a member of a family of great renown. The name of one giant is "Love of self," and of the other, "Love of others," or Egoism and Altruism, respectively. The battle has been raging for many months and is now entering upon its final stages.

The door of the young man's room is locked, the window shutters closed, the curtains drawn. He is sitting in a chair in a sprawling attitude, his chin resting upon his bosom, his hat pulled low over his brow, his eyes closed, his hands clasped behind his head, a pained expression upon his handsome face. One hand slowly descends to his vest pocket, from which he extracts a richly bejewelled watch.

"Only nine o'clock. The night is young yet. Three full hours more of this agony! Then I must act. Well, let me employ the intervening time in a full review of the case."

So saying, he began the following soliloquy:

"Beauty of face, of form, of mind, when found in woman, exact homage of all men. That woman, whose peculiar combination of the attributes of loveliness, pleases a man's inherent taste in a manner such as no other can—that woman, becomes his queen.

"I have met the queen of my heart, but I dare not breathe her name into mortal ear! I dare not! I dare not! It is not because I think her charms open to debate that I thus guard her name. No, no, no! None can gain-say those eyes, so full of soul; none that grace of carriage; none that beautiful form, granted by mother nature in a moment of unwonted happiness. But, she is only one-half Caucasian!

"That does not grate so harshly on my ear! I find it in my heart to ignore that fact altogether, so I do, so I do. If left to myself—now, let only God, my Creator, hear what I have to say—if left to myself, I would marry that girl and count myself highly favored of Heaven for the privilege.

"But society tells me I shall not marry her! On what do they base their objections? Not, I am sure, upon the emotions of this tumultuous heart of mine, for every heart throb is a cry of love. Why, then, may I not claim her for my own? 'For the benefit of the species,' they say, 'We must preserve our racial identity. There must be no mesalliance. Our own glory, the cause of civilization, the good of the world, demands that Anglo-Saxon blood be not contaminated with the blood of inferior races.' This is the social dictum. Do you see how that I, the individual, am left out of that programme? The individual, then, is to have no consideration, I suppose. I have only the one life, tragic in its brevity, beset with many ills at best; and yet the philosophers and ethical writers crowd about me and tell me in insistent tones that I am to surrender the best part of that life for the sake of the species.

"Well might Tennyson, in the night of his sorrow, sing:

"Society, I yield to your mandates! I will not ask you to sanction, through legal forms, that which would be for my individual good, but would, you say, result in your injury. I will not marry the girl!"

Thus far society seems to have won. Altruism seems to have triumphed over Egoism. But not so; Egoism returns to the struggle. The young man resumes his soliloquy.

"Is society sincere in its demand? There are in the United States nearly two million people—mulattoes, begotten contrary to the written code. There must be an unwritten code that permits individuals to ignore the demands of society and mate according to choice. Shall I avail myself of the provisions of this unwritten code? Shall I, or shall I not? Shall I ask that pure girl to go counter to the requirements of all civilized communities and enter a union devoid of legal sanction? Shall I, or shall I not? Shall I, or shall I not?" Over and over the young man asks himself the question. At last he cries out, "These interminable codes and counter codes! To the deuce with them all! Erma shall be mine!" So saying, he sprang to his feet, Egoism in triumph, Altruism put to inglorious rout.

He glances at his watch, arranges his toilet, secures a mask with which he covers his face, steals forth from the home of his parents, as the hands on the clock are nearing the hour of midnight. Choosing dark and less frequented streets and alleyways, he proceeded on his journey, arriving, at length at a very handsome, two-story brick building. He looks about him with quick, hurried glances and then gives a slight knock, thrice repeated in rapid succession. He is evidently expected, as the door opens at once and he is ushered into a long, dark hallway. Thence he is led into a large parlor in the far end of which a gas jet is dimly burning, giving a weird, ghostly appearance to everything. The woman who had opened the door for him, bade him to be seated, she taking a seat at some distance from him.

The woman in question was a Negro, brown of skin, with a fat, round face, small eyes, very corpulent, and short of stature.

The young man begins:

"Mrs. Smith (Dolly Smith is her name): you have been highly recommended to me as a party fully capable of attending to delicate matters."

"Many thanks to my unknown sponsor," remarked Dolly Smith, her little eyes, accustomed to the dark, making a close scrutiny of the young man's features, he having removed his mask in the belief that the darkness of the room would suffice to conceal his identity.

The young man continued, "You will understand, of course, that our relations are confidential and whatever is done is to be without prejudice to the good name of any one concerned."

"Pardon the uncouthness of the remark, but please bear in mind that I am no butcher. Reputations that could not stand a whiff of the air of suspicion have been entrusted to my care, and neither my skill nor integrity in preserving them have ever been called into question. Remember, too, if you please, that I am a woman of standing in my own race, and it is of great personal interest to me to be discreet in all my doings," was Dolly Smith's spirited rejoinder.

"It pleases me much, Mrs. Smith, to hear you discourse thus. The affair which I wish for you to conduct for me, concerns a young woman of high standing in your race and I do not desire that any understanding which she and I may reach shall affect her status with her own people," added the young man.

"Have no fear on that score. A number of girls in this very city are even now leading the double life to which I presume you to be referring. Owing to the fact that the social life of the two races is distinct, you may be the lowest strata in the one and the very highest in the other, without so much as occasioning a suspicion. If there be no objection on your part, I should be pleased to have you state specifically what brings me the favor of your visit."

"Thank you for the hint to come to the point. I desire that you be of service to me in forming the acquaintance of one Erma Wysong."

A look of pain passed over the sensual features of Dolly Smith and her hands clutched her chair convulsively. Her lips breathed a soft exclamation, "My God." The darkness of the room prevented the young man's detecting these signs of excitement.

In a voice that trembled slightly with suppressed emotion Dolly Smith enquired, "How far have you proceeded in the matter yourself?"

The young man thought that he detected a faint note of anxiety in the question, but it was not sufficiently pronounced to make a distinct impression. He answered:

"Oh, I have not so much as spoken to the girl. In company with a number of other white people I attended the exercises of the High School on the evening of her graduation. On that occasion, dressed in a snowy white garment, her hair tastefully decorated with a few choice roses, she sang like a nightingale