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URING the first days after my arrival in Paris my fixed idea was to find out the gallery of Old Masters I started early one morning with this intention, but as I did not dare ask my way, for fear of being laughed at, I wandered at random through the streets, hoping, I suppose, that the Musée would come to meet me! I lost myself several days running in this fruitless search. During my wanderings one day I came across Notre Dame for the first time. It seemed to me less fine than the Cathedral of Coutances. I thought that the Luxembourg was a fine palace, but too regularly beautiful -the work, as it were, of a coquettish and mediocre builders ❤ At length, I hardly know how, I found myself on the Pont Neuf, where a magnificent pile, which from the descriptions which had been given me, I supposed must be the Louvre. Without delay I turned my steps there and climbed the great staircase with a beating heart and the hurried steps of a man who feels that the one great wish of his life is about to be fulfilled

voured them all: I studied them, analyzed them, and came back to them continually. The Primitives attracted me by their admirable expression of sweetness, holiness, and fervor The great Italians fascinated me by their mastery and charm of composition. There were moments when the arrows of St. Sebastian seemed to pierce me, as I looked at the martyr of Mantegna. The masters of that age have an incomparable power. They make you feel in turn the joys and the pains which thrill their souls. But when I saw that drawing of Michelangelo's representing a man in a swoon, I felt that was a different thing. The expression of the relaxed muscles, the planes and the modeling of that form exhausted by physical suffering gave me a whole series of impressions.

Bowed by the weight of centuries he leans
Upon his hoe and gazes upon the ground,
The emptiness of ages in his face,
And on his back the burden of the world.
Who made him dead to rapture and despair,
Athing thatgrieves not and thatnever hopes,
Stolid and stunned, a brother to the ox?
Wholoosened and let down this brutal jaw?
Whose was the hand that slanted back
this brow?
Whose breath blew out the light within
this brain?

Is this the thing the Lord God made and gave
To have dominion over sea and land;
To trace the stars and search the heavens
for power;

To feel the passion of Eternity?
Is this the dream He dreamed who
shaped the suns

And marked their ways upon the ancient deep?

Down all the stretch of Hell to its last gulf There is no shape more terrible than this— More tongued with censure of the world's blind greedMore filled with signs and portents for the soulMore fraught with menace to the universe.

What gulfs between him and the seraphim Slave of the wheel of labor, what to him Are Plato and the swing of Pleiades?

(Concluded on next page)

My hopes were not disappointed. I seemed to find myself in a world of friends, in the midst of my own kinsfolk. My dreams were at length realized. For the next month the Old Masters were my only occupation in the daytime. I de

I felt as if tormented by the same pains. I had compassion upon him. I suffered in his body with his limbs I saw that the man

who had done this was able, in a single figure, to represent all the good and evil of humanity. It was Michelangelo! That explains all. I had already seen some bad engravings of his work at Cherbourg; but here I touched the heart and heard the voice of him who has haunted me with such power during my whole life. -Millet's First Visit to the Louvre.

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Adversity has no friends.-Tacitus.

ILLET at that time wore a curious garb. A brown overcoat, in color like a stone wall, a thick beard and long locks, covered with a woolen cape like that of a coachman, gave him a singular appearance The first time that I saw him he reminded me of the painters of the Middle Ages. His reception was cordial, but almost silent & He took me for a philosopher, a philanthropist, or a politician

none of whom he
cared much to see.
But I talked of art

to him, and seeing
his Daphnis and
Chloe hanging on
the wall, I told him
what I thought of
it so se
He looked hard at
me, but still with a
kind of shyness,
and only said a few
words in a reply.

Then I caught sight of a sketch of

a sower.

"That would be a fine thing," I remarked, "if you had had a country model." sie "Then do you not belong to Paris?" he asked.

What the long reaches of the peaks of song,
The rift of dawn, the reddening of the rose?
Through this dread shape the suffering
ages look:
Time's tragedy is in that aching stoop;
Through this dread shape humanity
Plundered, profaned and disinherited,
Cries protest to the Judges of the World,
A protest that is also prophecy.

freely with me, and his remarks on art were as manly as they were generous and large-hearted ››☛ "Every subject is good," he said. "All we have to do is to render it with force and clearness. In art we should have one leading thought, and see that we express it in eloquent language, also that we keep it alive in ourselves, and impart it to others as clearly as we stamp a medal Art is not a pleasure-trip; it is a battle, a mill that grinds I am no philosopher. I do not pretend to do away with pain, or

to find a formula which will make me a Stoic, and indifferent to evil. Suffering is, perhaps, the one thing that gives an artist power to express himself clearly."

O masters, lords and rulers in all lands, Is this the handiwork you give to God, This monstrous thing distorted and soulquenched?

How will you ever straighten up this shape;
Touch it again with immortality;
Give back the upward looking and the light;
Rebuild in it the music and the dream;
Make right the immemorial infamies,
Perfidious wrongs, immedicable woes?

O masters, lords and rulers in all lands, How will the Future reckon with this Man? How answer his brute question in that hour When whirlwinds of rebellion shake the


How will it be with kingdoms and with kings

He spoke in this manner for some time and then stopped, as if afraid of his own words But we parted, feeling that we understood each other, and had laid the foundations of a lasting friendship."-"Millet Meets His Future Biographer."-Alfred Sensier.

With those who shaped him to the thing he is


"Yes," I replied, "but I was brought up in the country." ¶ "Ah! that is a different story," he said in his Norman patois; we must have a little talk." Troyon left us alone, and Millet, looking at me some moments in silence, said: "You will not care for my pictures.' You are wrong there," I replied warmly;" it is because I like them that I have come to see you."


From that moment Millet conversed

When this dumb Terror shall reply to God, After the silence of the centuries?

"The Man With the Hoe," by Edwin Markham

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APITAL is condensed labor. It is nothing until labor takes hold of it. The living laborer sets free the condensed labor and makes it assume some form of utility or beauty. Capital and labor are one, and they will draw nearer to each other as the world advances in intellect and goodness.-David Swing.

OSEPHINE was dead. The fall of the Emperor, her hero, her Cid, had bewildered and unnerved her se Frightened at the din of war that shook the whole realm, she had lived in terror at Malmaison. The allied kings paid her every attention, and in showing the King of Prussia over her lovely grounds when she was ill, broken out with an eruption, she had, it is said, brought on a fatal relapse. Murmuring the words "Elba "-"Bonaparte"-she died, while her hero was yet in exile.

It is a revelation of his true character that before setting out on his last campaign he should claim one day out of the few fate gave him, and devote it to memories, to regrets, to recollections of the frail, but tender-hearted woman who had warmed to him when all the world was growing cold. He went to Malmaison, almost alone, and, with Hortense, walked over the grounds, seeing the old familiar places, and thinking of the "old familiar faces." He lingered in the garden he himself had made, and in which he used to love to work when he was First Consul, surrounded by trees and flowers, and inhaling the breath of nature. He used to say that he could work better there than anywhere else. He wandered through the park, looking out on the trees he had planted in those brilliant days long ago. Every spot had its silent reminder of glories that were gone, of friends he would see no more.

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while, and when he came out his eyes showed that he had been weeping. -Thomas E. Watson.

(OCIETIES exist under three forms sufficiently distinguishable. 1. Without government, as among our Indians. 2. Under governments wherein the will of every one has a just influence, as is the case in England in a slight degree, and in our states, in a great one. 3. Under governments of force: as is the case in all other monarchies and in most of the other republics. To have an idea of the curse of existence under these last, they must be seen. It is a government of wolves over sheep. It is a problem, not clear in my mind, that the first condition is not the best. But I believe it to be inconsistent with any great degree of population. The second state has a great deal of good in it. The mass of mankind under that enjoys a precious degree of liberty and happiness. It has its evils too: the principal of which is the turbulence to which it is subject. But weigh this against the oppressions of monarchy, and it becomes nothing. I prefer dangerous liberty rather than quiet servitude. Even this evil is productive of good It prevents the degeneracy of government, and nourishes a general attention to the public affairs. I hold it that a little rebellion now and then is a good thing, and as necessary in the political world as storms in the physical. Unsuccessful rebellions indeed generally establish the encroachments on the rights of the people which have produced them. An observation of this truth should render honest republican governors so mild in their punishment of rebellions, as not to discourage them too much. It is a medicine necessary for the sound health of government.

-Thomas Jefferson.


Economizing for the purpose of being independent is one of the soundest indications of manly character.

-Samuel Smiles.

The true work of art is but a shadow of the divine perfection.-Michelangelo.

ENERAL:-I have placed you at the head of the Army of the Potomac. Of course, I have done this upon what

appear to me to be sufficient reasons, and yet I think it best for you to know that there are some things in regard to which I am not quite satisfied with you. I believe you to be a brave and skilful soldier, which of course I like. I also believe you do not mix politics with your profession, in which you are right. You have confidence in yourself, which is a valuable if not an indispensable quality. You are ambitious, which, within reasonable bounds, does good rather than harm; but I think that during General Burnside's command of the army you have taken counsel of your ambition and thwarted him as much as you could, in which you did a great wrong to the country and to a most meritorious and honorable brother officer

I have heard, in such a way as to believe it, of your recently saying that both the army and the government needed a dictator.

Of course it was not for this, but in spite of it, that I have given you the command. Only those generals who gain successes can set up dictators.

What I now ask of you is military success, and I will risk the dictatorship

The government will support you to the utmost of its ability, which is neither more nor less than it has done and will do for all commanders.

I much fear that the spirit which you have aided to infuse into the army, of criticizing their commander and withholding confidence from him, will now turn upon you. I shall assist you as far as I can to put it down.

Neither you nor Napoleon, if he were alive again, could get any good out of an army while such a spirit prevails in it; and now beware of rashness. Beware of rashness, but with energy and sleepless vigilance go forward and give us victories. Yours very truly, Abraham Lincoln.-(Letter to General J. Hooker, January 26, 1863.)

SERVED with General Washington in the Legislature of Virginia, before the Revolution, and, during it, with Doctor Franklin in Congress never heard either of them speak ten minutes at a time, nor to any but the main point, which was to decide the questions s


They laid their shoulders to the great points, knowing that the little ones would follow of themselves. If the present Congress errs in too much talking, how can it be otherwise, in a body to which the people send one hundred and fifty lawyers, whose trade it is to question everything, yield nothing, and talk by the hour? That one hundred and fifty lawyers should do business together ought not to be expected.

-Thomas Jefferson.


EEP your minds so filled with Truth and Love that sin, disease, and death can not enter them. It is plain that nothing can be added to the mind already full. There is no door through which evil can enter, and no space for evil to fill in a mind filled with goodness. Good thoughts are an impervious armor; clad therewith you are completely shielded from the attacks of error of every sort.

And not only yourselves are safe, but all whom your thoughts rest upon are thereby benefited.

The self-seeking pride of the evil thinker injures him when he would harm others. Goodness involuntarily resists evil. The evil thinker is the proud talker and doer. The right thinker abides under the shadow of the Almighty. His thoughts can only reflect peace, good will towards men, health, and holiness.

-Mary Baker Eddy.


HILDREN are much nearer the inner truth of things than we are, for when their instincts are not perverted by the superfine wisdom of their elders, they give themselves up to a full, vigorous activity Theirs is the kingdom of heaven.-Friedrich Froebel.

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It is the cause, and not the death, that makes the martyr.-Napoleon.

THINK I knew General Washington intimately and thoroughly: and were I called on to delineate his character, it should be in terms like these: His mind was great and powerful without being of the very first order; his penetration strong, though not so acute as that of a Newton, Bacon or Locke; and, as far as he saw, no judgment was ever sounder. It was slow in operation, being little aided by imagination or invention, but sure in conclu

irritable and high-toned; but reflection and resolution had obtained a firm and habitual ascendency over it If ever, however, it broke its bonds, he was most tremendous in his wrath. In his expenses he was honorable, but exact; liberal in contribution to whatever promised utility; but frowning and unyielding on all visionary projects, and all the unworthy

calls on his charity. His heart was not warm in its affections; but he exactly calculated every man's value, and gave him a solid esteem proportioned to it s His person, you know, was fine; his stature exactly what one would wish; his deportment easy, erect and noble; the best horseman of his age, and the most graceful figure that

could be seen on horseback ☛ Although in the circle of his friends, where he might be unreserved with safety, he took a free share in conversation, his colloquial talents were not above mediocrity, possessing neither copiousness of ideas nor fluency of words. In public, when called on for a sudden opinion, he was unready, short and embarrassed Yet he wrote readily, rather diffusely, in an easy and correct style. This he had acquired by conversation with the world, for his education was merely reading, writing and common arithmetic, to which he added surveying at a later day. His time was employed in action chiefly, reading little, and that only in agriculture and English history. His correspondence became necessarily extensive, and, with journalizing his agricultural proceedings, occupied most of his leisure hours within doors. On the whole, his character was, in its mass, perfect; in nothing bad, in few

Do not weep, maiden, for war is kind. Because your lover threw wild hands toward the sky

And the affrighted steed ran on alone,
Do not weep.
War is kind.

sions Hence the common remark of his officers, of the advantage he derived from councils of war, where, hearing all suggestions, he selected whatever was best; and certainly, no general planned his battles more judiciously But if deranged during the course of the action, if any member of his plan was dislocated by sudden circumstances, he was slow in a readjustment. The consequence was that he often failed in the field, and rarely against an enemy in station, as at Boston and York. He was incapable of fear, meeting personal danger with the calmest unconcern. Perhaps the strongest feature in his character was prudence, never acting until every circumstance, every consideration, was maturely weighed; refraining if he saw a doubt, but, when once decided, going through with his purpose, whether obstacles opposed. His integrity was most pure, his justice the most inflexible I have ever known, no motives of interest or consanguinity, of friendship or hatred, being able to bias his decision. He was, indeed, in every sense of the words, a wise, a good and a great man His temper was naturally

Hoarse, booming drums of the regiment,
Little souls who thirst for fight,
These men were born to drill and die.
The unexplained glory flies above them,
Great is the battle-god, and his kingdom-
A field where a thousand corpses lie.

Mother, whose heart hung humble as a


On the bright, splendid shroud of your son,
Do not weep.
War is kind.

"If War Be Kind," by Stephen Crane

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