In efforts to caress the hand that ne'er

To want and worth had charity denied.

So closely round him swarmed our shouting clan

He scarce could breathe, and, taking from a pan

A gleaming coin, he tossed it o'er our heads, And in a moment was a lonely man! AMBROSE BIERCE (1842-).

"THINK AND THANK." (Motto carved over the doorway of the home of the late Sir Moses Montefiore). Just above the ancient doorway were the letters carved in stone That had formed the noble motto which a good man called his own.

In the flush of early manhood, when his soul with hope was stirred, He had pondered o'er the meaning held within each simple word.

When the ripened years were added,

and the shadows longer grew, To the watchword he had chosen, none could ever be more true.

"Think and Thank," a good man's mot

to! Think we as the days go by? So I questioned in the silence, but my heart made no reply.

Think we of the fair sweet blossoms

growing in their lavish way, With the richness of their color, mak

ing bright the face of day?

Think we of each blessèd sunrise com

ing with the morning hour; Think we of the gorgeous sunsets, flaming when the day is o'er?

When we see God's acres nodding with their wealth of golden grain, Do we think whose watch-care sendeth both the sunshine and the rain?

When we see the lovelight shining in

the faces at the hearth; When we hear the childish voices ringing out in happy mirth;

Shall not thought take wing and upward seek the everlasting throne When each grateful spirit layeth its thanksgiving offering down?

For man's brotherhood we thank Thee, for Thy Fatherhood, O God! For the smiles with which Thou strewest all our journey heavenward.

"Think and Thank," an old man's motto, o'er the ancient portal wrought, "Think and Thank," our hearts re-echo, for these lives with mercies fraught. MARY SECOR MESEROLE.

RACHEL.

I.

IN PARIS all look'd hot and like to fade.

Sere, in the garden of the Tuileries, Sere with September, droop'd the chestnut-trees.

'Twas dawn; a brougham roll'd through the streets and made

Halt at the white and silent colonnade Of the French Theatre. Worn with disease,

Rachel, with eyes no gazing can ap

pease,

Sate in the brougham and those blank walls survey'd.

She follows the gay world, whose swarms have fled

To Switzerland, to Baden, to the Rhine;

Why stops she by this empty play-house drear?

Ah, where the spirit its highest life hath led,

All spots, match'd with that spot, are less divine;

And Rachel's Switzerland, her Rhine, is here!

II.

Unto a lonely villa, in a dell

Above the fragrant warm Provençal shore,

The dying Rachel in a chair they bore

And smite them from the Promised
Land;

To hew each hoary falsehood down
And humble ancient arrogance,
And Error fled before his frown

While Truth was glad beneath his glance.

He labored where his Duty led

Unflinching stood in ev'ry storm That beat about his fearless head,

And thundered forth the word "Reform!"'

Earth's farthest nations heard his voice
Unto the utmost purple seas,
And all found reason to rejoice
From Arctic to Antipodes.

From depths of long, nigrescent nights We grasp the gospel that he gave, A message come from starry heights, Sent forth to succor and to save. If Jew or Gentile matters not

For rights and righteousness of each Alike was wrought his toiling thought, And flamed the splendor of his speech.

Our reaching reason gropes along

His lofty path toward the light, Consoled and strengthened by the song His spirit sends us from his flight. We prav our searching souls may find The higher things for which he stood

He fought for freedom of the mind
And for a broader brotherhood.

A modern Moses sent to lead

His people up to lustrous lands, To free them from the chains of creed And superstition's cruel bands; To guide uncertain feet from out

The darkened paths wherein they
stray.

Amid the desert sands of doubt,
Unto the everlasting day.

He told not of God's wrath, but taught
The lesson of His love instead,
Till narrow tenets came to naught
And fierce fanaticism fled.
Who knew his mental majesty,

Or felt his nature's gentle grace,
From pious prejudice was free

Nor nursed a senseless hate of race.

With knowledge of its fame in thought and battle,

That orphan wandered in the streets but lately,

Friendless, forsaken, thrust aside by all,

Left to his instinct, be it good or evil, With care and want, and ignorance and crime,

And all their dire results uplooming darkly

Before a darkened intellect; his mind A sullied nage in Life's fair tome,alone

In all his lonely misery-an outcast!

But loving hands reached forth in charity

And gathered him within these sheltering walls,

Where he is fed and clad and gently taught;

And where his soul, by sweet affection's zeal

To riper beauty nurtured, doth unfold Its blossom, leaves, and bears a generous fruit.

Oh, Love of man, that worketh all things well!

Oh, Love of God, that hallows, strengthens it!

No need of words which human tongue could utter,

To honor him who gently, modestly, In loving, guileless ways accomplished this;

For, friend, the grateful tear of one poor child,

Who by thy efforts has now found a home,

Is of a higher value in the sight Of yonder great "I am," than all the songs

That could thy praises shout! Within thine heart,

Within thine own pure self, seek thy reward.

And thus may ages pass ere the great work

Which on this day begins its glorious course,

Shall pass away! May children, grown brave men

And gentle

Home,

women in this Orphan

Forever bless thy name; and may the Being

Who ruleth over all, who planteth good In heart of Jew, of Christian and of heathen,

Grant thee that never-ending peace which passeth

The understanding of humanity!

FRANK CLAUDY.