eyes so like after all to the dreamy ones of her girlhood friend, were fixed upon her in a truth-compelling gaze. She grew distinctly irritated. What right had her sisters to chatter so of her affairs, and bring this additional embarrassment upon her? "I am sorry," she said. "It was very kind of you, and I appreciate the remembrance, only it was all

a ridiculous mistake you see, growing out of the fact that I am about to leave the farm. I am not to be married."

The caller's eyes took swift notice of her embarrassment. "Most natural things in the world-mistakes of that kind-," he declared. "They're always occurring." He slipped his watch in his pocket with a final air but made no movement towards the door. "So you're leaving the farm?" he inquired. "For the city, I suppose?"

Margeret hestitated. "I shall not leave Plainville," she replied.

Dr. Thornton stood in some perplexity looking down at the red and green horror at his feet. "I don't know what to do with this thing," he said, touching it with his foot. "You couldn't marry just to give me a method of disposing of it, I suppose. I hope you are not making a mistake. Matrimony is by far the most satisfactory state, after all."

"Yet you have never married yourself, I believe," replied Miss Richards. It was the one thing of all others she would have preferred not to say, but the past twelve hours, added to the weary weeks preceding them, had left her little of her own self-control.

"No," he replied thoughtfully. "I have been engaged to one woman for twenty years and I am waiting for her still. She promised to send me word when she was free to mar

ry, or to send back my ring, if there ever should be someone else whom she preferred. I have been wondering for the past twelve hours why I didn't get the ring. If I must confess, I am afraid I came here this morning with more thought of demanding it, than I had of offering congratulations. There were invalid parents and farms and all sorts of hindrances between us when I saw you last, but now-how is it, Margeret?"

Margeret's eyes were fixed upon the rug. Its gaudy colors had suddenly become a blur of rainbow hues.

"It was so long ago," she faltered. "And so few things last for twenty years."

"There are some things which last throughout eternity," Dr. Thornton answered gravely. "Must I still go on, spending my life upon the highway, and making professional successes supply the lack of dearer joys, Margeret? I have forced myself to leave you undisturbed all these years, because I believed you had forgotten me in a multitude of other ties. Now- forgive me- I can but see that your life is no more complete than my own. You are free at last, Margeret; by your own confession, there is not even the farm to come between us longer. Will you marry me— now?"

Margeret steadied her voice with an effort. "It has been too long," she said. "We are like strangers to each other now. You are very kind to remember after all these years, but believe me, it is much better for us both to go on as we are."

Dr. Thornton rose, looking at his watch again. "Kind!" he said. "You are using the word out of its proper connection."

Halfway to the door he turned.

with a brisk professional air. "Don't you think you had better give me back my ring?" he suggested.

He waited, standing in the centre of the forgotten rug, while she went for the ring, and laid the slender circle thoughtfully upon his palm when she returned with it.

"I walked over to Colburn to buy it, Margeret, do you remember?" he said musingly. "And you met me at the Pines as I came back."

Miss Richards reached out her hand impetuously. "It was mine,"

she said, "give it back to me. I will marry you- or anybody else, rather than give it up.”

"Margeret's wedding has been postponed until June thirtieth," Mrs. Cartwright wrote her friends in explanation of a somewhat hysterical telegram. "It is a disappointment, of course, but a professional man is always at the mercy of his practice, and Dr. Thornton-did I mention that it was Dr. Thornton of Evergreen Avenue?— is no exception to the rule. There will be no other change in the arrangements save that roses will take the place of apple blossoms in decorating."

JUL

ULY 12, 1904, marks the onehundredth anniversary of the tragic death of Alexander Hamilton.

Never has this country produced another such brilliant genius. Nor was he wholly an American product, being born on the island of Nevis in the West Indies, January 11, 1757. At the age of fifteen he was transplanted to the larger field of the American continent, in the congenial soil of which he rapidly grew into the stature of an intellectual giant.

In August, 1772, a hurricane of frightful violence syept over his native island, leaving widespread devastation in its track. A newspaper account of the disaster appeared, so graphic and powerful in its description that even the governor of the island exerted himself to discover

its unknown author. The article was traced to the fifteen year old lad in the counting house of Nicholas Cruger, a merchant at Santa Cruz. Better opportunities for the development of the boy's genius and a wider field for its exercise were felt to be imperative. Accordingly, in the autumn of 1772, Hamilton was sent to the American Colonies and placed in a grammar-school at Elizabethtown, New Jersey. In less than a year, the master of the school declared the boy fitted in every respect to enter college.

Hamilton presented himself to Dr. Witherspoon, president of Princeton College, and asked to be admitted with the understanding that he should be allowed to advance as rapidly as he was able, without regard to the established curriculum. Being refused, he made the same

proposal to Kings (now Columbia) College in New York, and was accepted. Under a private tutor, he went through the regular course at an amazing pace, taking such extra studies as he desired.

Meantime the revolutionary storm was brewing. Clashes between patriots and the British soldiers were frequent in New York City, while, throughout the country, the controversy was rife between the Colonies and Great Britain. The voracious student in Kings College seemed to pay but little heed to all this turmoil. Being a British subject, sojourning in a strange land, naturally his sympathies were with England.

Early in 1774, however, Hamilton had occasion to visit Boston. The celebrated "tea party" and its possible consequences were being discussed on every hand. The student, unable longer to remain indifferent to the trend of events, plunged into the study of the controversy with that avidity and thoroughness characteristic of all he

did. When he returned to New York, his decision was made.

In July of the same year, a massmeeting of patriots was held in the suburbs of the city. Hamilton listened in rapt attention to the chosen speakers. Uninvited and unannounced, he mounted the platform and began to address the multitude. At first the people listened with amused interest to the student, so slight of form and of youthful face. Soon, however, they felt themselves under the spell of one who was master of his subject and able to tell what he knew. Thus it was that Alexander Hamilton first came to the public notice of the American people.

felt

This youth proved himself a

champion of the patriotic cause, not only on the platform, but even a stronger one with the pen. During the winter of 1774-5, a coterie of Tory writers, mostly clergymen and educators, issued a series of essays presenting the British side So strongly as to threaten great harm to the popular cause, unless ably answered. These essays were soon met by anonymous replies so exhaustive and convincing as to excite the admiration of the Tories themselves. On every hand eager search was made to discover this new "Junius." The reputation of Mr. John Hay and of Governor Livingston was augmented in no small degree by the supposition that they were the authors of the patriotic answers. Great was the surprise at the discovery, after some weeks, that the real author was the youthful student from the island of Nevis. Oddly enough, it turned out that one of the Tories with whom the lad had been conducting his newspaper controversy was Dr. Cooper, president of Kings College.

It now becomes necessary to take leave of Alexander Hamilton, the youth; for while he was little more than a boy in years and in stature, he had, ere this, become a man, and a strong man at that in intellect and in character.

The storm broke at last, and something more serious than patriotic speeches and essays was demanded. Hamilton, as prompt with his sword as he had been with tongue and pen, now devoted himself to the study of the science of war with the same serious ardor that had characterized his work in school. When the Convention of New York ordered the raising of an artillery company, Hamilton was appointed its captain. The high

pitch of discipline to which he brought his company quickly attracted the attention of General Greene, who thought it worth the while to bring the young artillery officer to the notice of Washington.

Hamilton was with the Continental Army in its unfortunate movement on Long Island, in its operations in the Jerseys, and shared in the laurels won at Princeton and at Trenton. Washington, in going the rounds one day, observed some earthworks constructed with unusual skill. Upon inquiry he learned that they were planned by Hamilton and erected under his supervision. On March 1, 1777, at the age of twenty, Hamilton was appointed aide-de-camp to General Washington with the rank of lieutenant colonel, and became the secretary and confidential adviser of the Commander in Chief of the Revolutionary Army.

Nor was he puffed up by this rare distinction. Washington was then forty-five, and some members of his staff were old enough for Hamilton's father; yet so genial and affable was the young aide, and with such becoming modesty did he wear his honors, that he quickly won his way to the hearts of his elder comrades. He was not spoiled by arrogance or conceit; but had his truest friends among those who knew him best.

Nine months after his appointment as aide-de-camp, he enjoyed the singular experience of being the trusted adviser of General Washington and of celebrating the day when, under the law, he ceased to be an infant and became a man.

It would be pleasing to pursue an inquiry into the conditions and causes which brought Hamilton, at so early an age, to this remarkable

maturity. But it must suffice to suggest that he inherited his keen, penetrating intellectual powers from his Scotch father, his ardent temperament and his singularly fascinating vivacity from his Huguenot mother; and that he spent the first fifteen years of his life in a climate where everything matures rapidly. Furthermore, the stirring events of the revolutionary period had in them that which transformed boys into men and men into heroes.

At the end of four years, the official relationship between Washington and Hamilton suddenly came to an end. Passing Hamilton on the stairs at headquarters, Washington expressed a desire to speak to him. "I will wait upon you immediately," Hamilton replied. He then went below and despatched a letter to the Commissary. On returning, he paused a moment to speak to the Marquis de Lafayette. At the head of the stairs he met Washington who angrily said, "Colonel Hamilton, you have kept me waiting at the head of the stairs these ten minutes. I must tell you, Sir, you treat me with disrespect." Hamilton replied: "I am not conscious of it, Sir; but since you have thought it necessary to tell me so, we part." In less than an hour, Washington sent one of his aides

to Hamilton, expressing a desire for "a candid conversation, to heal a breach which could not have happened but in a moment of passion." But Hamilton, while conscious of the honor attaching to his position on the General's staff, had long desired to be in the line, as affording better opportunities for distinction. He therefore declined Washington's offer, but remained with the army.

Hamilton was present at York

town in command of a corps under Lafayette. Here it fell to his lot to lead an assualt upon a British redoubt which enfiladed the American entrenchments. It was Hamilton's first opportunity. Napoleon's feat at Lodi was not more brilliant. Hamilton led the way, his troops following with fixed bayonets. So impetuous was the onslaught that the British were swept before it, panic-stricken. The redoubt was taken at the point of the bayonet without the firing of a single musket. Lafayette was high in his praise of the feat, while Washington wrote, "Few cases have exhibited greater proof of intrepidity, coolness and firmness than were shown on this accasion." What Hamilton's achievements as a military leader might have been, had opportunity afforded, it is impossible to tell. That he was an ardent student of the science of war is well known; that he possessed in a high degree the military instinct is certain, while his courage won for him the sobriquet of "the Little Lion." Later, when war with France seemed imminent, Hamilton was made second in command of the armies of the United States with the rank of Major General; and at Washington's death, became, by seniority, the head of the Army.

After the surrender of Cornwallis, and when it became evident that the end of the struggle was at hand, Hamilton resigned his commission and took up the study of law at Albany, New York. With such avidity did he apply himself, that, in four months, he was admitted to the bar.

In the fall of 1782, he was elected to the Continental Congress, where he exerted all his splendid abilities in a vain endeavor to bring order

out of the financial and political chaos into which the Confederation had fallen. His efforts only served to convince him that a stronger and more centralized general government must be formed, or that the American people must lose all they had gained by eight long and dubious years of war. He therefore returned to New York and threw himself with all his ardent soul into the work of creating such a government. No other man did as much to bring together the Convention that wrought out the Constitution of the United States. No other toiled so tirelessly or so effectively to secure the adoption of the Constitution by the various states.

When at last the Government of the United States was formed, and Washington was elected President, he chose Hamilton to be the first Secretary of the Treasury. It was then Hamilton's genius shone forth in greatest splendor. The task before him was herculean. He was Secretary, but there was no treasury. The United States was without pocketbook or money. Nay, it was woefully in debt with nothing to pay. So far, the new Government was an arch without a keystone, in danger of falling into ruins of its own weight. It remained for Hamilton to place the stone that should give to the arch strength and permanency. That stone was public credit.

American citizens held obligations of the old Confederation to the amount of forty million dollars, and were glad to dispose of their holdings at fifteen cents on the dollar. Twelve millions were outstanding abroad, while the various states owed twenty millions more on account of the war. Hamilton proposed that the new Government