Christ as the "Son of Man" standing in the temple and saying, while Sabbath and temple were being transformed, "A greater than the temple here."

Erasmus said meditatively, in Vian's hearing, "Even the Sabbath was made for man, and not man for the Sabbath "—and he wanted to say that man was God's child, and dearer to Him than all else; but they were nearing Glastonbury Thorn.

The abbot was eloquent; and Vian wondered at what was sure to be plain to him at a later day-what could Master Erasmus have meant by that quotation about the Sabbath which the boy had already seen in the Vulgate?

"This is but an ordinary bush to profane eyes," said Abbot Richard, as if he would prevent any outburst of rationalism and irreverence on the part of Erasmus, whose words, especially when spoken in Vian's presence, he dreaded; "but it is something else to the eye of history and to the heart of faith."

"Sometimes, your Reverence, the over-zealous heart of faith makes the eye of history very near-sighted," remarked the unimpressible scholar.

It was a thrust which the abbot was glad Vian did not notice; but it nearly staggered the credulous and loquacious Churchman.-Monk and Knight.

CARE AND CARELESSNESS.

I care not that the storm sways all the trees
And floods the plain and blinds my trusting sight;
I only care that o'er the land and seas

Comes sometimes Love's perpetual peace and light.

I care not if the thunder-cloud be black,

Till that last instant when my work is done; I only care that o'er the gloomy rack

Flames forth the promise of a constant sun.

I care not that sharp thorns grow thick below
And wound my hands and scar my anxious feet;

I only care to know God's roses grow,

And I may somewhere find their odor sweet.

I care not if they be not white, but red

Red as the blood-drops from a wounded heart; I only care to ease my aching head

With faith that somewhere God hath done His part.

I care not that the furnace-fire of pain

Laps round and round my life and burns alway; I only care to know that not in vain

The fierce heats touch me throughout night and day.

I care not that the mass of molten ore
Trembles and bubbles at the chilly mold;
I only care that daily, more and more,
There comes to be a precious thing of gold.

I care not if, in years of such despair,
I reach in vain and seize no purpose vast;
I only care that I sometime, somewhere,
May find a meaning shining at the last.

-Songs of Night and Day.

GUNTER, ARCHIBALD CLAVERING, an Anglo-American novelist and playwriter, was born in Liverpool in 1847. His parents removed to California in 1853. He was educated in England and in the United States, graduating at University College, San Francisco. He followed his profession of mining and civil engineering in the West until 1874, when he became a stockbroker in San Francisco. In 1877 he removed to New York, and has since devoted himself to literature. His first play, entitled Cuba, was written while he was pursuing his collegiate studies. Later plays are Two Nights in Rome, produced in New York in 1889; Fresh, the American (1890), and more recently, in quick succession, Courage, After the Opera, The Wall Street Bandit, Prince Karl, and The Deacon's Daughter. He has also dramatized several of his own novels; of which the first, Mr. Barnes of New York (1887), has been published in several languages and by some half-dozen English publishing houses. Other novels are Mr. Potter of Texas (1888); That Frenchman (1889); Miss Nobody of Nowhere (1890); Small Boys in Big Boots (1890); Miss Dividends (1892); Baron Montez of Panama and Paris (1893); A Florida Enchantment (1893); A Princess of Paris (1894), and its sequel, The King's Stockbroker (1894), and The First of the English (1895).

VOL. XII.-II

THE PARIS SALON.

In one of the larger rooms of the Salon, a mass of people are striving to see one of the pictures of the season. French, English, Italians, Americans, Austrians, Germans, every nationality of the world are grouped together in the crowd, while from its depths pours out a confused variety of tongues, accents, dialects and languages that, massed together, make a lunacy of idea and babel of sound.

"Ich halte nicht viel davon!" "Mon Dieu! Quelle foule!"

"I prefer Gérôme !"

"This 'orrid jam is worse than Piccadilly!" "It reminds me of 'la Cigale !'"

"Je-rue-sa-lem! It looks like Sally Spotts in swimming!" This last comes from a cattle King from Kansas, who makes the remark on the edge of the crowd, but now excitedly forces his way toward the picture; and as he has the form of a Goliath and strength of a Samson, Mr. Barnes, who has been most of the past year in the United States, but has run over to Europe to avoid the American summer, concludes he is a good man to do the pushing and squeezing for him, and quietly drops into his wake.

"Cracky! It is Sally Spotts!" repeats the Westerner. And he is right; the belle of an Ohio village has wandered to Paris, and is now as celebrated for her beauty, though not, alas, for her virtue, in this capital of nations, as she once was as Sally Spotts in her rural American home. Her old father and mother mourn her as dead, and are happier than if they knew that the little innocent child that knelt and prayed with them each night before sleeping, lived as "La Belle Blackwood," that celebrity of the demi-monde, whose beauty makes so much of the attraction of this famous picture, for which she posed as the model.-Mr. Barnes of New York.

GUSTAFSON, ZADEL BARNES (wife of Abel Gustafson), an American poet and miscellaneous writer, born at Middletown, Conn., in 1841. At the age of fifteen she was a contributor to various periodicals. In 1871 she published a novel entitled Can the Old Love? and in 1878 a volume of poems entitled Meg, a Pastoral and other Poems. She has contributed numerous critical and biographical papers to leading magazines, and has edited Mr. Brooks's (Maria del Occidente) poem Zophiël, accompanying it with a sketch of the author's life. She became much interested in the temperance question, and in conjunction with her husband wrote The Foundation of Death, a Study of the Drink Question.

"Her poems brought her the warm recognition and personal friendship of the older American poets, and have placed her without question "we quote from Frances Hays's Women of the Day" in the foremost ranks of the younger." Whittier said of her tribute to Bryant, that he could only compare it to Milton's Lycidas; that it was "worthy of any living poet at least."

THE BLIND MAN'S SIGHT.

The blind man sees a world more fair

Than unsealed eyes behold:

A bluer sky, a softer air,

Its visioned scenes infold.