In order, therefore, to receive more instructions on the subject, he set out on a journey to the continent where the plans were originally drawn. During his absence, an apprentice, full of genius and daring, the son of a widow, (widow's always will have such sons,) finished the work as we now see it. The Master, on his return, seeing the work completed, demanded who had dared to do it, and on the apprentice acknowledging himself as the offender, was so inflamed with rage and jealousy at the apprentice's superior genius, that he killed him with a heavy mallet. In testimony of the truth of the legend, there is still shown in the west part of the chapel, two heads, the master's scowling, and the apprentice's, who had been foully murdered.

TRUE WEALTH.

BY S. C. COFFINBERRY.

CHAPTER XVIII.

In the year 17, the small peninsula which lies on the western shore of the middle branch of the Patapsco River, which is now traversed by Warner, Russell and Ridgley streets, in the eighth ward of the city of Baltimore, was covered with primitive forest trees, except a small margin of meadow land immediately along the river bank.

Just as the sun arose, on the ninth of June, and dispersed the mists that had arisen in the night from the water, and still curled around the tops of the lofty elms that dripped with the condensed fog, five individuals were grouped upon the grassy bank of the river.

An affair of honor was to be settled by mortal combat.

Captain Chartiers was a man past the meridian of life. He was a native of France, and a soldier by profession. In his youth he had left his native country with his regiment, and with an ensign's commission. He had served at Fort Du Quesne, and at Quebec. When the political agitations in the American colonies resulted in the declaration of independence, and the new theory of government as enunciated in this memorable event, Captain Chartiers, being deeply imbued with republican principles and the spirit of freedom, left the north and united his fortunes with those of General Francis Marion in the south.

During the Revolution he served as a captain, under the leadership of that distinguished chieftain. Upon the termination of the war, and upon the establishment of the government of the United States, he retired from the service, and selected the city of Baltimore as his permanent home.

Captain Chartiers was a bachelor, and being a gentleman of ample fortune, maintained an elegant villa adjacent to the city, where it was his custom to give princely entertainments to his friends.

He had given one of these entertainments two days previous to the morning alluded to in the opening of this chapter. Colonel Perrault, with others of the nobility of France who had taken refuge in the city of Baltimore, were present as distinguished guests of the courteous and hospitable Captain.

On the occasion of this festival, the political situation of France became the subject of an animated discussion.

Colonel Perrault, mortified and humbled by his exile and the misfortunes of his fellow sufferers, denounced, in unqualified terms, not only the Jacobin leaders in France, but the fundamental principles of popular government which those leaders had so much.

abused.

Captain Chartiers maintained the philosophy of those principles, and defended the right of self-government by the people, while he admitted and denounced the cruel excesses to which these principles had been carried by the unwarranted administration and vindictive brutality of Murat, Dantau, and Robespierre.

This discussion became heated and demonstrative between these two spirited partizans. Offensive language passed between them, that resulted in a challenge by Colonel Perrault, and its acceptance by Charles Chartiers.

These two veterans stood apart, on the river bank. The Colonel was an admirable sample of physical perfection. He was tall and well proportioned. He had been educated in the manners and etiquette of the extravagant court of Louis and Antoinette. His age was forty-five, while that of his adversary was nearer sixty.

The latter was not so tall as Colonel Perrault, but was in other respects as graceful and as accomplished.

Count de La Garat, the second of Colonel Perrault, approached and announced to Captain Denier, an old friend, and on this occasion the second of Captain Chartiers, that everything was in readiness for the engagement on the part of the challenging party. Captain Chartiers raised his chapeau and bowed politely to the Count as he made this announcement. The rising sun glistened on his bald

head as he held his chapeau for a moment in his hand before he replace it.

The combatants took position at a distance of six paces from each other, it having been determined by all interested that one or both of the combatants should die.

It is singular to reflect how gradual are the advancements of moral progression. Here stood two men, reared and educated in the bosom of society which prided itself upon its civil and religious influences, and its moral elevation, thirsting for each other's blood. Each resolved to take the life of his adversary-each aspiring to become a murderer. The position of these two noble men, as they stood there that day, in deadly antagonism, was adjudged to be most honorable, and absolutely demanded by conventional regulations. The moral and religious sentiment of the age sanctioned these regulations, although the divine command, "Thou shalt not kill," then, as now, constituted a fundamental moral proposition of both the civil and religious faith.

In this view it becomes a question for the solution of the casuist, whether the moral sentiment of a people is based, as it is claimed, upon the prevailing religious theories, or whether the religious faith of a people may not adapt itself to the degree of popular moral development, and regulate its practical operations to the necessities and dictates of the standard of moral thought.

However this may be, certain it is that on that morning there stood two men upon the verge of eternity. Their situation was voluntary. The law interposed no prohibition, religion no protestation, and society approved and commended. Was there no power, no institution, no moral association which could stretch forth the hand of authority and cry, "Hold! Spare the blood of your fellow man?"

It was a solemn sight to see those two mature and noble menheroes, who had fought and periled their lives for their respective countries-with calm and dignified features and steady nerves directing the weapons of death at each other's hearts, at a distance of eighteen feet from each other. It was not only solemn, but it was shameful for the age that tolerated and the sentiments which sanctioned it.

If it be true, as it is claimed, that religion is the basis of civil government, and that it infuses its divine precepts into the social elements, then, at that time, religion either did not know its duty, or, knowing it, neglected its high mission, and left these two men to fall by each other's hands.

There were five persons present on the grassy plot; the two combatants, their two seconds, and a surgeon.

Each of the combatants turned his eyes to the rising sun for the last time. Their countenances were solemn. Their features were firm and quiet. Their bearing was calm. The hands that directed the duello pistols aimed at two beating hearts more steady. Not a muscle moved. Not a nerve quivered.

The word was given. "Make ready. Take aim." At the word "Make ready," the trampling of a horse was heard in a rapid gallop approaching the party. No eye turned from the combatants. In another instant Charles Preston, mounted on a noble black steed, plunged forward to a point directly between and in a line with the antagonists, just as, at the word "Fire," both weapons were discharged. The noble black charger fell dead in his tracks, penetrated through the heart by a ball from either side and in a direct line with each other. The pistols were discharged simultaneously.

Preston arose from the fallen horse, as he shouted to the combatants, "Would you shed á brother's blood?”

He hastily turned to Colonel Perrault and whispered in his ear, and then, in like manner, in the ear of Captain Chartiers.

Both antagonists simultaneously hurled their pistols far into the river, and, with one impulse, rushed forward and clasped each other in a fraternal embrace.

Here was a mystery. It appears that there was some potent power, some supreme agency, which could disarm the murderers and bring them into a friendly embrace. What was that power? How was it exerted? It appears that the mystery of potency and the secret of its power were known to Charles Preston.

"What does this mean?" said Count de La Garat. "I, as the second of Colonel Perrault, will not submit to this denouement."

Nor 1," said Captain Denier. "I demand satisfaction. I was not invited to take part in children's play."

"Gentlemen," said Colonel Perrault, bowing politely to the seconds, "I am satisfied."

"And I also," said Captain Chartiers.

We are not," said Captain Denier, and continued: "An affair of honor cannot be terminated, according to the code, without full satisfaction to both seconds, as well as principals."

Gentlemen," said Colonel Perrault, "I have just this moment

learned that Captain Chartiers is a Freemason."

"What then, if he be a Freemason?" inquired the Count.
"I am also a Freemason," returned the Colonel.

"Well," replied the Count, "what of all that?"

"I am satisfied," said Captain Denier. "I am also a Freemason.'

"But pray," said the Count, "permit me to understand how this affair is to be affected by the fact that you are all Freemasons except me. I see no reason why this difficulty between you, Masons though you be, may not be settled by an exchange of shots." "We do," returned Colonel Perrault.

"I cannot perceive," continued the Count, "what Freemasonry has to do with an affair of honor."

"Should you ever become a Freemason," said the Colonel, "you will readily perceive how a mortal combat may be affected by Freemasonry."

The Count reluctantly submitted to the pacific result of the meeting, and the parties left the field.

"Farewell, poor Ypsilanti?" said Preston, as he removed the bridle and the saddle from the fallen horse, and followed the party from the river bank.

Here, then, was an institution which had not left undone what the church had omitted, the law had neglected, and society had ignored, and, in advance of all, gave an example of respect to the divine command, "Thou shalt not kill."

Where lay the fault? Certainly not in the pure and beautiful theories of the Christian faith, for that embraces all those fundamental principles of ethics upon which rests every moral association and every humane and benevolent institution. The ministers of that faith, however, while they loudly proclaim, “On earth peace, good will among men," are irresolute and timid in attacking the fashionable vices and immoralities which have been established by social influences, and are maintained by social sanction. In this negligence they yield a greater homage to man than devotion to the Divine Master they profess to worship.

Two days before this event which, but for the Masonic interposition of Charles Preston, would have resulted in death, and a violation of one of the commandments of God, Father O'Donnell, a pious Catholic priest, delivered to his congregation, in the chapel just across the street from the hotel of Madame Druilliard, an eloquent yet vindictive sermon against the vile and hell-conceived Order of Freemasonry; yet said not one poor word against the horrible crime of duelling, or fashionable murder. Yet it was through the ministry of the one that the other was averted.

When Charles Preston arose and descended from his room on