or incredible as may be supposed at first hearing of them. For it is a fact hardly less curious, if not so strange, that there are men who while they would not think of marrying into a class beneath them would nevertheless live readily enough in a state of concubinage with women of that class. And in this upper class there are women, not many it is true, who would do the same thing. They care enough for the men in the class beneath them to enter into illicit relations in secret with them, but not enough to enter into illicit relations with these same men in the open, in the gaze of a scornful and horrified world. Has it ever been seriously considered that like father may occasionally produce like daughter in the South? And that such moral lapses by a few white women of that section may be accounted for in part at least by that mysterious law of atavism? The sons are like the fathers in respect to their fondness for colored women, why may not one daughter in, say ten thousand, resemble those fathers in the same shameful, though not altogether unnatural respect? (Do not such instances, few and far between at present though they be, furnish matter for grave reflection for the thoughtful people of the South regardless of sex, or race, or color?

Have the white women of the South considered that under existing conditions they are deprived of effective influence, of effective power, to reform the morals of the men of their race? And that unless the morals of the men are reformed the morals of the whole race will eventually decline? If the women fail to lift the level of the moral life of their men to their own higher plane, the lower morals of the men will drag downward ultimately to their level that of the women. From this inevitable conclusion and consequence there is no possible escape. But the white women of the South are powerless to lift the morals of their men without lifting at the same time the morals of the women of the black race. If, however, they steadily refuse to do so in future, as

they have refused to do so in the past, and as they refuse to do so to-day by the only sure means which can and will contribute mightily to effect such a purpose, viz., by making the black women their equals before the law, and at the bar of an enlightened public sentiment, and these women remain in consequence where they are to-day, a snare to the feet of white men, when these men trip over this snare into the hell of the senses, they will drag downward slowly but surely with them toward the level of these self-same black women the moral ideals if not the moral life of the white women of the South.)

And now a final word about the black woman of the South: She holds in her keeping the moral weal or woe, not only of her own race, but of the white race also. As she stands to-day in respect to the white man of the South, her situation is full of peril to both races. For she lives in a world where the white man may work his will on her without let or hindrance, outside of law, outside of the social code and moral restraints which protect the white woman. This black woman's extra-legal position in the South, and her extra-social status there, render her a safe quarry for the white man's lust. And she is pursued by him for immoral ends without dread of ill consequences to himself, either legal or social. If she resists his advances, and in many cases she does resist them, he does not abate his pursuit, but redoubles it. Her reHer spectability, her very virtue, makes her all the more attractive to him, spurs the more his sensual desire to get possession of her person. He tracks her, endeavors to snare her in a hundred dark ways and by a hundred crooked means. On the street, in stores, in cars, going to and from church, she encounters this man, bent on her ruin. Into her very home his secret emissaries may attack her with their temptation, with their vile solicitations. Nowhere is she safe, free from his pursuit, because no law protects her, no moral sentiment casts about her person the ægis

of its power. And when haply dazzled by the insignia of his superior class, or his wealth, or the magic of his skin, or the creature comforts which he is able to offer her, she succumbs to his embrace and enters the home to which he invites her, she becomes from that time outlawed in both worlds, a moral plague-spot in the midst of both races. For she begins then to reproduce herself, her wretched history, her sad fate, in the more wretched history, the sadder fate, of her daughters. And so in her world of the senses, of the passions, she enacts in a sort of vicious circle the moral tragedy of two races. If the white man works the moral ruin of her and hers, she and they in turn work him and his a moral ruin no less upon

sure and terrible,

What is the remedy? It is certainly not the segregation of the races in a state of inequality before the law. For such segregation exists to-day. It has existed to the hurt of both races in the past. It is the fruitful parent of fearful woes at the present time, and will be the breeder of incalculable mischief for both races, for the South, and for the nation itself, in the future. The remedy lies not then in segregation and inequality, for that is the disease, but in segregation, if America

so wills it, and equality. The double moral standard has to be got rid of as quickly as possible, and a single one erected in its stead, applicable alike to the men and women of both races. The moral world of the white man and that of the black woman must be merged into one by the ministers of law and of religion. by an awakened public conscience and an enlightened and impartial public sentiment, which is the great promoter and upholder of individual and national righteousness. The black woman of the South must be as sacredly guarded as a woman by Southern law and public opinion against the sexual passion and pursuit of the Southern white man as is the Southern white woman. Such equality of condition, of protection, in the South is indispensable to any lasting improvement in the morals of its people, white or black. If that section persists in sowing inequality instead of equality between the races, it must continue to gather the bitter fruits of it in the darkened moral life, in the low moral standards of both races. For what the South sows, whether it be cotton or character, that it shall surely reap.

ARCHIBALD H. GRIMKE.

Boston, Mass.

IT

T WAS the occasion of a big spectacular performance at a well-known theater in New York city, far-famed for this style of production, that Tilly Westover, suping at twenty-five cents a night, first saw the big scene-shifter called-well, we will call him Sam.

Sam was possessed of rope-like muscles and therein took great pride. "Out of me way," he would call to the huddled "extras," in commanding voice, and even the much-heralded beauty, "star of the

show," had once been known almost to jump aside from the path of this modern Hercules, when he was condescending to assist at the performances of the theater. For Sam had an air about him. which indicated a distinct aloofness from his occupation. He suggested in an indescribable manner that his rightful occupation might be razing castles, tearing up mountains, or pulling down California redwoods; anything rather than such simple, easy work-or so his manner

implied-as that which in reality engaged his distinguished attention.

Tilly Westover, being poor, unknown, and of extremely humble origin, may be simply and accurately described as thin. Under other and more favorable worldly circumstances she would be designated with propriety as "spirituelle," "lithe,” "willowy," or something fetching in the way of adjectives. But since she is only Tilly Westover, with the merest apology for a home in an extremely unfashionable, not to say undesirable, part of the city, she may be safely described as thin, and nothing more.

Well, perhaps a little more. For in addition to great paucity of flesh, scattered gingerly over a spare but graceful little frame, she was possessed of a soul capable of great appreciation, which appreciation was bestowed gratuitously and unconditionally on the burly scene-shifter,

Sam.

Perhaps it was mental telepathy, and perhaps merely chance, which was responsible for the fact that Sam's big, honest vision was one night attracted to Tilly, standing meek, unobtrusive and thin, in a nook formed by heaped-up properties. There had been other "lady supes" conspicuously resplendent in their spangled finery, and far more advanced in both manner and appearance, who had viewed him with approval; many of whom, in fact, were frequently crudely frank in their manner of procedure to attract his attention, calling softly to him in varying phrase and accent: "Hello, Sandow; let's feel your muscle." But one and all of the "lady supes" had failed to make a hit with Sam, until he saw Tilly with furtive glance resting her eyes on him, as she stood half-hidden in her improvised retreat waiting to "go on."

He was too rushed at the moment to lend any formality to his greeting of her, even had he been so inclined. He had a firm grip on his end of a big "shift" which he was trying to land in the vicinity of Tilly's vantage-ground. His businesslike, and it may be added, characteristic

greeting was in this wise: "Hully gee! get outer de way. Don't yer hear the 'sistant stage-director shoutin' 'overture'?"

Tilly obeyed with alacrity. For the rest of the evening she felt less alone, as if, strange miracle of emotions, a strong arm were protecting her; she could not have explained it for the life of her, but intuitively she realized that something, as yet intangible, but sweet, had entered her hitherto dull and uneventful life, for the honest eyes had looked straight into hers, and the glance was kindly.

The next night Tilly longed to place herself in the same position just to be ordered away, that she might reëxperience the exultant thrill contingent on the discovery that she found favor in a strong man's eyes. But courage failed her, or inherent modesty prevailed, and she seated herself instead on a huge coil of rope at the extreme rear of the stage.

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At identically the same moment almost, as on the night before, Sam would be steering his end of the big scene to its temporary resting-place; perhaps someone was standing where she had stood, and he would later address her in that commanding tone, that still lingered in Tilly's heart, a joyous memory. A jealous twinge almost lifted her from the coil of rope on which she sat at the mere thought. Overture," called the assistant stagedirector. Overture," she heard him calling, first on one side then on the other. She arose, shook out her tinselled gown, then instinctively felt for the toy crown upon her head, as the familiar strains of the music, which announced the supers' cue, reached her ears. Others also in tinsel gowns were crowding about her; some with wings and some with wands; the "star" stood in the front right-wing. Miss Westover took her place with the other "supers" engaged to fill in the ranks of the chorus in the opening scene.

The snare-drum tattoo reverberated thrillingly. It filled her with more than the usual exhilaration on this wonderful night. There was an inarticulate and

suspicious grunt in the vicinity of the calcium-light man; a faint, whirring sound and the curtain was going up. The much-heralded beauty, "star of the show," flanked and backed by shimmering cohorts, burst forth on the gaze of an impatient audience. But what mattered it to Tilly Westover? The wild billows of applause, and the air vibrant with wondering murmurs of finely-costumed women and immaculately-garbed men. Her god was back of the scenes. Her god was to her greater than all these. Her heart beat high above the clapping of hands it seemed to her, for her god had addressed her, in homely phrase to be sure, but nevertheless addressed her; "Straighten yer crown," he had said; "it's dead leary; shove her to starboard."

A rapture, delicate yet well-defined, stole into Tilly's little starved heart and lent wings to her feet as she tripped through the mazes of the fantastic march, while the orchestra kept up the inspiring melody that set the incorrigible gallerygods to whistling and keeping time with their feet. The entire house seemed lifted out of itself in a passing spasm of prismatic emotion. The "promoters of the show standing in the wings, tried at first to conceal their joy under a look of bland and prosperous indifference, failed, then shook each other's hands and roared incoherent congratulations at each other with cigars, unlighted, in their lips, and the latest thing in derbies set well back on their heads.

Out "in front " the author of the libretto modestly concealed among friends in an upper box. was secretly lamenting that the music was so mediocre for so fine a book, while opposite, in another upper box, the long-haired "musicianer," who had contrived the score, felt acutely aggrieved that the "book" was so bad, when the music was so superior. Yet each genius, nevertheless, felt like throwing his opera hat-secured on credit for the occasion-into the air, the while he sat outwardly calm and quite imperial in a rented dress-suit, and gleaming linen

purchased at the bargain-counter of a department-store, thinking how this, his first "hit," would enhance his prestige along Broadway. The Wall-street speculator forgot stocks and tickers for awhile and revelled in dreams recalled of his boyhood. The blasé society-woman over. there in the lower stage-box at the right. gowned in mauve satin, with its cold silver embroidery, resplendent in hard. glittering, white diamonds, smiled unconsciously, thus partially effacing the set expression of placidity about the mouth, remembering vividly other less prosperous but infinitely, as seen by her in the music-set retrospection, more satisfactory days.

As far as the audience had power to observe everything was running with satisfaction and despatch.

Behind the scenes consternation reigned. It started in this way: there was a slight commotion in the wings when it was discovered that Miss-well, we will call her Miss St. Clair had fallen in a faint and would have to be sent home. Miss St. Clair had but one line to speak, yet, as often happens, it was a line of some importance, not so much in itself as in relation to the production as a whole. To pick out a girl adequately to take her place at a moment's notice was really a matter of more difficulty than it might seem to the average person inexperienced in things theatrical. For there was a certain amount of stage-business went with the line.

Sam, the gigantic scene-shifter, was on the alert. He had been employed at this particular theater for five years and was a person of some consequence. "Excuse me, boss," he said suddenly to an anxious-looking man, "but there goes a girl could do the business. I'll put her on to de line meself."

The stage-director and the two "promoters" stood a gaping trio; the latter two now had their derbies tilted far down over their noses, while their cigars slanted acutely upward toward the down-slanting rims. "Her?" they ejaculated alin most unison.