"Yes, you have come from a place of sorrow. If you leave that mournful place with thoughts of hatred and anger against your fellow man, you are worthy of pity; if you leave it with thoughts of kindliness, gentleness and peace, you are worth more than any of us.

Meanwhile Madame Magloire had served the supper. The Bishop during the whole evening did not utter a word which could remind this man of what he was. He supped with Jean Valjean with the same air and in the same way as if he had been M Gedeon le Provost or the parish curate. Was not this really charity?

The rooms were so arranged that in order to reach the oratory where the alcove was it was necessary to pass through the Bishop's bedroom. At the moment he went through this room Madame Magloire was putting away the plate in the cupboard over the bed head.

"I trust you will pass a good night," said the Bishop. 66 Thank you, Monsieur le Abbe." He suddenly turned, "What! you really lodge me so close to you as that? Who tells you that I have not committed a murder?"

"That concerns God."

The Bishop stretched out two fingers of his right hand and blessed the man, who did not bow his head, and returned to his bedroom.

As two o'clock peeled from the cathedral bell Jean Valjean awoke. One thought held his mind, the six silver forks and spoons and the great ladle which alone was worth two hundred francs, or double what he had earned in nineteen years.

A

When three o'clock struck it seemed to say, "To work!" He noiselessly opened his knapsack, took a bar in his right hand, walked toward the door of the adjoining room and pushed it boldly. A badly-oiled hinge suddenly uttered a hoarse prolonged cry in the darkness. Jean Valjean started, shuddering and dismayed. few minutes passed; nothing had stirred. He heard from the end of the room the calm and regular breathing of the sleeping Bishop. Suddenly he stopped, for he was close to the bed. At this moment a cloud was rent asunder and a moonbeam suddenly illumined the Bishop's

pale face. The sleeper seemed to be surrounded by a glory. There was almost a divinity in this unconsciously august man. Jean Valjean was standing in the shadow with the crowbar in his hand, motionless and terrified. He had never seen anything like this before, and such confidence horrified him. It seemed as though he was hesitating between two abysses, the one that saves and the one that destroys. He was ready to dash out the Bishop's brain or kiss his hand. A moonbeam rendered dimly visible the crucifix over the mantelpiece; it seemed to open its arms for both, with a blessing for one and a pardon for the other. All at once Jean Valjean went straight to the cupboard, seized the plate basket, hurried across the room, opened the window, put the silver in his pocket, threw away the basket, leaped into the garden, bounded over the wall like a tiger, and fled.

The next morning at service Monsiegneur was walking outside when Madame Magloire came running toward him in a state of great alarm.

"Monsiegneur, the man is gone-the plate is stolen." "Was that plate ours?" Madame Magloire was

speechless.

"Madame Magloire, I had wrongfully held back this silver, which belonged to the poor. Who was this person Evidently a poor man."

As the brother and sister were leaving the breakfast table there was a knock at the door.

"Come in," said the Bishop.

The door opened and a strange and violent group appeared on the threshold. Three men were holding a fourth by the collar-the fourth was Jean Valjean.

Monsiegneur had advanced as rapidly as his great age permitted, saying:

"Ah, there you are; I am glad to see you. Why, I gave you the candlesticks, too, which are also silver. Why did you not take them away with the rest of the plate?"

Jean Valjean looked at the Bishop with an expression no human language could describe.

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'Monsiegneur, then what this man told us was true.

We met him and, as he looked as if he were running away, we arrested him. He had this plate."

"And he told you that it was given to him by an old priest at whose house he had passed the night? I see it all. And you brought him back here; that was a mistake."

The gendarmes loosed their hold of Jean Valjean, who tottered back.

"My friend, before you go take your candlesticks." Jean Valjean was trembling in all his limbs; he took the candlesticks mechanically, and with wandering looks. "Now, go in peace. By-the-by, when you return, my friend, it is unnecessary to pass through the garden, for you can always enter, day and night, by the front door, which is only latched."

Then turning to the gendarmes he said, "Gentlemen, you can retire."

Jean Valjean looked as if he were on the point of fainting. The Bishop walked up to him and said:

"Never forget that you have promised me to employ this money in becoming an honest man. Jean Valjean, my brother, you no longer belong to evil but to good. I have bought your soul of you. I withdraw it from black thoughts and the spirit of perdition, and give it to God."

VICTOR HUGO.

MONEY MUSK.

[An old-time favorite abridged for public reading.]
AH, the buxom girls that helped the boys—
The nobler Helens of humbler Troys-
As they stripped the husks with rustling fold
From eight-rowed corn as yellow as gold,

By the candle-light, in pumpkin bowls,
And the gleams that showed fantastic holes
In the quaint old lantern's tattooed tin,
From the hermit glim set up within;

By the rarer light in girlish eyes
As dark as wells, or as blue as skies.
I hear the laugh when the ear is red,
I see the blush with the forfeit paid,

The cedar cakes with the ancient twist,
The cider cup that the girls have kissed:
And I see the fiddler through the dusk
As he twangs the ghost of "Money Musk

The boys and girls in a double row
Wait face to face till the magic bow
Shall whip the tune from the violin,
And the merry pulse of the feet begin.

In shirt of check, and tallowed hair,
The fiddler sits in the bulrush chair
Like Moses' basket stranded there

On the brink of Father Nile
He feels the fiddle's slender neck,

Picks out the note, with thrum and check:
And times the tune with nod and beck,
And thinks it a weary while.

All ready! Now he gives the call,-
Cries, "Honor to the ladies!" All

The jolly tides of laughter fall

And ebb in a happy smile.

D-o-w-n comes the bow on every string.
"First couple join right hands and swing !"
As light as any blue-bird's wing—

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Swing once and a half times round"

Whirls Mary Martin all in blue-
Calico gown and stockings new,
And tinted eyes that tell you true,

Dance all to the dancing sound.

She flits about big Moses Brown,
Who holds her hands to keep her down
And thinks her hair a golden crown,

And his heart turns over once!
His cheek with Mary's breath is wet,-
It gives a second somerset!

He means to win the maiden yet,

Alas, for the awkward dance!

"Your stoga boct has crushed my toe!
I'd rather dance with one-legged Joe!
You clumsy fellow !" "Pass below!"

And the first pair dance apart.

Then "Forward six!" advance, retreat,
Like midges gay in sunbeam street,
'Tis Money Musk by merry teet

And the Money Musk by heart!

"Three quarters round your partner swing !"
"Across the set!" The rafters ring,
The girls and boys have taken wing

And have brought their roses out!
Tis "Forward six !" with rustic grace,
An. rarer far than-" Swing to place!"-
Than golden clouds of old point-lace
They bring the dance about.

Then clasping hands, all-" Right and left !"-
All swiftly weave the measure deft

Across the woof in loving weft,

And the Money Musk is done!"

BENJ. F. TAYLOR.

THE KING AND THE COTTAGE.

THERE once was a king on his throne of gold seated; His courtiers in smiles were all standing around; They heard him with news of fresh victories greeted; The skies with the joy of his people resound;