world. Having been detained in this home until almost time for the train, the driver went dashing down the street with his passenger, when they met one of the most prominent white physicians of Charleston. Mr. Washington and this physician are intimate friends, having taught school in Malden at the same time. They recognized each other as they passed, but their drivers were going so rapidly that their carriages were nearly a square from each other before they could be stopped. Mr. Washington and the physician each ordered his carriage back. When they approached each other they alighted and grasped each other's hands in the middle of the street. Both of them had risen from poverty, and they congratulated each other on the success achieved. "We are all proud of your achievements and feel honored by them," the physician said.

Mrs. Washington spent the next day in Malden, and he came to Charleston and spoke to a large audience in one of the principal halls of the city. She left Charleston on the evening train to join her husband in New York to take a steamer for Europe, but stopped at Handley, West Virginia, to see Mr. Washington's only surviving aunt.

I

inet this aunt afterward, and she was delighted to talk of the childhood of her relative who had attained such renown.

On his return from Europe Mr. Washington was given a reception by the citizens of Charleston, the invitation having been sent to him at Paris by the city council. On this occasion he spoke to the people of Charleston in the Opera House. He was introduced by ex-Governor MacCorkle, and Governor George W. Atkinson presided. The notable feature of this visit, however, was the public reception given to Mr. Washington in the Capitol by Governor Atkinson. The reception was largely attended by men and women of both races.

This distinguished son of West Vir

ginia has returned to this "Mountain State" many times since he went to Tuskegee twenty years ago to begin his life's work, but his vacation here in the fall of 1901 was the most interesting of all his visits.

As soon as it became known that Mr. Washington wished to spend his vacation among the "West Virginia Hills," great efforts were put forth by his old neighbors to give him a quiet and profitable rest among them. He spent two weeks in camp on the Gauley river, where, when he would return from hunting or fishing, he often found an old friend or former pupil awaiting him.

At this time he had many invitations to speak in the state, but he declined them all except at Charleston, Malden and Montgomery. After his address at Malden he attended a festival in the old church of which he is a member. There, surrounded by so many friends of his youth, he must have felt a boy again.

When Mr. Washington and his party returned to Charleston at five o'clock in the evening, they heard that President McKinley had been shot. As Mr. Washington waited at Charleston depot for the Malden train, he anxiously watched the people as they spoke to one another in subdued tones, but he could not believe the report. Soon after reaching Malden, however, he became convinced that the sad report was true. and he immediately telegraphed a message of sympathy to Mrs. McKinley. The old citizens of Malden came around him in great numbers to get his opinion of the tragedy. Some of the white men asserted that the assassin should be lynched, but Mr. Washington insisted too much of that had already been done.

Mr. Washington may not be pleased that I have made public these private facts of his Christian life, but it has been through these that his neighbors have seen into the man's soul and have learned to respect, trust and love him.

little short of greatness. Mr. Charles Hawtrey made himself and The Man from Mars so popular in New York last winter that he stayed there the entire season. In other words, we have come to take our visiting players at a sane valuation and without undue excitement; which is a good thing for the amenities of life between nations, and may help to eradicate false notions on both sides of the water, even while it goes a very short distance toward reducing army and navy expenditures.

There are two, however, among these visiting players who are practically unknown to American play goers, the Earl of Rosslyn and Mr. Martin Harvey. The former is a real earl, acting in a comedy by a real captain, formerly of Her Majesty's service; and it is an incidental proof that the English actor no longer comes to America on a basis of personal gossip that neither of these facts has been placed more persistently before American readers. The latter is an actor manager who has come rapidly to

the front in London, and whose name is already familiar on this side of the water. But James Erskine (the earl), to give him the name by which he made his first appearance on the English stage some three or four years ago, playing a small part in Trelawney of the Wells, has yet to win his spurs, either here or abroad. London has apparently not found him remarkable in either one of three capacities: as an earl, a journalist, or an actor. And he figures as second in importance in Miss Millward's company. With Mr. Harvey the case is different. He comes with the glamour of an assured London success, while about his powers there is less known at first hand than about those of any other important theatrical visitor.

Mr. Harvey was in this country some years ago in the support of Sir Henry Irving; like many another excellent actor who has appeared under like conditions, he attracted little attention. Since that time

pliment which may or may not be altogether complimentary. Sir Henry Irving, absolutely as he stands at the head of his profession, is known not

then figured in the letters of London correspondents, and he has been hailed by the more enthusiastic of his London admirers as "the new Irving'-a com

only for his wonderful dramatic creations, but for many personal mannerisms that a younger man does well to mark for omission. Mr. Harvey's own career began, however, under the Irving management and at the very bottom of the ladder. He was first a super in a Lyceum production of Much Ado About Nothing, playing in one evening, like other able supers, such varied parts as warrior, gallant, lute player and one of Dogberry's watch. From this beginFrom this begin ning he has risen rapidly to the position of star and manager, and has produced, at various London theatres, a series of successful plays, of which The Only Way, with Mr. Henry Miller as Sydney Carton, is the most familiar to American play-goers. The original conception of this particular play came to the future. London manager during his tour of America with the Irving company, and its main outline was laid down by the actor before it was turned over to the dramatist whose name is now more closely associated with its construction.

Both in appearance and make-up Mr. Harvey's Carton strongly resembles that of Mr. Miller. In fact, it is not impossi

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ble that the two actors will suggest com parison in more ways than one. A glance at the titles alone of the plays that Mr. Harvey has so successfully produced in London, and is now bringing to America, shows something of this similarity. The Only Way, A Cigarette Maker's Romance, The King's Children, or After All, a play whose story may be read in the tale of Eugene Aram—are, none of them, titles that lead the experienced play-goer to expect the involved dramatic problems of Ibsen, Maeterlinck or Sudermann. Mr. Harvey's popularity, be it whatever it may, is hardly likely to conflict with that of Mrs. Patrick Campbell, who is to present, later in the season, Edith Wharton's translation of Sudermann's latest drama, Es Lebe das Leben, and who may appear later in Maeterlinck's much discussed new drama, Monna Vanna, a play of tempestuous passions and of mixed ethics.

As for Eleonora Duse, she is of the world rather than of Italy, and the fact that she speaks Italian is no more a bar to her success before an English speaking audience than is the French of Sara Bernhardt or the Japanese of Sada Yacco.

was sweet, in the old soft weather, Where the Creole skies were blue, To dream and to laugh together,

And love, as we used to do. Your cheeks were as oleanders,

And your hair was a copper crown, And your eyes were as deep as shadows When the night comes dropping down. And your voice was the voice of summer, And your touch was the touch of rain, And your heart, like the heart of music, Beat sweetly against my brain.

I gave you a gown, remember;

It was made of the thin blue sky, And a kerchief made of a cloudsail That the wind brought drifting by.

NEW ORLEANS

And a sash made out of a rainbow,
And a brooch made out of a star,
And lace from the looms of ocean
Where the surf goes over the bar.
And I gave you a castle, lady,

That was builded of sighs and dreams,
And looked on a fairy woodland
That was bright with a hundred streams.
And you made me a vow, remember,
As low and as true as mine,
And both of the vows, my darling,

Were made of the same moonshine. But 'twas sweet in the old soft weather, Where the Creole skies were blue, To dream and to laugh together, And love, as we used to do.

Henry Rightor