ticable on the ground that the batteries then umph he was on the verge of despair when used would not send the fluid through even in this very Capitol his project met the jeers two hundred feet of wire without a sensible of almost a majority of the national legisladiminution of its force. In 1831, Joseph ture. But when has despair yielded to such Henry, now secretary of the Smithsonian a triumph? When has such a morning risen Institution, then a professor at Albany, New on such a night? To all cavillers and doubtYork, as the result of numerous experiments ers this instrument and its language are a tridiscovered a method by which he produced a umphant answer. That chainless spirit which battery of such intensity as to overcome the fills the immensity of space with its invisible difficulty spoken of by Barlow in 1825. By presence, which dwells in the blaze of the means of this discovery he magnetized soft sun, follows the path of the farthest star and iron at a great distance from the battery, courses the depths of earth and sea-that pointed out the fact that a telegraph was mighty telegraph was mighty spirit has at last yielded to the hupossible, and actually rang a bell by means man will. It has entered a body prepared of the electro-magnet acting on a long wire. for its dwelling; it has found a voice through This was the last step in the series of great which it speaks to the human ear; it has discoveries which preceded the invention of taken its place as the humble servant of the telegraph. man; and through all coming time its work will be associated with the name and fame of Samuel F. B. Morse. Were there no other proof of the present value of his work, these alone would suffice that throughout the world, whatever the When these discoveries ended, the work of the inventor began. It was in 1832-the year that succeeded the last of these great discoveries-when Professor Morse first turned his thoughts to that work whose triumph is the triumph of his race. He had devoted twen-language or the dialect of those who use it, ty-two years of his manhood to the study and practice of art; he had sat at the feet of the great masters of Europe, and had already by his own works of art achieved a noble name; and he now turned to the grander work of interpreting to the world that subtle and mysterious element with which the thinkers of the human race had so long been occupied. I cannot here recount the story of that long struggle through which he passed to the accomplishment of his great result how he struggled with poverty, with the vast difficulties of the subject itself, with the unfaith, the indifference and the contempt which almost everywhere confronted him; how at the very moment of his tri the telegraph speaks a language whose first element is the alphabet of Morse; and in 1869, of the sixteen thousand telegraphic instruments used on the lines of Europe, thirteen thousand were of the pattern invented by him. The future of this great achievement can be measured by no known standards. Morse gave us the instrument and the alphabet; the world is only beginning to spell out the lesson whose meaning the future will read. JAMES ABRAM GARFIELD. The bleak wind of March Made her tremble and shiver, But not the dark arch, Or the black flowing river; In she plunged boldly, No matter how coldly The rough river ran. Over the brink of it: Picture it, think of it, Dissolute man! Lave in it, drink of it, Then, if you can. Take her up tenderly, Lift her with careFashioned so slenderly, Young, and so fair! Ere her limbs frigidly Decently, kindly, Dreadfully staring Through muddy impurity, As when with the daring Last look of despairing Fixed on futurity. Perishing gloomily, Spurred by contumely, Cold inhumanity, Into her rest, Cross her hands humbly, As if praying dumbly, Over her breast, Owning her weakness, And leaving, with meekness, THOMAS HOOD. FOR A' THAT AND A' THAT. S there for honest poverty Wha hangs his head, and a' that? The coward slave, we pass him by; We dare be poor for a' that. For a' that, and a' that, Our toil's obscure, and a' that; What though on hamely fare we dine, For a' that, and a' that, Their tinsel show, and a' that; The honest man, though e'er sae poor, Is king o' men for a' that. Ye see yon birkie ca'd a lord, Wha struts, and stares, and a' that: Though hundreds worship at his word, He's but a coof for a' that; For a' that, and a' that, His riband, star, and a' that; The man of independent mind, He looks and laughs at a' that. A prince can mak a belted knight, A marquis, duke, and a' that; But an honest man's aboon his might— Their dignities, and a' that, Then let us pray that come it may As come it will for a' thatThat sense and worth, o'er a' the earth, May bear the gree, and a' that. For a' that, and a' that, It's coming yet, for a' that When man to man, the warld o’er, ROBERT BURNS.* A MAN'S A MAN FOR A' THAT. "A MAN'S a man," said Robert Burns, "For a' that and a' that;' But, though the song be clear and strong, The lout who'd shirk his daily work, If all who dine on homely fare Were true and brave, and a' that, And none whose garb is "hodden gray Was fool and knave, and a' that, *This poem was written by Burns under the following circumstances: He was invited to a nobleman's mansion, where he entertained the company with singing until dinner-time, when he was sent to dine with the upper servants. After dinner he joined the company, and was again called upon to sing, when, rising, he sung the above song and departed. The vice and crime that shame our time You see yon brawny, blustering sot Who swaggers, swears, and a' that, And thinks, because his strong right arm Mig fell an ox, and a' that, That he's as noble, man for man, As duke and lord, and a' that? He's but a brute, beyond dispute, And not a man, for a' that. A man may own a large estate, Have palace, park, and a' that, And not for birth, but honest worth, Be thrice a man for a' that, And Donald, herding on the muir, Who beats his wife, and a' that, Be nothing but a rascal boor, Nor half a man, for a' that. It comes to this, dear Brother BurnsThe truth is old, and a' that"The rank is but the guinea's stamp, The man's the gold, for a' that." And, though you'd put the minted mark On copper, brass, and a' that, The lie is gross, the cheat is plain, And will not pass for a' that. For a' that, and a' that, 'Tis soul and heart, and a' that, That makes the king a gentleman, And not his crown, and a' that. And, man with man, if rich or poor, The best is he, for a' that. Who stands erect, in self-respect. And acts the man for a' that. CHARLES MACKAY TH THEOCRITUS. HEOCRITUS, who flourished about 282 B. C., was the son of Praxagoras and Philina, and a native of Syracuse. He appears, however, to have chiefly resided in Egypt, under the patronage of Ptolemy Philadelphus, whose eulogium he composed. The poetry of Theocritus is marked by the strength and vivacity of original genius. Everything is distinct and peculiar; everything is individualized and brought strongly and closely to the eye and understanding of the reader, so as to stamp the impression of reality. His scenes of nature, and his men and women, are equally striking for circumstance and manners, and may equally be described by the epithet "picturesque." None with such art, the basket at her side, The needle's picturing threads, inventive. plied, So crossed the woof, the sliding shuttle threw, Will print the verdure of the leafy mead, |