started, shuddering and dismayed. A few minutes passed; nothing had stirred. He heard from the end of the room the calm and regular breathing of the sleeping Bishop. Suddenly he stopped, for he was close to the bed. At this moment a cloud was rent asunder and a moonbeam suddenly illumined the Bishop's pale face. The sleeper seemed to be surrounded by a glory. There was almost a divinity in this unconsciously august man. Jean Valjean was standing in the shadow with the crowbar in his hand, motionless and terrified. He had never seen anything like this before, and such confidence horrified him. It seemed as tho he was hesitating between two abysses-the one that saves and the one that destroys. He was ready to dash out the Bishop's brain or kiss his hand. A moonbeam rendered dimly visible the crucifix over the mantel-piece; it seemed to open its arms for both, with a blessing for one and a pardon for the other. All at once Jean Valjean went straight to the cupboard, seized the plate basket, hurried across the room, opened the window, put the silver in his pocket, threw away the basket, leaped into the garden, bounded over the wall like a tiger, and fled.

The next morning at service Monseigneur was walking outside when Madame Magloire came running toward him in a state of great alarm.

Monseigneur, the man is gone-the plate is stolen." "Was that plate ours?" Madame Magloire was speechless.

"Madame Magloire, I had wrongfully held back this silver, which belonged to the poor. Who was this person? Evidently a poor man.

As the brother and sister were leaving the breakfast table there was a knock at the door.

"Come in," said the Bishop.

The door opened and a strange and violent group appeared on the threshold. Three men were holding a fourth by the collar-the fourth was Jean Valjean.

Monseigneur had advanced as rapidly as his great age permitted, saying:

"Ah, there you are; I am glad to see you. Why, I gave you the candlesticks, too, which are also silver. Why did you not take them away with the rest of the plate?"

Jean Valjean looked at the Bishop with an expression no human language could describe.

Monseigneur, then what this man told us was true. We met him and, as he looked as if he were running away, we arrested him. He had this plate."

"And he told you that it was given to him by an old priest at whose house he had passed the night? I see it all. And you brought him back here; that was a mistake.' The gendarmes loosed their hold of Jean Valjean, who tottered back.

"My friend, before you go take your candlesticks.' Jean Valjean was trembling in all his limbs; he took the candlesticks mechanically, and with wandering looks.

"Now, go in peace. By-the-by, when you return, my friend, it is unnecessary to pass through the garden, for you can always enter, day and night, by the front door, which is only latched."

Then, turning to the gendarmes, he said, "Gentlemen, you can retire.

Jean Valjean looked, as if he were on the point of fainting. The Bishop walked up to him and said:

"Never forget that you have promised me to employ this money in becoming an honest man. Jean Valjean, my

brother, you no longer belong to evil, but to good. I have bought your soul of you. I withdraw it from black thoughts and the spirit of perdition, and give it to God."

THE REVOLUTIONARY RISING

BY THOMAS BUCHANAN READ

Out of the North the wild news came,
Far flashing on its wings of flame,
Swift as the boreal light which flies
At midnight through the startled skies.
And there was tumult in the air,

The fife's shrill note, the drum's loud beat
And through the wide land everywhere
The answering tread of hurrying feet;
While the first oath of Freedom's gun
Came on the blast from Lexington;
And Concord roused, no longer tame,
Forgot her old baptismal name,
Made bare her patriot arm of power,
And swelled the discord of the hour.

Within its shade of elm and oak

The church of Berkley Manor stood,
There Sunday found the rural folk,

And some esteemed of gentle blood.
In vain their feet with loitering tread

Passed mid the graves where rank is naught,

All could not read the lesson taught

In that republic of the dead.

How sweet the hour of Sabbath talk,

The vale with peace and sunshine full, Where all the happy people walk,

Decked in their homespun flax and wool; Where youth's gay hats with blossoms bloom; And every maid, with simple art,

Wears on her breast, like her own heart,
A bud whose depths are all perfume;
While every garment's gentle stir
Is breathing rose and lavender.

The pastor came; his snowy locks
Hallowed his brow of thought and care;
And calmly, as shepherds lead their flocks,
He led into the house of prayer.

Then soon he rose; the prayer was strong;
The Psalm was warrior David's song;
The text, a few short words of might--
"The Lord of hosts shall arm the right!"
He spoke of wrongs too long endured,
Of sacred rights to be secured;

Then from his patriot tongue of flame
The startling words for Freedom came.
The stirring sentences he spake
Compelled the heart to glow or quake,
And, rising on the theme's broad wing,
And grasping in his nervous hand.
The imaginary battle-brand,
In face of death he dared to fling
Defiance to a tyrant king.

Even as he spoke, his frame, renewed
In eloquence of attitude,

Rose, as it seemed, a shoulder higher;
Then swept his kindling glance of fire
From startled pew to breathless choir;
When suddenly his mantle wide
His hands impatient flung aside,
And, lo he met their wondering eyes
Complete in all a warrior's guise.

A moment there was awful pause-
When Berkley cried, "Cease, traitor! cease!
God's temple is the house of peace!"
The other shouted, "Nay, not so,
When God is with our righteous cause;
His holiest places then are ours,
His temples are our forts and towers
That frown upon the tyrant foe;
In this, the dawn of Freedom's day,
There is a time to fight and pray!"

And now before the open door

The warrior priest had ordered soThe enlisting trumpet's sudden roar Rang through the chapel, o'er and o'er, Its long reverberating blow.

So loud and clear, it seemed the ear
Of dusty death must wake and hear.
And there the startling drum and fife
Fired the living with fiercer life;
While overhead, with wild increase,