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hollowness of alchemy; the historian than the individual-they do not seem

had it in his power to discredit the legend; common sense would kill the fair fictions of the rhapsodist. Suppose all that; is the victory of the "ory light" ensured? Memory, the acst incorrigible of Tories, biding her time, wou wait until we had eaten and drunk of common sense to the full; then, with low tones and sweetest murmurings upon her enchanted harp, observe how she would touch the minor key of regret and longing, the old delusive strain which throws into the purple distance a world we could not live in-we, tender, reflective moderns, shrinking from pain as from an unjust law, but she, this siren, this memory, that cannot take pleasure in what is present, has the glamour of horizons, the pathos and deceit of distance; her music intoxicates, her glass makes beautiful, and all the hideous past loses its wrinkles and its cruelty when her fingers smooth it down. She conquers by reaction; but is not reaction equal, as well as opposite, to the action which calls it forth?

What a tremendous question! The dead books, then, might be waiting to rise again. "Can these dry bones live?" the prophet was asked; and he could but answer, "O Lord, thou knowest!" Is evolution, change, progresscall it how you please-this rolling wheel of time with all it bears along, is it a circle returning upon itself, or a right line whose flight is through eternity? Can the dead live, the past become the present? Our books, in their thousands and tens of thousands, set in array against each other, cry aloud until the heavens ring with their shouting; but this question-so short is the life of man, of the nation no less

to have resolved. Systems, indeed, come back; but perhaps the whole idea out of which every possible system is drawn may have its limits, and in philosophies built by abstract rules we should find, if we looked deep enough, an inevitable sameness. The human mould, or form, is shaped by a few strokes; with notions of time, space, and movement, and the spiritual shadows of these, hitherto all our thinking has been wrought. Shall we never go beyond them? or must we turn in this cage that turns along with us, and find ourselves back, after millenniums, at the point from which we set out? One would gladly believe otherwise. Yet, surely, these conflicting volumes prove that our motion is not in a right line. It has its innumerable curves, windings, mazy rounds, capriciousseeming dances and pirouettings; it is serpentine, involved, and full of surprises; and the law of its direction no mortal has ever found. How if it had no law? But the mind which is framed upon reason, and delights in it, cannot feel at home amid a universe which plays for ever and ever the same mad farce of a riddle without a meaning. Somewhere, above or below, in the centre of our being or across the gulfs of a myriad constellations, there must be at this moment the focus, the point of view, placed at which even our intellect would discern a pattern and a plan in the course of things. Upon the infinitudes of chaos which our books picture, could we but bring to them the brooding spirit, light would surely dawn. But we hear the squire's hearty voice in the hall outside; and for to-day our meditations are ended.

A Hint to Travellers-In a recent number of the English and American Gazette attention is drawn to the absolute necessity that exists for foreigners to register their names at the Mairie of provincial French towns in the Riviera

and elsewhere, within eight days after arrival, except in the case of recognized boarding-houses and hotels. The laws concerning the registration of foreigners are being more and more stringently executed.

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III. GOLD BEADS. By Mary Argyle Taylor,. Leisure Hour,
IV. IBSENISM. By H. D. Traill,

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Temple Bar,

291

Contemporary Review,

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National Review,

317

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PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY BY

THE LIVING AGE COMPANY, BOSTON.

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FOR SIX DOLLARS remitted directly to the Publishers, THE LIVING AGE will be punctually forwarded for a year, free of postage.

Remittances should be made by bank draft or check, or by post-office money order, if possible. If neither of these can be procured, the money should be sent in a registered letter. All postmasters are obliged to register letters when requested to do so. Drafts, checks, and money-orders should be made payable to the order of THE LIVING AGE Co.

Single copies of THE LIVING AGE, 15 cents.

GEO. A. FOXCROFT, Manager Advertising Department, 36 Bromfield St., Room 3.

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Whose good life's labor liveth evermore; He is but sped

To join the noble spirits gone before.

The clear bright eye of a woman, kindling He is not dead.

into desire,

Shall still prevail, O Love! for no laws than thine are higher,

What man calls Death

Is but a passing sleep in man's Great Life;

And the laughter of Aphroditè is fraught Man's spirit saith: with misfortune dire.

"It is the sleep of peace at close of strife;

Translated from the Antigone of Sophocles by There is no death." Jane Minot Sedgwick.

GOLD AND SILVER. Out upon your earthly pelfGive me gold and silver's self: Glint of golden suns at noon, Lustres of the argent moonAll the gold yon sky receives For his shining morns and eves, All the gold that April spills On the bowing daffodils; Golden hearts of silver daisies, Fairy gold of poets' phrases, Little children's golden heads Dreaming in their star-lit beds Of a mother's silvered hair Bowed above their faces fair, Half in blessing, half in prayer— All the golden boon of day,

All the long night's silvern sway, All the overflowing measure Of God's gold and silver treasure. Spectator. ARTHUR AUSTIN-JACKSON.

"I AM THAT HELEN."

I am that Helen, that very Helen

Of Leda born in the days of old:

Men's hearts were as inns that I might

dwell in:

Houseless I wander to-night, and cold.

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From Temple Bar.
DID HE REMEMBER?

I.

Perhaps, with few exceptions, no man living enters the business world with a keener or more confident spirit than the retired military officer. He is always ready at a moment's notice to tackle any sort of commercial enterprise, no matter how intricate or hazardous it may appear and, although he generally kicks against the yoke of technical routine, if left to himself ne has a

direct, go-ahead way of doing things, and a certain cut-and-dry method of his own, that pulls him through the venture-after a fashion.

When Major Godfrey Neligan found himself adrift from the army, a victim to the age clause, he took a good straight look at the state of his affairs

in general, and beheld three highly embarrassing features; namely, a very moderate income, a sickly wife, and a quiverful of sturdy youngsters. With these grave encumbrances, he felt the absolute necessity of putting his shoulder to the wheel, and set to work vigorously in order to better his position. He was not the man to sit down feebly and let things take their course, not he! "That sort of tomfoolery would never push Dick through Sandhurst, or give Fred and Arthur a start in life." He avowed his intention of leaving no stone unturned in his search for a suitable appointment, and, to do him justice, he could not have been accused of neglecting even the most unlikely-looking pebble.

For several weeks he steadily scanned the horizon of the business world through the medium of those closelyprinted newspaper columns, headed "Situations Vacant." He made a bold stroke for half-a-dozen different vacancies, and in one or two instances his applications met with a ready response. The replies came from promoters of newly-floated limited liability concerns (with magnificent prospects in the near future), who desired to retain the services of a thoroughly efficient, reliable secretary. Somehow the major seemed

to be the very man they were in search of, and all he had to do was just to deposit £100-to cover certain unavoidable preliminary expenses-and the appointment would be his.

Neligan, apostrophizing the writer of "Not likely, my fine sir!" growled one of these plausible epistles. "I'm too old a bird to be caught with such bit too plainly for my taste." And he chaff; you show the 'cloven hoof' a little kept his hundred pounds in his pocket— if he had it to keep there.

Not until he had met with repeated failures and disappointments did the energetic major feel a bit staggered, and begin to lose heart a little. Then, as so often happens, the opportunity he sought turned up in quite an unexpected and incidental manner. It came round to him, in a chance sort of way, Anthony Vereker, required a reprethat an old acquaintance of his, Sir sentative on his Irish estate, the former agent having succumbed to certain injuries received in the discharge of his duty.

"A land agency?" Neligan ruminated, with visions of a pleasant, free-and-easy country life, an occasional day in the snipe bogs or on the grouse hills—and practically his own master, to boot. "Why, it's the very thing I'm fitted for -suit me down to the ground. Gad! I'll have a try for it."

Within half an hour of hearing the news he was on his way to the station, determined to catch the first train to town in order to interview the baronet. Delays, he knew, were highly dangerous; even as it was, some shrewd, wideawake fellow might have stepped in already and secured the appointment. He took the precaution of despatching a wire to Sir Anthony to say he wished to see him with reference to the agency; still, from the moment he set foot in the train, he was haunted by a secret misgiving that he would arrive too late.

When he got to town, however, his doubts were speedily dispelled. He had half expected to find the baronet surrounded by a crowd of importunate applicants, all clamoring for the post.

Instead of this, he had the field entirely to himself; well, it was certainly a great point in his favor, though he couldn't help wondering at the absence of other candidates.

Sir Anthony, deep in a copy of the Times, was finishing off either a very late breakfast or a very early lunch.

"Hallo! Neligan; glad to see you," he said, tossing his paper aside. "Just in time for breakfast-ah, I forgot what early birds you are down in the country. Well, take a seat, and call it lunch."

The major was forced to comply; and, moreover, had to submit, with the best grace possible, to a rather long and tedious gossip upon town topics in general. He was fairly on thorns all the time; he couldn't tear his thoughts away from the agency, and was burning with impatience to introduce the subject. But though he made one or two attempts to get in a word edgewise, the baronet failed to respond, and the talk went on in the same groove.

At last Sir Anthony rose from the table, planted himself upon the hearthrug, and took out his cigar case.

"Now, then, major, I am quite at your service," he said, with the air of a man disposed to give a languid attention to business, and quite prepared to be bored thereby. "What can I do for you?"

Without an instant's delay, Neligan plunged boldly into the question of the estate agency, and announced that he had come up to town with a view to offering himself as candidate for the position.

"What! the Derawlin estate?" said the baronet, pausing in the very act of igniting his cigar, and giving the major a very quizzical look. "You don't mean to say you want to undertake that agency?"

"Well, Sir Anthony, if you have not already selected"

"Oh no; the appointment is still open. There hasn't been any great rush of applicants so far."

"So much the better for me," replied Neligan, brightening up; "I was half afraid I would be too late in the field."

"Oh, not at all; you're in plenty of time, my dear major, and you can have the post with pleasure, if you have really made up your mind to go in for this sort of thing."

If, in a sudden magnanimous fit, Vereker had proposed to make over the entire estate to the worthy major, it is doubtful whether he would have astonished him to a greater degree. Neligan was fairly astounded; he never contemplated such an easy victory. He had prepared himself for all sorts of difficulties and objections, fully expecting to be put through a severe examination on such subjects as Church Temporalities, Public Works loans, and sales under the Ashbourne Act-of which he knew mighty little-and to be questioned closely upon agricultural statistics of which he knew nothing.

To be sure, it was not a matter of such supreme importance to the baronet, for he was a man of considerable wealth, and only derived a small portion of his income-a very small portion, if the truth was known-from his Irish property. But as to Neligan himself-why, he could scarcely realize this sudden piece of good fortune.

"I think you'll find, Sir Anthony, that I'll manage to make those tenants of yours stump up," he said, in talking the matter over. "You see, I know the people, and that's half the battle. Why, I'm Irish myself, if it comes to that, and most of my younger days were spent over there. Of course things have changed a bit since then-”

"Oh, yes, things have changed a bit. certainly," put in Vereker.

"But I don't believe it's half as bad as people make out," the major went on. "Nearly all this agrarian disturbance we hear about is due to bad management-bad ̄ management, my dear sir, and nothing else."

"Pon my word, major, I begin to think you'll be the right man in the right place," Sir Anthony replied. "Of course I could have got plenty of big agency firms to undertake this business, but that would simply mean sending their head clerk down twice a year, with a small army of policemen at his

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