The second grand impulse, wholly unlike the first, but no less valuable in its place, came, I think, from the reading of "Tom Brown at Rugby".

It was said by one of Dr. Arnold's friends that, if he should be elected head-master at Rugby, he would change the face of education in England.

However that may have been, bis influence, through "Tom Brown", if it has not changed the face, has gone far to work out a change of heart in the better Echools of these. Northern States.

We may have learned elsewhere of the life and work of Arnold-his character, his methods, his reforms. But "Tom Brown," passing into the hands of young and old, gave an insight into the real spirit and power of the man, as seen and interpreted by the author, with a delicacy of sentiment and a nobleness of feeling which most of us, I fear, would not, unaided, have seen so clearly in the doctor himself.

This is one of the few cases, we suspect, in which the translation does full justice to the original.

This spirit of manliness, so largely pervading our better schools, had its origin, we think, in a good degree in "Tom Brown at Rugby", with which many of our own citizens are, doubtless, more familiar than with our schools in Chicago. And if some of those who, from time to time, call loudly for reform, were as well acquainted with the innerlife of some of our schools as with that of the great schools of England,

It is, then, no new principles that we are urging. The deep conviction, the change of heart, have already begun. We should not strive for that inner growth which shall find expression in a fuller, completer life.

The coming generation, that is to make or unmake our city, our State, and our country, is already filling the air with its prattle, its laughter, its cries.

Some of them even now, through neglect, are stumbling and falling in the ways of ignorance and crime; s me straying, uncared for, into the haunts of vice and misery; the larger and better portion, let us hope, with fresh hearts and bright faces, timidly, gleefully, hopefully advancing, singly and in groups, to the school-house.

Society is waiting, calling-earnestly, anxiously-for men and women of broader culture and nobler nature-men ture-men and women of quick intelligence, of enlightened understanding, of large heart and generous impulse, to take these little ones by the hand and lead them into the pleasant ways of wisdom, virtue, usefulness, and happiness.

It remains to be seen how many of us will step forward in sympathy with this call of the age, with a ready, a hearty "Ay, ày, sirs!"

P. R. A.

Youth looks toward fame's glittering roll: sedate old age considers the pay roll.

PLAZA GOITI.

R. A. McGRATH, PROP.

..THE DYING FLOWER"

To Miss M. Morales and Miss M. Roxas, this heartfelt narration is sincerely dedicated. A picturesque romantic cottage stood not far from the sea-side It was a quiet and poetical place: quiet because it was far from the noisy city: poetical because it was surrounded by hundreds of tropical bloo. ming flowers exhaling in the atmosphere varieties of sweet fragrance. In that lovely place hidden from the sight of men one seemed to be transported into an unknown world.

In the cottage was a young girl who was glancing with pensive eyes far off where the radiant sun was spreading its last golden rays behind a range of purple mountains. She cast her last look on that tropical sun, perhaps she would never see it set again, for she was fading like those tinted clouds hanging on the western skies. She was young and fair yet her face was pale for she was suffering a terrible desease which was consuming her body gradually. Her melancholic eyes resembled two twinkling stars fading away. Her brownish complexion, pallid lips, small pearl white teeth and her black hair falling in long waves on her back shows that she was a genuine tagalog type, born in the "Pearl of the Orient Sea" as the immortal Rizal called the Philippine Islands in his "Last Thought". Had you ever met her you would dream of her while you live. Had Luna seen her, he would have immortalized her in his canvas.

She looked at the sun once more, for the last time and uttered in a tone of admiration. "How beautiful the sun looks when he hides his smiling face behind those mountains. How the brightness in him fades. Do not hide your face so soon, I may not set my eyes on you again”.

A violent cough interrupted her interesting conversation with the sinking ball. She placed her handkerchief in her mouth ... blood! . . . . she uttered,yes, a stain of blood!.... She fainted on the window. She closed her eyes and uttered in a low moan something that was pathetic, something pitiful.

It was night when she opened her languid eyes. The sun was gone: it was dark. At that very moment a church bell was tolling "Ave Maria". Nothing more was heard but the rustling of the banana leaves.

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soft breeze mingled with a sweet odor, was kissing her pallid face. Her weary eyes were seeking for something to mitigate the pain that was torturing her. She breath ed slowly and deeply and murmured in a whisper with the eyes fixed on the very heavens. "¡Oh! Almighty God let me live a little longer, I pray thee... I know I am vanishing like those clouds... I know that I am dying; but before I closed my eyes forever, I must see him, and feel his burning lips touch my lifeless and colorless ones... And then, oh and then.... I will be contented to die..." She walked slowly to give repose to her sick and delicate body. Her gahastly figure walking thru those gloomy rooms resembled the young princess walking in the solitary mansions of Irving's Alhambra.

"I must see him, dear aunt. Did you send for him?.... said the faint voice, as her delicate body was reclining in the bosom of her bed. Her innocent head was hidden amidst pillows and blankets. Her face resembles one of those Rafael's Angel Faces. Before her stood a sanctuary with a pair of lighted tapers and a silver image gazing kindly, firmly and silently at her. "Be brave my dear child. Said the trembling voice of her aunt.-"Do you not see the Virgin Pilarica? She is looking at you.... Let us pray to her and ask her to lengthen your life. She will have mercy on you I am sure". There was a moment's silence. It was extremely solemn to see those two souls kneeling down by an altar, murmuring prayers to that fountain of all goodness and merciful Virgin Mary, the mother of God by whose side this dying girl will soon be. Her life was gradually and quietly ebbing----

--

She broke the silence and uttered her last mournful words to her aunt. "Dear Aunt I must go... Pilarica calls me...... You have been so good, to me; pray pardon all the troubles I have caused you to suffer...... There I will join my mother in paradise...... Do not forget to tell him that though, I lie in my grave cold and mute, yet I will love him... If he ever happens to see a bird singing or a butterfly flying to and fro over my grave----. tell him it is my soul that chants for our love.... our eternal love...... She closed her weary eyes in the plenitude of her life.

VICENTE GONZALEZ. Trozo Primary School.

Painless Dentist- Dr. JUAN VILLANUEVA No. 415-Tondo. Just at the foot of Jolo bridge

is now about to hide itself behind the limits of the western horizon. As the eye is turned from the setting light, the lande cape seems transformed into a world of alluring dreams-every thing is metamorphosed into gold by the magical touch of the sun's wand. The zephyr, laden with the fragrant breaths of the flowers. and the sweet voices of the merry birds, softly treads over bushes and through trees murmuring sweet words of comfort and hope. That intangible dome of our planet is at this moment like a vast mirror catching

GREAT STEEL BRIDGE ACROSS THE HWAN-HO OR YELLOW RIVER,