force in the muscles of horses, in the expansive potency of steam, but
here we have force stripped stark naked,--nothing but a filament to
cover its nudity,--and yet showing its might in efforts that would task
the working-beam of a ponderous steam-engine. I am thankful that in an
age of cynicism I have not lost my reverence. Perhaps you would wonder
to see how some very common sights impress me. I always take off my hat
if I stop to speak to a stone-cutter at his work. "Why?" do you ask me?
Because I know that his is the only labor that is likely to endure.
A score of centuries has not effaced the marks of the Greek's or
the Roman's chisel on his block of marble. And now, before this new
manifestation of that form of cosmic vitality which we call electricity,
I feel like taking the posture of the peasants listening to the Angelus.
How near the mystic effluence of mechanical energy brings us to the
divine source of all power and motion! In the old mythology, the right
hand of Jove held and sent forth the lightning. So, in the record of the
Hebrew prophets, did the right hand of Jehovah cast forth and direct
it. Was Nahum thinking of our far-off time when he wrote, "The chariots
shall rage in the streets, they shall justle one against another in
the broad ways: they shall seem like torches, they shall run like the
lightnings"?

Number Seven had finished reading his paper. Two bright spots in his
cheeks showed that he had felt a good deal in writing it, and the
flush returned as he listened to his own thoughts. Poor old fellow! The
"cracked Teacup" of our younger wits,--not yet come to their full
human sensibilities,--the "crank" of vulgar tongues, the eccentric, the
seventh son of a seventh son, too often made the butt of thoughtless
pleasantry, was, after all, a fellow-creature, with flesh and blood like
the rest of us. The wild freaks of his fancy did not hurt us, nor did
they prevent him from seeing many things justly, and perhaps sometimes
more vividly and acutely than if he were as sound as the dullest of us.

The teaspoons tinkled loudly all round the table, as he finished
reading. The Mistress caught her breath. I was afraid she was going
to sob, but she took it out in vigorous stirring of her tea. Will you
believe that I saw Number Five, with a sweet, approving smile on her
face all the time, brush her cheek with her hand-kerchief? There must
have been a tear stealing from beneath its eyelid. I hope Number Seve