p? v.4.' 7P 1 '&K Vf ft? r't t 120 THE PITTSBUBG- v DISPATCH SUNDAY; DECEMBER 1, 1889. V J-" FIFE'S GREAT PLAY. (Some Scenes at Charing Cross, the .Center of Christendom, and ..THE HEART OP THE WORLD'S LIFE. Picturesque .Figures That Rise From the Pages of History. IHB BUST.BUSTL1NG CROWDS OP TO-DAI rWTtlTTEX TOS THS PISrATCH.1 "Draw near, draw near!" cried" Ayesha, with a voice of thrilling exultation. "Be hold the very Fountain and Heart of Life us it heats in the bosom of the Great "World." And she showed them where the great pulse beat and the great flame passed by with an awe-inspiring sound. The flame Arai like a rainbow, many colored, and in spired Ayesha's companions with au intellectual glow, standing there at the center of things, "the very fount and seat of Seine." But strange and startling as this imaginary experience undoubtedly is, if you give your fancy the free- rein which "She" requires, its stirring suggestiveness is weak when compared with the romance of that true center of the real world's life, which we call Charing Cross. The weird sound of the revolving column of heat and blaze, is a mere wind-box accompaniment to a dance of theatrical sprites in rivalry with the voice of London, as the mighty city laughs and cries, and shouts and storms about the sounding streets while ghosts more impressive ;than any the prophetess showed her new Killicrates stalk between the serried hosts that come and go on daily pilgrimages from West to East, from East to West, or pause by Eleanor's monument en ronte for the uttermost ends of the earth. London is the world's lialf-way house the island in the sea where travelers of every hue and nation land, outward bound and homeward. It is the center of the world's trade and commerce, the headquarters of money changers, the seat of judgment for arts and craits. Whatever the national mer its may be, however ill or good the native art and work, London is the supreme jude; it has been so -decreed by Europe, Asia, Af rica, America and Bussia No art is com plete without the indorsement ot London; painter, poet, scientist, inventor, whatever their conntry, they lay their troubles at the foot of London's jndicial majesty. She is the nrbiter, sometimes right, sometimes wrong. Full of prejudices, she has none where gen ius is in the question; she has decorated for eigners with lavish honor; she has fostered alien arts with unstinted liberality; she has Sgiven strangers in blood and even foes at tjieart and in action the best of her meal and malt; her gates are ever open to all creation -without tax, or bar. And thus it is that as the counting house, the bank, and the club, the drawing room of a great cmpjre, pil grims come and go or remain aj will, and they have made .London the center ot the universe, the pivot upon which the most vi tal incidents of lire's great play turn in the development of its most stirring situations. THE HEABT OF THE WORLD. Taking London as the center of the world, Charing Cross being as near as may be the center of London, we stand here under the Postal Telegraph Clock at the heart of the world's life. The restored Eleanor Cross in the railway courtyard over the way might fairly be noted as marking mid-Christendom, or let us say, mid-globe. Borne bad once this place; Paris has an ambition in that direction; Berlin dreams dreams; New Tort looks forward; each and all may have their turn; but to-day the chief scene in the world's great drama, life's great play, is here at Charing Cross. It is not architect urally worthy of its fame, you say. Once upon a time, however, London was as picturesque as Bruges and as dirty as Staples; bnt the gabled houses, the bow windows, the diamond panes, the overhanging balconies, the swinging signs, the quaint costumes, the Sedan chairs, the gilded chariots, belong to the ghosts of the days when we were planting our flag beyond the most distant seas and establish ing an empire upon which the sun never Bets. Here, where we stand, the recruiting sergeants of Elizabeth collected sailors to go forth against the Armada; at this very Cross of Charingthe heralds have for cen turies proclaimed the English wars; on this ground has surged the waves of revolution; Queen Mary's troops and "Wyatt's rebels had here their brief passage ot arms; here haseen spilled the blood of Boyalist and Cromwellian; once a year, for hundreds of years, the Lord Mayor, in his chariot, has passed the Cross of Charing en route foi "Westminster to assert the civic rights be yond Temple Bar; these stones have echoed to the tramp of troops carrying their swords to battle in strange and distant lands; and here have been seen the tattered flags of the thinned but victorious regiments back from red fields of conquest. Charing Cross has seen pageants of war and processions of peace, which have changed the map of the world and altered the politics of Christendom. Br. Johnson eaid, "I think the full tide of existence is at Charing Cross;" and withont a doubt the antiquarian, the poet, the philosopher, the traveler, the realist, the lover of fictitious romance, and even the etymologist are each and severally interested 'in this particular scene of the mighty stage upon which we all are players, some of us as supers, others -with speaking parts, and a few as leading characters. If w e could only pick them out as they pass us near the Cross, the men and -women who have been cast for great roles in the futurel Our predecessors could not in the past predict the men who should rule the future, and some of them have only been discovered after their deaths. HEBOES Or HISTOBT. Peter the Great must often have walked hereabouts, for he lived close by in Norfolk street. Strand, with the river flowing be neath bfa -windows. He hated what is called Society, could not endure to be stared at. On the occasion of a ball, which he was induced to attend at St. James', he insisted upon having a small side room all to him self, where he could see without being seen. He ate enormously and drank brandy spiced with red pepper. The ' Marquis of Caer inarthen was his boon companion during his Btayin London, and what Peter liked best was to sail about all day in Caermarthen's yacht and drink with him all night. But be worked hard at Deptford, though not as be did at Zaandam, where he labored like an ordinary artisan, received a workman's fiay and lived a workman's liie; yet on eaving England he gave the King a ruby worth 10,000, taking it out of his pocket, where he carried it wrapped in a piece of brown paper. A wonderful figure among the ghosts of Charing Cross, this strong ambitious founder, of the present Russian Empire, which threaten our supremacy in the East! Think of all the heroes, native and for eign, from his day to this, who have mixed. Unheralded by lame, in the busy crowd, and you would have a fine list of the dramatis persons in life's great play. To come down from heroes to the men who amuse and en tertain both great and small, whose work cheers the poor man's hearth, and brings intellectual rest and comfort to the home of luxury and wealth, Charles Dickens, when a boy, was a. drudge in bis relative's black ing manufactory on a salary of six shillings a week, at the back of the Charing Cross railway station. You will find all the grim story in Poster's book set forth, one cannot help feeling, with so much detail that it .oust seem to some readers as if the biographer gloated over the black misery nd degradation of it. After Poster and ronde as biographers of their friends, Dickens and Carlyle, no wonder men are tilling their own stories. All the heartache and bitterness of that blacking factory is in David Copperfield, and the cruel relative is gibbeted or all time asMurdstoue. "When Irvine's Macbeth in the banquet scene came upon the ghost of Banquo, the i.ctor-manager lowered the lights, for which 'the critics took him to task; but Irving' idea was to show the mind of Macbeth. 'Sitting here with yon," he said to me and a friend, "supposing I had committed a murder aiid the ghost of my victim ap peared to me on the other side of the table, I should 6ee no morof you all would be darkness except where the light would show mc the ghost of him I had killed." It seems to me from an imaginative point of view, looking at it as the poet would and that is the only way to look at such a scene that Mr. Irving is right; and it you are to see THE GHOSTS OF CHABINO CBOSS, the figures in the previous acts of the great plav, you will see them in that same "dim religious light," faintly surrounded with their proper accessories. For instance, turn your mind back some 220 years, and note the scene ou your left, where the statue of Charles dominates the head of Parliament street Upon that spot originally stood the Eleanor Cross, of which the handsomest structure in front of the railwaystation be fore vou is a memorial. There is a draped block, and by it stands the headsman; there are troops and drums and solemn music; the sun shines on the glittering accoutrements of King Charles the Second's officers; Gen eral Harrison, a brave Englishman, whether he deserved his fate iwe will not pause to question, is here to die. They call him a regicide; but Englishmen know how to die for principle, for country, and for their flag, upon,, whatever side they serve, for King or Commonwealth, for Protestant Queen, or Catholic King, for Church or Parlia ment Citizen, soldier, statesman, General Harrison is here to die. Ton hear the warning drum: vou see the victim, the headsman, the scoffing crowd. The statue has disappeared, the traffic of 'bus and cab is stilled, the railway station is no longer in evidence; you see in their place the ancient houses, the swinging signs, the overhanging gables; yon see the Thames and "Whitehall, where Charles was beheaded, and you pause to think how bravely a weak King laid down his life, while you note the shadow of his death, how it fall's upon his execution ers; how one wrong breeds another, how blood-will have blood. "With a smiling countenance" history records that General Harrison said he was going to suffer for "the most glorious canse that ever was in the world." When about to die, having his face toward the Banqueting House at "Whitehall, one in derision called to him and said, "Where is your good old cause?" He smiled, and clapping his hand upon his heart, said, "Here it is and I am going to seal it with my blood. How many other scenes will you call to mind, standing here in the gaslight or at noonday, that will assert themselves in your fancy, wiping out for the time being sur rounding things and the busy crowd! And what a crowd it is, surging up from the west to the city, making its way along the Strand, into Fleet street, straight for St Paul's, and spreading out into all the ad jacent thoroughfares! The very sight of it made (Juarles Xiamn oiten shea tears lor fulness of joy at such multitude of life," though to Mr. Augustus Hare, who quotes the line in his "London Walks," the Strand is only "a vast thoroughfare crowded with traffic and the place whither we go to find Exeter Hall, or the Adclphi or Gaiety Theaters, as our tastes may guide us." And yet he tells us that for 300 years the Strand was what the Corso is to Borne and the Via Nuova to Genoa a street of palaces, occu pied by illustrious persons whose names are part of onr historv. The highway from the Boyal Palace in Westminster to the Boyal Palace in the Fleet, the Strand "could a tale unfold." CHARACTERS ON I-IFE'S STAGE. Think of the characters who have trod this section of life's great stage in gaiety and sorrow, in splendor and in rags; von will see them marching before you according to your own reading; and you will not see them in any order but such as yonr memory chooses at the moment Coming "like shadows to depart." we note Elizabeth and her courtiers; Baleigh, full of the New "World; Shakespeare, boy and man; Sir Francis Bacon in his coach, going to York House; Shakespeare and Ben Jonson chat ting over the new prospects of the Globe Theater; Cromwell, with solid tread and slow, marching to his destiny; Evelyn, the diarist, in his chair, en route for his house in Villiers street; .Sir Bichard Steele busy with his scheme lor a nursery of the stage, and hurrying to keep an appointment with Addison, who wrSte an epilogue for his first entertainment You pause as you watch the quaint, picturesque figure, to recall the story Timbs relates of his theatrical enterprise. "When the house was nearly finished, Sir Bichard. anxions to test its acoustic proper ties, placed himself at the back of the gal lery, and requested the master carpenter to speak up to him from the stage. The man hesitated. Being pressed, he replied that he did not know what to say. Steele de sired him to say whatever was uppermost in his mind, and to make a speech of it "Sir Bichard Steele," said the carpenter, in a voice that was perfectly audible, "for three months me and my men have been a-working in this theater, and we've never seen the color of yonr honor's money. We will be very much obliged if you'll pay it directly; and until yon do we won't drive another nail." Sir Bichard, in reply, intimated that the carpenter's elocution was perfect he could hear him distinctly but he objected to the subject of his discourse. Apropos to this theatrical incident, it is believed that at Charing Cross, "Punch" first made his bow to England. In 1G66, an Italian Puffet player pitched his tent in this haunted ground, and for a year or more paid a rent to the overseers of St Martin's as "Punchi nelli." The two Napoleons are among the ghosts of Charing Cross what actors they were in life's great play! The father of Charles Mat thews, the comedian, was a bookseller, lived near Richardson's shop in the Strand, and he remembered Napoleon Bonaparte resid ing in London for five weeks in 1791 or 1792, and saw him occasionally taking his cup of chocolate at the Northumberland cofiee house, opposite Northumberland House, where the Grand Hotel now stands. Louis Phillippe lodged in the Adelphi, and was frequently seen at the Lowther Bazaar. Na poleon the Third was a familiar figure in London before and after his fall. After see ing him at the height of his power in France, I found myself one day a competi tor for the same cab we had both hailed it at Piccadilly Circns and when I turned to waive my claim it was the exiled Emperor who smiled his thanks to me and drove away. time's gbeat pageast. Among the gay and romantic figures in the shifting scenes we are contemplating are the pioneers of the New World, Sir Humphrey Gilbert, Sir Walter Baleigh, and the rest, trooping by in gay apparel to see the Queen about their perilous ventures; before them comes Sebastian Cabott, up from Bristol, dressed in silks and with cap and feathers, to receive money and commis sions from the King; and following on in Time's great pageant there shall enter gal lant crews of sailors fresh from adventures in the Spanish main, soldiers from daring exploits in the Lowlands, bronzed, strong men in every kind of costume under the sun, and with crowds of Londoners follow ing in their train, men and boys offering themselves as recruits for service on sea and land. Contemplating the crowd in a gen eral way, with the eye of imagination, and yet under the influence of current experi ence, the people look as if they were going to or coming lrom some wonderful fancy dress ball; the men in doubtlet and hose, the women in farthingales and diamond decked stomachers, troopers in fantastic garb, servants in flashing liveries, gas conading swash-bucklers, belted and spurred a I'd with clanking swords, and noblemen, in purple and fine linen, ogling the professional beauties of the time. As I said before, you will see your own ghosts of Herri e England at Charing Cross; but I hope these may be among them. The romance of fiction and of history will be sure to conjure up for you Lady Jane Grey making lor Tower Hill; and what a host of others follow in the royal footsteps! But here are De!oe, taking "Robinson Cru soe" to the printer; Milton, cogitating his "Anglise Defensio," which he wrote at his lodgings next door to the Bull's Bead; But ler, obscure and unknown pCobbet, Dryden, Goldsmith, Johnson, Hood, . Thackeray, Dictcens, the Utter on his way to drop the first contribution into the editor's box: Pepys making a detour to pass Nell Gwinne's house in Drury Lane; Guy Faux, with his dark lantern, creeping toward Westminster; Wat Tyler and his friends , marching to the Tower, lighted by the flames of the Surrey palace; and one gets glimpses down the side streets of the i silent highway, with its ghosts of gilded barges worthy of the Grand Canal, its gay water parties, and its prisoners for the Tower, with exciting mem ories of escapes thence on dark and favoring nights; and a thousand other incidents of truth and fable; Dick Whittington, not In one's fancy the least real of them all, though it was the bells of distant Highgate that rang so persuasively in his ear. JEBBOLD'S impbessions of london. Do you remember Dore's frontispiece to "London"? It is Dick himself; the most poetical of all the Frenchman's illustrations of metropolitan life and fanoy, and I may be permitted to record the fact that I ac companied Dore and Blanchard Jerrold on one of their London pilgrimages, which ended in a night at Evan's, a stone's throw from Charing Cross. Perhaps the younger Jerrold wrote too much; he was never suffi ciently appreciated; his "Christian Vaga bond" is a lavorite book of mine, and his letterpress accompaniments to Dore's pict ures were delightful both in style and mat ter. "We are pilgrims, wanderers, gipsy loiterers in the great world of London," he wrote of himself and Dore both, alas, only memories now "not historians of the an cient port and capital, to which the Dinant ers of Dinant, on the Meuse, carried their renowned brass vessels 600 years ago. Upon the bosom of old Thames, now churned with paddle and screw, cargoes were borne to the ancestors of Chancer. It is. indeed, an an cient tide of business and pleasure; ancient in the iabled days of the boy Whittington, listening to the bells at Highgate. And we approach London by the main artery that feeds its unflinching vigor. We have seen the Titan awake and asleep at work and at play. We have paid our court to him in his brightest and his happiest gnises; when he stands solemn and erect in the dignity of his quaint and ancient state; when his steadfastness to the old is illustrated by the dress of the 'Yeoman of the Guard,' or his passion for the new is shown in the hun dred changes of every passing hour." To day their desires are complex they are for the new and the old; the new in science, the old in dress and architecture. Under the clock.at the Postal Telegraph office we are within electric touch of the Antipodes. There are public servants at hand through whom we can communicate lightning mes sages to China and Peru, to Cairo and St Petersburg, to Paris and New York; and close by we can talk by telephone to Brigh ton. All that is new in luxury of rapid transit, in sensuous delights of taste and smell, of silks and satins, in music and mimicry, in railway cars and steam yachts, is in fashion; bnt in the matter of decorative design and colors we are harking back to the days before iron and steel and modern stucco took the place of brass and copper and oaken beams. The pillar of fiery' life and change ot revivifying power revolves as hotly and with as fierce a life at Charing Cross as at that imaginary scene ot the world's heart-beat which Haggard saw in his dream of "She." PAST AND PBKSENT. Fifty ears ago the Golden Cross was one of the great coaching houses of the Metropo lis. It was here that Mr. Pickwick and his friends met and commenced those travels which have given delight to English-speaking peoples all over the world. It was on his way from Goswell street to the Golden Cross that Mr. Pickwick took a note of those remarkable incidents in 'natural history, which were made to him by the cabman, leading up to the assault from which Mr. Alfred Jingle rescned Pickwick and his fellow-clubmen. The usnal arched entrance and conrt-yard of the period have long since disappeared, but many a traveler must have stood here and endeavored to realize the situation and Mr. Jingle's warning. "Ter rible place dangerous work other day five children mother tall lady cut in sandwiches forgot the arch crash," etc. Who does not remember Jingle's opening speech to the members of the club, whose adventures have delighted all manner of people! Dickens was evidently fond of the old tavern, for he brought David Copperfield here by the i;auteroury coacn. Xiora juobnn is a con spicuous character in "Esmond," and the duels of the period are graphically illus trated in that historio romance. Poor Dickens! he had humbler recollections of Charing Cross and Leicester Fields than Thackeray, whose muse soared into higher altitudes; but Pickwick and Peggotty, Mi cawber and Dombey, belong to the creative power of genius' while Esmond, Philip, Becky Sharp and Colonel Newcombo are the oflspring ot an educated observer. Both will live, to hannt the regions of Charing Cross with engrossing memories. The links that bind the present with the past are many and varied at this cen ter of romance and utility. Even the mod ern newsboy has his predecessors in the first hawkers of the daily journals. Disraeli tells us that the Mercuries and 'Diurnalt of the civil wars were hawked in the streets, and to spur curiosity every paper had on the front the leading items of its contents. Observe the hawkers of to-day; they exhibit placards of the attractions the great news sheets ofier to the town, and you note with regretjiow much of tragedy and horror, of war and murder, of harrowing revelations fill the modern bill; but do not make the mistake of thinking London is more wicked, the world more cruel, than it was in the past. There is no scandal so bad, no crime so awful in these days that has not its fel low in history; and no deed so noble, no act of heroism so heroic that it has not its match on the modern "roll of honor." And so the great play goes on from day to day, reaching back into the centuries, the shadow of its scenes going forward upon "the coming years; the whole one vast re hearsal lor that future state, which is the mystery of mysteries. Joseph Hatton. His Fortune. Mr. Bittso (reading card which the bird has picked out "Walk down two blocks, take first turn to the left, enter alley at the right and await developments." Hidden treasure, I'll bet my suspenders. Pietro (thebandit) You grabba ze watch, Beppo! I snaka ze pocketto-book ! Judge. Ernest L. Biggs, of Bridgeport, Conn., has sent a Thanksgiving turkey to each newly elected Democratic Governor. Abbett, Boles and Campbell will dine well on Thanksgiving Day. PocJj WMt "t? Wan Iili I ' CHAINED TO THE OAR. Fearful Fate of the Unfortunate Wretches Condemned to the AWFUL LIFE OF A GALLEY SLAVE. Shackled to Benches Upon Which They Worked and Slept. ABUSED UNTIL DEATH WAS A BELIEF fWBITTEIf VOB THE DISPATCH. 1 "Man's inhumanity to man" reached its culmination in the case of those miserable persons who were compelled, during thp four centuries preceding our own, to row in the galleys of Christian France or of the piratical Barbery States. The peaceful Huguenots who were comdemned to burn, aye, even those Camisards or Albigeses who were tortured to death experienced a less cruel demise than those condemned to the living death of the galleys, finally to suffer from the enemy's shot, or to succumb to the lash of the mate or to the pangs of starva tion. These celebrated vessels, the steamers of the middle ages, were long, low, narrow craft, constructed for speed, carrying a quota of soldiers, and, after the introduction of ordnance, having also a limited number of guns. They were generally rigged, hay. ing from one to three masts, each carrying a long, low. lateen sail. The deck was but two or three feet above the water, which at times swept its entire length. Sometimes there was another deck, with a second tier of rowers, but never were there more rows of oarsmen, such as propelled the Grecian and Roman galleys. The deck sloped from the middle to the walls, in order that the incom ing seas might easily find egress. Small ports were cut in the walls of these vessels, through which protruded the long oars which served to propel these structures with astonishing swiftness. In the center ot the ship ran an elevated passage, proceeding from stem to stern, and from this, on each side, the benches of the rowers extended to the walls of the vessel. These oars were arranged in two ways, by the usnal arrangement, but one oar was used to each bench, and this was propelled by from one to six men. Sometimes, however, there were two or three oars to a bench, each man pulling bis own or. In both cases, the benches were placed obliquely to the keel, the angle being very acute where there were several oars. In front of each bench, and a foot above the deck, was a footrest, under which the water ran when the deck was awash. Under the usual arrangement, the single oar was some CO feet iu length, so balanced that half its weight was in board. Handles were fastened to the lower, or inner end, so that it might easily be grasped by the rowers. These oars were never taken in at sea, being "cock-billed" when not in use. The poop of the vessel was usually high and castellated, and a sort of breastwork across the' forecastle pro tected the bow gnns, and served as a lodge ment for the soldiers, who also could be distributed along the walls upon benches placed there. To these benches were chained the miser able living engines of these huge centipede like vessels. The crews of these galleys were divided into three classes. Service in the ancient galleys had been honorable, but in the middle ages it became disgraceful. The only volunteers among the rowers were such criminals, vagrantsjand ne'er-do-weels as chose to sell their bodies for gain, in or der to gratify their passions. Captives taken in war formed the next class. Those in the French and Italian galleys, were either Turks, Moors or negroes. The Moors were the best rowers, but were treacherous and vindictive. The Turks were only use ful when taken lrom the crews of Turkish vessels. The negroes were of little value. "The greater part of them," says an old author, "die of melancholy and obstinacy." A LIVING DEATH.. All these, even the volunteers, were chained to their benches. Many of these latter were condemned"" criminals, whose times had expired, but who could only pay the additional lines imposed upon them by longer service at the oar. They were al lowed to wear clothing while at work, and were distinguished by their mustaches. The captured slaves wore a tuft of hair on the crown of the head, otherwise bare; and the forcuts or condemed criminals, were clean shaven, head and face. This latter class, which interests us the most, comprised those sentenced to the oar for the vilest crimes, as well as Protestants, often of rank and edu cation, and political prisoners. Condemned to this death in life, they were chained to gether upon these bare benches the vilest criminals, next to the simple "Vandois peas ant or Camisard mountaineer, and thes chains were never removed while the galley was at sea. That the punishment of the galleys was estimated as equal to capital punishment, is seen from the tact that Henry II. of France hanged all the slaves when the galleys were tied up, while Bicheheu sent those condemned to be hanged to the galleys. Denonville sent captured Indians to France, to be used as galley rowers, but it caused so much trouble that they were speedily sent back to America. These unfortunate creatures were but half fed. The allowance was three ounces of bread per diem, water to drink, soup made of three ounces of beans and a quarter of an ounce of oil, and a ration of meat and wine four times a year. The ration of soup was given only every other day at sea, because of the difficulty of cooking. On the poop stood the captain, and near him was the mate, or comite, who was the tyrant set over the crew. He was assisted by two others, stationed on the gallery that ran along the middle of the galley. These three, armed with whips, and provided with silver whistles, incessantly plied the miser able slaves with blows and abuse, making no distinction between the strong and the weak. Sometimes a gay striped awning was spread over the deck, but this was the only protection ever given against the weather. The rowers had also the duty of sewing the sails, aiding in their maneuvers, and, when in port of loading the vessel with supplies. Two tall and vigorous men were selected to pull the stroke oar. At the signal given by the whistles, each man grasped his oar, launched his body forward, and the blades descended into the water at the same in stant. It was a matter of necessity that the stroke should be perfect, for in case anyone lost the time, it would strike those on the b 'n'ch in front, in the head or back. T.ie labor of the galley slave was so severe, that it passed into a proverb. An excellent authority of the time says that no ordinary man cbuld row more than an hour at a time. But it was frequently the case that the oars were kept going without ceas ing for 10 or 12 hours. The mates, on such occasions, plied their whips upon the naked bodies of the rowers, now and then thrnsting into their months a morsel of bread soaked in wine. Any flogging at the oar, was followed by increased cries and blows, until the miserable forcut dropped from the bench, when he was immediately unshackled and thrown overboard, without any pains being taken to ascertain whether newas really dead. THE SONG OP THE GALLEY. A song current in France during the seventeenth century portrays the suffering of the voung man who wrote it, he having been condemned to the galleys for life. Without preserving the spirit of the orig inal verse, the sense is conveyed in the following close translation: Naked, fainting. In my shirt, Must I ever row, . Night and day, or weU or hurt, On this stormy sea? Ceaselessly with rawhide thong, Beaten well am I, Ever friendless In this throng. No one cares for me. Bread ot oats and coarsest rye Eat I ever must; Vilest water only they supply While I labor so. Vermin foul upon my body creep. My poor flesh detour. Ah! I loudly groan! 1 vainly weept Comfort have I none. Bound by iron chains of cruel weight To this wooden bench, A thousand pains they bring me straight 'Without release, alas! Hundreds of Huguenots were sent to the galleys during the reigns of Louis XIV. and Louis XV. The story of one of these was woven into a celebrated drama, which the celebrated Talma rendered famons. His name was Jean Fabre, and he substi tuted himself for bis aged father, arrested at a conventicle. He was finally pardoned. Our best information concerning life on board the galleys is derived from the "Memoires d'un Protestant Condamne aux Galeres de France," by Jean Marteilhe, translated by Goldsmith into English. Marteilhe suffered from 1700 to 1713, and his memoir gives us a vivid picture of the life of the galley slave. He was condemned to this terrible life at the age of 18, and seems to have been afforded better treatment than the rest, because of his youth and strength. Policy Induced the Captains of these galleys to foster the strength of these human engines, and frequently caused them to be better fed and treated. The Captain of one of the galleys in which Marteilhe was chained hated the Huguenots, and bade his "comite" never to spare the whip upon them, and said mate was noted as being the most cruel man afloat As human endurance is not capable of all things, the crew were divided into fojjr parts, each of which rowed in turn, but rest and sleep were only obtained in chairs and on the bare benches. On one occasion, the galley to which Mar teilhe was attached, engaged in a running fight with an English frigate, 'which ran alongside, grappled the galley and peppered her with shot and hand grenades. The un fortunate slaves, chained to their oars, were mowed down like sheep, and a frightful carnage resulted. To Marteilhe's bench were chained five convicts and a Turkish slave, and one of the guns was just abreast of them. All lay down except the Huguenot, who alone survived the discharge of the piece. He was wounded, and remained unconscious for some hours, and when he came to, upon taking the Turk by the hand to arouse him, the arm came off. and remained in his grasp! He was the only survivor out of 18 who were chained on the three benches nearest him. He fainted again, and was near being thrown overboard for dead, when aroused by the striking off of his irons. He was then, with the other wounded, thrown in upon the coiled cables below, where they remained three days without treatment, ana loaded witn vermin. Gangrene set in on many, and they "died like flies." Even when they were trans ferred to the hospital, upon their arrival at Dunkirk, they were chained to their beds by the neck! No wonder three-fourths of them died. The horrors of a slave ship alone can equal this scene of cruelty and barbarity. A VICEBOY'S BUSE. An old seventeenth century author relates a singular expedient employed by a Sicilian viceroy in order to obtain crews for bis gal leys. Seeing that there were many beggars and Bham cripples, he instituted public games during the carnival, promising cer tain rewards to those who should jnmp to a certain height, and a greater sum to those who should touch a higher mark. Many of those wholiad had grievous sores and ail ments suddenly recovered, and some gained a prize, bnt in so doing exposed themselves as shams, and were at once sent to the gal leys for ten years. Louis XIV. of France was guilty ot similar outrages. He, through his Minister, Colbert, enjoined the Judges "to condemn to the galleys the greatest number of criminals possible." Many were subservient to him, and those indicted were seldom freed. A public prosecutor, in announcing the condemnation ot 44 to the galleys: "We should be ashamed of serving the King so poorly in this quarter, seeing the necessity he expresses for galley-slaves." In 1676 there were 4,710 of these miserable beings in the French galleys. Laws were afterward made, by which beggars and smugglers were condemned to labor at the oar. An oppressive tax caused a revolt in fioulonnais, which was vigorously re pressed, and more than 400 unfortunates were sent to the galleys. As rowers were still wanted, the King directed that all those sent ts the galleys, if only sentenced to two years, should be retained six years, and this was afterward increased to 15!" Marteilhe saw the bastinado applied on his first day on board a galley. The victim was held down over a bench while a muscu lar Turk beat him with a rope. Few could bear 12 strokes and retain their senses, but they were continued until 30, 40 or even 100 blows had been inflicted upon the senseless body. Vinegar and salt were then rubbed into the wounds to restore the circdlation and prevent gangrene. Punishment was inflicted upon these un fortunates in no gentle spirit. The venial offense of blasphemy subjected the galley slave, in the fifteenth centnry, to a whip ping, while other sea-faring men only paid a fine. In some places his tongue was cut out for the second offense. Don Juan, of Austria, condemned them to death in the next century, and by the laws framed by Colbert, in France, during the seventeenth century, the tongue of the blasphemer was pierced for a second offense. Decapitation or burning alive awaited the subject of Peter the Great who should blaspheme, profess the black art, or practice idolatry. The penalty of the bowline, orducking and dragging the victim under the keel, was one of those instituted by Bichard L, of En gland, in the twellth century. It was only requisite, in order to undergo this severe punishment, that one of the crew should strike another. So freely was this terrible penalty used in the Turkish galleys in the seventeenth century that he who smoked after Bunset was three times dragged under the keel ! As war vessels, the galleys were very efficient, out were much exposed to damage and slaughter. Being furnished with beaks, or prows, they were formidable as rams dashing into tlie smaller vessels then used in the fleets of Europe. The galley slaves were not compelled, or ex pected, to fight, but were, as we have seen, chained during the combat The volunteers, however, frequently had their chains loosed and arms were given to them. When the onset came the whole crew of naked shaven men, often as many as 300 in number, arose with frightful yells, sufficient ot themselves to terrify any but a resolute foe. Charles Kingsley, in "Westward Hoi" gives a stirring picture of a galley engaged in battle. Life on board of the galleys of the Bar barv piratical States was worse even than that in the marines of Europe. This was especially true when a renegade Christian mate was set over the miserable captive. In a captured Turkish galley the renegade mate was thrown among the chained cap tives, and passed from bench to bench by the infuriated men until scarcely a sem blance of humanity remained. At the bat tle of Lepanto 6,000 ot these unfortunate Christians were liberated from their horrible situation! It is to the everlasting shame of the nations of Europe that captives were used in the Barbary galleys until the victo ries of our own gallant fleets rendered it no longer possible. It is not impossible that some Americans may have suffered under the lash of the cruel Tripoli tan mate, but such cases have not been numerous, we may be sure. Public opinion, aroused by the horrible stories told of them, finally caused the abo lition of service on board the galleys, just as the usefulness of that form of vessel was gone, but it was half a century before En gland abolished her odious and oppressive press system. J. S. Bassett. A GEATEFOL PUPIL. He Confounds His Dinner by Thanking Him Tor a Thrashing, Lewlstoirn Journal. It is related of an old-time Bath school boy that after the master had given him a good stiff waling, one day, the youngster said to the teacher in a melancholy'and se rious tone of voice: 'I thank you sir." "Thank met what are you thanking me for, you young rascal?" replied old Master Whetstone. "I thonght you did it for my good, sir," replied Joshua. The tone, manner and the words made the school roar; while the stern old pedagogue could take no exceptions to the retortand had to. acknowledge its righteousness as wen as its wife J A HISTORIC BREWERY A Former Michigan University Pro fessor Descants on the MUNICH CODfiT'S FAMOUS BEEW. General Grant's Admiration for the Beer of Bavaria. SOME FAE-FA1IED GEE1TAK BETEEAUES ICOBUZSPOITDINCZ or THE dispatch. J Munich, November 20. When General Grant on his famous tour round the world, arrived In Munich the American Consul in obedience to instructions from the Depart ment of State, received him at the station, accompanied him to the hotel, and placed himself at the disposal of the ex-President during his stay in theBavariancapital. As a conscientious cicerone, the Consul first proposed a visit to the galleries of painting and sculpture and the treasures of the Na tional Museum, but the General declared that he had been already sufficiently bored by the works of the dead and living masters and had, since landing, become tolerably familiar with the contents of old curiosity shops in England and on the Continent, and would much prefer a change of programme. The Consul then suggested that if he wished to confine his observations to things of a dis tinctively local character, they would do well to begin with the Court Brewery. A two minutes' walk brought them to this Mecca of all thirsty Munichers. After having selected and rinsed their mugs (the tapster would disdain to fill a smallenmeasnre) they took their places in a long file of equally ardent devotees of the goddess Cerevisia, and in due time were able to retire with their portion of the brown foaming beverage to such seats as they were fortunate enongh to find vacant The General lifted the stone mug to his lips, and having drawn off about half its con tents at a single draught, sat it down again with the laconic remark, "That's good." Tradition is silent as to the number of hours they tarried over their beer, and no injudicious chronicler has kept an exact tale of the mugs tbey quaffea, but it is on record that when the Consul called at the hotel the next day and inquired what the General wished to do, the latter replied: "Well, suppose we go to that place again." What is here related of General Grant is the common experience of tourists. Not long since the correspondent of an Australian newspaper visited Munich and devoted sev eral letters to a description of the city and his impressions .of the same. He was evi dently in a bad mood and nothing pleased him. The so-called Athens on the Iser seemed to him to have been greatly over rated as an art center and not to be entitled to any consideration whatever as an em porium of trade. He described the archi tectural creations of Kirfg Ludwig I. as clumsy imitations bordering on caricatures of famous edifices and the public monu ments as poor efforts to immortalize provin cial celebrities, whose names' were never heard of outside of Bavaria. a change of heaet. By a happy chance our Australian rifted into the precincts of the finally drifte court .Brewery, which struct him at first sight as a very nasty and disgusting place; but no sooner had he taken a good swig of the famous brewage than he turned to his fair spouse and exclaimed with enthusiasm: "Sally, this stuff is genuine, in fact it is about the only genuine thing that I have as yet found in Munich." From that moment a complete change came over the spirits of the man. Baw winds, rainy weather, rude shopkeepers, sham architecture, weary pil grimages to worthless works of art, and the like inamenities of the tourist's life were all forgotten in the intense enjoyment of this most exquisite of conceivable extracts of malt and hops. Last summer an American professor visit ed Munich for the first time. He- arrived with his family late in the afternoon, suffer ing from the fatigue of along railroad jour ney, and took furnished rooms for two weeks. As he sat down to the frugal sup per which had been prepared in anticipation of his arrival and tasted the delicious beer which his landlady had placed before him, he turned to her and said: "I'll take the rooms lor a month." After another and still deeper draught he suggested to his wife that there was really no reason why they shonld not stay six weeks. As a matter of fact be remained in Munich over two months, and it was not the desire to extend his knowledge of the fine arts by a diligent frequentation of the gal leries of painting and sculpture that kept him here. Beer is the solace of the Bavarian from the cradle to the grave. The Munich infant has the sucking bottle filled with it instead of milk, and the dying octogenarian passes away with its foam on his lips. The late Archbishop of the diocese, Dr. Von Steichel, asked his attendants in his last moments for a glass of beer, and after drinking it and ex pressing his thanks for it, turned his face to the wall and gave up the ghost He could not wish for a more refreshing and soul strengthening viaticum. It is now 300 years since ihe establishment of the institution from which all there bless ings flow. Beer has been brewed in Bavaria from time immemorial, and was, at least as early as. the ninth century, an important and auitc indispensable article of consump tion. It is recorded that Hitto, Bishop of Freising, received in 815 from Huvezzi, dea con in Oberfoehring, the customary annual tribute of one goat, two hens, one goose, and a cartload of beer. According to all ac counts, Munich beer was even as late as the sixteenth century rather poor stuff, and is described as muddy, insipid and sour. EINBECK'S FAMOUS BBEW. Duke AIbrechtV.,surnamed the Magnan imous, imported his beer fram Einbeck, in Hanover, and his son Wilhelm V., the Pious, followed the paternal example in this respect. In the Boyal Archives at Munich there is still preserved an official document issued by the Court Chamberlain of Al brecht V., and dated March 2, 1553, author izing Cornelius Gotwalt, of Erlurt, to pro cure "two wagon loads of Einbeck beer, such as the Nurembergers were wont to bring to His Grace." Usually it was sup plied by Nuremberg merchants, who were the great commission agents of that time, and purveyors, to ruling families. Einbeck beer was then famous throughout all Ger many. As Luther was about to enter the hall in which the Diet of Worms was held on Jan uary 28, 1521, one of the common people who thronged the streets, offered him a glass of Einbeck beer, saying: "Drink that, it will give you courage and strength." The reformer quaffed it and went forward with renewed vigor' to meet his assembled ad versaries. Perhaps, but for the refreshment of that timely draught, he might have proved faint-hearted and recanted, instead of uttering the grand historic words: "Here I stand. I cannot do otherwise. Gold help me. Amen." The pious Duke Wilhelm V., of Bavaria, was an arch-foe of the Beformation, but an ardent friend of Einbeck beer. The. ex penses of transportation were, however, very great, and the heavy bills of the. Nurem bergers never failed to cloud the otherwise cheerful countenance of his Dukeship, and to render hira for several days exceedingly solemn and morose and incapable of being moved to hilarity even by the most ap pro ved jests of his court fool. Bnt the mer chants and carriers of the Franconian free city not only had long distances and bad roads to traverse, but also ,bold robber knights and highwaymen, like Eppelein von Gailingen, to reckon with, and nothing could be fairer than that they should insure themselves against evernual loss by making their patrons pay extra for the risks in curred. Alter groaning and grumbling for ten years over these constantly recurring charges, the Duke resolved to relieve his ex- chequer of tke burden once for all by erect-. ing a brewery ot his own, in which should be fabricated what he called an "ainpoefcisch pier."' This resolution was carried Into ef fect September 27, 1589; it was also prudent ly ordered that the brewery should be placed near the courts of justice, in order that the brewer niigLt have thefear of the law ever before his eyes, and be speedily brought to punishment in case he should be tempted to adulterate and deteriorate the brewage. A MISTAKEN IDEA. The popular notion, still prevailing in Munich, that the Bavarian sovereigns be gan the fabrication of beer for the purpose of providing their dear subjects with a cheap, palatable and wholesome beverage, and that the same subjects should be eter nally grateful for their paternal kindness and foresight, has no foundation; in fact It was with an eye single to his own stomach that Duke Wilhelm established the brew ery, and the beer was at first reserved for the exclusive use of the court. It never oc curred to the dukes and princes of that day to do anything expressly for the pleasure or welfare of the people. If they laid out parks and gardens, it was for their own per sonal gratification, and whatever advantages the public derived from them were wholly incidental, and amounted in the be ginning to the enchantment which distance is saia to leiiu iu me view oi oojecis. now firmly rooted this idea isin the minds of rulers is shown by the fact that when the Library building was erected in Munich about 50 years ago, King Ludwig I. intended that the magnificent staircase with marble columns should be used solely by members of the royal family and never desecrated by plebe ian feet, which wire expected, no matter how learned the head tbey carried, to go roundabout through the court and climb up some other way. Even under the present Prince Besrent an attempt was made to ex clude the publio from the royal park at Nymphenburg-, bat was prevented by ener getic protests of the people and the press. If the subjects of European monarchies enjoy these pleasure grounds of princes, the privi lege is not due to" the kindness and com placency of the monarebs themselves, but to the irresistible progress of democratic ideas. It was not until 1610. mder Dnke Maxi milian I that the Court Brewery was per mitted to sen oeer "under the noop, J. e.,m kegs, to innkeepers and private persons, and this practice was continued, not as a favor to the general public, but because it was a source of revenue and put money into the coffers of the. Duke. The net sum received from this source in 1680 amounted to 210,000 florins, which would correspond in value nowadays to as many millions. It was not till 1806 that the brewery was provided with the schenk, or taproom, in which the inhab itants of Munich could get beer on draught and drink it on ihe premises. This room was enlarged in 1814 and again in 1828, and has in late years been renovated and "beauti fied," to the great disgust and intense anxi ety of the old stammgaeste or habitual lre quenters of the place, who were firmly con vinced that any diminution of nastiness and increase of fresh air would be "necessarily followed by a deterioration in the quality of the beverage. The work of purification and beautification was, however, not sufficiently radical to produce this much-feared result, and the stranger would never suspect that such a renovation had been effected, unless the information were imparted to him by his guide, and naturally wonder what must have been its primitive condition. OEIGIN 07 BOCK BEEB. In Munich the attention of the tourist is often called to the picture of a he-goat stand ing on its hind legs and lapping beer out of a foaming mng, to which is sometimes added the statement that "fresh bock is to be had here." Bock, which means he-goat, is the name of a strong beer, drunk especially in the spring of the year, and generally sup posed to be so called on account of its but ting qualities, two stiff horns being sufficient to knock a man over. This use of the word, which even an English author of the seven teenth century favors when he speaks in a Latin treatise of cerevisia cui ab ariete aut Capricornio nomen, affords a fine example of popular etymology, and illustrates, on a fiUiajl OIMC, tuc utlliiu B11U fuwm Oi I mythology. The he-goat is a fiction, and I uvu& is uuiv a cuiiupuuu ui -Eiiiiueui or e,t?T or the Ainbeck and Ainpeck. as the name Hanoverian town was also spelled. The Munichers, as we have already seen, called this beer "einpeckisch" and "oinpockisch," and as Einbeck was gradually lorgotten, and, indeed, has long since ceased to be famous for its beer, the adjective was ab breviated and transformed into the sub stantive bock and the animal associated with the beverage owing to the bntting or heady character peculiar to both. This cor ruption of the term must have taken place quite early after the introduction of the beer, lor in a Munich police regulation ot 1616 it is forbidden to "brew Bock-Meet (buck-mead, the strongest kind of beer), except for the needs of the sick." Curiously enough, from this corruption of the word another kind of beer derives its name: in the Jesuit cloisters a milder beer was brewd called galss (goat in general or she-goat) and recommended as having less strongly butting propensities (weniger stark anstos sende Eigenschaiten) than bock. The habitues of the court brewery are representatives of all classes of society, and among them are always some queer charac ters. Authors, artists, scholars, professors, officers of the army, officials of the civil service, merchants, mechanics, peasants, day laborers, are found here sitting together re gardless of rank or riches. It is perhaps the most democratic spot on the face of the earth, where the meanest never thinks of cowing, nor the greatest of condescending to his associates. Here Prangerl, the court fool of King Maximilian I., used to play , his pranks; here Suizbeck, the court chamber- musician, spent all bis leisure hours, and is said to have been able to drink a bucket full of beer at a single sitting; here the favorite waitress, known as"thelairPcppi," who might have sat'as a model for Fritz von Kaulbach's famous painting of the "Schul tz enlirl," was wont to serve her gnzzling guests with ever ready smiles and jokes and 24 foaming quart mugs in her hands at once. Why is it that a beer possessing the same qualities as that of Munich cannot be brewed elsewhere? It is certain that every attempt of the kind has hitherto failed. The neaiest approach to it in any foreign city is found perhaps in Milwaukee; but nowhere do the same processes produce precisely the same results. The difference is due in all probability to local atmospheric influences attecting the vizor and vitality or the barm fungus (sacharomyces cerevisire) which canses the fermentation of the wort or sweet infnsion of malt, and converts it into beer. The Munich climate seems to ba peculiarly favorable to the development of this fungus, so that the fermentation of the wort is more complete and the beer more palatable and digestible there than it would be under other climatic conditions. Edwabd Payson Evans. LEGENDS AB0DT THE KOBIX The Iilttlo Bird na a Prophet How He Got His Bed Breast. Scottish American.! A good manysuperstitious ideas are pre valent in different localities with reference to the robin. In some parts of Scotland the song of this interesting little bird is held to augur no good for the sick person who hears it, and to those supersti tiously inclined much anxiety is sometimes caused when its notes are heard near a house where anyone happens to be ill. There is a legend connected with the robin which I have somewhere seen. It is said that far, far away there is a land of woe, darkness, spirits of evil and fire. Day by day does this little bird bear in his bill a drop of water to quench the flame. So near the burning stream does he fly that his feathers are scorched, and hence he is named bronphuddu (burnt breast). There is also a legend which attributes his red breast to his having tried to pluck a spike from the crown of thorns with which our Lord's head was encircled. Flo Carrie One With Him. Funxsntawncy Spirit.) The truth of Lord Bacon's declaration that "Nature abhors a vacuum" will not be disputed by the average country editor, where empty pockets are a source of con stant anaovanee and iatosM dbKrnst WE'KEWHATWEABE TheWillingness of the Spirit and the Weatnes3 of the Flesh. HEED OF PERFECT SELF-MASTEET. Buttle Differences Which Shade the Human Character. PEOPLE WHOM WE MEET ETEEI DAT rWBITTXN TOE THS DISPATCH.1 Among the subtle differences which shada off human qualities is that which divide intellect from character, and divorces thought from action. Superficial reasonen wonder and blame when the two do not harmonize together when the character belies the intellect, and intellectual concep tions have no force over the actions spring ing from temperament and character. They S3y that one who sees such and such a course to be the wisest ought to follow it; as if theory and practice, intellect and tempera ment were identical. They forget that pathetic cry, The spirit truly is willing, but the flesh is weak." They forget that other mournful, but so intensely human admission, "For that which I do, I allow not; for that I would, that do I not; but what I hate, that I do." They hold that knowing should be the same as doing, and that spiritual insight should fever control temperamental action. So it would if we were all under the sway of rea son, and had attained perfect self-mastery; but however clearly we may see the better thing to do the wiser way of restraint with most of us the temperament conquers the intellect, and character is more potent than theory, as the shaper of our lives and the director of our actions. We often say we wish we could return to life with our 'present experiences what a much better thing we should make of itl Yes, in certain specific actions of which we now know the practical ultimate. But just as we repeat the same class of action with different protagonists, so long as the im pelling temperament remains unchanged, so, in spite of experience, should we repeat our lives in their main directions, if wenad the same character as now. THE SANGUINE MAN, Take, as an example, the evil of that nn- 'easy trnst which belongs to a sanguine tem perament ana a character made up of affec tion, unselfishness, sincerity and imagina tion. Such a character is foredoomed to such and such a course of action, as a bird is made for flying in the air, or a crab for walking sideways. The burnt child may dread the fire, but the person with whom af fectionateness and imagination, impulse and sincerity act and react on each other, never learns caution is never taught distrust or the wisdom of waiting and proving before giving, and never will be while the exciting causes remain. Past experience is like) those waves which Ever mark, though they never Impress Ths light sand which paves them, conscious- ness. One idol after another is shattered; but there is always that other standing in the place of the one which has fallen. Conversely the suspicious temperament is never taught trust. All past experience in the truth and fidelity of onehas no influence in teaching belief in another. That crooked line can never be rnled straight in the mind which is always looking round corners the suspicious by temperament can never act like the trustful and affectionate. The higher law of nobleness and love whispers to the suspicious sweet words of human trust, far more sublime than its rasping, narrow-eyed doubt; but it is in vain. Take, too, a person temperamentally timid and given up to superstitious fancies. How much does reason helnhera in tha -ripinrv nf I mind over-character, intellectover phantasy? I The wind which howls thrnnch tht tr at night appals the listener with its terrifying sounds something as ghostly.weird and fore telling coming disaster. The hooting of the owls in the ivy presages sorrow, illness, death. The scampering of the mice behind the wainscot shake those quivering nerves more than the roar of a lion shakes the nerves of an ordinarily brave man, watch ing over his sleeping companions by the camp fire in an African forest The burglar is always under the bed; the Unknown Terror is always in the cupboard. JEALOUSY AND ANGER. What amount of intellectual reasoning touches our self-made tortures of jealousy? The passion is temperamental, and the evi dences are as thick as motes in the sunbeam. AU temperamental evidences are whatever names we give them. The mind is influ enced and happiness is destroyed by this passion, over which reason and common sense have no more control than a couple of children over a runaway horse. So of that easily excited anger of a pas sionate temperament. In cool moments the wrong and the folly of these outbursts are as patent as the whirling of the dead leaves caught by the autumn gale. But when the conflict comes the hot blood mounts in boiling floods, the eyes are darkened, the fire is kindled and the furious flames burst forth. Those big words are flung abroad like the stones which an avalanche brings down. The rebukes which the reason utters are no more heard than would be the voice of a preacher in the roar and din of a battle. One of the most potent hindrances to our spiritual advancement is this overwhelming mastery of the temperament over the intel lect. It is a thing with which we have to deal rigidly in ourselves, but gently and tenderly in our judgment of others. "What's done, we partly may compute, but not what is resisted." How true that is with all ofms! We are conscious of it in our selves, but we do not give it sufficient weight when dealing with others. We all know what we resist and how much we'eonquer, and when we basely give way without re sistance at all. But we can never measure this last with others; and it is safer ground to suppose that they have fonghtto the last inch before letting themselves go, than that they have struck the flag of their self-control be fore the first rush of passion. Justice and judgment demand this wide consideration for others this large allowance for tempera ment. Spiritual self-culture, on the other hand, demands the restriction of this consid eration for ourselves to the narrowest pos sible limits. Where we failed to-day, we must do our "lsvel best" to succeed to-morrow; and as weak muscles can be strength ened by judicious exercise, so can tempera ment be restrained by endeavor, and in tellectual self-mastery' increased by the effort. No battle is lost till it is won; and self-control the victory of reason over im pulseis a battle that is never lost, but is always being won by those who wish to try. Mes. Lynn Lintos. Ia Central Park Snap Say, Brnno, are you game for a rnn over to the Mall with me? -RnnM rSivtimlvf .Tnt wait A mlnnt - until I take this thing over to the aspagtrta ana lose . rww, s t . . . - J " r r fcv ,
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