and any counterfeit or stolen notes found in his straps, reckoned as so much legal tender. This system is rigidly enforced not only in the agency, but throughout the department. It seems hard that the penalty of accident or inexperience should be so summary; but no other means has yet been devised to secure the Treasury from loss. And after all, the rule is the same as that enforced in some manner in the outside world of business, where every one must trust to his own knowledge and skill for security against loss.

The first a.s.sorter having satisfied himself that his money is correct in amount and pa.s.sible in character, next proceeds to a.s.sort the notes. He rises from his stool, swings his table out of the way, folds back the cover of his till, takes up a package and deposits the notes one by one in the box whose number corresponds to that of the group to which they severally belong. We will say that long practice has made him familiar not only with the scheme of the a.s.sortment, so that he need not refer to the printed lists, but also with the face of the notes of every bank in the country, and that the briefest glance is all that he requires to recognize a note and determine where it belongs. The rapidity of some of these a.s.sorters is remarkable, being limited only by the rate at which it is possible to move the hand over the rather large area of a till.

Much, however, depends on the natural apt.i.tudes of the person. Many who have had no previous experience in handling money never become expert.

They are tried for six months or a year, and then dismissed as incompetent. Even those by nature well qualified may hope to attain moderate rapidity only after months of persevering effort.

The manipulations of the beginner often cause much merriment among the older employees. He has too many fingers, or too few, to fix a secure grasp upon the "bills." He seizes a note with one or both hands, and stretching it before him proceeds to read over the face. Then he resolves himself into a committee of the whole on the state of his till, to consider where the note is to be put. He refers from the note to the printed schedule before him, and from the schedule to the note again, hunts from one side of his till to the other for the box he wants, but is now uncertain of the number, and recurs once more to the note and the schedule. At length he cautiously deposits the money in a box.

Presently, after going through this process once or twice more, he is convinced that he has been wrong. He inst.i.tutes search throughout his till to find his note again, and at last this cause of all his perplexity settles in a box not to be again disturbed until that remote hour of the day when he shall be ready to "count out." In the evening, when he is expected to "turn in" his cash, he finds himself from one to eighty or a hundred notes "over" or "short." His knuckles are more or less raw from collision with the part.i.tions of his till, his face is flushed, and his hand trembles. In high excitement, seeing himself waited for, he takes up a package which he put up for a hundred notes, but which in his opinion may possibly contain a hundred and eleven or only ninety-nine. He counts it through with an attempt at aptness, and as he lays down the last note he whispers "fifty-five." In the end two or three experts are set to help him, and in a few moments the inconsiderable number of notes which formed his chaos are reduced to order. In the later experience of the agency, however, instances of this extreme bewilderment are rare. Every consideration is shown the beginner, and the perfect organization of the office enables him to be led up by the slowest and easiest gradations to the more difficult labor. Besides, in appointments, which latterly are of infrequent occurrence, a decided preference is given to bank clerks and others whose previous training serves in some sort as an education.

When a clerk has finished a.s.sorting his cash, he next proceeds to count out the contents of each box, putting up the notes in packages of even hundreds of dollars, and pinning round them yellow straps, if he has unfit money, and pink if fit. On the strap of each package he writes in pencil the amount, the group number, his initials, and the date. The notes of all the groups in excess of even hundreds of dollars are thrown together and finally counted and put up as "odds." This process complete, the full packages are done up, by means of cardboards and rubber bands, into bundles of a thousand notes each. The aggregate being found to correspond with the sum received in the morning, the a.s.sorter enters on his book in duplicate the amount of full packages and of "odds," and delivers his cash with the book to the first a.s.sortment teller. That clerk makes an inventory of the money by straps, and finding it to agree with the book, tears off the duplicate entry to guide him in his own accounts, and puts his initials to the original as a receipt to the a.s.sorter. When all the money put in the hands of the a.s.sorters has been returned in this manner, the total cash is balanced and locked up until next day. The "odds" arising from the day's work are kept separate for redistribution among the a.s.sorters on the following morning.

An expert will handle ten thousand notes between the hours of nine and three, in the manner here described--no light task, for besides the labor of a.s.sorting, every note must be counted twice. Persons of both s.e.xes are employed at this work, but the physical endurance required makes it too heavy for women of weak frame.

It will be understood that after pa.s.sing through the first a.s.sorters'

hands the notes are in two lots of "fit" and "unfit," each lot being in bundles of one thousand notes of one denomination, and each bundle composed of packages of notes of single groups. The next operation is to ma.s.s all the packages of all denominations composing the day's a.s.sortment by groups. This is done by the first a.s.sortment teller, who distributes the packages on a low table, according to the marks of the a.s.sorters, and straps the packages of each group into a bundle on which he marks the number of the group and the amount. The distinctions of "fit" and "unfit" are still maintained. There are then forty-four bundles of "fit" notes and a like number of "unfit," each bundle containing all denominations of notes of the banks composing a single group. In this shape the money is on the day following put in the vault of the agency. This receptacle is a room whose ma.s.sive iron walls would not be likely to tempt burglars even in the most inviting surroundings.

It is situated in the bas.e.m.e.nt of the north wing of the Treasury. The ponderous double doors are secured by two combination locks of the most approved construction, one of which is set and can be opened only by the superintendent and the chief bookkeeper, and the other only by the a.s.sorting teller and his a.s.sistant. There is, besides, on the outer door a chronometer lock which would defy the efforts of all those officials together, and of all other persons whatsoever until the appointed hour when the vault is to be opened in the ordinary course of business. Along the interior of the walls are compartments in which are stored redeemed notes, those of each group by themselves, until they shall be removed for a.s.sortment by individual banks. The vault usually contains about ten millions of dollars. The money which we have followed thus far is packed into a cart and hauled into this place, where it is deposited group by group with the rest.

It is customary to a.s.sort the currency of from one to four groups by banks each day. Let us follow rapidly one of these groups through the remainder of the processes. The money of a group acc.u.mulated from day to day in the vault is in the morning transported to the a.s.sorting room, where it is delivered to the second a.s.sortment teller. By him the bundles are opened, the inventory verified, and the packages separated by denominations, reference being had in this process to the upper note of each package. The packages of each denomination are then strapped together by means of cardboards and rubber bands, and the group number, the denomination, and the amount marked upon each bundle. Next morning the money is delivered in this shape to the second a.s.sorters.

It will be understood that each of these persons thus receives notes of a single denomination issued by from forty to sixty banks. The second a.s.sorter first counts his money to be sure of the amount, and then a.s.sorts the notes into his till in the manner already described, putting, however, only the notes of one bank into a box. For his guidance each a.s.sorter is provided with a printed list of the banks composing his group, the number of the box a.s.signed to each being set opposite to the t.i.tle. For convenience of handling about the tills, these lists are mounted upon thick cardboards. The existence of stolen notes or counterfeits on a bank is noted upon these lists, and special directions for a.s.sortment are conveyed in the same manner. When a bank is in liquidation or is withdrawing part of its circulation, an "I,"

denoting "inactive," is set opposite the t.i.tle. The notes of such banks are thrown together into box 52, and from this circ.u.mstance are known in the nomenclature of the office as "52's." These are counted together and put up in packages by means of orange-colored straps, properly marked for delivery, through a regular channel, to another division of the Treasurer's office, where the money is a.s.sorted and destroyed and the amount retired from circulation. At present more than half the banks of some groups are on the inactive list, and notwithstanding the clamor from the West for more paper currency, that part of the country is in the lead in the contraction which is rapidly going on. Of the Chicago banks, the notes of all but three have been ordered to be destroyed and withdrawn as they are redeemed, and in St. Louis and St. Paul only a few banks remain on the active list. Of the eastern cities, New York alone is pursuing the same line of policy to any considerable extent, more than half the banks there being either liquidating or reducing their circulation. The motives which induce this step in the case of solvent and unembarra.s.sed inst.i.tutions are diverse; but the effect is always the same. The amount of currency retired in this manner ranges ordinarily from twenty thousand to a hundred thousand dollars a day.

The labor of a.s.sorting finished, the clerk's next duty is to count up the money of each bank. In doing this he examines each note to be sure that they all bear the same t.i.tle. In some groups great care is required to ensure correctness in this process. For instance, a clerk will tell you that there are Springfield banks in every State in the Union. He exaggerates a little, but group 38 is nevertheless the _bete noir_ of the a.s.sorting room. In the second a.s.sortment, as in the first, even hundreds of dollars make a full package. Notes of active banks are pinned up, the "fit" in blue straps and the "unfit" in green, each package marked with the group number, the bank number, the amount, the a.s.sorter's signature, and the date. Notes wrongly grouped are thrown together and put up in white straps, for return next day to the first a.s.sorter. "Odds" are enveloped in yellow or pink straps, accordingly as they are "unfit" or "fit," and are ultimately put in the vault until the group is next brought up for a.s.sortment. When the contents of a till have all been counted out, the a.s.sorter's cash is in the four items of full packages of notes of active banks, "52's," "errors" of first a.s.sortment, and "odds." The money of each of these items is strapped up in a bundle properly marked, and the amounts entered in the book. Delivery is made to the second a.s.sortment teller in a manner similar to that already described.

Of course, in a room where one or two millions of dollars are handled daily, rigid discipline is required to prevent loss through carelessness or peculation. A clerk on leaving his till must lock up his money. No a.s.sorter is allowed to leave the room during business hours except on a pa.s.s, to be taken up by the doorkeeper. This is obtained from the superintendent of a.s.sorters, who, before issuing it, examines the till of the applicant to see that everything is in shape. Slips of paper, perforated by a punch, are the sops which placate the Cerberus of the agency. Each a.s.sorter is provided with a card on which are printed two sets of numbers, from one to thirty-one, and a certificate that the holder's cash was properly balanced and his till in order at the close of business on the day of the month last punched. On this card the teller, after examining the a.s.sorter's money, makes one punch, and the superintendent of a.s.sorters another, after a minute inspection of the till and its surroundings. Thus the a.s.sorter receives the only pa.s.sport on which he may leave the office for the day. In the afternoon, when all the money handled has been deposited in the safes, the superintendent of the agency makes a tour of all the rooms. The safes are then closed, and finally the Treasurer tries all the locks.

The work of the second a.s.sortment is by most clerks pretty easily learned, and upon this beginners are usually placed. The mechanical difficulties are, however, the same as those already noticed in connection with the first a.s.sortment; and speed can be acquired only by long and diligent practice. The agency offers few attractive positions to a clerk, whatever his grade. Currency long in circulation becomes so mutilated as to be difficult to handle. It is soiled and dusty, and often emits the most disgusting smells. One memorable shipment of several millions from San Francisco still lingers in the recollection of the unfortunate clerks, who spit and sneezed over the filthy ma.s.s. The notes were begrimed with every soil of the Pacific slope, and made odorous by a.s.sociation with every species of vice and uncleanliness to which human flesh is subject. The labor of the a.s.sorter and counter, even at the best, is severe and unpleasant; while from motives of economy the task is heaped up to the maximum and the pay cut down to the minimum.

The next process after a.s.sortment is to "make up" all the packages of all denominations into bundles, each containing only notes of a single bank. For this purpose the currency of active banks is delivered from the a.s.sorters through the teller to a "maker-up" who takes an inventory.

Next day he a.s.sorts the packages of a group in a till similar to those already described, except that it is laid flat upon a low counter. Then he takes the contents of a box, ascertains, by examining the upper note of each package, that the money is all the issue of a single bank, and writes in ink upon a blank label the t.i.tle of the bank, the amount of each denomination, and the total of all, signs and dates this, and straps it upon the bundle. Having emptied all the boxes of his till in this manner, he prepares a list of the amount of each bank's money made up, and verifies his work by comparing the footing with the total charged to him on the previous evening. This list is delivered to the bookkeepers, and upon it the accounts of the agency are based. From motives of saving in express charges, when the total of a bank's currency in the till is less than five hundred dollars, the money is not made up, but thrown aside as "odds," together with all excess over even thousands of dollars, when such excess is less than five hundred. These "odds" are returned, after account, to the vault. The work of making up employs from two to four persons constantly. Absolute correctness is of high importance, and great painstaking is required. Even a moment's relaxation of attention is likely to produce an error which, if not discovered, would involve the misplacement of hundreds or thousands of dollars. Fortunately, the system of checks and proofs is so thorough that all errors are discovered unfailingly, and the consequences confined to the agency. The different colored straps noticed in use for packages are but one feature of a general scheme by which currency in the office is made to indicate, at a glance, its description, proper place, and future course. The possibility of error or confusion in large amounts is thus reduced to the last degree. And minute precautions will hardly be deemed superfluous, when it is considered that all the processes described in this article are going on simultaneously every day at the heaped-up tills and counters.

On leaving the hands of the maker-up, the money is taken to the proving-room. Here the bundles are distributed among a force of women, who recount all the notes for the purpose of verifying the amount, the description, and the a.s.sortment. If, among the notes of a bank, is found one of another, the estray is exchanged, through the superintendent of a.s.sorters, for a note of the proper description. The prover, having ascertained that her money is correct according to the accompanying label, puts her initials to the latter, as well as upon each package of notes, wraps and ties the bundle, and carries it to a table, where, in her presence, the knots are sealed. First, however, the unfit notes are cancelled by removing a triangular piece from each of the lower corners.

This is done by means of a knife, which is moved by hand with a lever, which easily cuts through two hundred notes at a time. The sealed packages are then put in the hands of the delivery clerk. At his counter the fit parcels are enveloped in a stout outside wrapper and directed to the various banks whose notes are contained in each. In this shape these parcels are taken to the office of the Adams Express Company for shipment. The unfit notes are delivered to the Comptroller of the Currency, by whose clerks they are again counted. When there is no longer any possibility of incorrectness either in the amount or the description, orders are made out for the issue of new currency, and the redeemed notes are carried to the bas.e.m.e.nt of the Treasury, where they are put in a machine and reduced to pulp. This product is sold to paper makers, who, in consideration of its quality, are willing to buy it at a good price. There is a possibility, therefore, that the banker who several months ago forwarded his shipment of currency for redemption, may have the substance of his note return to him in these pages, bearing this account of the experiences of the journey.

FRANK W. LAUTZ.

UNKNOWN PERSONS.

I was wandering through the Uffizi gallery in Florence one day, with my guide-book open in my hand, when I met the subjects of this story. They were by a large window, nine of them, framed in a little gilt frame a foot or so square. I looked at them, and then, by force of habit, I looked at the guide-book. "Portraits of nine unknown persons," it said.

I went nearer and looked at them again, and after that I saw the guide-book no more. They were not portraits or unknown persons, but nine new friends who told me the story of their lives as I stood by the window gazing.

There were eight brothers of them, of a n.o.ble family, and dwelling in happy Tuscany. They lived in the country. Their mother was dead--died when Barnaba first opened his wondering eyes at her. Their father was a student, and loved his boys, and his books, and nature, and determined to keep them all together. "If we live in town," he said, "I can't do this; I am not very rich, so I will remain in my country home, and my boys and I will have a life of our own." Such a merry, merry life as the boys had together. Everything was turned to play for them, even their studies. Their princ.i.p.al delight was acting, and in their little plays, queer compounds of Grecian dramas and childish dreams, each one had his regular part. It was Pietro who was always the main figure, made the grandest speeches, and prayed the longest prayers--for they had religious dramas sometimes--and strutted around the most. They made Giuseppe their hero for all that, carried him in on their shoulders from battle, and crowned him with laurel at the end of the fourth act regularly. Domenico played the scholar: he had so grave an air, so learned a mien. Guido was the soldier boy. Let him but throw his cap on his wavy hair, or toss his coat over his shoulder and strut upon the mimic stage, and you would have sworn he was armed to the teeth, and that you could hear the click of his spurs.

How Barnaba loved Guido! How he would twirl his long hair over his finger secretly, hoping 'twould wave, and try to strut in on the stage heroically too. But he was sure to blunder a bit, poor Barnaba. He was the youngest, you see, and had poor parts given him that he didn't suit.

He was not meant for a page, and sometimes, while Pietro would strut around and puff and declaim, little Barnaba was clenching his nervous hands tightly behind him, and longing that he might speak out like a man too. But no one ever dreamed that the stiff little page, with the long hair and the wondering eyes, had any wishes other than to make a good page. For Barnaba had a firm mouth, spite of the tremble at the corners, and it was always readier to shut than to open.

The other three boys, Luigi, Leonardo, and Leone, were good boys and happy boys, but they were by nature "the populace." They were always ready to come in on the stage as "the excited crowd" or "the hooting rabble." They threw up their hats and cried, "Si, si" splendidly, but then they would cry, "N, n" just as well if it was their part to do so. So you can see they made a capital populace. Very near them, in a beautiful villa, there lived for a while in the summer time, once a little girl. Henrighetta she was called by her friends, but the boys'

father bade them call her la signorina, "because," said he, "it is well to respect women." "But Henrighetta is only a little girl," said Barnaba. "Pshaw, she'll be a woman some day," laughed Guido, and twirled on his toes, "and I'll be a man." And he pulled away at some very make-believe moustaches, and raised his eyebrows until even his grave father laughed. For at this time Guido was only eleven and Barnaba seven. Pietro, the eldest--he was seventeen--very aged indeed, the lads thought. So Henrighetta became their playmate.

Shortly before she left the villa they had a great play. It was the best they had ever had. There was a prologue and an epilogue, written and spoken by Pietro, and ever so much shouting, and a very b.l.o.o.d.y scene in which Guido rescued Henrighetta from the ruffians, who were being led by a traitor page (Barnaba, of course) to kill her for her jewels. "Luigi,"

said Barnaba, "I hate to be mean, even in a play. I wish you would be the page and let me be a ruffian." Then Luigi laughed hard, and told his brothers. And they said, "Fancy Barnaba a ruffian," and laughed until poor Barnaba looked sadder than ever. "Oh, you'll make a real good page, and you know you have to kiss Henrighetta's long dress," said Guido, as he whittled a little gun. "So I will," said Barnaba, and was quite happy.

Now, really Henrighetta was a good deal like other girls, not very pretty or very wise, but fresh and happy. But with the eight boys she was a queen indeed--dared even to speak threateningly to Pietro, though she was but ten years old, and stamped her foot one day at Guido. Oh, how vexed he was! Yet she was always kind to Barnaba, and on the night of the play bade him kiss her hand instead of her dress, if he wished.

It was very inappropriate, but Barnaba thought it angelic, and imprinted just the most serious and tender kiss on Henrighetta's chubby fingers at the moment when Guido carried her off from her terrible fate. They had quite an audience that night. Henrighetta's friends were many, and they all said how beautifully she looked when she was married to Guido at the close of the play, as she was, of course, with Pietro for a cardinal and Barnaba as page, to hold up my lady's train.

Well, the boys grew up, and though they wandered off to see the world and study, they found their way home often and often. Barnaba alone stayed there all the while. He grew of use to his father in writing, became his private secretary, and seemed to be as much a part of the home as the olive grove near by, or the long, shaded walks he loved so well. Barnaba's hair was as straight as ever, and his white collar grew crumpled sooner than it ought, and he looked as if he belonged somewhere else. Observing people wondered sometimes, but only a little, and Barnaba's brothers would have told you he was a shy, good boy, and his father would have said the same, and I dare say Barnaba himself might have replied a little in like manner, had he replied at all. But Barnaba did not talk much. He read, and dreamed, and walked in the woods.

Sometimes at evening he would take off his cap, and the wind would blow his hair, and a light would burn in his eyes, and you would have thought, "Barnaba will do something surely." But he never did.

It was in the summer time, twelve years later than the play time, that Henrighetta came again to the villa. It was a little dull for her, for all the boys were away from home but Giuseppe and Barnaba. Giuseppe was older and angelic. He went to see the poor, and he had written a beautiful book about the Cross, and he slept in a little room on a hard bed, and said his prayers a great deal. His brothers would cross themselves often in speaking of him. "Giuseppe is a holy man," they would say. There was a verse in Giuseppe's book that Barnaba loved. He said it often to himself. It was this: "There is a road, and the name of it is Patience; the flowers that grow by it are few, but they are very sweet; and if you pluck them and weave them into a crown, the fragrance shall last for ever."

Barnaba was in the woods one day, saying these words softly to himself, when the lady Henrighetta approached. She was dressed all in white, and Barnaba thought her very beautiful and proud. Yet she spoke so sweetly to him. "Are you not my old friend Barnaba?" she asked. Had he been patient, and had he plucked one of the rare sweet flowers? It seemed so, truly. She spoke so sweetly, and she smiled at him, and she seated herself by him. "I am going to make a wreath for myself," she said, "while my father talks to your brother near by, and you shall get me flowers and tell me about your brothers--where you all are and what you are doing." Such dainty commands! How Barnaba flew for the flowers! How oddly he looked with his long hair flowing, and his eager hands clutching up the sweetest herbs, and gra.s.ses, and blossoms, all for her.

"May I make your wreath?" he said, for Barnaba knew well what flowers loved each other.

What a happy Barnaba! How the sun shone, and the trees whispered that day, and how she talked to him, told him of all the years, of her travels, for she had seen much, and he sat and listened, and wove the flowers together, and watched her white hands and her full, soft throat.

And after the lady Henrighetta talked she sang a little. It was such a fair day, so dreamy, and shady, and restful. She sang sc.r.a.ps of old Italian songs. When Barnaba had finished the wreath he handed it to her to place upon her head. "What shall I give you for this?" she said, and held out her hand. It was only a moment, yet it was a long enough moment to have placed a kiss upon it, and Barnaba was a man, and Barnaba longed to do it, but did he dare? While he wondered Giuseppe and her father joined them, and they all walked home to Henrighetta's together, talking of the olden times. Then they bade her good-by. She lingered at the doorway to watch them go. Barnaba looked back once and saw her standing there, all in white, with the wreath he had made crowning her dark hair.

"And the fragrance shall last for ever," he whispered so softly that Giuseppe did not hear.

The next day Guido came home. He was a real soldier now, with spurs and a jaunty cloak, and such a twinkle in his eye and swing in his walk and laugh in his voice that you longed to see him enter the room, and wished for him to speak--not that he said so much, but he said it so well. The quiet home was always changed when Guido arrived. Merry songs were heard all over the house, horns, and racings, and laughter. And this time Guido was more than ever gay. He and the lady Henrighetta grew to be great friends. They would ride and walk, and although there were always people with them, they seemed to talk for each other all the time, and to smile for each other all the time. Every one saw it and smiled too--every one but Barnaba. He was very busy during this while with his father, correcting proofs for a new book on archaeology.

It was not until twelve long days had gone by that he again saw the lady Henrighetta. Then he went over one evening to her father's villa, "where we are to have some plays as we used to do," said Guido. Barnaba's heart beat hard, and he longed to see the lady Henrighetta again. She was getting ready for the play. "Barnaba, you are to be page, please," said Guido, "and hold my lady's train." So Barnaba was page, and the play began. There were many strange faces and voices in it, and it was a studied play, each part learned by rote. It did not seem like old times at all. Barnaba began to feel very far away, when suddenly he was called to where the lady Henrighetta was, and bidden to follow her as her page.

She greeted him kindly. "All you have to do is to stand by my side," she said. To stand by her side! And then the curtain rose again, and the lady Henrighetta, clad in regal robes, sailed forward, and Barnaba, clad as a page, followed her meekly and stood at her side.

What a little hum there was when she appeared! and when Guido strode rapidly in toward her and pressed her pa.s.sionately, how the applause rang! It was an intense scene, and Guido seemed intensely in earnest.

"How well he plays," thought Barnaba. Then, as Guido looked at Henrighetta and Henrighetta really blushed a little and dropped her eyelids, Barnaba's soul rose. It was a strong soul; it was a man's soul; and it was in a white heat of rage now. If he, the page, had but a sword to kill him, the lover! Just then he heard a little whisper which the others did not hear. It was too low. Guido had said, not "Leonora, mia cara," as the play said, but "Henrighetta, mia cara." There was a sudden movement on the stage. It was the page who had turned quickly, frantically. He had nearly reached the door when he turned again and came back, white but firm, with a strange smile on his lip, and resumed his place. Guido swore. The pretty tableau was spoiled. I am afraid even my lady sighed softly, but Barnaba did not know that. She had told him to stand by her side, and her command must be obeyed.

The scene over, however, Barnaba rushed from the house, out into the fresh air. He turned and gazed back through the window. There they stood together, side by side, smiling, happy, Guido and Henrighetta, and here was poor Barnaba, still in the trappings of livery, with his heart all torn in his hands. Out in the darkness he dropped his head toward the earth. Giuseppe saw the face, and came toward him. "What is it, brother?" asked he softly. "What have you lost?" Barnaba looked up at him. His brave, firm lips trembled once. "My life," he said; "I have lost my life." There was a silence. "He that loseth his life shall find it," said Giuseppe. "These are the words of the Lord." And the two brothers crossed themselves and walked homeward together in silence.

It was six months after, at the time of the wedding, that the portrait was painted. Giuseppe is in the centre. The brothers all said 'twas his place. Pietro has his cowl over his head, you see, but he is fat and hearty for all that. Domenico leans on a book, as ever, and the populace smile pleasantly and in a well-bred manner. Guido and his wife are side by side--the daring, jaunty, happy man and his high-born, full-throated, soft-eyed wife. And where is Barnaba? Just over her. Below her, even in the picture, he should have been, he thinks, and beside her, never, but once, in a play. Dear, poor, brave Barnaba! He has changed in the six months. His collar is as twisted, his hair as long and straight, and his eyes as full of wonder; but there are two new turns to his lips--smiling turns. "I've lost," they seem to say, "and I might have won. Life has treated me poorly, but I owe her no grudge. Guido and his wife have gone away. Giuseppe is visiting the poor. Pietro is at his priestly work--what is it? The others are back in their lives." Barnaba walks in the grove alone, and repeats to himself: "There is a road, and the name of it is Patience. The flowers that grow by it are few, but they are very sweet; and if you pluck them and weave them into a crown, the fragrance shall last forever." And Barnaba smiles.

MARY MURDOCH MASON.

THE DEAD STAR.

Yonder in empty dark Wanders, somewhere, a wasted sun, whose light, Erst breathed abroad with life-creating spark, Made hanging gardens of the circling night.

Through Time's dark emptiness Some soul, that genius lit, goes, withered, wan, Its flame to blackness fallen, purposeless-- The dead star wanders with the fire-spent man!

JOHN JAMES PIATT.