T

IT

SONGS IN THE NIGHT,

was in the Cedar Rapids sleeper. Outside it was dark as the inside of an ink-bottle. In the sleepingcar people slept―or tried to.

Some of them slept, like Christian men and women, peacefully, and sweetly, and quietly.

Others slept like demons, malignantly, hideously, fiendishly, as though it was their mission to keep everybody else awake.

Of these, the man in lower number three was the "boss." When it came to a square snore with variations, you wanted to count "lower three" in, with a full hand, and a pocketful of rocks.

We never heard anything snore like him. It was the most systematic snoring that was ever done, even on one of those tournaments of snoring, a sleeping-car. He did n't begin as soon as the lamps were turned down and everybody was in bed. Oh, no. There was more coldblooded diabolism in his system than that. He waited until everybody had had a little taste of sleep, just to see how good and pleasant it was, and then he broke in on their slumbers like a winged, breathing demon, and they never knew what peace was again that night.

He started out with a terrific

"Gn-r-r-r-t!"

We all hoped it

That opened every eye in the car. was an accident, however, and, trusting that he would n't do it again, we all forgave him. Then he blasted our hopes and curdled the sweet serenity of our forgiveness by a long-drawn

"Gw-a-h-h-h-hah!”

That sounded too much like business to be accidental. Then every head in that sleepless sleeper was held off the pillow for a minute, waiting, in breathlesss suspense, to hear the worst, and the sleeper in "lower three" went on, in long-drawn, regular cadences that indicated good staying qualities.

“Gwa-a-ah! Gwa-a-ah! Gahwahwah! Gah-wahwah! Gah-wa-a-a-a-ah!

Gwa-wah-ah!"

Evidently it was going to last all night, and the weary heads dropped back on the sleepless pillows, and the swearing began. It mumbled along in low muttering tones, like the distant echoes of a profane thunder-storm. Pretty soon "lower three" gave us a little variation. He shot off a spiteful

"Gwook!"

Which sounded as though his nose had got angry at him, and was going to strike. Then there was a pause, and we began to hope he had either awakened from sleep or strangled to death; nobody cared very particularly which. But he disappointed everybody with a guttural"Gurchoch!"

Then he paused again for breath, and when he had accumulated enough for his purpose he resumed business with a stentorious

"Kowpf!"

He ran through all the ranges of the nasal gamut, he went up and down a very chromatic scale of snores, he ran through intricate and fearful variations until it seemed that his nose must be out of joint in a thousand places. All the night, and all night through, he told his story.

"Gawoh! gurrah! gu-r-r-r! Kowpff! Gaw-aw-wah! gawahhah! gwock! gwarrt! gwah-h-h-ll-whoof!"

Just as the other passengers had consulted together

how they might slay him, morning dawned, and "lower number three" awoke. Everybody watched the curtain to see what manner of man it was that had made that beautiful sleeping-car a pandemonium. Presently the toilet was completed, the curtains parted, and "lower number three " stood revealed.

Great guns!

It was a fair young girl, with golden hair, and timid, pleading eyes, like a hunted fawn's.

BURLINGTON HAWKEYE.

H

GRADATIM.

EAVEN is not reached at a single bound;

But we build the ladder by which we rise
From the lowly earth to the vaulted skies,
And we mount to the summit round by round.

I count this thing to be grandly true;

That a noble deed is a step toward God-
Lifting the soul from the common sod
To a purer air and a broader view.

We rise by things that are under our feet;
By what we have mastered of good and gain;
By the pride deposed and the passion slain,
And the vanquished ills that we hourly meet.

We hope, we aspire, we resolve, we trust,

When the morning calls us to life and light;
But our hearts grow weary, and ere the night,
Our lives are trailing the sordid dust.

We hope, we resolve, we aspire, we pray,

And we think that we mount the air on wings
Beyond the recall of sensual things,

While our feet still cling to the heavy clay.

Wings for the angels, but feet for the men!

We may borrow the wings to find the way— We may hope, and resolve, and aspire, and pray; But our feet must rise, or we fall again.

Only in dreams is a ladder thrown

From the weary earth to the sapphire walls; But the dreams depart, and the vision falls, And the sleeper wakes on his pillow of stone. Heaven is not reached at a single bound;

But we build the ladder by which we rise From the lowly earth to the vaulted skies, And we mount to the summit round by round. J. G. HOLLAND.

THE SONG OF THE CRICKETS.

UNDER

grass,

in the bright summer weather,

NDER the
We little crickets live gayly together;

When the moon shines, and the dew brightly glistens,

All the night long you may hear if you listen

"Cheep! cheep! cheep!"

We are the crickets that sing you to sleep.

We have no houses to store up our treasure,
Gay little minstrels, we live but for pleasure;
What shall we do when the summer is over,
When the keen frost nips the meadows of clover?
Cheep! cheep! cheep!

Under the hearthstone for shelter we creep.

Then when the firelight is dancing and glowing,
Nothing we'll care how the winter is blowing;
Down in our snug little cells we will sing you
Songs of the brightness the summer will bring you.
Cheep! cheep! cheep!

Summer is coming, though snows may be deep.

EMILY H. MILLER.

THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS.

NE more unfortunate

ONE

Weary of breath,

Rashly importunate,
Gone to her death!
Take her up tenderly,

Lift her with care;
Fashioned so slenderly
Young, and so fair!

Look at her garments,
Clinging like cerements,
Whilst the wave constantly
Drips from her clothing;
Take her up instantly,
Loving, not loathing!

Touch her not scornfully!
Think of her mournfully,
Gently and humanly-
Not of the stains of her;
All that remains of her

Now is pure womanly.