r and Beethoven and Mozart, and the mighty art of these
great masters fills and re-creates all our existence.

Sometimes in these divine hours, thrilled by the touch of a companion
whose heart beats against and consonantly with mine, I catch glimpses of
the possibilities of a free life of the spirit when it shall be released
from earth and gravitation, and I conjecture the breadth of a future
existence. This will only seem irrational to such as have squeezed out
their souls flat between the hard edges of dollars, or have buried them
among theologic texts which they are too self-wise to understand.
History and the experience of the young are with me.

From twelve to four you sup, when, and as, and where, you will. A
succession of little rooms lie open around an atrium, all different as
to size and ornament, yet none too large for a single couple, and none
too small for the reunion of six. What charming accidents of company and
conversation sometimes occur in these Lucullian boudoirs! You pass and
repass, come and go, at your own pleasure. Waltzing, and Burgundy, and
Love, and Woodcock are here combined into a dramatic poem, in which we
are all star performers, and sure of applause. These hours cannot last
forever, and the first daybeams that tell of morning, are accompanied by
those vague feelings of languor that hint to us that we are mortal. Then
we pause, and separate before these faint hints of our imperfection
deepen into distasteful monitions, and before our fulness of enjoyment
degenerates into satiety. Antiquity has conferred an immortal blessing
upon us in bequeathing to us that golden legend, NE QUID NIMIS;[19] a
legend better than all the teachings of Galen, or than all the dialogues
of Socrates. For in these brief words are compressed the experiences of
the best lives, and Alcibiades and Zeno might equally profit by them.
They contain the priceless secret of happiness; and do you, reader,
wisely digest them till we meet again.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 19: 'Not too much.']

THE SOLDIER.

[BURNS.]

For gold the merchant ploughs the main,
The farmer ploughs the manor;
But glory is the soldier's pride,
The soldier's wealth is honor.
The brave, poor soldier ne'er despise,
Nor count him as a stranger;
Remember he's his country's stay
In day and hour of danger!

OUR PRESENT POSITION: ITS DANGERS AND ITS DUTIES.

ADDRESSED TO THE PEOPLE OF ALL POLITICAL PARTIES.