usiasm, and quailed not before the stern eye of the Speaker.

"Notwithstanding Henley's fiery eloquence, I was desperately sleepy,
having been up late the night before; indeed, there were streaks of rosy
light in the eastern sky when I reached my hotel. I found myself nodding
at my desk, and it was with an effort that I turned to the work which
had accumulated before me. An enormous mail had arrived. The usual
place-hunting letters from constituents, a petition from the Women's
Christian Temperance Union of Hiram Center protesting against the sale
of liquor at the Capitol, invitations to dine, a tempting mining
prospectus, circulars without number, and at the bottom of the pile a
square blue affair with the Washington postmark. I gave it my immediate
attention. The letter began abruptly, and ran as follows:

"'Ah, senor, have you forgotten Saratoga, and the little Mercedes?
Have you forgotten your promise to the Cuban girl? Surely not! The
pain in my heart you must well understand, for I know that _you_
love _your_ country very dearly. I read your speeches--all of
them--I read them in the papers, but not a word for Cuba--my poor,
bleeding Cuba! And yet you swore to me that night on the veranda,
with the moon shining so softly through the vines, that your voice
would ever be raised for Cuba--Cuba Libre! Would I have kissed you
else? Now, dear friend, when you make one of your beautiful
speeches again, think of Cuba, my gasping, dying Cuba, and

"'MERCEDES.

"'P. S.--I am in Washington, at the Arlington.--M.'

"This was interesting, to say the least. Of course, I remembered
Mercedes, and old Villasante, her fat papa, and Manuel the brother, and
Alejandro the cousin. Yes, I remembered them all very well and the night
on the veranda, with the moon shining softly through the vines, the
music floating out to us from the ballroom, the innumerable bumpers with
Manuel Villasante, Carlos Amezaga, Alejandro Menendez, and others of the
Cuban colony at the hotel. Also the promise made to my lovely partner as
to the voice for Cuba--Cuba Libre!--when I took my seat in Congress; the
warm pressure of her arms around my neck--and the kiss! How could I
forget it? But that was two summers ago, and my views now and then were
vastly different. Whatever I may have said under the combined witchery
of Mercedes, the moonlight, and the champagne was not to be seriously
considered now