a crown were not at all a comfortable thing.

The gates of the palace were reached at last, the long, vast, tiresome
ceremonial was at an end. The home door swung open to receive her, and
out dashed her pet spaniel, barking a joyous welcome as he always did
when she had been away a long time. A girlish smile broke over
Victoria's face, for so many hours moulded into a maturer expression of
sovereignty, and crying, "There, Dash!" she unceremoniously ran in,
flung off her crown and royal robe and sceptre and ran upstairs to give
the dog his daily bath!

At that time Carlyle said of her: "Poor little Queen! She is at an age
when a girl can scarcely be trusted to choose a bonnet for herself, yet
a task is thrust upon her from which an archangel might shrink."

True indeed, but her Majesty, Queen Victoria, even at the moment of
doffing her crown to give her dog a bath, could with equal grace and
capability have answered a summons to discuss grave national issues, and
would have shown both good judgment and wisdom in the discussion. A
wonderful little woman she was, young for her task, but old for her age,
and as we see her standing in the famous portrait painted in her
coronation robes we see all that is fairest and noblest in both girl and
Queen. She stands there as though mounting the steps to her throne, her
head slightly turned, looking back over her shoulder, and we feel the
buoyancy of her youth and the dignity of her purity, a far more royal
robe than the one of velvet and ermine which is over her shoulders, and
we know that she is already worthy of the homage so universally paid
her, this girl Queen of England awaiting what the future may bring.

SALLY WISTER:

A Girl of the American Revolution

WINSOME SALLY WISTER! What a pretty picture she makes against the sombre
background of the Revolutionary times in which she lived,--with her
piquant face and merry eyes half hidden under her demure Quaker bonnet,
and her snowy kerchief crossed so smoothly over her tempestuous young
heart!

To one of the finest old families in Philadelphia Sally belonged. Her
father, Daniel Wister, was the only son of John Wister, a prosperous
wine merchant, and Sally was born at her grandfather's city home, which
stands on what is now Market Street, Philadelphia, spending her summers
at his country house in Germantown, which charming old homestead is
still shown as a landmark of the place.

In winter Sally was a pupil in the