afford to keep a horse, but was obliged to serve among the foot soldiers.

That same day the Dictator and his Master of the Horse, came down into the Forum, ordered all the shops to be shut, and all business to be suspended. All men of the military age were to meet them in the Field of Mars before sunset, each man with five days' provisions and twelve stakes; the elder men were to see to the provisions, while the soldiers were preparing the stakes. Thus all was got ready in time: the Dictator led them forth, and they marched so rapidly that by night they had reached Mount Algidus, where the army of the Consul was hemmed in.

Then the Dictator, when he had discovered the place of the enemy's army, ordered his men to put all their baggage down in one place and then to surround the enemy's camp. They obeyed, and each one raising a shout, began digging a trench and fixing his stakes, so as to form a palisade round the enemy. The Consul's army, which was hemmed in, heard the shout of their brethren, and flew to arms; and so hotly did they fight all night, that the Equians had no time to attend to the new foe, and next morning they found themselves hemmed in on all sides by the trench and palisade, so that they were now between two Roman armies. They were thus forced to surrender. The Dictator required them to give up their chiefs, and made their whole army pass under the yoke, which was formed by three spears fixed upright in the ground, and a fourth bound across them at the top.

Cincinnatus returned to Rome amid the shouts and exultation of the rescued soldiers they gave him a golden crown, in token that he had saved the lives of many citizens; and the Senate decreed that he should enter the city in triumph.

From his very

And rested on the sky, thy slave that cradled thee,)
Now a blue point, far, far in heaven floating,
As to the light emerging hero on deck I watch thee,

(Myself a speck, a point on the world's floating vast).
Far, far at sea,
[wrecks,

After the night's fierce drifts have strewn the shore with
with re-appearing day as now so happy and serene,
The rosy and elastic dawn, the flashing sun,
The limpid spread of air cerulean,
Thou also re-appearest.

Thou born to match the gale (thou art all wings),
To cope with heaven and earth and sea and hurricane,
Thou ship of air that never furl'st thy sails,
Days, even weeks untired and onward, through spaces,
realms gyrating,

At dusk thou look'st on Senegal, at morn America,
That sport'st amid the lightning-flash and thunder-

cloud,

In them, in thy experiences, had'st thou my soul, What joys! what joys were thine!

TRENCHER FRIENDS.

[THEOGNIS, a native of Megara, of whose personal history very little is known, was born in Greece about 570 B. C. and died 490 B. C. He was of noble birth.]

caution. The loss of alloyed gold and silver may be borne; it is easy for a shrewd intellect to discover its real quality; but if a friend's heart be secretly untrue, and a treacherous heart be within him, this is the falsest thing that the gods have made for man, and this is the hardest of all to discover. For thou canst not know man's mind or woman's either, before thou hast proved it, like a beast of burden.

*Walt Whitman's complete works, published by D. McKay, Philadelphia, 1887.

Drawing the deeper to a lighter stain,

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Bringing the highest to the deep'st again. With such rare art each mingleth with his fellow,

THE PHILOSOPHER'S STONE.

[Sir Richard Steele, born in Dublin, 1671; died at

Like to the changes which we daily see
About the dove's neck with variety,

Where none can say (tho' he it strict attends),
Here one begins, and there the other ends.
So did the maidens with their various flowers
Deck up their windows and make neat their
bowers;

Using such cunning as they did dispose
The ruddy peony with the lighter rose,
The monkshood with the buglos, and entwine
The white, the blue, the flesh-like columbine,
With pinks, sweet-williams, that far off the

eye

Could not the manner of their mixtures spy. Then with those flowers they most of all did prize

(With all their skill and in most curious wise
On tufts of herbs or rushes) would they frame
A dainty border round the shepherd's name.
Or posies make, so quaint, so apt, so rare,
As if the Muses only lived there:

And that the after world should strive in vain
What they then did to counterfeit again.
Nor will the needle nor the loom e'er be
So perfect in their best embroidery;
Nor such composures make of silk and gold,
As theirs, when nature all her cunning told.
The word of mine did no man then bewitch:
They thought none could be fortunate if rich.
And to the covetous did wish no wrong,
But what himself desir'd-to live here long.

As of their songs, so of their lives they deem'd,
Not of the longest, but best performed, esteem'd.
They thought that Heaven to him uo life did give
Who only thought upon the means to live.
Nor wish'd they 'twere ordained to live here

ever,

But as life was ordain'd they might persevere.
O! happy men, you ever did possess
No wisdom but was mixed with simpleness;
So, wanting malice, and from folly free,
Since reason went with your simplicity.
You search'd yourselves if all within were fair,
And did not learn of others what you were.
Your lives the patterns of those virtues gave
Which adulation tells men now they have.
With poverty in love we only close
Because our lovers it most truly shows:
When they who in that blessed age did move,
Knew neither poverty nor want of love.

The hatred which they bore was only this,
That every one did hate to do amiss.
Their fortune still was subject to their will:
Their want (O, happy!) was the want of ill.

1729. He is distinguished as the "first of the British periodical essayists." He originated the Tatler, and of its 271 numbers he wrote 164; and Addison wrote 36. The Spectator, Guardian, Rambler, and other periodicals, were subsequently published on the model of the Tatler. Few men have acted so many different parts in life: he was a soldier, a writer of comedies, and the author of The Christian Hero-composed, it is said, chiefly for his own edification; he was a member of parliament, a commissioner of forfeited estates in Scotland (1715), and the patentee of the Royal Company of Comedians. The following is an excellent summary of his character and life: "Steele was one of the most amiable and one of the most improvident of men. His precepts were far better than his practice; his principles proved no match for his tastes. Often sinning, often repenting, always good-natured, and generally in debt, he multiplied troubles as few men will, and bore them better than most men can."]

Charity is a virtue of the heart, and not of the hands, says an old writer. Gifts and alms are the expressions, not the essence, of this virtue. A man may bestow great sums on the poor and indigent without being charitable, and may be charitable when he is not able to bestow anything. Charity is therefore a habit of good-will, or benevolence, in the soul, which disposes us to the love, assistance, and relief of mankind, especially of those who stand in need of it. The poor man who has this excellent frame of mind is no less entitled to the reward of this virtue than the man who founds a college. For my own part, I am charitable to an extravagance this way. I never saw an indigent person in my life without reaching out to him some of this imaginary relief. I cannot but sympathize with every one I meet that is in affliction; and if my abilities were equal to my wishes, there should be neither pain nor poverty in the world.

To give my reader a right notion of myself in this particular, I shall present him with the secret history of one of the most remarkable parts of my life.

I was once engaged in search of the philosopher's stone. It is frequently observed of men who have been busied in this pursuit, that though they have failed in their principal design, they have however made such discoveries in their way to it as have sufficiently recompensed their inquiries. In the same manner, though I cannot boast of my success in that affair, I do not repent of my engaging in it, because it produced in my mind such an habitual exercise of charity as made it much

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better than perhaps it would have been had I never been lost in so pleasing a delusion.

As I did not question but I should soon have a new Indies in my possession, I was perpetually taken up in considering how to turn it to the benefit of mankind. In order to it I employed a whole day in walking about this great city to find out proper places for the erection of hospitals. I had likewise entertained that project, which has since succeeded in another place, of building churches at the court-end of the town, with this only difference, that instead of fifty, I intended to have built a hundred, and to have seen them all finished in less than one year.

I had with great pains and application got together a list of all the French Protestants; and, by the best accounts I could come at, had calculated the value of all those estates and effects which every one of them had left in his own country for the sake of his religion, being fully determined to make it up to him, and return some of them double of what they had lost.

As I was one day in my laboratory, my operator, who was to fill my coffers for me, and used to foot it from the other end of the town every morning, complained of a sprain in his leg that he had met with over-against St. Clement's Church. This so affected me, that as a standing mark of my gratitude to him, and out of compassion to the rest of my fellow-citizens, I resolved to new-pave every street within the liberties, and entered a memorandum in my pocket-book accordingly. About the same time I entertained some

thoughts of mending all the highways on this side the Tweed, and of making all the rivers in England navigable.

But the project I had most at heart was the settling upon every man in Great Britain three pounds a year (in which sum may be comprised, according to Sir William Pettit's observations, all the necessities of life), leaving to them what ever else they could get by their own industry to lay out on superfluities.

I was above a week debating in myself what I should do in the matter of impropriations, but at length came to a resolution to buy them all up, and restore them to the church.

As I was one day walking near St. Paul's, I took some time to survey that structure, and not being entirely satisfied with it, though I could not tell why, I had some thoughts of pulling it down, and building it up anew at my own expense.

For my own part, as I have no pride in me, I intended to take up with a coach and six, half a dozen footmen, and live like a private gentleman.

It happened about this time that public matters looked very gloomy, taxes came hard, the war went on heavily, people complained of the great burdens that were laid upon them. This made me resolve to set aside one morning to consider seriously the state of the nation. I was the more ready to enter on it, because I was obliged, whether I would or no, to sit at home in my morning-gown, having, after a most incredible expense, pawned a new suit of clothes, and a full-bottomed wig, for a sum of money, which my operator assured me was the last he should want to bring all our matters to bear. After having considered many projects, I at length resolved to beat the common enemy at his own weapons, and laid a scheme which would have blown him up in a quarter of a year had things succeeded to my wishes. As I was in this golden dream somebody knocked at my door. I opened it, and found it was a messenger that brought me a letter from the laboratory. The fellow looked so miserably poor that I was resolved to make his fortune before he delivered his message. But seeing he brought a letter from my operator, I concluded I was bound to it in honour, as much as a prince is, to give a reward to one that brings him the first news of a victory. I knew this was the long-expected hour of projection, and which I had waited for with great impatience above half a year before. In short, I broke open my letter in a transport of joy, and found it as follows:

1

SIR,-After having got out of you every

thing you can conveniently spare, I scorn to trespass upon your generous nature, and therefore must ingenuously confess to you that I know no more of the philosopher's stone than you do. I shall only tell you for your comfort, that I could never yet bubble a blockhead out of his money. They must be men of wit and parts who are for my purpose. This made me apply myself to a person of your wealth and ingenuity. How I have succeeded you yourself can best tell.-Your humble Servant to

command,

"THOMAS WHITE.

"I have locked up the laboratory, and laid the key under the door."

I was very much shocked at the unworthy treatment of this man, and not a little mortified at my disappointment, though not so much for what I myself as what the public suffered by it. I think, however, I ought to let the world know what I designed for them, and hope that such of my readers who find they had a share in my good intentions will accept of the will for the deed.

THE CHOIRS.

[FRIEDRICH GOTTLIEB KLOPSTOCK, called "The German Homer," and "the father of Modern German poetry," was born in Quedlinburg, Prussian Saxony, July 2, 1724, and died March 14, 1803. Besides the epic poem, Messiah, and the drama Hermann's Schlacht, his two greatest works, he wrote a number of odes and other poems.]

Dear dream which I must ne'er behold fulfilled,
Thou beamy form, more fair than orient day,

Float back, and hover yet

Before my swimming sight!

Do they wear crowns in vain, that they forbear
To realize the heavenly portraiture?

Shall marble hearse them all,

Ere the bright change be wrought?

Hail chosen ruler of a freer world!
For thee shall bloom the never-fading song,
Who bidd'st it be,-to thee
Religion's honors rise.

Yes! could the grave allow, of thee I'd sing:
For once would Inspiration string the lyre,-
The streaming tide of joy,

My pledge for loftier verse.

Great is thy deed, my wish. He has not known What 'tis to melt in bliss, who never felt

Devotion's raptures rise

On sacred Music's wing:

Ne'er sweetly trembled, when adoring choirs
Mingle their hallowed songs of solemn praise;
And, at each awful pause,
The unseen choirs above.

Long float around my forehead, blissful dream!
I hear a Christian people hymn their God,
And thousands kneel at once,
Jehovah, Lord, to thee!

The people sing their Saviour, sing the Son;
Their simple song according with the heart,
Yet lofty, such as lifts

The aspiring soul from earth.

On the raised eyelash, on the burning cheek,
The young tear quivers; for they view the goal,

Where shines the golden crown,
Where angels wave the palm.

Hush the clear song wells forth. Now flows along Music, as if poured artless from the breast;

For so the Master willed

To lead its channelled course.

Deep, strong, it seizes on the swelling heart,
Scorning what knows not to call down the tear,
Or shroud the soul in gloom,
Or steep in holy awe.

Borne on the deep, slow sounds, a holy awa Descends. Alternate voices sweep the dome, Then blend their choral force,— The theme, Impending Doom,*

Or the triumphal Hail to Him who rose, While all the host of heaven o'er Sion's hill Hovered, and, praising, saw

Ascend the Lord of Life.

One voice alone, one harp alone, begins; But soon joins in the ever fuller choir. The people quake. They feel

A glow of heavenly fire.

Joy, joy! they scarce support it. Rolls aloud
The organ's thunder,-now more loud and more,-
And to the shout of all

The temple trembles too.

Enough! I sink! The wave of people bows Before the altar,-bows the front to earth; They taste the hallowed cup, Devoutly, deeply, still.

One day, when rest my bones beside a fane, Where, thus assembled worshippers adore, The conscious grave shall heave.

Its flowrets sweeter bloom;

And on the morn that from the rock He sprang,
When panting Praise pursues his radiant way,
I'll hear,-He rose again
Shall vibrate through the tomb.

PRECEPTS OF LIFE.

[BARUCH (BENEDICT) SPINOZA, the eminent metaphysician, was born at Amsterdam, November 24, 1632, being a member of the Portuguese-Jewish community in that city. On account of the pantheistic character of his writings he was formally expelled from the Synagogue in 1656, and was subsequently compelled by persecution to live in seclusion, supporting himself by grinding optical glasses, and by painting. He died February 21, 1677. We make the following extract from that portion of his work on Ethics which treata the Deliverance of Man.]

By a careful system of duly ordering and linking together the affections of our body we may bring it to pass that we are not easily wrought on by evil passions. For greater force is needed to control emotions ordered and linked according to the intellectual

*The words in italics are passages from an Easter hymn of Luther's, very popular in Germany.