nothing exists which cannot be overcome. "Sir," said Mirabeau's secretary, "what you require is impossible." "Impossible!" cried Mirabeau, "never name to me again that blockhead of a word.”

If any man was ever master of the situation, from his boundless knowledge, abundant language, instantaneous apprehension, and undaunted speech, it was Edmund Burke. The vastness of his attainments and the immensity of his varied powers startled his great contemporaries into admiration. Goldsmith, Windham, Pitt, and others have left on record eloquent testimony to the superiority of Burke's genius, and the striking fact that he was the best-informed man of his time. Did this great statesman lounge carelessly into all this reputation? Did he rely solely upon his genius to bring him into parliament, to continue that long and brilliant career which is part of English history? Never for a moment did he trust to his genius. See him at the top of his high fame, elaborating every speech, every sentence he wrote, with the most studious care-studious and exhaustive care.

All great leaders have been inspired with a great belief. In nine cases out of ten failure is born of unfaith. There is a faith so expansive and a hope so elastic that a man having them will keep on believing and hoping till all danger is past and victory is sure. Such a man was Cyrus Field, who spent so many years of his life in perfecting a communication second only in importance to the discovery of this country. It was a long, hard struggle. Thirteen years of anxious watching and ceaseless toil were his. Think what that enthusiast accomplished by his untiring energy. He made fifty voyages across the Atlantic. And when everything looked darkest for his enterprise, his courage never flagged for an instant. Think of him in those gloomy periods pacing the

decks of ships on dark, stormy nights, in mid-ocean, of wandering in the desolate forests of Newfoundland in pelting rains, comfortless and forlorn. Public excitement had grown wild over the mysterious workings of those flashing wires. And when the first cable ceased to throb, the reaction was intense. Stockholders and the public grew exasperated and suspicious; unbelievers sneered at the whole project and called the telegraph a stupendous hoax. At last day dawned again, and another cable was paid out. Twelve hundred miles of it were laid down, and the ship was just lifting her head to a stiff breeze, when, without a moment's warning, the cable suddenly snapped short off and plunged into the sea. Field returned to England defeated. But his energy was even greater than before. In five months, by the blessing of heaven, another cable was stretched from continent to continent.

Then came that never-to-be-forgotten search in four ships for the lost cable. In the bow of one of these ships stood Cyrus Field day and night, in storm and fog, in squall and calm, intently watching the quiver of the grapnel that was dragging two miles down on the bottom of the deep. The spirit of this brave man was rewarded. All felt as if life and death hung on the issue. It was only when the cable was brought over the bow and on the deck that men dared to breathe. Even then they hardly believed their eyes. Some crept toward it to see, feel of it, to be sure it was there. Then they carried it along to the electrician's room, to see if the long-sought treasure was alive or dead. A few minutes of suspense, and a flash told of the lightning current again set free. Some turned away and wept, others broke into cheers, and the cry ran from ship to ship, while rockets lighted up the darkness of the sea.

With thankful hearts they turned their faces again to the west; but soon the wind rose, and for thirty-six hours they were exposed to all the dangers of a storm on the Atlantic. Yet in the very height and fury of the gale a flash of light, which having crossed to Ireland returned to them in mid-ocean, telling them that the friends whom they had left behind on the banks of the Hudson were well, and following them with their wishes and their prayers. This was like the whisper of God from the sea, bidding them keep heart and hope.

And now after all those thirteen years of almost superhuman struggle, and that one moment of almost superhuman victory, we may safely include Cyrus W. Field among the masters of the situation.

JAMES T. FIELD.

LONGING.

OF all the myriad moods of mind

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That through the soul come thronging,
What one was e'er so dear, so kind,

So beautiful, as longing?
The thing we long for, that we are
For one transcendent moment,
Before the present, poor and bare,
Can make its sneering comment.

Still through our paltry stir and strife
Glows down the wished ideal,

And Longing moulds in clay what Life
Carves in the marble real.

To let the new life in, we know,
Desire must ope the portal;
Perhaps the longing to be so
Helps make the soul immortal.

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL

LIGHT-HOUSE MAY.

THE light-house flashed from the rocky isle,

That looks far over the sea;

And this was the tale that the wild winds told
In the fisherman's boat to me.

The light-house keeper was bent and gray;
His daughter was fair and young:
She was light of foot, and deft of hand,
And merry and sweet of tongue.

The old man sat in his old arm-chair,
With hands that held his brow;

Singing, down from her bower in the rocky tower,
She came like a bird from a bough.

She paused at the door, then o'er the floor
She darted and lit on his knee;

Mid kisses, she cried, "Now what doth betide?
My father will tell me.

"Hath the bitter wind, that howled all night,
Blown back to thy bones their ache?
Or yearn'st thou with men thy dwelling again
On the mainland thy dwelling to make?"

He bared his eyes to look into hers;
And therein big tears she saw

Like icicles, hung on an ice-bound ship,
That weep in an Arctic thaw.

"Might but its strength to my arm come back, Then would I laugh at its pain.

This rock is my home; let the young man roam: The old in his nook remain.

"Since my silver crown of hair was brown, And first to these crags I came,

Nor in summer night warm, nor in winter storm, Has the sailor missed their flame.

"Low runs the oil in the lantern's bowl,
The oil in the cask runs dry;

In such a gale there's none but a whale
Would bring me a fresh supply!

"To-day no gleam on the water's rim,
West, north, or east or south;

And look! how the seas, like maddened curs,
Are foaming all at the mouth!

"To-night will be a night of dread,
That only will turn to doom,

On the yawning deck of the sinking wreck,
That roofeth the briny tomb!"

She hung on his neck a moment, stilled;
Then, smiling, before him stood;

"O light doth float my own little boat
At play with the chafing flood.