at once.

I doubt if it would be in the Gothic spirit to finish a church We can tell cavilers that we shall have a spire at the proper time, and not a minute before. It may depend a little upon what the Baptists do, who are to build near us. I, for one, think we had better wait and see how high the Baptist spire is, before we run ours up. The church is everything that could be desired inside. There is the nave, with its lofty and beautiful arched ceiling. There are the side aisles, and two elegant rows of stone pillars, stained so as to be a perfect imitation of stucco. There is the apse, with its stained glass and exquisite lines; and there is an organ loft over the front entrance, with a rose window. Nothing was wanting, so far as we could see, except that we should adapt ourselves to the circumstances; and that we have been trying to do ever since.

A SONG OF LOVE

LEWIS CARROLL

SAY, what is the spell, when her fledglings are cheeping,

That lures the bird home to her nest?

Or wakes the tired mother, whose infant is weeping,
To cuddle and croon it to rest?

What is the magic that charms the glad babe in her arms,
Till it coos with the voice of the dove?

'Tis a secret, and so let us whisper it low And the name of the secret is Love.

For I think it is Love,

For I feel it is Love,

For I'm sure it is nothing but Love!

Say, whence is the voice that when anger is burning,
Bids the whirl of the tempest to cease?

That stirs the vexed soul with an aching- a yearning
For the brotherly handgrip of peace?

Whence the music that fills all our being that thrills Around us, beneath, and above?

'Tis a secret none knows how it comes, or it goesBut the name of the secret is Love.

For I think it is Love,

For I feel it is Love,

For I'm sure it is nothing but Love!

Say, whose is the skill that paints valley and hill,

Like a picture so fair to the sight?

That flecks the green meadow with sunshine and shadow Till the little lambs leap with delight?

'Tis a secret untold to hearts cruel and cold,
Though 'tis sung, by the angels above,

In notes that ring clear for the ears that can hear
And the name of the secret is Love.

Alfred Tennyson, one of the most popular of modern poets, perhaps the most popular and most widely read, was born at Somersby, Lincolnshire, in 1809. He was educated at Trinity College, Cambridge.

He wrote a great amount. Among his longer poems are "Maud," "Idylls of the King," "The Princess," "In Memoriam," "The Holy Grail," "Queen Mary," "Harold," "Enoch Arden," and " English Idylls."

Among his shorter poems that are most frequently met are "Locksley Hall," "Dora," "The May Queen," "The Brook," "Charge of the Light Brigade," "Lady of Shalott," "Lotus Eaters," and "A Dream of Fair Women." These, however, are but a few. Lovers of Tennyson, and they are many, would name many others that should have been included in the list, and were it many times longer there would still be claims for poems omitted. Perhaps there is no poet of modern times about whom there is so much difference of opinion, either in regard to single poems or as to his work as a whole.

THE splendor falls on castle walls

And snowy summits old in story;
The long light shakes across the lakes,
And the wild cataract leaps in glory.

Blow, bugle, blow! Set the wild echoes flying!
Blow, bugle! Answer, echoes! Dying, dying, dying.

O hark! O hear, how thin and clear,
And thinner, clearer, farther going!
O sweet and far from cliff and scar

The horns of Elfland faintly blowing!
Blow! Let us hear the purple glens replying.
Blow, bugle! Answer, echoes! Dying, dying, dying.

O love, they die in yon rich sky!

They faint on hill, or field, or river;

Our echoes roll from soul to soul,

And grow forever and forever.

Blow, bugle, blow! Set the wild echoes flying!
And answer, echoes, answer! Dying, dying, dying.

THE TRIAL OF WARREN HASTINGS

THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY

Macaulay was born at Rothley Temple in 1800. He was a great reader, even as a boy, and had a most wonderful memory. He was educated at Cambridge, admitted to the bar in 1826, elected to Parliament in 1830, and was in India from 1834 to 1838. He was made Baron in 1857. His first literary work that commanded attention was his essay on Milton. He was always a very fluent writer. His essays on Addison, Clive, Hastings, Milton, and Bacon are worthy of being read by every one. The following extract is taken from his essay on Hastings, and will give a good idea of his style. Macaulay's

"Lays of Ancient Rome " should be read in connection with the study of Roman history, or soon after. "Horatius" and the "Prophecy of Capys" are both given entire in this volume.

Macaulay's History of England," covering the period from the accession of James II to 1701, is exceedingly interesting, but is not

MACAULAY

regarded as being always just; nevertheless, it should be generally read. It has been said to be "an epic poem of which King William is the hero." Macaulay died

in 1859.

HE place was worthy of such

THE

a trial. It was the great hall of William Rufus; the hall which had resounded with acclamations at the inauguration of thirty kings; the hall which had witnessed the just sentence of Bacon and the just absolution of Somers; the hall where the eloquence of Strafford had for a moment awed and melted a victorious party inflamed with just resentment; the hall where Charles had confronted the High Court of Justice with the placid courage which has half redeemed his fame. Neither military nor civil pomp was wanting. The avenues were lined with grenadiers. The streets were kept clear by cavalry. The peers, robed in gold and ermine, were marshaled by the heralds under Garter Kingat-arms. The judges in their vestments of state attended to give advice on points of law. Near a hundred and seventy lords, three fourths of the Upper House as the Upper House then was, walked in solemn order from their usual place of assembling to the tribunal.

The junior Baron present led the way, Lord Heathfield, recently ennobled for his memorable defense of Gibraltar