ou from coming to Peru."

He sent to Bolivar a parting gift, saying, "Receive this memento
from the first of your admirers, and with my desire that you have
the glory of finishing the war for the independence of South
America."

The history of chivalry has no match for the character of San
Martin. Bolivar united patriotism and vanity; San Martin's glory was
self-abnegation. At a banquet where the two were present, Bolivar
once offered the following toast: "To the two greatest men in South
America--San Martin and _myself_."

San Martin followed with his toast. "To the speedy end of the war;
to the establishment of the republics, and to the health of the
Liberator of Colombia!"

The two toasts were photographs. Time is lifting the character of
San Martin into its true place among glorious men. He was a man who
fought for peace. His life fulfilled his own motto: "Thou shalt be
what thou oughtest to be, or else thou shalt be nothing."

On critical occasions, his magnanimous soul rose to the sublimity of
this motto, and to the end of his life of glory and poverty he was
always able to say, "I have been what I ought!"

[Signature: Hezekiah Butterworth.]

GEORGE STEPHENSON[10]

[Footnote 10: Copyright, 1894, by Selmar Hess.]

By Professor C. M. WOODWARD

(1781-1848)

[Illustration: Steam engine.]

Far in the north of England, near the Scottish border, by the shore
of the German Ocean, is the county of brown and barren hills called
Northumberland, and its principal city, Newcastle, famous for its
coal. There is another Newcastle near the centre of England, so this
one is often distinguished by the name "Newcastle-on-Tyne"--Tyne
being the blackest and dirtiest of all rivers.

A few miles from Newcastle, up the Tyne, is the little mining
village of Wylam, where, a hundred years ago, lived Robert
Stephenson and his wife Mabel. There was no style about Wylam, and
few evidences of wealth or culture. The houses straggled about near
the outlets of the coal-mines, and everything was as uninviting as
it well could be. Stephenson's house, or rather "shanty," had but
one room, and that had an earthen floor. Robert and Mabel were about
as ill-furnished as their house; for neither could read, they had
not a book nor a print, and neither knew much more of the world than
could be seen, as they stood on the bank of the Tyne and looked
about on the neighboring hills and down toward Newcastle. In 1892 I
rode d