to Oliver. He saw them with a vividness not to be overestimated. This was a prison. This might be a convict, but he was a man. He was a man who knew things and would share his knowledge. His wisdom was as patent as his suffering, and both stirred young Oliver's heart to its depths. His pride, his irritation, his rigidity vanished in a flash. His fears were in abeyance. Only his wonder and his will to learn were left.

Lannithorne did not take the offered hand, yet did not seem to ignore it. He came forward quietly and sat down on the window-seat, half turning so that he and Oliver faced each other.

'Oliver Pickersgill?' he said. "Then you are Oliver Pickersgill's son.'

'Yes, Mr. Lannithorne. My father sent me here my father, and Mrs. Lannithorne, and Ruth.'

At his daughter's name a light leaped into Peter Lannithorne's eyes that made him look even more acutely and painfully alive than before.

'And what have you to do with Ruth, or her mother?' the man asked. Here it was! The great moment was facing him. Oliver caught his breath, then went straight to the point.

'I want to marry your daughter, Mr. Lannithorne. We love each other very much. But I have n't quite persuaded her, and I have n't persuaded Mrs. Lannithorne and my father at all. They don't see it. They say things all sorts of dreadful things,' said the boy. 'You would think they had never been young and cared for anybody. They seem to have forgotten what it means. They try to make us afraid just plain afraid. How am I to suppose that they know best about Ruth and me?'

Lannithorne looked across at the young man long and fixedly. Then a great kindliness came into his beaten face, and a great comprehension. Oli

ver, meeting his eyes, had a sudden sense of shelter, and felt his haunting fears allayed. It was absurd and incredible, but this man made him feel comfortable, yes, and eager to talk things over.

"They all said you would know. They sent me to you.'

Peter Lannithorne smiled faintly to himself. He had not left his sense of humor behind him in the outside world.

"They sent you to me, did they, boy? And what did they tell you to ask me? They had different motives, I take it.'

'Rather! Ruth said you were the best man she had ever known, and if you said it was right for her to marry me, she would. Mrs. Lannithorne said I should ask you if you thought Ruth had a fighting chance for happiness with me. She does n't want Ruth to marry anybody, you see. My father

my father' - Oliver's voice shook with his consciousness of the cruelty of what was to follow, but he forced himself to steadiness and got the words out 'said I was to ask you what a man wants in the family of the woman he marries. He said you knew what was what, and I should ask you what to do.'

Lannithorne's face was very grave, and his troubled gaze sought the floor. Oliver, convicted of brutality and conscience-smitten, hurried on, ‘And now that I've seen you, I want to ask you a few things for myself, Mr. Lannithorne. I-I believe you know.'

means, first of all, that I know myself for a man who committed a crime, and is paying the penalty. I am satisfied to be paying it. As I see justice, it is just. So, if I seem to wince at your necessary allusions to it, that is part of the price. I don't want you to feel that you are blundering or hurting me more than is necessary. You have got to lay the thing before me as it is.'

Something in the words, in the dry, patient manner, in the endurance of the man's face, touched Oliver to the quick and made him feel all manner of new things: such as a sense of the moral poise of the universe, acquiescence in its retributions, and a curious pride, akin to Ruth's own, in a man who could meet him after this fashion, in this place.

"Thank you, Mr. Lannithorne,' he said. 'You see, it's this way, sir. Mrs. Lannithorne says

And he went on eagerly to set forth his new problems as they had been stated to him.

'Well, there you have it,' he concluded at last. For myself, the things they said opened chasms and abysses. Mrs. Lannithorne seemed to think I would hurt Ruth. My father seemed to think Ruth would hurt me. Is married life something to be afraid of? When I look at Ruth, I am sure everything is all right. It may be miserable for other people, but how could it be miserable for Ruth and me?'

Peter Lannithorne looked at the young man long and thoughtfully again before he answered. Oliver felt himself measured and estimated, but not found wanting. When the man spoke, it was slowly and with difficulty, as if the habit of intimate, convincing speech had been so long disused that the effort was painful. The sentences seemed wrung out of him, one by

one.

"They have n't the point of view,'

Lannithorne nodded.

"That is the great word. Don't you see what ails your father's point of view, and my wife's? One wants absolute security in one way for Ruth; the other wants absolute security in another way for you. And securitywhy, it's just the one thing a human being can't have, the thing that's the damnation of him if he gets it! The reason it is so hard for a rich man to enter the kingdom of Heaven is that he has that false sense of security. To demand it just disintegrates a man. I don't know why. It does.'

Oliver shook his head uncertainly. 'I don't quite follow you, sir. Ought n't one to try to be safe?'

'One ought to try, yes. That is common prudence. But the point is that, whatever you do or get; you are n't after all secure. There is no such condition, and the harder you demand it, the more risk you run. So it is up to a man to take all reasonable precautions about his money, or his happiness, or his life, and trust the rest. What every man in the world is looking for is the sense of having the mastery over life. But I tell you, boy, there is only one thing that really gives it!'

'And that is -?'

Lannithorne hesitated perceptibly. For the thing he was about to tell this undisciplined lad was his most precious possession; it was the piece of wisdom for which he had paid with the years of his life. No man parts lightly with such knowledge.

'It comes,' he said, with an effort, 'with the knowledge of our power to endure. That's it. You are safe only

when you can stand everything that can happen to you. Then and then only! Endurance is the measure of a man.

Oliver's heart swelled within him as he listened, and his face shone, for these words found his young soul where it lived. The chasms and abysses in his path suddenly vanished, and the road lay clear again, winding uphill, winding down, but always lit for Ruth and him by the light in each other's eyes. For surely neither Ruth nor he could ever fail in courage!

'Sometimes I think it is harder to endure what we deserve, like me,' said Lannithorne, 'than what we don't. I was afraid, you see, afraid for my wife and all of them. Anyhow, take my word for it. Courage is security. There is no other kind.'

eration, God and the mothers look after that! You may tell your father so from me. And you may tell my wife I think there is the stuff of a man in you. And Ruth-tell Ruth —'

He could not finish. Oliver reached out and found his hand and wrung it hard.

'I'll tell her, sir, that I feel about her father as she does! And that he approves of our venture. And I'll tell myself, always, what you've just told me. Why, it must be true! You need n't be afraid I'll forget when the time comes for remembering.'

Finding his way out of the prison yard a few minutes later, Oliver looked, unseeing, at the high walls that soared against the blue spring sky. He could not realize them, there was such a sense of light, air, space, in his spirit.

Apparently, he was just where he had been an hour before, with all his battles still to fight, but really he knew they were already won, for his weapon had been forged and put in his hand. He left his boyhood behind him as he passed that stern threshold, for the last hour had made a man of him, and a prisoner had given him the master-key that opens every door.

Wednesday, March 18, 1868.

There is a strange dull apathy in the public mind when measures of great moment are so imminent. The proposed impeachment of the President creates but little excitement, nor does the wild, heedless, partisan legislation of Congress appear to disturb even the commercial interests. The radical press is vociferous for impeachment, not because the President has committed any crime, but for party considerations. The Democratic press is cool and comparatively indifferent, because they apprehend that impeachment will ruin radicalism. The welfare of the country, the true interests of the government, the salvation of the Union, the stability of our institutions, do not affect seriously the discipline of the two great parties. Neither party means to abandon its organization, but neither of them realizes the terrible consequences that must result from the extreme and revolutionary proceedings of the conspirators.

At a brief Cabinet meeting this evening, nothing was done. The President was calm and uncommunicative as usual; perhaps with more than usual

conspirators. General Hancock is expected this evening. He has not been treated as he should have been by Grant.

There is a rumor that Hancock will be assigned to this military Department, and that Gordon Granger will take the place of General Emory here in Washington. If such be the fact I know nothing of it, nor, I apprehend, do other members of the Cabinet. The change, if made, will be likely to stir up the conspirators, and is made too late to be effectual. These precautions should have been taken long ago, if taken at all. I do not believe that the President, unless personally assailed, intends seriously to resort to military assistance to maintain his position, and military officers who are his friends can now do little for him even if he wishes it. The President has a policy known only to himself. Honest, patriotic, devoted to his duties, he has failed to attach to himself a party. He would not lend himself to the radicals to exclude states, nor to the Democrats to withdraw from the Union, but has stood as it were alone on the constitutional policy of Lincoln and himself. I hope he is frank and confiding with his lawyers; he has not been sufficiently so with his Cabinet.

Monday, March 23, 1868. There was some effort for dramatic effect and crowded galleries to-day to EDGAR T. WELLES.

witness the impeachment trial. But there was no great excitement nor intense or absorbing interest in the subject. It is one of the remarkable and sad events of the times, that a subject of such magnitude, an outrage so flagrantly and vindictively partisan, a deliberate conspiracy against the Chief Magistrate of the nation, should be treated with such indifference here and elsewhere. There is idle curiosity with many, and some of the busy actors imagine they will be the Burkes and Sheridans of this trial.

The radicals are so demoralized and depraved, are so regardless of their constitutional obligations and of their oaths and their duty, that nothing good can be expected of them. But there are unmistakable indications that the Democratic leaders, a set who think more of party than of country, secretly desire the conviction and deposition of the President. Not that they are inimical to him, not that they believe him guilty of any crime deserving of impeachment, not that they will vote against him, but they look upon the act as perfectly suicidal to the radicals. They seem not aware that their own unwise conduct is scarcely less suicidal, and may save the radicals from annihilation.

The President's defence is a studied and well-prepared paper, wanting perhaps in power and force in some respects. There was, I am told and [judging] from what I read, a great contrast between the attorneys for the President and the managers. Black, I perceive, did not appear, and I judge has abandoned the case. If so there is something more than is apparent in his course. Alta Vela' is the pretext, but there is perhaps a deeper cause. A selfish or a party one. Black has been

1 Judge Jeremiah Black refused participation in the case on account of his connection with a certain lawsuit.

named as a Democratic candidate for President and this may have influenced him. Blair said to me early that Black was strong and ought to be one of the President's counsel, but that he was in collusion with Stanton and could not be relied upon to bring out Stanton's villanies, for he fears Stanton.

The Judges of the Supreme Court have caved in, fallen through, failed in the McCardle case. Only Grier and Field have held out like men, patriots, judges of nerve and honest independ

ence.

These things look ominous, and sadden me. I fear for my country when I see such abasement. Fear of the usurping radicals in Congress has intimidated some of these judges, or like reckless Democratic leaders they are willing their party should triumph through radical folly and wickedness. Seward has on more than one occasion declared that he controlled Judge Nelson. Whether he is or has been intriguing in this matter or taken any part is a problem.

The New York World of to-day has not a word in its editorial columns on impeachment, a question of momentous importance to the country. It has a variety of articles on light and insignificant subjects. But the World has more than once proclaimed that it was in no way identified with the President nor responsible for his election. They approve his principles, but he is not their man nor of their organization. Its editors fear, that if they were to become the vigorous champions of Johnson against his persecutors, the people would compel his nomination. Hence they are putting their cause and professed principles in jeopardy, by failing to do right.

But the most deplorable, or one of the most deplorable features in all these proceedings is to witness party assemblages, conventions, and legislators in