LOVE IS ALWAYS HERE

(Toujours Amour)

BY EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN

PRITHEE tell me, Dimple-Chin,
At what age does Love begin?
Your blue eyes have scarcely seen
Summers three, my fairy queen,
But a miracle of sweets,
Soft approaches, sly retreats,
Show the little archer there,
Hidden in your pretty hair:
When didst learn a heart to win?
Prithee tell me, Dimple-Chin!

"Oh!" the rosy lips reply, "I can't tell you if I try!

'Tis so long I can't remember; Ask some younger miss than I!”

Tell, O tell me, Grizzled-Face,
Do your heart and head keep pace?
When does hoary Love expire?
When do frosts put out the fire?
Can its embers burn below
All that chill December snow?
Care you still soft hands to press,
Bonny heads to smooth and bless?

When does Love give up the chase?
Tell, O tell me, Grizzled-Face!

"Ah!" the wise old lips reply,

"Youth may pass and strength may die; But of Love I can't foretoken;

Ask some older Sage than I!"

THE CHIMES OF TERMONDE

BY GRACE HAZARD CONKLING

THE groping spires have lost the sky,
That reach from Termonde town;
There are no bells to travel by,

The minster chimes are down.

It's forth we must, alone, alone,
And try to find the way;

The bells that we have always known,
War broke their hearts to-day.

They used to call the morning

Along the gilded street,

And then their rhymes were laughter,
And all their notes were sweet.

I heard them stumble down the air
Like seraphim betrayed;

God must have heard their broken prayer
That made my soul afraid.

The Termonde bells are gone, are gone,
And what is left to say?

It's forth we must, by bitter dawn,
To try to find the way.

They used to call the children

To go to sleep at night;

And then their songs were tender
And drowsy with delight.

The wind will look for them in vain
Within the empty tower.
We shall not hear them sing again
At dawn or twilight hour.
It's forth we must, away, away,
And far from Termonde town,
But this is all I know to-day-
The chimes, the chimes are down!

They used to ring at evening
To help the people pray,
Who wander now bewildered
And cannot find the way.

A PUPIL OF AGASSIZ

BY NATHANIEL SOUTHGATE SHALER

WHEN I first met Louis Agassiz, he was still in the prime of his admirable manhood; though he was then fifty-two years old, and had passed his constructive period, he still had the look of a young man. His face was the most genial and engaging that I had ever seen, and his manner captivated me altogether. But as I had been among men who had a free swing, and for a year among people who seemed to me to be cold and superrational, hungry as I doubtless was for human sympathy, Agassiz's welcome went to my heart — I was at once his captive. It has been my good chance to see many men of engaging presence and ways, but I have never known his equal.

As the personal quality of Agassiz was the greatest of his powers, and as my life was greatly influenced by my immediate and enduring affection for him, I am tempted to set forth some incidents which show that my swift devotion to my new-found master was not due to the accidents of the situation or to any boyish fancy. I will content myself with one of those stories, which will of itself show how easily he captivated men, even those of the ruder sort.

Some years after we came together, when indeed I was formally his assistant, I believe it was in 1866, he became much interested in the task of comparing the