and sat by the scales in weigh houses, he had shared also the social life of the world of coal. He had spent his evenings in the saloons of the mine village, talking and drinking with the miners in a spirit of democracy that won their affections. His violence when drunk had first manifested itself at this period. He was so big and powerful that the fierce reinforcement of his natural strength by drink made him a terror. He had once run wild through the long black lane of a mine, driving an electric motor and train of wallowing mine cars, captured after a fight from their lawful conductors, smashing finally a line of coal pillars with a force that might have shaken the huge cave down upon him. So far as his own aptitude and taste were concerned his education went for naught. The Homeric, picturesque side of industrial Pennsylvania appealed to him. The wresting of the enormous latent power from the hills; the sky lighted by the glow of multitudinous ovens and furnaces; the roar and shriek of machinery; the grimy toilers at their moulding and tempering--these and like phenomena touched his imagination, and he cared little for their practical side while they were so much more captivating as panorama than as trade. We need not deal in unprofitable speculations as to what a different education might have made of Wayne Craighill; for an intelligent appreciation of books and pictures and a love of music are too easily confused with genius. Let it suffice that some playful god had injected into his blood a drop of the divine essence, enough merely to visit upon him the fleeting moods of the dreamer and the restless longings of those who seek the light that never was. His nature was compounded of many elements of good and evil. Taste, delicacy, fine feeling, he had in abundance; he was sensitive to the appeal of beautiful things. In fits of solitude and industry he would read voraciously; many subjects awakened his curiosity. But his passions were strong and deep, and they had their way with him. Again, his restraint and measure were surprising. Wingfield, who knew him best of all, was amazed at times by the sobriety and wisdom of Wayne’s judgments. We have said that he was the child of his city; more than this, he not unfitly expressed its genius, its confused aims, its weaknesses and its aspirations. The iron of the hills was in his blood; and iron, let us remember, has the merit as well as the defects of its qualities! Joe drove Wayne to the Modern Art Institute in the machine. He went early to have a glimpse of several recent additions to the collection before the meeting of the orchestra committee, and later he was to go to his sister’s.