He fixed on hers his broad black eye, scanning her inmost soul;

But her chill fingers trembled not as she returned the bowl.

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And we with lightsome hardihood, dismissing idle care, Sat down to eat and drink and laugh over our dainty fare.

The laugh was loud around the board, the jesting wild and lignt;

But I was fevered with the march, and drank no wine that night;

I just had filled a single cup, when through my very

brain"

Stung, sharper than a serpent's tooth, an infant's cry of pain.

Through all that heat of revelry, through all that boisterous cheer,

To every heart its feeble moan pierced, like a frozen

66

spear.

'Aye," shrieked the woman, darting up, “I pray you trust again

A widow's hospitality in our unyielding" Spain.

"Helpless and hopeless, by the light of God" Himself I

swore

To treat you as you treated him"-that body on the

floor.

You secret place I filled, to feel, that if ye did not spare, The treasure of a dread revenge was ready hidden there.

"A mother's love is deep, no doubt; ye did not phrase it ill,

But in your hunger ye forgot that hate is deeper still. The Spanish woman speaks for Spain;" for her butchered love, the wife,

To tell you that an hour is all my vintage leaves of life."

I cannot paint the many forms of wild despair put on, Nor count the crowded brave who sleep beneath a single

stone;

I can but tell you how, before that horrid hour went by, I saw the murderess beneath the self-avengers die.

But though upon her wrenched limbs they leaped like beasts of prey,

And with fierce hands, like madmen, tore the quivering life away

Triumphant hate and joyous scorn, without a trace of pain, Burned to the last, like sullen stars, in that haughty eye of Spain.

And often now it breaks my rest, the tumult vague and wild,

Drifting, like storm-tossed clouds,51 around the mother and her child

While she,52 distinct in raiment white, stands silently the while,

And sheds through torn and bleeding hair the same un changing smile.

SIR FRANCIS HASTINGS DOYLE.

ADDRESS TO BARTHOLDI'S STATUE.

[At the Baptist ministers' meeting, Chicago, February 25, 1889, a paper on "Woman's Suffrage" was presented by the Rev. H. S. Taylor, of Englewood. It showed the writer to be a valiant defender of the movement. It was prepared in reply to the Rev. Dr. P. S. Henson's advocacy of the other side of the question at a previous meeting. In concluding his lengthy argument Mr. Taylor said:]

THERE is at least one great woman in this country whose greatness no one will deny that is, if altitude

Indicated Gestures. 1. H. O. 2. H. O. 3. Left H. O. 4. D. F. 5. b. H. O. 6. H. O. Sweep. 7. D. O. 8. V. H. O. 9. b. V. par. H. O. 10. H. O. 11. P. H. O. 12. H. L. 13. Left Ptg. A. O. 14. H. O. 15. H. O. 16. V. D. O. 17. Imitate. 18. b. Cl. H. O. as though tearing apart. 19. raise hand P. 20. Look to left. 21. D. O. 22. Left H. L. 23. H. F. 24. H. O. 25. Ptg. D. O. 26. P. D. Sweep. 27. D O. 28. Look to D. O. 29. Look to left. 30. H. F. 31. H. L. 32. b. H. O. 33-34. Impulses. 35. H Sweep. 36. Sp. 37. Left D. O. 38. Inclination of Head to D. O. 39. B. H. O. 40. Hand to head. 41. D. F. 42. Point up. 43. H. F. 44. D. O. 45. Ptg. D. O. 46 Left H. L. 47. H. sweep. 48. D. O. 49. P. D. O. 51. H. Swing. 52. ME.

50. Imitate.

and greatness are synonymous. She dwells, but does not live, on Bedloe's Island, New York Harbor. She is a mighty woman, and a mightier paradox. She is French by birth, and American by adoption. She represents a Christian country, but is clothed in the pagan costume of Greece. She stands for modern enlightenment, but holds the vellum and stylus of antiquity. She is a woman, bu is vestal of liberty in a land where women have no political privileges, and she brandishes her torch toward old England, whose women are far in advance of ours in alí civil rights.

I am no artist, but I think I could improve her highness of Bedloe's. I would change her posture at least I would spin her around on her pedestal, and let her face inland awhile, and I would say to her, "Madame, lift your torch a bit higher, and look around you. You will see a great army of American women, the wisest, most cultivated, and best women on the earth. They are Americans, and with their brothers inherit this peerless America from a great and glorious estate built up by their patriotic fathers and mothers. These women have deserved their high lineage, and are worthy of this great inheritance. They, like their brothers, have labored to preserve the ancestral gift. In times of peace they have worked in the kitchen, factory and field. They have shared the poverty and privations of pioneer life, and with benevolent hands have helped to lay the foundation of churches and school-houses in the wilderness and beckon civilization to the West. In times of war they have seized the plow abandoned by their brothers, and by hard labor and prudent vigilance have made it pos sible for armies to subsist. Or, animated by unlookedfor daring, they have gone to the field, and as nurses, spies and sometimes with weapons, they have for fatherland put all on the cast of a die.

"And Madame, O Madame!" I would say, "these women are not greatly given to politics, but they see their country and their very children in imminent peril. Two hundred and fourteen thousand saloons are pursuing their sons, and 50,000 dens are hunting their daughters, and with the mother instinct which makes even the timid

quail ruffle her feathers and stand in defense of her young, she asks the ballot for her own and their protection. In the name of Christian womanhood, one member of which bore the infant Saviour into the world and another announced His resurrection, they have asked it of the Church only to prove the reverse of the rule, Ask and ye shall receive. In the name of Abigail Adams and Martha Washington, they have asked it of patriotic men, only to have the refusal made more offensive because it came coupled with absurd conventional compliments and panegyrics on woman's character. Madame, you are only a French lady, and can hardly tell how a live American woman feels still, you have been here long enough to know something about the basic ethics of the great Republic. Honestly, therefore, what do you think?" I do not know what effect my eloquence would have upon the copper lady, but if she should be half as much persuaded as I am she would sit down on her pedestal, quench her torch in the adjacent bay, and allow the immigrant streams of pauper criminals and anarchists to land at Castle Garden and get their ballots in the dark. REV. DR. P. S. HENSON.

THE SCHOLAR IN POLITICS.

WHEN the national debate was angriest it was the scholar of the Senate of the United States who held highest in his undaunted hands the flag of humanity and his country. While others bowed and bent around him, the form of Charles Sumner towered erect. Commerce and trade, and the mob of the club and of the street, hissed and sneered at him as a pedantic dreamer and fanatic. No kind of insult and defiance was spared. But the unbending scholar revealed to the haughty foe an antagonist as proud and resolute as itself. He supplied what the hour demanded, a sublime faith in liberty, the uncompromising spirit which interpreted the constitution and statutes for freedom and not for slavery. The fiery.

agitation became bloody battle. Still he strode on before. "I am only six weeks behind you," said Abraham Lincoln, the western frontiersman, to the New England scholar; and along the path that that scholar blazed in the wild wilderness of civil war, the path of emancipation and the constitutional equality of all citizens, his country followed fast to Union, peace and prosperity.

They are always called visionaries who hold that morality is stronger than a majority. Goldwin Smith says that Cobden felt that at heart England was a gentleman and not a bully. So thinks the educated American of his own country. He has felt enough confidence in the people to appeal to them against themselves, for he knows that the cardinal condition of popular government is the ability of the people to see and to correct their own errors. In a Republic, as the majority must control action, it tends constantly to usurp control of opinion. Its decree is accepted as the standard of right and wrong. To differ is grotesque and eccentric. To protest is preposterous. To defy is incendiary and revolutionary. But just here interposes educated intelligence and asserts the worth of self-reliance and the power of the individual. Gathering the wisdom of ages as into a sheaf of sunbeams, it shows that prosperity springs from the minority, and that if it will but stand fast, time will give it victory. At the battle of Lookout Mountain, when the reserves did not arrive, the impatient officers called to Thomas that the day was lost. "Time, gentlemen, give them time," replied the steadfast commander: and the brave boys came in time and won the victory.

It is the voice of the scholar which exposes the sophists who mislead the mob and pitilessly scourges the demagogues who flatter it. "All men know more than any man," haughtily shout the larger and lesser Talleyrands. It is a French epigram, replies the scholar, but not a general truth. A crowd is not wiser than the wisest man in it. For the purposes of the voyage the crew does not know more than the master of the ship. The Boston town meeting was not more sagacious than Sam Adams. "Vox populi, vox Dei," says the foaming rhetoric of the stump; the voice of the people is the

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