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IMMORTALITY.

O thinking brain that lately with us wrought'st,

By death surprised at thine unfinished task,

For one, a thousand lives thou shouldest ask;

Learning is endless, infinite as thought.

Go forth, great mind, raised, now a deathless soul!

See, weigh, prove all things, scanned

with larger eye,

"Tis easier now; for kneeling, wrapt ir prayer,

As with a Father's lo! our spirits blend,

satisfy What æons needed to o'errun the whole!

O loving heart, unwearied, pure, and high, What love is that which loveth only few?

As though night's pitying finger, dropping dew,

Made moist one leaf and left all others dry?

Go forth, great heart, and in the vast above

Then is all waste; and we, who here remain,

Left with illusions! dreamers, left to be, Even as the dwellers by a darkened sea,

Begun, as after sleep, night's curtain drawn,

Hence, idle thought! And thou, O voice divine,

That spake of old so strongly, whose commands

Speak as a King, the Lord of many lands,

Thine.

IN KEDAR'S TENTS.1 BY HENRY SETON MERRIMAN, AUTHOR OF "THE SOWERS."

CHAPTER V.

CONTRABAND.

"What rights are his that dares not strike for them?"

An hour before sunrise two horses stood shuffling their feet and chewing their bits before the hotel of the Marina at Algeciras, while their owner, a short and thick-set man of an exaggeratedly villainous appearance, attended to such

straps and buckles as he suspected of

latent flaws. The horses were lean and loose of ear, with a melancholy thoughtfulness of demeanor that seemed to suggest the deepest misgivings as to the future. Their saddles and other accoutrements were frankly theatrical, and would have been at once the delight of an artist and the despair of a saddler. Fringes and tassels of bright-colored worsted depended from points where fringes and tassels were distinctly out of place. Where the various straps should have been strong they looked weak, and scarce a buckle could boast an innocence of knotted string. The saddles were of wood, and calculated to inflict serious internal injuries to the rider in case of a fall. They stood at least a foot above the horse's backbone, raised on a thick cushion upon the ribs

of the animal, and leaving a space in the middle for the secretion of tobacco

and other contraband merchandise.

"I'll take the smallest cutthroat of the crew," Conyngham had said on the occasion of an informal parade of guides the previous evening. And the

host of the Fonda, in whose kitchen the function had taken place, explained to Concepcion Vara that the English excellency had selected him on his, the host's, assurance that Algeciras contained no other so honest.

"Tell him," answered Concepcion, with a cigarette between his lips and a pardonable pride in his eyes, "that my grandfather was a smuggler, and my father was shot by the guardia civile near Algatocin."

1 Copyright, 1896, by Henry Seton Merriman.

Concepcion, having repaired one girth and shaken his head dubiously over another, lighted a fresh cigarette and gave a little shiver, for the morning air was keen. He discreetly coughed. He had seen Conyngham breakfasting by the light of a dim oil lamp of a shape and make unaltered since the days of Nebuchadnezzar, and without appearing impatient wished to convey to one gen

tleman the fact that another awaited him.

Before long Conyngham appeared,

having paid an iniquitous bill with the recklessness that is only thoroughly understood by the poor. He appeared and returned his guide's grave salutaas usual to be at peace with all men, tion with an easy nod.

"These the horses?" he inquired. Concepcion Vara spread out his

hands.

"They have no equal in Andalusia," he said.

"Then I am sorry for Andalusia," answered Conyngham, with a pleasant laugh.

dim, cool light of the morning. The They mounted and rode away in the sea was of a deep blue, and rippled all over as in a picture. Gibraltar, five against the pink of sunrise. The whole miles away, loomed up like a grey cloud world wore a cleanly look, as if the night had been passed over its face like

sightly or evil. The air was light and a sponge wiping away all that was unof aromatic weeds growing at the roadexhilarating, and scented by the breath

side.

tract, and as the moon rose over the distant snowclad peaks of the Sierra Nevada, pointed forward to the lights of Gaucin, a mountain village with an evil reputation.

The dawn of the next day saw the travellers in the saddle again, and the road was worse than ever. A sharp ascent led them up from Gaucin to regions where foliage grew scarcer at every step and cultivation was unknown. At one spot they turned to look back, and saw Gibraltar like a tooth protruding from the sea. The straits had the appearance of a river, and the high land behind Ceuta formed the farther bank of it.

"There is Africa," said Concepcion gravely, and after a moment turned his horse's head up hill again. The people of these mountain regions were as wild in appearance as their country. Once or twice the travellers passed a shepherd herding sheep or goats on the mountain-side, himself clad in goatskin with a great brown cloak floating from his shoulders, a living picture of Ishmael or those wild sons of his who dwelt in the tents of Kedar. A few muleteers drew aside to let the horses pass, and exchanged some words in an undertone with Conyngham's guide. Fine-looking brigands were these, with an armory of knives peeping from their bright-colored waistbands. The Andalusian peasant is, for six days in the week, calculated to inspire awe by his clothing and general appearance. Of a dark skin and hair, he usually submits his chin to the barber's office but once a week, and the timid traveller would do well to take the road on Sundays only. Toward the end of the week, and notably on a Saturday, every passer-by is an unshorn brigand, capable of the darkest deed of villainy, while twentyfour hours later the land will be found to be peopled by as clean and honest and smart, and withal as handsome, a race of men as any on earth.

Before long all habitations were left behind, and the horses climbed from rock to rock like cats. There was no suggestion of pathway or landmark, and Concepcion paused once or twice to

take his bearings. It was about two in the afternoon when, after descending the bed of a stream long since dried up, Concepcion called a halt, and proposed to rest the horses while he dined. As on the previous day, the guide's manner was that of a gentleman, conferring a high honor with becoming modesty, when he sat down besiue Conyngham and untied his small sack of provisions. These consisted of dried figs and bread, which he offered to his companion before beginning to eat. Conyngham shared his own stock of food with his guide, and subsequently smoked a cigarette which that gentleman offered him. They were thus pleasantly engaged when a man appeared on the rocks above them, in a manner and with a haste that spoke but ill of his honesty. The guide looked up, knife in hand, and made answer to a gesture of the arm with his own hand upraised.

Conyngham.

"Who is this?" said "Some friend of yours? Tell him to keep his distance, for I don't care for his appearance."

"He is no friend of mine, excellency. But the man is, I dare say, honest enough. In these mountains it is only of the guardia civile that one must beware. They have ever the finger on the trigger, and shoot without warning."

"Nevertheless," said the Englishman, now thoroughly on the alert, "let him state his business at a respectable distance. Ah! he has a comrade and two mules."

And, indeed, a second man of equally unprepossessing exterior now appeared from behind a great rock leading a couple of heavily laden mules.

Concepcion and the first traveller, who was now within a dozen yards, were already exchanging words in a patois not unlike the Limousin dialect, of which Conyngham understood nothing.

"Stop where you are," shouted the Englishman in Spanish, "or else I shoot you! If there is anything wrong, Señor Vara," he added to the guide, "I shoot you first; understand that.”

"He says," answered Concepcion