The blow has broken his girdle and his saddle girth,

It has taken him over his horse's back, and borne him to the

earth.

The people think him dead as he lies on the sand;

Bermuez left his lance and took his sword in hand.

Ferran Gonzalez knew the blade which he had worn of old,
Before the blow came down, he yielded and cried, "Hold!"
Antolinez and Diego encountered man for man,

Their spears were shiver'd with the shock, so eagerly they ran.
Antolinez drew forth the blade which Diego once had worn,
Eagerly he aimed the blow for the vengeance he had sworn.
Right through Diego's helm the blade its edge has borne,
The crest and helm are lopt away, the coif and hair are shorn.
He stood astounded with the stroke, trembling and forlorn,
He waved his sword above his head, he made a piteous cry,
"O save me, save me from that blade, Almighty Lord on high!"
Antolinez came fiercely on to reach the fatal stroke,

Diego's courser rear'd upright, and thro' the barrier broke.
Antolinez has won the day, though his blow was mist,

He has driven Diego from the field, and stands within the list.
I must tell you of Munio Gustioz, two combats now are done:
How he fought with Assur Gonzalez you shall hear anon.

Assur Gonzalez, a fierce and hardy knight,

He rode at Munio Gustioz with all his force and might;

He struck the shield and pierc'd it through, but the point came

wide,

It passed by Munio Gustioz, betwixt his arm and side:
Sternly, like a practis'd knight, Munio met him there.
His lance he level'd steadfastly, and through the shield him bare;
He bore the point into his breast, a little beside the heart;
It took him through the body, but in no mortal part;
The shaft stood out behind his back, a cloth-yard and more;
The pennon and the point were dripping down with gore.
Munio still clench'd his spear, as he past he forc'd it round,
He wrench'd him from the saddle, and cast him to the ground.
His horse sprung forward with the spur, he pluck'd the spear away,
He wheel'd and came again to pierce him where he lay.
Then cried Gonzalo Asurez, "For God's sake spare my son!
The other two have yielded, the field is fought and won."

HERBERT SPENCER

HERBERT SPENCER, an English philosopher. Born at Derby, England, April 27, 1820; died December 8, 1903. Author of "Prospectus of a System of Synthetic Philosophy," "Education," "Essays," "Principles of Biology," "Classification of the Sciences," "Principles of Psychology," "The Study of Sociology," "Principles of Sociology," "Data of Ethics," "Political Institutions," "The Man versus the State," 99 66 Ethics," and his "Autobiography."

Principles of

Few of the great men England has produced in the last century exerted so profound an influence on the thought of his contemporaries as Herbert Spencer. His life was one of constant labor, research, and production, and the record which he gives of it in his "Autobiography" is one of the most remarkable and instructive stories ever penned.

(From "EDUCATION ")

MORAL EDUCATION

WHEN a child falls, or runs its head against the table, it suffers a pain, the remembrance of which tends to make it more careful; and by repetition of such experiences, it is eventually disciplined into proper guidance of its movements. If it lays hold of the fire-bars, thrust its hand into a candle-flame, or spills boiling water on any part of its skin, the resulting burn or scald is a lesson not easily forgotten. So deep an impression is produced by one or two events of this kind, that no persuasion will afterwards induce it thus to disregard the laws of its constitution.

Now in these cases, Nature illustrates to us in the simplest way the true theory and practice of moral discipline — a theory and practice which, however much they may seem to the superficial like those commonly received, we shall find on examination to differ from them very widely.

Observe, first, that in bodily injuries and their penalties we have misconduct and its consequences reduced to their simplest forms. Though, according to their popular acceptations, right and wrong are words scarcely applicable to actions that have none but direct bodily effects; yet whoever considers the matter will see that such actions must be as much classi

fiable under these heads as any other actions. From whatever assumption they start, all theories of morality agree that conduct whose total results, immediate and remote, are beneficial, is good conduct; while conduct whose total results, immediate and remote, are injurious, is bad conduct. The ultimate standards by which all men judge of behavior, are the resulting happiness or misery. We consider drunkenness wrong because of the physical degeneracy and accompanying moral evils entailed on the drunkard and his dependents. Did theft give pleasure both to taker and loser, we should not find it in our catalogue of sins. Were it conceivable that kind actions multiplied human sufferings, we should condemn them - should not consider them kind. It needs but to read the first newspaper-leader, or listen to any conversation on social affairs, to see that acts of parliament, political movements, philanthropic agitations, in common with the doings of individuals, are judged by their anticipated results in augmenting the pleasures or pains of men. And if on analyzing all secondary, superinduced ideas, we find these to be our final tests of right and wrong, we cannot refuse to class bodily conduct as right or wrong according to the beneficial or detrimental results produced.

Note, in the second place, the character of the punishments by which these physical transgressions are prevented. Punishments, we call them, in the absence of a better word: for they are not punishments in the literal sense. They are not artificial and unnecessary inflictions of pain; but are simply the beneficent checks to actions that are essentially at variance with bodily welfare — checks in the absence of which life would be quickly destroyed by bodily injuries. It is the peculiarity of these penalties, if we must so call them, that they are simply the unavoidable consequences of the deeds which they follow: they are nothing more than the inevitable reactions entailed by the child's actions.

Let it be further borne in mind that these painful reactions are proportionate to the transgressions. A slight accident brings a slight pain; a more serious one, a severer pain. It is not ordained that the urchin who tumbles over the door-step shall suffer in excess of the amount necessary, with the view of

making it still more cauticus than the necessary suffering will make it. But from its daily experience it is left to learn the greater or less penalties of greater or less errors; and to behave accordingly.

And then mark, lastly, that these natural reactions which follow the child's wrong actions are constant, direct, unhesitating, and not to be escaped. No threats; but a silent, rigorous performance. If a child runs a pin into its finger, pain follows. If it does it again, there is again the same result: and so on perpetually. In all its dealings with inorganic Nature it finds this unswerving persistence, which listens to no excuse, and from which there is no appeal; and very soon recognizing this stern though beneficent discipline, it becomes extremely careful not to transgress.

Still more significant will these general truths appear, when we remember that they hold throughout adult life as well as throughout infantine life. It is by an experimentally gained knowledge of the natural consequences that men and women are checked when they go wrong. After home-education has ceased, and when there are no longer parents and teachers to forbid this or that kind of conduct, there comes into play a discipline like that by which the young child is trained to selfguidance. If the youth entering on the business of life idles away his time and fulfils slowly or unskilfully the duties intrusted to him, there by and by follows the natural penalty: he is discharged, and left to suffer for a while the evils of a relative poverty. On the unpunctual man, ever missing his appointments of business and pleasure, there continually fall the consequent inconveniences, losses, and deprivations. The tradesman who charges too high a rate of profit loses his customers, and so is checked in his greediness. Diminishing practice teaches the inattentive doctor to bestow more trouble on his patients. The too credulous creditor and the oversanguine speculator, alike learn by the difficulties which rashness entails on them, the necessity of being more cautious in their engagements. And so throughout the life of every citizen. In the quotation so often made apropos of such cases - "The burnt child dreads the fire" - we see not only that the analogy between this social discipline and Nature's early discipline of

infants is universally recognized; but we also see an implied conviction that this discipline is of the most efficient kind. Nay, indeed, this conviction is more than implied; it is distinctly stated. Every one has heard others confess that only by "dearly bought experience" had they been induced to give up some bad or foolish course of conduct formerly pursued. Every one has heard, in the criticisms passed on the doings of this spendthrift or the other schemer, the remark that advice was useless, and that nothing but "bitter experience" would produce any effect: nothing, that is, but suffering the unavoidable consequences. And if further proof be needed that the natural reaction is not only the most efficient penalty, but that no humanly-devised penalty can replace it, we have such further proof in the notorious ill-success of our various penal systems. Out of the many methods of criminal discipline that have been proposed and legally enforced, none have answered the expectations of their advocates. Artificial punishments have failed to produce reformation, and have in many cases increased the criminality. The only successful reformatories are those privately established ones which approximate their régime to the method of Nature which do little more than administer the natural consequences of criminal conduct: diminishing the criminal's liberty of action as much as is needful for the safety of society, and requiring him to maintain himself while living under this restraint. Thus we see, both that the discipline by which the young child is taught to regulate its movements is the discipline by which the great mass of adults are kept in order, and more or less improved; and that the discipline humanly devised for the worst adults fails when it diverges from this divinely ordained discipline, and begins to succeed on approximating to it.

"But what is to be done in cases of more serious misconduct?" some will ask. "How is this plan to be carried out when a petty theft has been committed? or when a lie has been told? or when some younger brother or sister has been ill-used?"

Before replying to these questions, let us consider the bearings of a few illustrative facts.

Living in the family of his brother-in-law, a friend of ours