honor of
forming from the clay, a model of the figure of him whose name,
"John Christopher Frederick," had been written by his father in the
Bible. The bust was cast in bronze, and part of the metal used for
this purpose was the old church bell, whose tones had died away from
the memory of those at home and elsewhere. The metal, glowing with
heat, flowed into the mould, and formed the head and bust of the
statue which was unveiled in the square in front of the old castle.
The statue represented in living, breathing reality, the form of him
who was born in poverty, the boy from Marbach, the pupil of the
military school, the fugitive who struggled against poverty and
oppression, from the outer world; Germany's great and immortal poet,
who sung of Switzerland's deliverer, William Tell, and of the
heaven-inspired Maid of Orleans.

It was a beautiful sunny day; flags were waving from tower and
roof in royal Stuttgart, and the church bells were ringing a joyous
peal. One bell was silent; but it was illuminated by the bright
sunshine which streamed from the head and bust of the renowned figure,
of which it formed a part. On this day, just one hundred years had
passed since the day on which the chiming of the old church bell at
Marbach had filled the mother's heart with trust and joy--the day on
which her child was born in poverty, and in a humble home; the same
who, in after-years, became rich, became the noble woman-hearted poet,
a blessing to the world--the glorious, the sublime, the immortal bard,
John Christoper Frederick Schiller!

[1] The Danish sculptor Thorwaldsen.

THE OLD GRAVE-STONE

In a house, with a large courtyard, in a provincial town, at
that time of the year in which people say the evenings are growing
longer, a family circle were gathered together at their old home. A
lamp burned on the table, although the weather was mild and warm,
and the long curtains hung down before the open windows, and without
the moon shone brightly in the dark-blue sky.

But they were not talking of the moon, but of a large, old stone
that lay below in the courtyard not very far from the kitchen door.
The maids often laid the clean copper saucepans and kitchen vessels on
this stone, that they might dry in the sun, and the children were fond
of playing on it. It was, in fact, an old grave-stone.

"Yes," said the master of the house, "I believe the stone came
from the graveyard of the old church of the convent which wa