their home, the hands of the
old man went down on the young man's shoulder, laying there the
unspeakable blessing of the honored and grateful father and
ennobling it with the knighthood of the fifth commandment.

And as they reached the door the old mother came with the sunset
falling fair on her face, and lighting up her deep, patient
eyes, while her lips, trembling with the rich music of her
heart, bade her husband and son welcome to their home. Beyond
was the housewife, busy with her household cares, clean of heart
and conscience, the buckler and helpmeet of her husband. Down
the lane came the children, trooping home after the cows,
seeking as truant birds do the quiet of their home nest.

And I saw the night come down on that house, falling gently as
the wings of the unseen dove. And the old man--while a startled
bird called from the forest, and the trees were shrill with the
cricket's cry, and the stars were swarming in the sky--got the
family around him, and, taking the old Bible from the table,
called them to their knees, the little baby hiding in the folds
of its mother's dress, while he closed the record of that
simple day by calling down God's benediction on that family and
that home. And while I gazed, the vision of that marble Capitol
faded. Forgotten were its treasures and its majesty and I said,
"Oh, surely here in the homes of the people are lodged at last
the strength and the responsibility of this government, the hope
and the promise of this republic."

--HENRY W. GRADY.

_SUGGESTIVE SCENES_

One thing in life calls for another; there is a fitness in
events and places. The sight of a pleasant arbor puts it in our
mind to sit there. One place suggests work, another idleness, a
third early rising and long rambles in the dew. The effect of
night, of any flowing water, of lighted cities, of the peep of
day, of ships, of the open ocean, calls up in the mind an army
of anonymous desires and pleasures. Something, we feel, should
happen; we know not what, yet we proceed in quest of it. And
many of the happiest hours in life fleet by us in this vain
attendance on the genius of the place and moment. It is thus
that tracts of young fir, and low rocks that reach into deep
soundings, particularly delight and torture me. Something must
have happened in su