The Progressionists, and Angela. Conrad von Bolanden

the banner of progress waves triumphant."

      "The conviction with which you threaten me would be anything but gratifying, for I abhor every form of terrorism," rejoined Seraphin.

      "Very well, my good fellow! But we must accustom ourselves to take things as they are and not as they ought to be. Therefore, my youthful Telemachus, you are under everlasting obligations to me, your experienced Mentor, for procuring you an opportunity of becoming acquainted with the world, and constraining you to think less well of men than your generous heart would incline you to do."

      They had reached the outskirts of the city. A distant roaring, resembling the sound of shallow waters falling, struck upon the ears of the maskers. The noise grew more distinct as they advanced, and finally swelled into the brawling and hum of many voices. Passing through a wide gate-way, the millionaires entered a square ornamented with maple-trees. Under the trees, stretching away into the distance, were long rows of tables lit up by gaslights, and densely crowded with men drinking beer and talking noisily. The middle of the square was occupied by a rotunda elevated on columns, with a zinc roof, and bestuck in the barbarous taste of the age with a profusion of tin figures and plaster-of-paris ornaments. Beneath the rotunda, around a circular table, sat the leaders and chieftains of progress, conspicuous to all, and with a flood of light from numerous large gas-burners streaming upon them. Between Sand and Schwefel was throned Hans Shund, extravagantly dressed, and proving by his manner that he was quite at his ease. Nothing in his deportment indicated that he had so suddenly risen from general contempt to universal homage. Mr. Shund frequently monopolized the conversation, and, when this was the case, the company listened to his sententious words with breathless attention and many marks of approbation.

      Mentor Greifmann conducted his ward to a retired corner, into which the rays of light, intercepted by low branches, penetrated but faintly, and from which a good view of the whole scene could be enjoyed.

      "Do you observe Hans there under the baldachin surrounded by his vassals?" rouned Carl into his companion's ear. "Even you will be made to feel that progress can lay claim to a touching spirit of magnanimity and forgiveness. It is disposed to raise the degraded from the dust. The man who only yesterday was engaged in shoving a car, sweeping streets, or even worse, to-day may preside over the great council, provided only he has the luck to secure the good graces of the princes of progress. Hans Shund, thief, usurer, and nightwalker, is a most striking illustration of my assertion."

      "What particularly disgusts and incenses me," replied the double millionaire gravely, "is that, under the régime of progress, they who are degraded, immoral, and criminal, may rise to power without any reformation of conduct and principles."

      "What you say is so much philosophy, my dear fellow, and philosophy is an antique, obsolete kind of thing that has no weight in times when continents are being cut asunder and threads of iron laid around the globe. Moreover, such has ever been the state of things. In the dark ages, also, criminals attained to power. Just think of those bloody monarchs who trifled with human heads, and whose ministers, for the sake of a patch of territory, stirred up horrible wars. Compared with such monsters, Hans Shund is spotless innocence."

      "Quite right, sir," rejoined the landholder, with a smile. "Those bloody kings and their satanic ministers were monsters--but only--and I beg you to mark this well--only when judged by principles which modern progress sneers at as stupid morality and senseless dogma. I even find that those princely monsters and their conscienceless ministers shared the species of enlightenment that prides itself on repudiating all positive religion and moral obligations."

      "Thunder and lightning, Seraphin! were not you sitting bodily before me, I should believe I was actually listening to a Jesuit. But be quiet! It will not do to attract notice. Ah! splendid. There you see some of the 'wild men,'" continued he, pointing to a table opposite. "The fellow with the bald head and fox's face is an agent, a salaried bellwether, a polished electioneer. He has the 'wild men' already half-tamed. Watch how cleverly he will decoy them into the progressionist camp. Let us listen to what he has to say; it will amuse you, and add to your knowledge of the developments of progress."

      "We want men for the city council," spoke he of the bald head, "that are accurately and thoroughly informed upon the condition and circumstances of the city. Of what use would blockheads be but to fuss and grope about blindly? What need have we of fellows whose stupidity would compromise the public welfare? The men we want in our city council must understand what measures the social, commercial, and industrial interests of a city of thirty thousand inhabitants require in order that the greatest good of the largest portion of the community may be secured. Nor is this enough," proceeded he with increasing enthusiasm. "Besides knowledge, experience, and judgment, they must also be gifted with the necessary amount of energy to carry out whatever orders the council has thought fit to pass. They must be resolute enough to break down every obstacle that stands in the way of the public good. Now, who are the men to render these services? None but independent men who by their position need have no regard to others placed above them--free-spirited and sensible men, who have a heart for the people. Now, gentlemen, have you any objections to urge against my views?"

      "None, Mr. Spitzkopf! Your views are perfectly sound," lauded a semi-barbarian. "We have read exactly what you have been telling us in the evening paper."

      "Of course, of course!" cried Mr. Spitzkopf. "My views are so evidently correct that a thinking man cannot help stumbling upon them. None but the slaves of priests, the wily brood of Jesuits, refuse to accept these views," thundered the orator with the bald head. "And why do they refuse to accept them? Because they are hostile to enlightenment, opposed to the common good, opposed to the prosperity of mankind, in a word, because they are the bitter enemies of progress. But take my word for it, gentlemen, our city contains but a small number of these creatures of darkness, and those few are spotted," emphasized he threateningly. "Therefore, gentlemen," proceeded he insinuatingly, "I am convinced, and every man of intelligence shares my conviction, that Mr. Shund is eminently fitted for the city council--eminently! He would be a splendid acquisition in behalf of the public interests! He understands our local concerns thoroughly, possesses the experience of many years, is conversant with business, knows what industrial pursuits and social life require, and, what is better still, he maintains an independent standing to which he unites a rare degree of activity. Were it possible to prevail on Mr. Shund to take upon himself the cares of the mayoralty, the deficit of the city treasury would soon be wiped out. We would all have reason to consider ourselves fortunate in seeing the interests of our city confided to such a man."

      The "wild men" looked perplexed.

      "Right enough, Mr. Spitzkopf," explained a timid coppersmith. "Shund is a clever, well-informed man. Nobody denies this. But do you know that it is a question whether, besides his clever head, he also possesses a conscience in behalf of the commonwealth?"

      "The most enlarged sort of a conscience, gentlemen--the warmest kind of a heart!" exclaimed the bald man in a convincing tone. "Don't listen to stories that circulate concerning Shund. There is not a word of truth in them. They are sheer misconstructions--inventions of the priests and of their helots."

      "I beg your pardon, Mr. Spitzkopf, they are not all inventions," opposed the coppersmith. "In the street where I live, Shund keeps up a certain connection that would not be proper for any decent person, not to say for a married man."

      "And does that scandalize you?" exclaimed the bald-headed agent merrily. "Mr. Shund is a jovial fellow, he enjoys life, and is rich. Mr. Shund will not permit religious rigorism to put restraints upon his enjoyments. His liberal and independent spirit scorns to lead a miserable existence under the rod of priestly bigotry. And, mark ye, gentlemen, this is just what recommends him to all who are not priest-ridden or leagued with the hirelings of Rome," concluded the electioneer, casting a sharp look upon the coppersmith.

      "But I am a Lutheran, Mr. Spitzkopf," protested the coppersmith.

      "There are hypocrites among the Lutherans who are even worse than the Romish Jesuits," retorted the man with the bald head. "Consider, gentlemen, that the leading men of our city have, in consideration of his abilities, concluded to place Mr. Shund in the position which he ought to occupy. Are you going, on to-morrow, to vote against the decision