of earth and air and sea, began to do her bidding and cast their treasures at her feet.

From the thirteen parent Colonies thirty-eight great States and Territories have been born. At first a broad land of forest and prairie stretched far and wide, needing only the labor of man to render it fruitful. Men came; across the Atlantic, breasting its storms, sped mighty fleets, carrying hither brigades and divisions of the grand army of labor.

They came from field and forest in the noble German land—from where, amid cornfield and vineyard and flowers, the lordly Rhine flows proudly towards the sea; from Ireland from heath-covered hill and grassy valley, from where the giant cliffs standing as sentinels for Europe meet the first shock of the Atlantic and hurl back its surges, broken and shattered in foam. From France and Switzerland, from Italy and Sweden, from all the winds of heaven, they came; and as their battle line advanced, the desert fell back subdued, and in its stead sprang up corn and fruit, the olive and the vine, and gardens that blossomed like the rose.

Of triumphs like these, who can estimate the value? The population of three millions a hundred years ago has risen to forty-three millions to-day. We have great cities, great manufactures, great commerce, great wealth, great luxury and splendor. Seventy-four thousand miles of railway conquer distance, and make

all our citizens neighbors to one another. All these things are great and good, and can be turned to good. But they are not all. Whatever fate may befall this republic, whatever vicissitudes or disasters may be before her, this praise, at least, can never be denied to this glory she has won forever, that for one hundred years she has been hospitable and generous; that she gave to the stranger a welcome opened to him all the treasures of her liberty, gave him free scope for all his ability, a free career, and fair play.

And this it is that most endears this republic to other nations, and has made fast friends for her in the homes of the peoples all over the earth; not her riches, not her nuggets of gold, not her mountains of silver, not her prodigies of mechanical skill, great and valuable though these things be. It is this that most of all makes her name beloved and honored: that she has been always broad and liberal in her sympathies; that she has given homes to the homeless, land to the landless; that she has secured for the greatest number of those who have dwelt on her wide domain a larger measure of liberty and peace and happiness, and for a greater length of time, than has ever been enjoyed by any other people on this earth. For this reason, the peoples all over the earth, and through all time, will call this republic blessed.

RICHARD O'GORMAN.

THE STRING OF THE ROSARY

Arbutus came from out the moist earth peeping,
And then a violet and a Bethlehem star,

And when a daisy smiled which had been sleeping
Down in the pines, where sheltered corners are,
The fields were hidden in a soft green cover
And our whole world was Lady April's lover.

The lilacs burst and filled the air with incense,
Then roses crowded in the way of June,

Beauties well guarded by their thorns and leaves dense.
Ruddy in daylight, pale 'neath harvest moon;
From pure white to deepest crimson ranging,
In loveliness from bud to blossom changing.

Then maples in the autumn! And the aster,
I saw last year its petals ruby red,
Gold-hearted, aromatic; fast and faster

The year sped onward to the years that fled;
But gorgeous were the banners borne before him;
And clouds took purple vestments to adore him.

The last sad days were not so sad in passing,
The barns were full, and hiding here and there,
A late flower bloomed; and to the eastward massing
Against the wind, the cedar hedges were

Green all the year, and greener in the winter; Them ocean gales could neither bend nor splinter.

These have their meaning; every month and season
Speaks to the Christian heart a tale of love;
We, knowing this, in each may find a reason

For tender thoughts for the dear Lord above; Red roses say, "The Sacred Heart remember!" "Eternal life!" cry hedges in December.

Poor is the man who sees but earthly flowers,
Hears only earthly voices in the trees,
And finds no symbols in the star-lit hours,
Though his great wealth be blazoned over seas;
Poor! if he in the cloud sees only vapor
And in the sun a larger useful taper.

Fair silver lines the cloud of sternest duty,

There is a glow on all our week-day deeds; Through all the year there runs a string of beauty Like the bright chain that holds the rosary beads. Life is not hard seen through the Resurrection; Nature, read rightly, helps us to perfection.1

MAURICE FRANCIS EGAN.

1 From Songs and Sonnets. Copyright, 1898, by Benziger Brothers.

THE WIND THAT SHAKES THE BARLEY

There's music in my heart all day,

I hear it late and early,

It comes from fields are far away,
The wind that shakes the barley.
Ochone!

Above the uplands drenched with dew,
The sky hangs soft and pearly,

An emerald world is listening to
The wind that shakes the barley.
Ochone!

Above the bluest mountain crest
The lark is singing rarely,

It rocks the singer into rest,

The wind that shakes the barley.
Ochone!

Oh, still through summers and through springs It calls me late and early.

Come home, come home, come home, it sings, The wind that shakes the barley.

Ochone!

- KATHERINE TYNAN.