ship. When she marries, she will acquire the privilege of watching others in the same way, and of being herself unwatched; and there the retribution comes in. He is not in the least jealous now; he only knows he is going to be. There are complications, you see. He is not only about to marry the young person, he is very fond of her, which is perhaps inexcusable at his time of life. In the days of his age he remembers his youth, and - il n'a pas confiance. He is meditating some domestic ukase about visitors, and positively wants to include his mother-in-law in the family circle. 'The duenna, or the cheap defence of households,' is, I believe, the idea. All this, of course, implies no suspicion of the lady, but only a most horrible retrospective suspicion of himself. 'Do to others as you would not be done by,' has been the rule of his joyous life; and—il n'a pas confiance. We used to call him 'Proverbs.' His choicest conversational effect was a detestable little saying about the folly of acquiring the material of happiness for yourself, when you might always command the stories. of your friends. He never quotes his proverb now. I would rewrite the story of Don Juan from his case, with this torment for the Nemesis. Let Juan marry and settle on this prospect of eternal anguish, and leave old rawhead the Commandant, and his horse, for the nursery tales."

To a lazy man like myself there is but one drawback in this city; you are rather expected to make love to your neighbour's wife. The nuisance is even greater than in London. They are not exactly rude to you, if you don't but they mark their sense of your behaviour in a thousand delicate ways. It is considered disrespectful to the lady of the house.

We went to the Opera, and, of course, he led me behind the scenes. It is certainly magnificent. The most self-indulgent monarchs have never enjoyed half so much luxury as these essentially combining people get on the joint-stock principle. They are true democrats, and, as their institutions develop, the poorest will have his parc aux cerfs. There is no selfishness in the foyer de la danse; all the subscribers are brothers, all equal, all free,

as in a temple of faith. Ces dames make no distinctions of persons. It was touching to see Army, Navy, Commerce, Senate, and Bar - Bench, I believe, as well. paying homage at these gauze-curtained shrines. Radical and Conservative leaders, wealthy Jews, the epigrammatic General I had just met, sparks from the club, and some hideous heads of age that ought to have been under nightcaps, were all at their devotions, visiting one shrine after another, sometimes with offerings. Mesdames were occasionally wayward and severe, but I am loath to believe that they are cruel divinities, and I am confirmed in this by those who know them best. It was a brilliant scene, the green room itself a blaze of decoration, in ceiling, chandeliers and walls; portraits of great dancers and composers on the panels; grand pictorial compositions above, the War dance, the Country dance, the Love dance, the Bacchic dance; below, a curious patchwork of black coat and white skirt, with here and there a sylph pirouetting for practice, on a floor that slopes like the stage a fleece cloud driven by the wind or holding on for support to an iron bar cased with velvet, and pointing with satin-shod toe to another and a brighter world. Here, as I have said, Valour reposes after the toils of war, and Legislation after the fatigues of debate. Art sketching in the corner is represented by that solitary, who has a passion for problems, and who is haunted by the desire to transfer this poetry of motion to canvas, and to make the work tremble with life as you gaze. Great soul and genius, the only singleminded one in all this throng- hail!

τα

HITING, LILIAN, an American poet and essayist; born at Niagara Falls, N. Y., October

3, 1857. She was literary editor of the Boston Traveler from 1880 to 1890, and editor of the Boston Budget from 1890 to 1894. She then traveled in Europe. Her publications include The World Beautiful (3 vols., 1894-6-8); From Dreamland Sent; After Her Death; The Story of a Summer; A Study of the Life and Poetry of Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1899); Kate Field: a Record (1899); The World Beautiful in Books (1901); Boston Days (1902); The Life Radiant (1903); The Outlook Beautiful (1904); The Florence of Landor (1905).

THE THREE HORSEMEN.

(From the German of Uhland.)

Three horsemen halted the inn before,
Three horsemen entered the oaken door,
And loudly called for the welcome cheer
That was wont to greet the traveler here.

"Good woman," they cried as the hostess came,
A buxom, rosy, portly old dame,
"Good woman, how is your wine and beer?
And how is your little daughter dear?"

"My house is ever supplied with cheer,
But my daughter lieth upon her bier."

A shadow over the horsemen fell,
Each wrapped in thoughts he could never tell;
And silently one by one they crept

To the darkened room where the maiden slept.

The golden hair was rippling low
Over a forehead pure as snow,

And the little hands were idly pressed,
Clasping a cross to the pulseless breast.

"I loved thee ere the death-chill lay

On thee, sweet child," and one turned away.
"I would have loved thee," the second said,
"Hadst thou learned to love me, and lived to wed.”
"I love thee ever, I love thee now,"
The last one cried as he kissed her brow.

"In the heaven to come our souls shall wed,
I have loved thee living, I love thee dead."

Then silently out from the oaken door
Three horsemen passed to return no more.

AN AUTUMN MEMORY.

When days are dark and all I ask denied,
When the resounding storms around me rage,
There falls upon me, fair as dream of dawn,
Thy heaven-won peace, lent for mine anchorage.
If love the rose, and I the thorn may wear,
If thou the gladness, I the sorrow share
Then e'en the bitterness were sweet to taste;
Then e'en the wilderness of want and waste
I fain would tread, content to bear my part
In the world's burdens; since for thee, sweetheart,
The Christ's sweet peace, wherein thou shalt abide,
While I without thee keep this autumn-tide.
Nor shall I fail to feel its radiance rare-

Thy joy, beloved, guards me everywhere! — Leslie's
Monthly.

THE LIFE OF THE SPIRIT.

The life of the spirit is not to be considered as merely identical with devotional attitudes or with religious exercises. It is a life and not a litany; a conviction deeper even than a creed. If the life of the spirit could only be lived during stated periods of worship, or specific

acts of charity or self-sacrifice, it would be inevitably a thing apart from the daily, hourly life of the world of busy and burdened men and women. But it is the life that is possible in every pursuit, every storm and stress, in every situation. It is the life that is still richer and more abundant in the press of daily demands, for there is the very theatre of its action, the very fibre of its reality. A religious recluse may find his personal luxury in giving himself up to personal devotion, to religious ecstasies; but the teacher in a school beset with exacting demands; the lawyer in his office, with crime, with injustice, with tissues of falsehood confronting him in the difficult problems of his work; the superintendent of organized labor with unreasonable demands or complaints ringing in the air about him; the laborer himself, suffering from defective conditions, from rank injustice, tortured by the privations and suffering of those dearer to him than himself; the saleswoman at the counter, facing again a long day's task made unduly hard by the thoughtlessness and selfishness of many of her customers, how shall they live this life of the spirit? What is the life of the spirit? It is joy, peace, and love. Can the man or women in hard, sad, and exacting conditions live the life of joy, peace, and love? Here we face our problem.

If the life of the spirit is simply a devotional luxury, possible only to the life of leisure or to the life of a voluntary recluse, then it is not feasible for the average life. We find ourselves here in a world whose demands tax every energy; the spirit is housed in a physical body which must be duly cared for in order that it serve well as the instrument through which to work: and in the struggle for the primary needs of food, shelter, and clothing many of us are submerged; again, there is the struggle to carry on large enterprises, or to effect great achievements and again the demands of the visible, the tangible, engulf the worker. How is he to lift up his heart and live the life of the spirit?

First, it may be by a clear and definite realization as to the nature and purposes of that life. It is not an exotic life. It is not a life to be anticipated in some in