of one of the largest rivers; an
innumerable crowd has gathered, for it is said that a ship is to sail
against wind and weather, bidding defiance to the elements; the man
who thinks he can solve the problem is named Robert Fulton. The ship
begins its passage, but suddenly it stops. The crowd begins to laugh
and whistle and hiss--the very father of the man whistles with the
rest.

"Conceit! Foolery!" is the cry. "It has happened just as he deserved:
put the crack-brain under lock and key!"

Then suddenly a little nail breaks, which had stopped the machine for
a few moments; and now the wheels turn again, the floats break the
force of the waters, and the ship continues its course--and the beam
of the steam-engine shortens the distance between far lands from hours
into minutes.

O human race, canst thou grasp the happiness of such a minute of
consciousness, this penetration of the soul by its mission, the moment
in which all dejection, and every wound--even those caused by own
fault--is changed into health and strength and clearness--when discord
is converted to harmony--the minute in which men seem to recognize the
manifestation of the heavenly grace in one man, and feel how this one
imparts it to all?

Thus the thorny path of honour shows itself as a glory, surrounding
the earth with its beams: thrice happy he who is chosen to be a
wanderer there, and, without merit of his own, to be placed between
the builder of the bridge and the earth, between Providence and the
human race!

On mighty wings the spirit of history floats through the ages, and
shows--giving courage and comfort, and awakening gentle thoughts--on
the dark nightly background, but in gleaming pictures, the thorny path
of honour; which does not, like a fairy tale, end in brilliancy and
joy here on earth, but stretches out beyond all time, even into
eternity!

THE OLD GRAVESTONE

In a little provincial town, in the time of the year when people say
"the evenings are drawing in," there was one evening quite a social
gathering in the home of a father of a family. The weather was still
mild and warm. The lamp gleamed on the table; the long curtains hung
down in folds before the open windows, by which stood many
flower-pots; and outside, beneath the dark blue sky, was the most
beautiful moonshine. But they were not talking about this. They were
talking about the old great stone which lay below in the courtyard,
close by the kitchen door, and on w