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equally unsuccessful; but it certainly extends more hope of victory, and is worth making. This effort must be concentrated on a change that will be simple. Not only is the average legislator incapable of understanding a complicated scheme, but the simpler the bill the less opportunity there is of discussion of details, and change of incidentals, and the more hope it has of passage. My suggestion is a change that will make a two-thirds majority necessary for the passage of a bill through either house of Congress, or a legislature. No measure absolutely demanded by the people will fail to secure such a majority. The presidential succession bill did not, for instance, at the late congressional session. And so with every such bill. If the people do not demand its passage, it ought not to pass. The bill that is simply the idea of the legislator is an unnecessary bill, and these bills form the bulk of our new laws. The Constitution provides for a two-thirds vote to propose amendments, deeming it necessary to make the vote more than a majority, to prevent ill-considered action. Yet, all will agree with the possible exception of the prohibitionists — that we have as many amendments as are needed.

Ill-considered action is what we must guard against to-day in mere law-making, and the requirement that bills should receive this two-thirds vote is the simplest safeguard yet suggested. In a smaller country, perhaps, the bills might be voted on by the people after the final adjournment of the Congress or legislature. In a State, this certainly would be a safe and by no means inconvenient plan. But a movement in this direction would be more radical, and would have less of a chance of success. A measure that changes the vote necessary to the passage of a bill, from a bare majority to two-thirds, would meet with greater support, and would have a fair chance of success. If adopted, it would satisfactorily meet the evil it was intended to remedy it would reduce the bulk of legislation; would prevent the passage of most unnecessary or dangerous bills; and would leave ample opportunity for the passage of good laws, demanded by the people; besides insuring their better execution when passed, since the larger the majority favoring a law, the stronger will be the effort to carry into effect its commands.

Lynching.

Charles Fiske.

THE number of reported murders in the United States in 1882 was 1266. There were only 93 persons executed and 118 lynched,— in all, 211. Consequently, very nearly 1055 criminals escaped. We say very nearly, because some criminals may have had more than one victim each. If any of those who were executed and lynched were innocent, then perhaps more than 1055 criminals escaped. Under any government where 1173 murderers out of every 1266 escape legal execution, it is a wonder that there are not 1000 lynched, instead of 118. A man planning a cold-blooded murder may safely calculate upon more than eleven chances for escape to less than one for his detection, conviction, and execution; and taking in the conjoint probabilities of legal and extra-legal capital punishment, he may safely calculate on five chances to one, for escape.

Lynching will hardly be defended by any man in sober mood. What is the remedy? Increased care and

zeal upon the part of all good citizens to secure the execution of the law. If all men, good and bad, could rely upon that in every case of capital felony, there would perhaps be almost no case of lynching.

Taking the figures of 1882 as a basis, it would appear that if hereafter out of every 1266 murderers, 619 were sure to be executed, the cases of lynching would probably diminish to 58; if, out of every 1266, only 66 escaped, there would probably be not more than 7 cases of lynching. Of course this is only mathematical, subject to the fluxions introduced by free human nature and ever-changing circumstances, but these would probably be in favor of the abandonment of the lynching process. We see that even when it is known that only one in about every fifteen murderers is legally punished, the people lose patience only to the degree of taking into their own hands the punishment of less than one in nine escaped murderers. This must give us the assurance that such are the restraints of our Christian civilization as to warrant the belief that if the present rate of legal executions were doubled there would be less than half the number of cases of lynching. The conviction should be strong in us all that it is the duty of each citizen to see, so far as in him lies, that the laws applying to the taking of human life be promptly and thoroughly enforced. Laxity in this increases the danger to every man. Certainty and promptness of punishment would diminish both ordinary murder as well as lynching. It is not a comfortable fact to contemplate that in each State of the Union we have on an average forty murderers now going about freely among the population.

In treating this phenomenon one must take the statistics of the country generally. It is only fair, however, to say that lynching is rarer in the Eastern and Middle States than in the Western and Southern States. It would naturally more readily occur in frontier communities in which it was difficult to meet the case by any accepted legal process, while it would be destruction to the inchoate community to allow the special crime to go unpunished. On the other hand, it would seem that the cases of escaped criminals are more numerous in our Eastern than in our Western States. There must be something in our compact population and in the provisions of our civilization to make it more easy for a murderer to escape. Three times murders have occurred near the residence of the writer, in the city of New York, to which not the slightest clew seems to have been found. In addition to the moral sentiment which will not acquit the guilty, there seems to be the need of an intellectual alertness which will not allow a criminal to elude both the processes of law and the violence of popular resentment.

Charles F. Deems.

The Powel Portraits of Washington. THE oil-painting from which the frontispiece of this number of THE CENTURY Magazine was engraved was painted from life in 1784 by Joseph Wright, a pupil of Benjamin West. The portrait was a commission from Mrs. Elizabeth Powel of Philadelphia, and through inheritance is now owned by Samuel Powel, Esq., of Newport, Rhode Island, through whose courtesy we are permitted to engrave it for the first time. Of this portrait it is stated that “Washington wrote

Mrs. Powel it was the best for which he had then sat." And later, in Tuckerman's work on "The Character and Portraits of Washington," it is said: "Perhaps no portrait of Washington bears such convincing marks of genuine individuality, without a particle of artistic flattery." The silhouettes on page 12 were drawn and cut

by Mr. Powel sometime previous to the year 1790. George Washington, John Washington, and Benjamin Franklin amused themselves after tea one evening, according to the fashion of the day, by cutting "shades." They are now in the possession of his grandnephew Samuel Powel, and have never before been copied.

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A Little Comedy.

BRIC-À BRAC.

S the world the same, do you think, my Dear,
As when we walked by the sea together,
And the white caps danced and the cliffs rose sheer,
And we were glad in the autumn weather?

You played at loving that day, my Dear

How well you told me that tender story

And I made answer, with smile and tear,

Rise up, dear lady! and put down thy pan;
Let those who have delayed have none at all.
Stand up, and let thy fond admirers scan
Thy figure, "fair," and most "divinely tall."
Chill blows the wind upon thy regal back
Mourn'st thou because thou hast no sealskin sack?

Perish the thought! I have it now! I see
The hidden meaning of thy perturbation :
Why thou dost sit beside the wind-swept tree,

While the sky was flushed with the sunset's glory. And gaze afar, in silent lamentation.

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It was but a comedy slight, my Dear

Why should its memory come to vex me?
Can it be I am longing that you should appear
And play it again? My thoughts perplex me.

'Tis the sea and the shore that I miss, my Dear-
The sea and the shore, and the sunset's glory—
Or would these be nothing without you near,
To murmur again that fond, old story?

I know you now but too well, my Dear-
With your heart as light as a wind-blown feather-
Yet somehow the world seems cold and drear
Without your acting, this autumn weather.

Louise Chandler Moulton.

The November Lady, in "The Century."

FAIR lady, seated on THE CENTURY's cover,
Stretching thy shapely arm with tragic grace,
Around thy head the dead leaves whirl and hover,
The light of other days illumes thy face.
What dost thou see, with that far, yearning vision,
Which follows summer's train, to fields Elysian?

Thou look'st as one who stands upon the shore,
Watching some shortening sail sink down the main;
And fain in thy sad heart would'st follow o'er
Those stormy waves, to clasp thy loved again.
The gracious memory of days now spent,
Its joy and pain in thy sad gaze is blent.

Why dost thou mourn departed flowers of summer?
The flowers of song bloom bright within thy pages.
There spreads, a royal feast, for each new-comer-
The wit and wisdom of the seers and sages.
"The fair lands beckon us; the great seas roar."
Empress of this domain, what would'st thou more?

Lonely, art thou? Dost not unto thee throng
The good and great of every age and clime?
The valiant souls who live to conquer wrong,
The keen-eyed seekers after truths sublime-
All gifted ones who have enriched the earth
Thou bringest, to sit with us beside the hearth.

I understand thy countenance dejected:
Thou sorrowest for manuscripts rejected!
Courage, fair damsel! 'Tis no easy matter
The lofty heights of serial fame to climb;
The flinty editorial heart to batter
With fragile missiles like a maiden's rhyme.
Strive on and haply, ere thy life is over,
Thou shalt have place within not on the cover.

Maria Hurlbut Burditt.

Una.

LATE- -as I sat before the fire,
Perusing some old tome
That took my thoughts to Italy

And left my heart in Rome,
Where, 'mid fair scenes, the writer's skill
Had wrought a maid so well,

My fancy went a-wooing her
Long past the midnight bell-
Just then, I say, up the long path
Came pretty Una home;
She touched the latch, it startled me,
And brought me back from Rome.

I closed my book. We two sat down,
She leaning on my knee,

With cloak unclasp't, and hat thrown back,
Her fair face turned on me.

I made her tell me of the Ball;
Her frankness won me quite.
To see the child so act it all-
It was a lovely sight.

Such graceful things the elders said:
But when I took her hand,

And questioned of the youths, she said
I "would not understand."

You see I had forgot myself

While reading that old tome;
My beard is turning gray, and I
Am only young-in Rome.

James Herbert Morse.

In "Face to Face," in the September "Bric-à-Brac," the second line of the sixth stanza should read: "Two forces ever warring in the soul." In part of the edition it did not so appear.

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Twenty-three, my mind was restive,
Now brunette, anon a blonde;
Each one seemed to me suggestive
Of a better one beyond:

So I waited on and dallied

With perhaps a half a score,
Till Time came around and tallied
Twenty-four.

Twenty-five, no more a chicken!
I essayed to make a choice,
But the "plot began to thicken

Love in me had lost its voice.
Thus the girls all went the way of
Other girls, and — fiddle-sticks!
I'm a bachelor to-day of
Twenty-six !

Frank Dempster Sherman.
Aspiration.

AH, were I but a pair of dainty, best
Four-buttoned kids (a size or so too small),
That I might squeeze my lady's hand with zest
And own no impropriety at all!

About her wrist to count the pulsing flow,

Fresh from her throbbing heart; or from her lips To catch the wafted kiss she fain would throw To some one else, from taper finger-tips.

To feel the pressure of her soft, warm cheek When wearily she poised her drooping head Upon the hand enveloped - so to speak

By my sleek self, caressed and comforted.

Perchance affrighted, with a sudden start
And little cry of terror she might press
The palpitating region of her heart;
How sweet to soothe and quiet her distress!

And when together we grew old, I 'd seek
Within her boudoir still to find a place;
Devoted to the last, I'd kiss her cheek,
And bring the rouge-red roses to her face.

Arthur J. Mundy.

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THE DE VINNE PRESS, PRINTERS, NEW YORK.

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