. "" He's just mothers will they make ?"
" Perhaps I do," answers Mrs. Woollffe, I afterwards. But what sort of wives and
promised to come and stay with ire the end j " Those are secondary points of consider -
of the month. I have a niece -a very ation"-sneers Keith, and his faee looks
pretty girl she is; too -coming over from N' hard and almost cruel now, as the flames
York, and as- they knew each other in leap up and frame it in their sudden bright-
Arnurca, I thought it would be company ness. " Old-fashioned ideas like truth and
like for them to be together." constancy, and all that !"
Horror and consternation fill the heart " Come I can't have you getting cynical,"
of the Belgravian matron. The prospects says his friend, good-humouredly. "You're
of her two daughters who are " out," and too young, and I hate to hear young fellows
the blushing ingenue in prospective, flee like yourself railing against women. It
further and further back into the regions of don't seem right, somehow. What do you
disappointment. e know of thein? They're mighty queer
creatures, and world puzzle the wisest
man; but all the same, they're not all down.
right bad, and you mustn't judge the whole
bale from a poor sample."
Keith says nothing. His eyes go track to
the fire, and a cloud darkers his brow. He
knows in his own heart that he bates all
wom9n, only because he loves one -too
well.
CHAPTER IV.
" NOT WISELY BUT TOO WELL.'
A cold, wet afternoon in March. But a
few days ago people believed in spring.
There was - abundance of sunshine, of blue
sky, of tender, venturesome birds; there
had been piles of violets and primroses in
the flower -girls' baskets, as they 'moved married nomen it is quite different. We are
about the London streets ; a breath of really free -more free, I think, than your
genuine spring -time in the soft air ; but
countrywomen as for friendship -dear
now all was cold and bleak and drear once
more, and people went back shiveringly to mei that is quite allowable -quite !='
fires and furs, and abused the treacherous Of course, chime in several voices in
English climate to their heart's content. the background, for all the attention of the
The external cold and dreariness were 1 c°''clave is arouse_d.now. " But then there
shut out effectually in a house in fashion- E are friendships, and friendships."
able Mayfair. A sort of email drawin ""Exactly," says Mrs. Bradshaw B.
room, opening off the grandeur and luxury E� °ollt.`'e, dryly. `" It is the 'and' ones I
of a larger one ; a room with a hundred mean. How is it you know $o well who
costly knickknacks scattered about with
velvet draperies, and filled with hothouse
flowers, and over which the fire -gleams
played.
A silver tea-urn stands hissing on a low
table by the fire -dainty cups stand beside
it. 411 is warm, fragrant, pleasant to the
eye and the senses, and a silvery babble of
women's voices adds life to the scene.
"I surmise it is," she answers, " some -
"What has become of your young friend, thing like the people one can't know and
Mr. Athelstone?" asks a pretty, fair wom- the people one can. I suppose as long as
an, as she puts down her cup, and turns to
the presiding goddess of the ceremonies -a othnine's got a pretty big pile, one can do any -
g,"
big, imposing-lc.oking woman, magnificent-
ly dressed. - " But to return to Mr. Atl:•alstone," say
"Ho's in Rome still," she answers, with Belgravia, a little uncomfortably. " Don't
a strong American accent. _"Means to stay
there, too, I surmise-leastways, until the
Vavasours come to town. Wonderful
_pretty woman Lady Vavasour-Lady
Zauraiue, as the poetry man calls her. You
know that story. I suppose?"
"No," chime in two or three other voices.
"What was it ?"
" Well, he was an Italian," says the
lady, who rejoices in the name of Mrs.
Bradshaw B. Woollffe, "and very poor, I
believe, living in a garret, and that sort,
but a right down poet, so everyone says
now, and Lady•Vavasour found him out
and had his book published, and it took
like wildfire and of course he's eternal What an odious woman ! What a hor-
grateful to her, and he wrote something on rible woman ! What or" earth does she
her -called her 'My Lady Lauraine'- mean ? Oh, if only she were poor, and
sounds pretty, don't it -and the name was if only the Earl of Longleat hadn't
taken up, and in Rome no one called her taken her up, bow she would crush
anything else. She was quite the sensation
of the day there, but she is wonderful
pretty, and no pumpkins about that."
"She's been married -let me see—"
"Two years, just upon. She's very deli -
may not Iook at the halter, and who may
eteal the horse ?"
" It is -it is somewhat difficult to ex-
plain," hesitates the pretty fair woman,
who has a charming " friendship" of her
own on hand just now, and is anxious it
should be considered as blameless as, of
course, it is.
Mrs. Bradshaw Woollffe laughs loudly.
her now beneath aristocratic scorn. But-
well, it never does quite to fall out with so
ranch money, and lose all the dinners, balls,
and receptions which the sseaithy widow
gives right royally in the season. So the
tate-that's why they went to Rome. ire is smothered 9nd the frowns dispelled,
Chest, or lungs, or something. An almighty and only the sweetest of phrases issue from
pretty baby she's got too, and don't she lips that are absolutely trembling with
seem fond of it, As a rule, mothers nova- hatred and disport,
days don't even bother their beads about! The rooms grow emptier an emptier.
their children-'ceptin' to dress 'em like , The last visitor leaves, and Mrs. Bradshaw
,dolls, tend take 'em out as a show in their B. W oollffe leans back in her most comfort -
carriages." able ;hair, and laughs softly to herself in the
One or two fashionable mothers present glow of the firelight.
wince a little at Mrs. Bradshaw Woollffe's " We don't raise that sort down our way,"
outspoken opinion, and feel more than she says, " and I'rn glad of it. Well, I
CHAPTER V.
" IT SEEMS THAT I AM HAPPY.'
In the dressing room of her Park Lane
mansion a woman stands dressed for the
evening.
Her face is lovely, her toilet exquisite, -
a rain of diamonds seems to glitter about t
her ; but there is no gladness in the eyes
that gaze at their own reflection, and an
unnatural gravity and sadness seem to sit
of being met witha sneer or a reproach.
Her husband trick an unaccountable
fancy to the young fellow, and had
him constantly at their house ; but it fright-
ened Lauraine to see the -hatred and con-
tempt that at times flashed out in Keith's
eyes and voice against the man who called
him friend. No word of the past -no allus-
ion to that wedding -morning of hers -ever
passed between the young man and herself.
She almost hoped he had forgotten his boy-
ish passion -would be content' to accept
the friendship she had once `proffered him,
and he had rejected so scornfully.
For herself nothing seemed to signify
much now. The . whole tenderness of her
nature agent itself on her child.
If she could have had her way, she would
have liked to live in the quiet oel Northum-
brian house which was her husband's, and
there given herself exclusively up to the
care and teaching of her boy. But such a
wild idea was, of course, scouted and ridi-
culed.
Her husband was proud of her in a way
-proud of the sparkling beauty, the dainty
grace, the mind and manners of the woman
he had made his wife. --She would never
be fast or vulgar, or think only of conquests
and admiration, and drag his naive through
the mire of scandal. No ; she would always
be safe -that he felt, and if he had grown
tired of her, he was determined that the
world should see and admire her, and ap-
plaud his choice. It would gratify his van-
ity, if nothing more, just as it had done in
Rome,where she had been courted and wor-
shipped and eulogised everywhere as " Lady
Lauraine."
The carringe rolls smoothly and swiftly
on, Lauraine leans back, with her eyes
gazing dreamily out at the lighted streets.
Her husband breaks the silence at last.
" I want you to be specially civil to Lady
Jean," he says abruptly. " You were -very
stand-offish when she called on you the
other lay. She's the most popular woman
in London, and the prettiest. You two
ought to be friends."
" I don't like her," answers Lauraine
col.
'd‘ DIY' like her !" he sneers. " No, of
course not. That's just like a woman !
The moment a man praises one of your own
sex to you, it's quite sufficient reason for
you to dislike her. Pray, what's your ob-
jection ?"
Lauraine colours faintly.
" She is loud and fast. She ridicules
every good and honest feeling, and I think
she is very malicicds."
" The secret of her success perhaps,"
laughs her husband. " People are afraid
of her sharp tongue. Taut mieux. But
she is at all events a woman one would not
get tired of. Few know how to make
themselves more agreeable."
" To men, perhaps."
" Wel.lt, that's paving ns a great compli-
ment. A woman making herself agreeable
to women is taking a great deal of trouble
or no purpose unless, of course, they have
he entree where she has not. But Lady
Jean goes everywhere." •
" And Lady Jean's husband ?" asks
oil the white brow and round the softyoung..Lauraine.
ever convinced that she is dreadfully vol. think I riled ern with that bit about Anas- Sir Francis laughs. "" Nell one doesn't
gar, and ,gaily it would be quite impossible tasia, and it's no cram either. She is uncom- lips. • see much of him certainly. But he's worth
to know her, only she is so amazingly rich. mon pretty, and ought to tape. I shouldn't Itis the faxsof Lauraine-Lady Vavasour' earla million for all that The earl
"And she and Mr. Athelstone are great m nn' getting a bi�l for her only sties that A ou, tact an mould
friends, you say?" questions another voioe.
"Yes," answers Mrs. Bradshaw 13. waiting, m lad s
Wooll ,shortly. "Knees each Liar at ring far :-here i I know..,I wonder "" €'+ Y t y, he says, respe+;tfully. "'Very poor, The Rail{ of Killery had
what's become-"bf the 8ir1 he told me I will be down immediately. You can
children; brought up as brother and sister ofin N' York that fall. He ain't marded take my cloak," answers her mistress. 1 six daughters. She was the youngest, and
and all that."the only one who has married. She's been
her, and when 1 :asked him who, he cut The maid leaves the room, slid Lauraine
"How very charming,"simpers an inane- u• mighty roe h and as opens the note and- reads the few lines it , married six years now."��
looking model of fashion settling her t .i? g good as told me to p You knew her before -before- hesi-
g g mind my oven business. But I like that contains. Her. face does not- change, ex ! sates Lauraine.
bonnet strings, and wishing that some men T, cept togrow even sadder for a moment, „
take into their Leith. hi. wish he sem-tied a bit happier, Befog I married you? Oh, yes. We
andldrelievet the monotony heads
o£ofe n'o'ne that Ido. He's not near so spry and lively Ther. she tears up the letter, and, taking were very good friends always. That's why
Y used L How the fioxera in her hon"t
sweeps slowly
+ maid enters with abouquet d anote, ' wouldn't have let his daughter marry thin
sweet on Keith I'm afraid it won't and gives them- to her. „
if be hadn't been.
be easy.But he don't care a red her- ' Sir Francis desired me to say he was , ,
„ Was Lady Jean poor?'
society. "That sort of relationship is so as he to e. all these women ` p I hope you and she will. hit it off, She'll
free and p are after him ! Guess I got a rise out of away. She moves scutes the richly carpeted ' be of great use to you.
But I heard tliatthe Vavasours no one can ateing.them that time. My, if -they knew he was corridor, and entersT another room facing Lauraine is silent. In her own mind she
„ coming here to -night ! 'Taint none of their her own. It is dim,y, lighted, and all its : i ""
back for the season ? coming thinks she shall never be able to hit it off,"
business though, and T don't mean.it to be. draperies are pure white, and the furni-
"So they are -et least Keith told me so" , tore of satinwood. In ore corner stands a as Sir Francis expresses it. She and Lady
when he last wrote. I knew him in New I think I it keep the dragons off him bet- J 1
York," she added, explanatorily. "He is ter'ii most• I and-Ai:astasia !
a nice boy ; deserves his tuck, too. Un -
laugh,
she laughs again, a pleasant, cheery
common rich,` ain't he. My 1 two million laugh, not with any insincere modulation
dollars ain't bad and I'm not sure if it or false ring like the laugh of Society. But
with all her vulgarities' and eccentricities
ain't—more. OId Hezekiah Jefferson was a Mrs. Bradshaw B. Woollffe is a genuine
relation of my niece. He was a warm man,
he was, and this boy's got all." woman. Shepours herself out another cup of tea,- p• Y
"He ought to marry,"suggests a Bel- ' and are marshalled up a crowded staircase
gand looks eomp1aeetlt1y round her pretty rings of hair curl round the broad white
n matron, who .,has two daughters room ; and as she looks, there comes the brow -`the cheeks are flushed like a -rose- and into yet more crowded rooms.
"out,"and a third budding into bloom, and stand of a see on.the stairs and the door the tiny scarlet mouth is half open -the ? Lady Jean Saloman receives them very
becoming obtrusively anxious to show her- p little heads Ia outside the show cot erlet ! cordially. She looks radiant. If rot a
•
little cot, the lace Curtains looped back , can are t.ota iy opposite in many respects,
with pale azure ribbons. I and she has that instinctive antipathy to
A woman rises at her entrance, and her which a pure and high principled woin-
stands up respectfully. Lauraine passes her, an often conceives for one whose morals
and goes over to the little bed and looks are lax, whose nature is coarse, whose views,
down with eyes full of love unutterable at tastes and opinions are utterly antagonistic
its inmate. ; to her own.
A child lies there aslee Soft dusk The carriage stops at Last, They get out
Lauraine's whole face grows transfigured as positively beautiful woman, she at least is
she looks on that baby form ; such love- ; a woman who always contrives to make
such rapture -such pure, holy, exquisite joy herself immediately noticed even amidst
irradiates it ! She stoops down and presses i wears jewels fit for
very
antall
empress, an; dresses dvis too
her lips to the baby brow -takes one long, much a woman of the world not to know
idolising look at the cherubic loveliness that i the worth of popularity,
ie her dearest earthly treasure, and then I
whispers come parting injunctions to the (To EE cosTlluED,)
tends him„ and returns their. warm pressure. nurse and leaves the room.
Then she forces him into a chair by the fire, " How long you have been: What a deuce
and stirs the logs into a blaze, and brings of a tim�you omen dotal a to put your
him some tea, -and fusses about him in a' ,
pleasant,:. einal, womanl -fashion that is all _gowns or, grumbles h husband,
Y h
g y
her, ow.n.•
Keith Athelstone accepts her attentions
with laughing opposition against the amount
of trouble she is taking - but on the whole
he likes it, and he likes her too, for she has
Rhea he was only
pooro im in and dsays gone
by, her -he has not noticed one detail of the �yor'aI l;ae.to doe : nae rest from morn tae
stranger in a straw ''land not yet ha in exquisite toilette -his voice in addressing nicht ; work an' work, an' no' a minute's
struck in thegwayof fortune_ and her is hush and impatient, and they have peace for me,.-
"i ile"i
been married but t too years. Yet the cold- Parish minister : `" Well, John, we must
success, ness and indifference a she now receives is
"-And so yon have really left Rome ? ten thousand times referable she thinks all do our share in the work of this. world.
says Mrs. Bradshaw F. Woollffe at last .p - Remember, it s only a preparation for a
+Gig the,frantie passion that he had once be better world,where_there 'will be no work
when her guest is reclining lazily in his stowed. He had been mad to have her, lights or disturb the cosy solitude of the that infatuation looked ae, absurd as it to be done."
Chair, and has .begged het not to ring for and he had won her 1 Now -well now Farm servant ° Weel, sir, that may be
for the likes o' you, but I'm no' sae sure that
self among the rosebud "garden of girls," straight to her amidst the a1obscurity, oand
who blossom in London season. she springs up to welcome him with a cor-
y , And Mrs. Bradshaw B, diality so genuine_ that Society- would
Woollffe Iaughs. I guess he dont think doubtless call it vulgar..
of that yet awhile. He's too young, and he , a ,
likes liberty ;he's a bit skittish, too, but Keith, my dear boy -so ou ve" come.
that's not much account as some go. Mar- I'm real glad to see you, that ern,
_ ryin' will be more than he'll care aboiiit for Her visitor takes the two bands she ex-
a:long time to collie, ever' though the girls
do go after. him `like squir'ls `after cobs.
But then he's uncommon handsome, too.'
"Perhaps his friend, Lady iga iraine, as
you call her, wou€d object to .bis -settling
down?" suggests. the =Belgraviate matron,
with a little more acidity than sweetness
its her;well-modulated voice. -_-
"Mrs. Bradshaw B. Woollffeputa down her
teacup, and looks straight at: the speaker:
"In our country," she remarks, "" peo-
ple say right down what they think l'
don't know what you mean, but I-gtiess.
Kady Lauraine is a good woman and a good
wife, and she'd be. glad. enough to see her
old playfellow settled and happy ; but, you
see, it's difficult foe a rich fellow to know
whether it's himself or his money that the
girl takes him for, .and I suspect Keith
would like to be sure on that subject before
he jumped -into matrimony." • " room. "" And how are the Vavasours?"
There is a .momentary hush among the A little change is visible in the face of
fair tea -drinkers; but one and all are agreed the young man—a face strangely altered in
IR their minds that Americans have. a most these two years. The features are hand -
unpleasantly _coarse •way of putting things. some as ever, but there is a haggard, worn
"It's foul years ago since I .came t'+ En- look about them, ' and . the blue. eyes - are
one," resumed Mrs.: Bradshaw B. ;Woollffe. feverish and dim, and heavy shadows lie
i` Foe got more. spry about your ways than " beneath the Iong dark lashes.
I w� But there's one thing I don't hold chs eyes and - lashes are the greatest upon it as a duty enforced, and , with not
with and •that•is that you don't ' believe beauty inKeith Athelstone's face, and now one throb of pleasure or anticipation. She
3n Y your women, Our Amurcan girls, that haunting look_ of sadness. gives them is young, rich, and very lovely ; but she
sow, go, .to their balls, • and parties, tenfold nnore attraction than they possessed carries a heavy heart . within that basun
and skatin' matches, and junketings, I before
a the young fellows see them home and "They are quite well," he says after a
!.shout.. and we- don's think no I.
brief. rause; "they come to : town next
.ha of i? . �'d as for,._, witia]. why, we'd week."
ea
tom* Who''d say a Word `• "I wonder yon did not wait and come
An Unlucky Man.
i Not Iong since, in a village in the north
s er ; . as a of Scotkind, the parish minister meeting a
meets her at the ho".tom of the stalls. "The.+ farm servant who was -a _ member of his
horses have been standing out there in. theflock, the following conversation ensued c
cold for more than half an hour."-• Paiisn minister �" Well, John, and how
on her wraps, and then follows her husband
Lauraine makes= a.sign to the maid to put are things doing with you ? I hope you are
keeping well.'
out to the carriage: He has not looked at Farm servant : " Hech, sir, it's bard
had once been imperative. It is a man's
nature ; it always has been and always will
be so
Lauraine too feels strangely changed.
She seems to have grown cold, - hard, indif-
ferent
ndifferent to everything. These two . years
Neem like ten. This is ber first season in
London since she married, and she looks
t r for. go n' a-ithrthenem.
so : lt'tt a €sort`
Ot hor.ear "Lady Vavaso'iir did not wish it," he.
=treat., pmt.'sis a •t.fiis; swersquietly
uCi le -:s:n i ha er4itls} t
a sc!olent• gives Inl� a clank_ glance -met InRome abs: Iiacl`°been startled and nasty a: cawld wind from -the este an'she is so
rand i .Si
- " _
t � " siraaid-of`Lhe chaage.�¢rought;in so brief a pretty and detcayteitiiiademe thing -that I
F1've hada troop of women here," -she time, He'perked :y ears older--The,lirigfit; , : isionld just tie the haste -of a wind hound to
there %ill be,naething for -me to dae in the
other world.-- It will be the same ' "thing
there, and I'll be' told, " John, clean the
sun,' " John, hang oot the moon,' " John,
light the stars an' .so. on. I've nae doubt
they'll find somthing for me to do, unlucky
man that I am !"
Studying His Mistress.
A gentleman recently observes his coach-
manat the top of a ladder engaged in doing
ful bosom, and knows that the one great something to the weathercock on the stable
error of slier life is ever demanding compene roof:°
sation."" Hallo, Pat," he said, ""and what are
Six months ago she and Keith Athelstone you up to there?"
s" Faith," replied Pat, " the misthress
wants`'particularly to go for a dhrire this
afternoon, an' sho told me to put the powny
in'at once ; but, begorra, its blowing so
met again. He had gone back to New York
after her marriage, to settle -his affairs and
for eighteen months she had neither; _seen.
icor leard' anything _ of ;_him; " When they
:not
Wane seeden0
it spresea"Glad.you didnt cone, -in lenia:, sunmytsmper-that had given him so theesonth-west with a piece of string an'
italei fi teir chatater-a .. My, -they'll be great a. charm sew sullen; uncertain; `keep her there till .she'd` come back from
a fan sun after ou like flies after molasses - this sea and bitter. He' Was reskteen' extravagant, : her dhrive."
1: r it ;ctl"ber=: there s , Keith _!; . Take Bare yen aren't married . aicd ":apricicns. - `Much' that she had ' heard
-.R*;thit k does." i" Ma r*- d v, his she ac. I dared f ti p -
„ surinls° its your way, in spite of -"yourself." of hiin maned. and annoyed -her dee ;:but The -more we'hell; others to bear their
r voice lungs outwithy remonstrate orfear _burdens; the lighter our own will be.
THE AUSTRALIAN COLLAnt
Alt Englbat Journal gays It Is Largely Dueto Labor aroabies.
The Newcastle Chronicle has been taking
the views of a gentleman who recently
spent some months in Asastrals'a studying
the critical condition of the Enanciai, affairs
there. He has arrived at the conclusion
that the woeful state of A ustralian econo-
mics is due primarily to the disastrous
labor wars which have disorganized incluse
try and brought misery and suffering in
their train and, in the secondary degree, to
the land speculators ; to whom is due the
fact that, at this critical juncture, money is
locked up in unrealisable securities. With
regard to the former of these two causes
The Chronicle's informant is very decided :
"I am convinced," he said, " that the
Iabor questionlies at the very root and
foundation of the series of disasters that
have come upon the colony. My experience
in Victoria has given me sufficient evidence
of that. They have there an eight hours
legal working day. That would be all
right if the workmen worked a good day's
work in eight hours. But they did not.
The whole system was, of course, in favor
of the men. While the law said they should
not work more than eight hours a day there
was nothing to compel them to do a good
day's work in eight. hours. The average
wage is very high ; I suppose that on the
whole it is not under 10s. per day, and the
skilled laborers get more, I am speakiag
of work in the towns and not of agricul-
tural labor. The members of the trades
unions were not in the habit of doing a fair
day's work, and that led to the disastrous
conflict between them and their employers.:
The employers, while not objecting to trades
unions, sought to enforce freedom cf con-
tract : they desired to be at liberty to employ
a good workman, whether he was a trades
unionist or not. The unions refused to con-
cede this right and declined to allow any
non -unionist to work, in their company,
From this germ have grown all the conse-
quent troubles. -
"They have had three tremendous strike,
in Australia. First, the general strikes
caused by the federated trades unions en-
deavoring to coerce shipowners and others
only to employ captains and other officers
who were -members of a trades union
affiliated with the Federated Trades. This
was shortly succeeded by the wool shearers'
strike, and, last of all, came the great strike
a• Broken Hill, which began on July 4,
1892. On Oct. 7 about 1000 men returned
to work, but the main body still held out,
and it was not until Nov. 7 that the leaders
declared the strike at an end. During the
whole of that time practically nothing was
done at the mines. The nominal cause of
the strike was, as I have said, the claim of
the employers for freedom of contract,
but really it was the great power
that was being acquired by the trades unions,
and the arbitrary manner in which they
abused their power. They were, in fact,
becoming masters in the mines, and sought
to dictate to their employers. The number
of men employed was increasing rapidly, and
they would not do anything approaching a
fair day's work. The result of the strike
was that the employers gained their point.
They did not in any way interfere with
men becoming members of trades unions if
they wished, but they held to their claim
to employ free labor if they desired. Since
the strike things have gone on pretty com-
fortably. The output per wan has enor-
mously increased, and the men's earnings
also have to a certain extent risen. In
Australian politics the working men, with
manhood suffrage, are the masters, and
when times of distress came and idlers
filled the towns, they demanded that
work should be found for them to do.
The Government obeyed. The energies of
themenwere devoted to unproductive works,
carried on with borrowed capital. That
was all very well for a time, but it stands to
reason that this state of affairs if long con-
tinued is bound to end in disaster. That is
just what happened in Victoria. They bor-
rowed and borrowed until they could borrow
no longer and then, asa matter of course,
the crash came. Melbourne, the capital of
the colony, is not a manufacturing city,
and the nianufactures there could not be
carried on except by the ridiculous system
of state aid, which is open to very many
abuses." -
SO/119 Causes of Failure.
Careful investigation into the character
of failures in Ontario, and in fact all Canada
during the past six months, indicate that at
least 66 per cent. of them are people who
commenced with small "capital during the
past two or three years. Two primary
causes can be distinctly teed in this
phenomenon, viz., increasing c cmpetition,
and having started contemporanoously with
the epoch oi" hardtimes," beginning in To-
ron'to district in 1890.. Not only would this
depression operate against the then -existing
storekeepers directly but- it occasioned
many in no way qualified to embark on the
sea of commerce. And when the novice,
temporarily out of work, went to a whole-
sale house, as is well known, with one or
two hundred dollars, he would be encour-
aged to. b.py more than he could ever pay for
arguing that he should be surely good for
an opening order, but it is bard to stop
there. The lesson to be derived from these
facts is that even the average business
under average conditions cannot in the face
of present competition when his first stock
is not .paid for, continue solvent for many
years much less make money as so many
vainly hope. It would pay wholesalers and
banks to remember this when small new
firms are starting in numbers out of all
proportion to the increase in population and
the requirements of the public. We find
the average of failures of this class very
much less in small towns than in cities ; and
that perhaps Li caused by the fact that
there people can gauge better how many
stores a limited community will support.
As an instance in Port Hope a good busi-
ness was successfully carried on for a few
years by a firm now in wholesale fruits in
another city, but no one ever succeeded
them although the town iseprosperous ; and
in many towns there'are frequently no suc-
cessors to recently extinguished firing.
Trials of Actors.
Said one : " The greatest misfortune that
can happen to an actor is to lose his voice."
To which an actor replied : "No, air ;
our greatest miafortnne . comes in when we
have to play the partof s King or am Erae
peror on the stage and go to bed withoas
aupper -
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