forever beneath the waves.

Then, and for the first time, in

the Proclamation of Emancipation by the immortal Lincoln, we looked up, found that we were carrying, not slavery, but justice, freedom, equal rights, all of them children of Christ; and immediately we received his strength, and have been nobly bearing our burden on towards safety. The haven has not yet been reached. By demands of business, by forgetfulness of history, by appeals for conciliation, by necessities of party, by weariness of strife, by longings for rest, by every temptation, we are enticed once more to look down.

Sons of New England, look not down; it is full of deadly peril. Stand on the watchtowers of civilization, and ceaselessly cry out to the people, "Oh, look not down!" Sons of New England, in pulpit, at teacher's desk, in professor's chair, in the Halls of Congress, on the bench, in the counting-room, in the shop, by the loom, on the farm, wherever you may be, at home or abroad, in the name of your fathers' God, for the sake of the precious Republic, cry out to the people, Look up, look up!" and looking up, they will ever see that they are bearing a Republic, founded in justice, liberty, and equal rights. Seeing and remembering, they will have God's help, and our country shall be saved.

66

THE DEATH OF CHARLES THE NINTH

By MAUDE MOORE, Poet, Story-writer. Born in Warren, Maine, 1849. From "Songs of Sunshine and Shadow," published by The Lothrop Publishing Company, Boston.

It was a festal day in Paris. Since early morning had the streets been filled with hurrying multitudes; but as the sun went down, and all the thousand lamps of the great city were lighted, the festivities were laid aside, for a messenger had come from the Palace bringing word that the young king was dying. Slowly the gathered throng dispersed, till, instead of the vast multitudes that so lately thronged the streets, the city was silent and deserted.

Within an upper chamber lay the king,

His white face, 'gainst the pillow scarce as white,

Gleamed ghastly-lip and hand and brow
Were chilling with the icy touch of him

Who comes but once-who comes alike to all.
About the room the waxen tapers tall

Lit up the shadows, while the black-robed priests
Stood round the couch with "Host and Crucifix,"
The ceremonial of the sacrament.

But the king sees them not; his soul is back
With the past years-he whispers! Ha! he dreams!
He sees the streets of Paris all aglow

With gleaming fire of the torch and lamp;

He stands beside his window-from below

Thro' all the streets he hears the ceaseless tramp
Of armed men—the crash of arms-the cry
Of gathering forces; on the midnight air
He hears the wild, wild accents of despair
In groans and curses, as the throng go by;
And 'bove them all, o'er every sight and sound
He hears the bell of St. Germain slow toll
The signal for the massacre;-the ground
Beneath his feet is red with blood: the roll
Of musketry is drowned in dying groans!

Within the chamber still the dark-robed priests
Move noiselessly; from out his fever dream
The king awakes, his sunken, gleaming eyes
Fast dark'ning with the gathering gloom of death;
In vain the trembling priests essay to calm

His troubled soul-"I murdered them!" he shrieks; "I saw them butchered; now their vengeful souls Are come to mock me! Hear the tower bell!

'No bell'? ye mock me!

Aye, hear it! Marking slow

Hear it peal!

The shrieking of the murdered ones
In all the streets below!

I see them their uplifted hands,

Their pleading eyes-oh, there!

See! see their life-blood flowing down
Around me everywhere!''

"Nay, nay, my son! this crucifix

Put to thy lips in prayer!"'

"What! pray? I pray? I press my lips Upon that holy thing?

I pray? 'twere blasphemy! no prayer
Peace to this heart can bring!

The bell! the bell again! shut out,

Shut out its ringing knell!

'A fever dream '? Great God, my soul

Doth know the sound full well!

Have I not heard it pealing slow
Above me night and day!

Has it not hung about my neck
Whene'er I've tried to pray!

Have I not heard it? hear the peal!
Louder and louder yet!

I shall go mad! Shut out the sound!
O God, could I forget!

From his couch

They raised the dying king,

And sought with soothing, prayerful words

A calmer frame to bring.

"My son "the aged father spoke

"But idle dreams are these:

You hear no bell-there is no sound

But wind among the trees.

See, here I hold the crucifix:

Now lay aside thy care,

And gaze thou on the holy cross,
The while I kneel in prayer.

The king sank back with ashen lips,

The holy father bent,

And to the heavenly throne above

His supplication sent:

66

Have mercy, Lord!" the white-haired priest In reverent accents prayed;

His voice grew faint,

His eye with death grew dim;

Slowly the icy shadows crept
O'er hand, and brow, and limb;
The holy fathers gathered round
In silence where he lay;

About the room the tapers tall
Grew dim with dawning day;
And ere the sun had lit the east,

A soul had passed away.

THE TRADITIONS OF MASSACHUSETTS

By HENRY CABOT LODGE, Lawyer, Editor, Author; Member of Congress from Massachusetts, 1886-93; Senator, 1893-. Born in Boston, Mass., 1850.

From a speech before the Republican State Convention of Massachusetts, March 27, 1896. See daily papers of Boston, March 28, 1896.

Look at these two questions for a moment, the Venezuelan and the Cuban, one involving aggressions on our rights-on rights which we believe with great unanimity concern deeply the peace and safety of the United States-while the other involves a case of humanity, as I consider it. I have formed the opinions which I have expressed on these questions by a very careful study of all the facts and circumstances for considerably more than a year.

But I did not rest there; I have looked also to see what the traditions and the history of Massachusetts had to say to me where questions involving the rights of my country, and others as I believed involving the interests of humanity right here at our threshold, were at stake.

The first public man I ever saw, when I was a mere child in my father's house, was Charles Sumner. The first voice I ever heard speak on public affairs was his, and he was pleading the rights of humanity. Even a child could understand that. He bore stripes for what he believed, and you