each side of the mainmast, and at a whistle from the boatswain, the crew, who were occupied in the rigging, took up their position on the yards. The Count advanced toward the old passenger; behind him walked a man with haggard features, panting for breath, his dress torn and disordered, and yet with a smile of satisfaction on his face.

It was the gunner who had at the right moment displayed his skill as a tamer of monsters, and who had vanquished the rebellious cannon. The count saluted in military fashion the old man clothed as a peasant, and said:

The gunner stood upright in the attitude of attention, his eyes fixed upon the ground.

The Count continued:

"General, considering the act performed by this man, do you not think that we, his superiors, should take some notice of the matter?"

"I think we should," replied the old man.

"Will you be good enough to give your orders then?" "It is for you to give them, you are the captain."

The old man cast a keen glance on the gunner. "Come near," said he.

The gunner advanced a step.

The old man, turning to the Count, took from his breast the Cross of Saint Louis, and fastened it on the jacket of

the gunner.

"Hurrah!" cried the sailors.

The marines presented arms.

Then the old passenger, pointing his finger at the astonished gunner, exclaimed:

"And now let them shoot this man!"'

Applause gave way to surprise.

Then, in the midst of a sepulchral silence, the old man raised his voice and said, "An act of negligence has compromised the safety of the vessel. At this moment perhaps we are lost. To be at sea, is to be in the presence of the enemy. A vessel on a voyage is like an army ready to give battle. The storm may not be visible, but it is not far away. The sea is an ambush. All faults committed in the presence of the enemy are punishable with death. No fault is reparable. Courage will be recompensed, and neglect punished."

The words fell from his lips one after the other slowly and sternly with a sort of inexorable cadence, like the blows of an ax upon an oak.

Then the old man, looking at the marines, added, "Do your duty."

The man on whose breast the Cross of Saint Louis shone bent his head.

At a sign from the Count the marines descended to the lower deck and brought up a hammock. The chaplain of the vessel, who since its departure had been at prayer in the officers' cabin, accompanied the two sailors; a sergeant detailed twelve privates from the marines and drew them up in a double-rank. The gunner without a word moved forward and placed himself between them. The chaplain with the crucifix raised in his hand took up his position near the prisoner.

The sergeant gave the word of command.

"March."

The firing party moved forward at a slow pace, followed by two sailors carrying the hammock.

There was a melancholy silence all over the ship. In

the distance the tempest moaned. A few moments afterward a volley crashed through the gloom, there was a bright flash, then all was darkness and silence, and something fell into the sea with a heavy splash.

TIME'S SILENT LESSON

Upon a cliff that frowned above the sea
I saw a white-haired man. His form was bowed
As by the weight of years; but in his eye
Glowed the pure fire of an immortal youth.
His thin and tremulous hand upheld a glass
Filled with bright sands of gold, and as he bent
Above the tide that ever surged below,
He let the glittering contents of his glass
Fall, one by one, into the mystic depths
Of that unfathomed sea. So far removed
The gulf wherein they fell, no echo came
Back to the listening ear. Once sunken there,
Those shining particles of rarest worth
Were lost forevermore.

The while I watched

This silent toiler at his silent task,

A rosy boy came bounding to the spot.

He paused awhile to note, with pleased surprise,
The ancient man; and then his tuneful voice
Rang out the music of his merry thoughts.
"Ho! father, ho! that's pleasant work of thine;
I'd like right well to let those treasures fall.
How bright they sparkle ere they sink from sight!

One, two, three, four. But ah! they go too slow.
Lend me the glass; I'll shake its glittering sands,
And then you'll see a dazzling shower of gold
Go merrily dancing down."

No answer came

To this sweet childish plea. The aged man
Paused not, nor turned an instant from his work,
But, like a faithful steward, who must keep

Exact account of what he meteth out,
His cautious hand to its appointed task
Kept steadiest movement still.

Now, like the dawn.

That breaks in summer skies-so fair, so fresh,
So rosy sweet-came forth a youthful maid.
She smiled, and sudden sunshine seemed to flash
Its morning splendor o'er that rugged cliff;
She spake, and listening echo caught the tones,
And laughed them back so tunefully, that all
The summer air rippled with sweetest sound.
These were her words:

"O venerable man!

If thou wouldst be the friend of friendless souls;
If thou wouldst aid two fond and faithful hearts,
List to me now. My own true lover waits
The tender signal of the evening star,—
Waits for its sacred light to guide him here.
We dare not meet, save when night's friendly veil
Enfolds and hides us from the angry eyes

That frown upon our love. We have no day

Save in each other's smiles. Thy hand alone
Can speed the lagging moments on their way,
And bring the hour we consecrate to joy.

Then shake your glass, good father, shake the sands,
And send them flying faster on their course.

Untempted yet by that alluring voice,
Unsoftened by its sweet and tender plea,
The Ancient One, still faithful to his trust,
As all must be who have great deeds to do,
Toiled on, and on, with steadfast spirit still,
At his appointed task.

Another came,

A pallid man, with eyes of lurid fire;

He clutched the outstretched hand that held the glass,
And in a hoarse, wild whisper, sternly said:

"Hold! dotard, hold! Waste not those precious sands.
My doom is fixed, and by to-morrow's sun
The avengers of the law will take my life.
Each sparkling grain you scatter in yon gulf
Is dearer to my soul than mines of gold.

I have brief space for penitence and prayer:
Keep, keep the golden moments till I make
My peace with Heaven. Look! Could I coin
These drops of anguish which bedew my brow,
And these hot tears to showers of priceless gems,
I'd give them all to have thee stay thy task!"

Still no reply, no token that he heard

These varied pleas, came from that stern old man.
Silent and calm, as when the stately march