And the Royal Society thought it was true!
So they chose him right in,—a good joke it was too!
There's a boy we pretend, with a three-decker brain,
That could harness a team with a logical chain;
When he spoke for our manhood in syllabled fire,
We called him "The Justice," but now he's the "Squire."

And there's a nice youngster of excellent pith;
Fate tried to conceal him by naming him Smith;
But he shouted a song for the brave and the free,—
Just read on his medal, "My country," "of thee !"

You hear that boy laughing? You think he's all fun;
But the angels laugh, too, at the good he has done;
The children laugh loud as they troop to his call,
And the poor man that knows him laughs loudest of all!
Yes, we're boys,-always playing with tongue or with pen
And I sometimes have asked, Shall we ever be men?
Shall we always be youthful, and laughing, and gay,
Till the last dear companion drops smiling away?

Then here's to our boyhood, its gold and its gray!
The stars of its winter, the dews of its May!
And when we have done with our life-lasting toys,
Dear Father, take care of Thy children, THE BOYS!
O. W. HOLMES.

A

MASTERS OF THE SITUATION.

GREAT mastery-like that of Wellington or Bis marck-is not so common in the world as to excite no surprise. True mastery is compact of supreme qualities. It is heroism; it is culture; it is enthusiasm; it is

faith; it is intelligence; it is endurance; it is unconquer able will. There are men of conviction whose very facem will light up an era. And there are noble women in whose eyes you may almost read the whole plan of salvation.

Insight, foresight, and knowledge are what the world demands of a great leader-men who have power to transmute calamity into greatness. To a real commander 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, or wandering in the desolate forests of Newfoundland in pelting rains, comfortless and forlorn. Public excitement had grown wild over the myssterious 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.

KENTUCKY BELLE.

UMMER of 'sixty-three, sir, and Conrad was gone

SUMME

away

Gone to the county-town, sir, to sell our first load of

hay

We lived in the log-house yonder, poor as ever you've

seen;

Röschen there was a baby, and I was only nineteen.

Conrad, he took the oxen, but he left Kentucky Belle; How much we thought of Kentuck, I couldn't begin to

tell

Came from the Blue-Grass country; my father gave her to

me

When I rode North with Conrad, away from the Tennessee.

Conrad lived in Ohio-a German he is, you knowThe house stood in broad corn-fields, stretching on, row after row:

The old folks made me welcome; they were kind as kind could be;

But I kept longing, longing, for the hills of the Tennessee.

O, for a sight of water, the shadowed slope of a hill!
Clouds that hang on the summit, a wind that never is still!
But the level land went stretching away to meet the sky-
Never a rise, from north to south, to rest the weary eye!

From east to west, no river to shine out under the moon,
Nothing to make a shadow in the yellow afternoon;
Only the breathless sunshine, as I looked out, all forlorn;
Only the "rustle, rustle," as I walked among the corn.

When I fell sick with pining, we didn't wait any more, But moved away from the corn-lands out to this river shore

The Tuscarawas it's called, sir-off there's a hill, you seeAnd now I've grown to like it next best to the Tennessee.

I was at work that morning. Some one came riding like mad Over the bridge and up the road-Farmer Rouf's little lad: Bareback he rode; he had no hat; he hardly stopped to say, *Morgan's men are coming, Frau; they're galloping on this way.