mountebank, the demagogue, and the various other shapes which verbosity may take. is Minds trained just enough to enjoy gaudy epigrams are easily enslaved and carried away by almost every gust of words that blows. Hence it is a great temptation to be what is called an orator, and orators abound in consequence. They are one of the crops here, like wheat and cotton. There scarcely a political campaign goes by without the appearance of "Women Orators," "Boy Orators," "Boy Preachers," "Boy Evangelists," and many other varieties of orators, whose silence would be golden indeed. No matter in what department of life a man may succeed, he is called upon to speak, and because he knows about one particular thing, he is called upon to make speeches upon all sorts of subjects utterly unrelated to his specialty. The opportunity to advertise one's self is looked upon as the most valuable reward that a grateful democracy can offer in return for valuable services received. From "America and the Americans." SOME RECENT VERSE. AN OPAL. A rose of fire shut in a veil of snow Charles An April gleam athwart a misted sky: A jewel-a soul! gaze deep if thou wouldst know ON A COLONIAL PICTURE. Out of the dusk stepped down Young Beauty on the stair; So all in lilac she; Her kerchief hid from maids and men Good Stuart folk her kin, And bred in Essex vales; Each lad that happened near, It was the end of Lent. The crocus lit the square; Yet yonder on the wall The New World claims the skies, And yellow gleams her hair; And Dolly takes the air! From "A Quiet Road." By Lizette Woodworth SEA GULLS. Whence come the white gulls that sail, The flame-wrought spell of its pale That flutter, and sink, and sail? witchery Their red beaks flash and glitter, And now each tremulous beauty lies Their wide wings droop and trail. revealed And now the drifted snow doth beauty They troop, at the sea-tide's call, They follow the sea-tide's call, shield. 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See, weigh, prove all things, scanned with larger eye, Can we believe it, death the paltry end? Ere thou that slakeless thirst canst Death closing all, a bubble lost in air! 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 Lost, in a world where all for use is given! And he the chiefest wonder, loftiest Man, Can we believe it, in creation's plan No place, no use for him, in all that boundless heaven? Then is all waste; and we, who here remain, Left with illusions! dreamers, left to be, Even as the dwellers by a darkened sea, Break through the barriers here that Hoping their outward-bound to see again; Begun, as after sleep, night's curtain drawn, Cheering their grief with tales of greet ing warm Beyond the mist, across the waters dim, And all the while they look their last on him, Lost in the ocean deep, his dirge the storm. 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, Refreshed, the toiler wakes to livelier Speak to us still! We trust Thee, we are 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?" 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 tleman the fact that another awaited him. An hour before sunrise two horses stood shuffling their feet and chewing their bits before the hotel of the Marina impatient wished to convey to one genat 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. Before long Conyngham appeared, having paid an iniquitous bill with the recklessness that is only thoroughly understood by the poor. He appeared as usual to be at peace with all men, and returned his guide's grave salutation 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. They mounted and rode away in the dim, cool light of the morning. The sea was of a deep blue, and rippled all miles away, loomed up like a grey cloud over as in a picture. Gibraltar, five against the pink of sunrise. The whole 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. Concepcion sang a song as he rodea song almost as old as his trade-de claring that he was a smuggler bold. And he looked it, every inch. The road to Ronda lies through the corkwoods of Ximena, leaving St. Roque on the right hand; such at least was the path selected by Conyngham's guide; for there are many ways over the mountains, and none of them to be recommended. Beguiling the journey with cigarette and song, calling at every venta on the road, exchanging chaff with every woman and a quick word with all men, Concepcion faithfully fulfilled his con |