LIFE'S HEROES

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Call him hero, if you wish it, who in storm or conflagra

tion,

Risks his life in deadly peril to preserve a friend or foe; Still the act, though brave, may cost him far less trouble and vexation

Than the slightest manly effort to restrain his passion's flow.

E'en ignoble men and hardened, nature's coarse and wholly brutal,

Sometimes, spurred by love of plaudits, seem to play the hero's rôle;

Theirs is but a noble purpose, and their claim must e'er prove futile,

If they wish their names as heroes fair inscribed on Honor's scroll.

See the oft-recurring struggles, daily combats, trials bitter That beset the faithful Christian, striving for celestial

crown;

Is not he who here is victor far more noble, better, fitter To receive our glad acclaim and win a lasting bright renown?

Some there are, both high and lowly, who repine not when they're smitten,

Cheerful while their spirits quiver 'neath affliction's heavy rod:

These are heroes, brave and worthy, and their names are

ever written,

Not on fleeting human records, but in volumes penned by God.

ON THE RHINE

WILLIAM LISLE BOWLES

WILLIAM LISLE BOWLES; born at King's Sutton, Northamptonshire, England, September 24, 1762; died at Salisbury, England, April 7, 1850. He is known as a poet and antiquary. Some of his best literary productions are, "Fourteen Sonnets"; "Ellen Gray"; "St. Michael's Mount"; "Sorrows of Switzerland"; and the "Spirit of Discovery." He left many prose writings, including "Hermes Britannicus."

'Twas morn, and beautiful the mountain's brow.
Hung with the clusters of the bending vine,
Shone in the early light when on the Rhine
We sailed and heard the waters round the prow
In murmurs parting. Varying as we go,
Rocks after rocks come forward and retire,
As some gray convent wall or sunlit spire
Starts up along the banks, unfolding slow.
Here castles, like the prisons of despair,

Frown as we pass! There on the vineyard's side,
The bursting sunshine pours its streaming tide,
While grief, forgetful amid scenes so fair,
Counts not the hours of a long summer's day,

Nor heeds how fast the prospect winds away.

JOHN BOYLE O'REILLY

JAMES JEFFREY ROCHE

JAMES JEFFREY ROCHE, poet, author, journalist; born at Mountmellick, Queen's County, Ireland, 1847; died at Berne, Switzerland, April 3, 1908. At an early age his family moved to Prince Edward's Island. His elementary education was obtained in a school directed by his father, Edward Roche, an accomplished scholar and teacher. He took the classical course at St. Dunstan's College, Charlestown. For seventeen years after he came to Boston, in 1866, he was engaged in commercial pursuits, but he continued to write articles for the press. He was for years connected with the Detroit Free Press and the Boston Pilot, becoming John Boyle O'Reilly's assistant on the Pilot in the year 1883. After the death of the editor, in 1890, he became editor-in-chief of the journal. His writings rank him high as a poet and journalist. Among his chief works are "Songs and Satires"; "Life of John Boyle O'Reilly"; "His Majesty the King"; "By Ways of War"; "The V-A-S-E and other Bric-a-Brac"; "Songs of Blue Wate,' "Story of Filibusters."

JAMES JEFFREY ROCHE

August 10, 1890.

Have thy people climbed to Nebo?
Is the Promised Land in sight,
And the pleasant fields of Canaan
Radiant in the morning light?

Strike the harp, and sound the timbrel,
For the weary night is past,

For their wanderings are over,
And the day hath come at last.

Lift on high the little children;
Lead the elders forth to see;
Let the maidens sing in gladness
Of the joy that is to be.

Now for them the bulwarks totter,
Now for them the Jordan dries,—
But our chief is dead on Phasga;
In the stranger land he lies.

Wonder not if we be silent;
Chide not if our eyes be dim;
We are mourning for our Prophet-
Israel hath no more like him!

Thou must learn to beat down self in many things, if thou wouldst live in peace and concord with others.

-Thomas à Kempis.

Lost, yesterday, somewhere between sunrise and sunset. two golden hours, each set with sixty diamond minutes. No reward offered, for they are gone forever.

-Horace Mann.

THE DESCENT OF THE HOLY GHOST

After our Lord had ascended into heaven, the apostles and His Mother waited hopefully for the coming of the Holy Ghost whom Jesus had promised. The apostles

knew they had a great work to do, to go out into the world and give to men the message which the Lord Jesus had delivered to them.

When the fiftieth day after the Resurrection and the tenth after the Ascension were accomplished, they all assembled together in one place to await the coming of the Holy Ghost who had been promised.

Suddenly there came a sound from heaven, as of a mighty wind, and it filled the whole house where they were sitting; and there appeared to them parted tongues, as it were, of fire, and sat upon every one of them. They were all filled with the Holy Ghost, and they began to speak with divers tongues according as the Holy Ghost gave them to speak.

At this time there were in Jerusalem Jews, devout men out of every nation under heaven; and when this was noised abroad the multitude came together, and were confounded in mind, because that every man heard them speak