They can only shriek, shriek,
Out of tune,

In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire,
In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire
Leaping higher, higher, higher,
With a desperate desire

And a resolute endeavor
Now-now to sit or never,
By the side of the pale-faced moon.
Oh, the bells, bells, bells,

What a tale their terror tells
Of despair!

How they clang and clash and roar!
What a horror they outpour

On the bosom of the palpitating air!
Yet the ear it fully knows,

By the twanging

And the clanging,

How the danger ebbs and flows;

Yet the ear distinctly tells,

In the jangling

And the wrangling,

How the danger sinks and swells,

By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells,

Of the bells,

Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells!

In the clamor and the clangor of the bells.

Hear the tolling of the bells

Iron bells!

What a world of solemn thought their monody compels !

In the silence of the night,

How we shiver with affright

At the melancholy menace of their tone!
For every sound that floats

From the rust within their throats
Is a groan.

And the people—ah, the people
They that dwell up in the steeple,
All alone,

And who, tolling, tolling, tolling,
In that muffled monotone,

Feel a glory in so rolling

On the human heart a stone:
They are neither man nor woman;
They are neither brute nor human;
They are ghouls:

And their king it is who tolls;
And he rolls, rolls, rolls,

Rolls

A pæan from the bells!

And his merry bosom swells
With the pæan of the bells,
And he dances and he yells,
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the pæan of the bells-
Of the bells:

Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,

To the throbbing of the bells

Of the bells, bells, bells

To the sobbing of the bells;

Keeping time, time, time,

As he knells, knells, knells,
In a happy Runic rhyme,

To the rolling of the bells-
Of the bells, bells, bells-

To the tolling of the bells-
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells-

To the moaning and the

crys' tal line, like crystals.

eu' pho ny, succession of sweet sounds. ghoul (gool), an imaginary being supposed to feed upon human bodies. mon' o dy, mournful poem or song for one voice.

groaning of the bells!

pæ'an, a song of praise and triumph.
pal' pi ta' ting, throbbing.
Ru' nic, like the Norse alphabet.
tin' tin nab' u la' tion, a tinkling
sound.

tur' bu len cy, commotion.

TURN ON THE LIGHT.

FRANCES E. WILLARD.

A while ago I visited the Atlantic Cable Company's office at Sydney, Cape Breton Island, where many thousands of telegraphic messages pass over the wires and under the sea each day. The manager, a telegraph man of thirty years' experience, showed us about the place.

"That's Berlin," he said, listening to the operators; "that's London; that's New York. Here is Wheatstone's automatic transmitter; there are the Western Union standard quadruples (Edison's). We

send four messages now upon one wire at the same time, and could send almost any number, the difficulty being in the adaptation of mechanical contrivances to different systems of notation. Here is the automatic repeater; here the new method of insulation; here are eleven hundred cells, constituting our battery; here are the ends of the cables that start from Heart's Content, Newfoundland."

Thus he went on, making the modern miracle of electric communication as plain as words could make it to the uninitiated.

"In one minute we can send a message to London and receive an answer," he said. "We could do it in less time; indeed, the electric part is done in no time, but, you see, in New York a man's brainbattery must grasp, and his hand must transmit, the message; then here in Sydney another man must repeat it; then at Heart's Content, Newfoundland, a third man takes and gives it; then it is repeated at Valencia Bay, Ireland, and then in London. But for these repetitions the question and answer would be exchanged across five thousand miles in practically no time at all-far more rapidly than human lips could utter the words."

Looking around upon the army of young men who were keeping up this fusillade by which distance is demolished, we asked: "Do you employ moderate drinkers here?"

Swiftly came the answer: "Not at all; we must have the brain at its clearest, the hand at its best. We can't afford to have young men that drink.”

He went on to say that he believed the temperance workers could hardly overestimate the value

to the total abstinence cause of the multiplying modern inventions that put such a splendid premium upon teetotalism.

He was right; the sure, slow lift of civilization's tidal wave is with us. Ten thousand forces are perpetually at work to move forward the white car of temperance reform. We who give our whole lives. to the movement are hardly more than the weathervane that shows which way the breeze is blowing.

Let us, therefore, rejoice and take courage; every invention, every intricate machine, every swift-moving engine hastens the dominance of Him upon whose shoulder shall yet be a government "into which shall enter nothing that defileth."

ab'sti nence, abstaining from drink. au' to matic, acting without outside help.

dom'i nance, ascendency.

fu' sil lade', shooting by a simultaneous discharge of firearms; hence, attack by many persons together.

in' su la' tion, a detaching from other objects, so that electricity can not escape.

quad' ru ple, four together.

trans mit' ter, instrument for sending. un' in i'ti a' ted (ish'), those unacquainted with.

LEAD, KINDLY LIGHT.

CARDINAL NEWMAN.

Lead, kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom,
Lead Thou me on!

The night is dark, and I am far from home
Lead Thou me on!

Keep Thou my feet; I do not ask to see
The distant scene- one step enough for me.