LOVE.

LOVE.A SONNET FROM THE PORTUGUESE.ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.I love thee to the depth and breadth and heightMy soul can reach, when feeling out of sightFor the ends of Being an Ideal Grace.I love thee to the level of every day'sMost quiet need, by sun and candle-light.I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise;I love thee with the passion put to useIn my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith;I love thee with a love I seemed to loseWith my lost saints,â€”I love thee with the breath,Smiles, tears, of all my life!â€”and if God choose,I shall but love thee better after death.

A SONNET FROM THE PORTUGUESE.

ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.I love thee to the depth and breadth and heightMy soul can reach, when feeling out of sightFor the ends of Being an Ideal Grace.I love thee to the level of every day'sMost quiet need, by sun and candle-light.I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise;I love thee with the passion put to useIn my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith;I love thee with a love I seemed to loseWith my lost saints,â€”I love thee with the breath,Smiles, tears, of all my life!â€”and if God choose,I shall but love thee better after death.

By CHARLES DICKENS.

When Charles Dickens visited the United States in 1867 and gave the course of public readings which netted him two hundred and fifty thousand dollars in a few months, he prepared special versions of his popular stories for platform use. All these versions are more dramatic and more pointed than the originals, containing as they do more dialogue and less description. Among them was the tale of "Chops the Dwarf," first written as a Christmas story. In it Dickens dwells upon a kind of life which seems greatly to have attracted himâ€”the career of the traveling showman, with its oddities, its careless Bohemianism, and its happy-go-lucky, hand-to-mouth existence.In "Chops the Dwarf," humor and pathos are reinforced by a touch of satire, which is directed against the emptiness and the restraints of fashionable life. For some reason or other this tale has been overlooked by many of the students and editors of Dickens. It is not contained in some of the editions of his works which profess to be complete, and several of the standard reference-books do not mention it.

In "Chops the Dwarf," humor and pathos are reinforced by a touch of satire, which is directed against the emptiness and the restraints of fashionable life. For some reason or other this tale has been overlooked by many of the students and editors of Dickens. It is not contained in some of the editions of his works which profess to be complete, and several of the standard reference-books do not mention it.

At one period of its reverses, the House to Let fell into the hands of a showman. He was found registered as its occupier, on the parish books of the time when he rented the House; there was therefore no need of any clew to his name. But he himself was less easy to find, for he had led a wandering life, and settled people had lost sight of him, and people who plumed themselves on being respectable were shy of admitting that they had ever known him.

At last among the marsh lands near the river's level, that lie about Deptford and the neighboring market-gardens, a grizzled personage in velveteen, with a face so cut up by varieties of weather that he looked as if he had been tattooed, was found smoking a pipe at the door of a wooden house on wheels.

The wooden house was laid up in ordinary for the winter near the mouth of a muddy creek; and everything near itâ€”the foggy river, the misty marshes, and the steaming market-gardensâ€”smoked in company with the grizzled man. In the midst of the smoking party, the funnel-chimney of the wooden house on wheels was not remiss, but took its pipe with the rest in a companionable manner.

On being asked if it were he who had once rented the House to Let, Grizzled Velveteen looked surprised, and said yes. Then his name was Magsman. That was it, Toby Magsmanâ€”which was lawfully christened Robert; but called in the line, from an infant, Toby. There was nothing agin Toby Magsman, he believed? If there was suspicion of such, mention it!

There was no suspicion of such, he might rest assured. But some inquiries were making about that house, and would he object to say why he left it?

Not at all; why should he? He left it along of a dwarf.

Along of a dwarf?

Mr. Magsman repeated, deliberately and emphatically, "Along of a dwarf."

Might it be compatible with Mr. Magsman's inclination and convenience to enter, as a favor, into a few particulars?

Mr. Magsman entered into the following particulars:

It was a long time ago to begin withâ€”afore lotteries and a deal more was done away with. Mr. Magsman waslooking around for a good pitch, and he see that house, and he says to himself, "I'll have you if you are to be had. If money'll get you, I'll have you."

The neighbors cut up rough, and made complaints; but Mr. Magsman don't know what they all would have had. It was a lovely thing.

First of all, there was the canvas representin' the pictur' of the Giant in Spanish trunks and a ruff, who was half the height of the house, and was run up with a line and pulley to a pole of the roof, so that his Ed was coeval with the parapet.

Then there was the canvas representin' the pictur' of the Albina lady, showin' her white 'air to the Army and Navy in correct uniform.

Then there was the canvas representin' the pictur' of the Wild Indian scalpin' a member of some foreign nation.

Similarly, there was the canvas representin' the pictur' of the Wild Ass of the Prairiesâ€”not that we never had no wild asses, nor wouldn't have had 'em as a gift.

Last there was the canvas representin' the pictur' of the Dwarf, and like him too (considerin'), with George the Fourth in such a state of astonishment at him as his Majesty couldn't with his utmost politeness and stoutness express.

The front of the House was so covered with canvases that there wasn't a spark of daylight ever visible on that side. "Magsman's Amusements," fifteen foot long by two foot high, ran over the front door and parlor winders. The passage was a arbor of green baize and garden stuff. A barrel-organ performed there unceasing. And as to respectabilityâ€”if threepence ain't respectable, what is?

But the Dwarf is the principal article at present, and he was worth money. He was wrote up as "Major Tpschoffki, of the Imperial Bulgraderian Brigade." Nobody couldn't pronounce the name, and it never was intended anybody should. The public always turned it, as a regular rule, into Chopski. In the line he was called Chops; partly on that account, and partly because his real name, if he ever had any real name (which was very dubious), was Stakes.

He was an uncommon small man, he really was. Certainly not so small as he was made out to be, but where's your dwarf as is? He was a most uncommon small man, with a most uncommon large Ed; and what he had inside that Ed nobody never knowed but himself; even supposin' himself to have ever took stock of it, which it would have been a stiff job for him to do. The kindest little man as never growed! You never heard him give a ill name to a giant. He did allow himself to break out into strong language respectin' the Fat Lady from Norfolk; but that was an affair of the 'art; and when a man's 'art has been trifled with by a lady, and the preference giv' to a Indian, he ain't master of his actions.

He was always in love, of course; every human nat'ral phenomenon is. And he was always in love with a large woman; I never knowed the dwarf as could be got to love a small one. Which helps to keep 'em the curiosities they are.

One sing'lar idea he had in that Ed of his, which must have meant something, or it wouldn't have been there. It was always his opinion that he was entitled to property. He never put his name to anything. He had been taught to write by a young man without any arms, who got his living with his toes (quite a writing-masterhewas, and taught scores in the line), but Chops would have starved to death afore he'd gained a bit of bread by putting his hand to a paper.

This is the more curious to bear in mind, because he had no property, except his house and a sarser. When I say his house, I mean the box, painted and got up outside like a reg'ler six-roomer, that he used to creep into, with a diamond ring (or quite as good to look at) on his forefinger, and ring a little bell out of what the public believed to be the drawing-room winder.

And when I say a sarser, I mean a Cheney sarser in which he made a collection for himself at the end of every entertainment. His cue for that he took from me:

"Ladies and gentlemen, the little man will now walk three times round the Cairawan, and retire behind the curtain."

He had what I consider a fine mindâ€”a poetic mind. His ideas respectin' his property never come upon him so strongas when he sat upon a barrel-organ and had the handle turned. Arter the wibration had run through him a little time, he would screech out:

"Toby, I feel my property comingâ€”grind away! I'm counting my guineas by thousands, Tobyâ€”grind away! Toby, I shall be a man of fortun'! I feel the mint a jingling in me, Toby, and I'm swelling out into the Bank of England!"

Such is the influence of music on the poetic mind. Not that he was partial to any other music but a barrel-organ; on the contrairy, he hated it.

He had a kind of everlasting grudge agin the public; which is a thing you may notice in many phenomenons that get their living out of it. What riled him most in the nater of his occupation was that it kep' him out of society. He was continiwally sayin':

"Toby, my ambition is to go into society. The curse of my position towards the public is that it keeps me hout of society. This don't signify to a low beast of a Indian; he ain't formed for society. This don't signify to a Spotted Baby;heain't formed for societyâ€”I am."

Nobody never could make out what Chops done with his money. He had a good salary, down on the drum every Saturday as the day came round, besides having the run of his teethâ€”and he was a woodpecker to eatâ€”but all dwarfs are. The sarser was a little income, bringing him in so many half-pence that he'd carry 'em for a week together, tied up in a pocket-handkercher.

And yet he never had money. And it couldn't be the Fat Lady from Norfolk, as was once supposed; because it stands to reason that when you have a animosity towards a Indian which makes you grind your teeth at him to his face, and which can hardly hold you from goosing him audible when he's going through his war-danceâ€”it stands to reason you wouldn't under them circumstances deprive yourself to support that Indian in the lap of luxury.

Most unexpected, the mystery came out one day at Egham races. The public was shy of bein' pulled in, and Chops was ringin' his little bell out of his drawin'-room winder, and was snarlin' to me over his shoulder as he kneeled down with his legs out at the back doorâ€”for he couldn't be shoved into his house without kneeling down, and the premises wouldn't accommodate his legsâ€”was snarlin':

"Here's a precious public for you; why the devil don't they tumble up?" when a man in the crowd holds up a carrier-pigeon and cries out:

"If there's any person here as has got a ticket, the Lottery's just draw'd, and the number as has come up for the great prize is three, seven, forty-two! Three, seven, forty-two!"

I was givin' the man to the furies myself, for calling of the public's attentionâ€”for the public will turn away, at any time, to look at anything in preference to the thing showed 'em; and if you doubt it, get 'em together for any individual purpose on the face of the earth, and send only two people in late and see if the whole company ain't far more interested in taking particular notice of them two than youâ€”I say I wasn't best pleased with the man for callin' out, wasn't blessin' him in my own mind, when I see Chops's little bell fly out of the winder at a old lady, and he gets up and kicks his box over, exposin' the whole secret, and he catches hold of the calves of my legs and he says to me:

"Carry me into the wan, Toby, and throw a pail of water over me, or I'm a dead man, for I'm come into my property!"

Twelve thousand odd hundred pounds was Chops's winnins. He had bought a half-ticket for the twenty-five thousand prize, and it had come up. The first use he made of his property was to offer to fight the Wild Indian for five hundred pound a side, him with a poisoned darnin'-needle and the Indian with a club; but the Indian being in want of backers to that amount, it went no further.

Arter he had been mad for a weekâ€”in a state of mind, in short, in which, if I had let him sit on the organ for only two minutes, I believe he would have bustâ€”but we kept the organ from himâ€”Mr. Chops come round and behaved liberal and beautiful to all.

He then sent for a young man he knowed, as had a wery genteel appearance and was a Bonnet at a gaming-booth (most respectable brought up, father havin' been imminent in the livery-stable line, but unfortunate in a commercial crisis through paintin' a old gray, ginger-bay, and sellin' him with a pedigree), and Mr. Chops said this to Bonnet, who said his name was Normandy, which it wasn't:

"Normandy, I'm going into society. Will you go with me?"

Says Normandy: "Do I understand you, Mr. Chops, to hintimate that the 'ole of the expenses of that move will be borne by yourself?"

"Correct," says Mr. Chops. "And you shall have a princely allowance too."

The Bonnet lifted Mr. Chops upon a chair to shake hands with him, and replied in poetry, his eyes seemingly full of tears:

My boat is on the shore,And my bark is on the sea,And I do not ask for more,But I'll goâ€”along with thee.

They went into society, in a chaise and four grays, with silk jackets. They took lodgings in Pall Mall, London, and they blazed away.

In consequence of a note that was brought to Bartlemy Fair in the autumn of next year by a servant, most wonderful got up in milk-white cords and tops, I cleaned myself and went to Pall Mall, one evening app'inted. The gentlemen was at their wine arter dinner, and Mr. Chops's eyes was more fixed in that Ed of his than I thought good for him.

There was three of 'em (in company, I mean), and I knowed the third well. When last met, he had on a white Roman shirt, and a bishop's miter covered with leopard-skin, and played the clarionet all wrong, in a band, at a wild-beast show.

This gent took on not to know me, and Mr. Chops said:

"Gentlemen, this is an old friend of former days"; and Normandy looked at me through a eyeglass, and said, "Magsman, glad to see ye!" which I'll take my oath, he wasn't.

Mr. Chops, to get him convenient to the table, had his chair on a throne, much of the form of George Fourth's in the canvas, but he hardly appeared to me to be King there in any p'int of view, for his two gentlemen ordered about like emperors. They was all dressed like May-dayâ€”gorgeous!â€”and as to wine, they swam in all sorts.

I made the round of the bottles, first separate (to say I had done it), and then tried two of 'em as half-and-half, then t'other two. Altogether, I passed a pleasant evenin', but with a tendency to feel muddled, until I considered it good manners to get up and say:

"Mr. Chops, the best of friends must part. I thank you for the wariety of foreign drains you have stood so 'ansome. I looks towards you in red wine, and I takes my leave."

Mr. Chops replied:

"If you'll just hitch me out of this over your right arm, Magsman, and carry me down-stairs, I'll see you out."

I said I couldn't think of such a thing, but he would have it, so I lifted him off his throne. He smelt strong of Madeary, and I couldn't help thinking, as I carried him down, that it was like carrying a large bottle full of wine, with a rayther ugly stopper, a good deal out of proportion.

When I set him on the door-mat in the hall, he kept me close to him by holding on to my coat-collar, and he whispers:

"I ain't 'appy, Magsman."

"What's on your mind, Mr. Chops?"

"They don't use me well. They ain't grateful to me. They puts me on the mantel-piece when I won't have in more Champagne-wine, and they locks me in the sideboard when I won't give up my property."

"Get rid of 'em, Mr. Chops."

"I can't. We're in society together, and what would society say?"

"Come out of society," says I.

"I can't. You don't know what you're talking about. When you have once got into society, you mustn't come out of it."

"Then, if you'll excuse the freedom, Mr. Chops," was my remark, shaking my Ed grave, "I think it's a pity you ever went in."

Mr. Chops shook that deep Ed of his to a surprisin' extent, and slapped it half a dozen times with his hand, and with more wice than I thought were in him. Then he says:

"You're a good feller, but you don't understand. Good night, go long.Magsman, the little man will now walk three times around the Cairawan, and retire behind the curtain."

The last I see of him on that occasion was his tryin', on the extremest verge of insensibility, to climb up the stairs, one by one, with his hands and knees. They'd have been much too steep for him if he had been sober; but he wouldn't be helped.

It warn't long after that, that I read in the newspaper of Mr. Chops's being presented at court. It was printed:

"It will be recollected"â€”and I've noticed in my life that it is sure to be printed that itwillbe recollected whenever it won'tâ€”"that Mr. Chops is the individual of small stature whose brilliant success in the last State Lottery attracted so much attention."

"Well," I said to myself, "such is life! He has done it in earnest at last! He has astonished George the Fourth!"

On account of which I had that canvas new painted, him with a bag of money in his hand, a presentin' it to George the Fourth, and a lady in ostrich feathers fallin' in love with him in a bagwig, sword, and buckles correct.

I took the house as is the subject of present inquiriesâ€”though not the honor of being acquaintedâ€”and I run Magsman's Amusements in it thirteen monthsâ€”sometimes one thing, sometimes another, sometimes nothin' particular, but always all the canvases outside. One night, when we had played the last company out, which was a shy company through its raining heavens hard, I was takin' a pipe in the one pair back, along with the young man with the toes, which I had taken on for a month (though he never drawedâ€”except on paper), and I heard a kickin' at the street door.

"Halloa!" I says to the young man, "what's up?"

He rubs his eye-brows with his toes, and he says:

"I can't imagine, Mr. Magsman"â€”which he never could imagine nothin', and was monotonous company.

The noise not leavin' off, I laid down my pipe, and I took up a candle, and I went down and opened the door. I looked out into the street; but nothin' could I see, and nothin' was I aware of, until I turned round quick, because some creeter run between my legs into the passage.

There was Mr. Chops!

"Magsman," he says, "take me on the hold terms, and you've got me; if it's done, say done!"

I was all of a maze, but I said, "Done, sir."

"Done to your done, and double done!" says he. "Have you got a bit of supper in the house?"

Bearin' in mind them sparklin' warieties of foreign drains as we'd guzzled away at in Pall Mall, I was ashamed to offer him cold sassages and gin-and-water; but he took 'em both and took 'em free; havin' a chair for his table, and sittin' down at it on a stool, like hold timesâ€”I all of a maze all the while.

It was arter he had made a clean sweep of the sassages (beef, and to the best of my calculations two pounds and a quarter), that the wisdom as was in that little man began to come out of him like perspiration.

"Magsman," he says, "look upon me?â€”You see afore you one as has both gone into society, and come out."

"O, youareout of it, Mr. Chops? How did you get out, sir?"

"Sold out!" says he. You never saw the like of the wisdom as his Ed expressed, when he made use of them two words. "My friend Magsman, I'll impart to you a discovery I've made. It's wallable; it's cost twelve thousand five hundred pound; it may do you good in life. The secret of this matter is, that it ain't so much that a person goes into society, as that society goes into a person."

Not exactly keeping up with his meanin', I shook my Ed, put on a deep look, and said, "You're right there, Mr. Chops."

"Magsman," he says, twitchin' me by the leg, "society has gone into me to the tune of every penny of my property."

I felt that I went pale, and though not naturally a bold speaker, I couldn't hardly say, "Where's Normandy?"

"Boltedâ€”with the plate," said Mr. Chops.

"And t'other one?"â€”meaning him as formerly wore the bishop's miter.

"Boltedâ€”with the jewels," said Mr. Chops.

I sat down and looked at him, and he stood up and looked at me.

"Magsman," he says, and he seemed to myself to get wiser as he got hoarser, "society, taken in the lump, is all dwarfs. At the court of Saint James they was all a doin' my bisnessâ€”all a goin' three times round the Cairawan, in the hold Court suits and properties. Elsewhere, they was most of 'em ringing their little bells out of makebelieves. Everywheres, the sarser was a goin' roundâ€”Magsman, the sarser is the universal institution!"

I perceived, you understand, that he was soured by his misfortuns, and I felt for Mr. Chops.

"As to Fat Ladies," says he, giving his Ed a tremendous one ag'in the wall, "there's lots ofthemin society, and worse than the original.Herswas a outrage upon tasteâ€”simply a outrage upon tasteâ€”carryin' its own punishment in the form of a Indian!"

Here he giv' himself another tremendious one.

"Buttheirs, Magsman,theirsis mercenary outrages. Lay in Cashmere shawls, buy bracelets, strew 'em and a lot of 'andsome fans and things about your rooms, let it be known that you give away like water to all as come to admire, and the Fat Ladies that don't exhibit for so much down upon the drum will come from all the p'ints of the compass to flock about you, whatever you are. They'll drill holes in your 'art, Magsman, like a cullender. And when you've no more left to give, they'll laugh at you to your face, and leave you to have your bones picked dry by wulturs, like the dead Wild Ass of the Prayries that you deserve to be!"

Here he giv' himself the most tremendious one of all, and dropped.

I thought he was gone. His Ed was so heavy, and he knocked it so hard, and he fell so stony, and the sassagereal disturbance in him must have been so immense, that I thought he was gone. But he soon come round with care, and he sat up on the floor, and he said to me, with wisdom comin' out of his eyes, if ever it come:

"Magsman! The most material difference between the two states of existence through which your un'appy friend has passed"â€”he reached out his poor little hand, and his tears dropped down on the mustache which it was a credit to him to have done his best to grow, but it is not in mortals to command successâ€”"the difference is this: When I was out of society, I was paid light for being seen. When I went into society, I paid heavy for being seen. I prefer the former, even if I wasn't forced upon it. Give me out through the trumpet, in the hold way, to-morrow."

After that, he slid into the line again as easy as if he had been iled all over. But the organ was kep' from him, and no allusions was ever made, when a company was in, to his property. He got wiser every day; his views of society and the public was luminous, bewilderin', awful; and his Ed got bigger and bigger as his wisdom expanded it.

He took well, and pulled 'em in most excellent for nine weeks. At the expiration of that period, when his Ed was a sight, he expressed one evening, the last company havin' been turned out, and the doors shut, a wish to have a little music.

"Mr. Chops," I said (I never dropped the "Mr." with him; the world might do it, but not me)â€”"Mr. Chops, are you sure as you are in a state of mind and body to sit upon the organ?"

His answer was this:

"Toby, when next met with on the tramp, I forgive her and the Indian. And I am."

It was with fear and tremblin' that I began to turn the handle; but he sat like a lamb. It will be my belief to my dying day, that I see his Ed expand as he sat; you may therefore judge how great his thoughts was. He sat out all the changes, and then he come off.

"Toby," he says with a quiet smile, "the little man will now walk three times round the Cairawan, and then retire behind the curtain."

When we called him in the mornin' we found he had gone into much better society than mine or Pall Mall's. I give Mr. Chops as comfortable a funeral as lay in my power, followed myself as chief, and had the George the Fourth canvas carried first, in the form of a banner. But the house was so dismal afterwards, that I give it up, and took to the wan again.

Attempts to Strengthen a Spirit of International Good-Feeling Have Been Responsiblefor the Coming of Some Princely Guestsâ€”Others HaveFound an Asylum Here During Periods of Exile.

An original article written forThe Scrap Book.

Many royalties have visited the United States since the first princeling landed here in 1782. Such visits were not very frequent in the early days, but they have so increased in number that now we might almost say that we welcome the coming even while we speed the parting royal guest.

The first royal visitor to the United States was William IV, son of George III, who came to us in 1782 as midshipman in a British line-of-battle ship, one of Admiral Digby's fleet sent over to conquer us as a rebellious colony. An attempt was made by Colonel Ogden, of the First New Jersey Regiment, to capture him while his vessel was lying off New York, but the scheme failed, and the prince lived to become King of Great Britain and uncle of Queen Victoria, who succeeded him in 1837.

Queen Victoria's father, the Duke of Kent, was a hasty guest of this country a little later on, while he was on his way to join his regiment, then stationed in Canada. He subsequently became Governor of Nova Scotia, and commander-in-chief of the British forces in North America. It was in his honor that St. John's Island changed its name, and has since been known as Prince Edward Island.

In 1796, Louis Philippe, accompanied by his two brothers, the Duc de Montpensier and Comte de Beaujolais, landed in Philadelphia, bearing letters of introduction from Gouverneur Morris, then American minister to France. He traveled very extensively over the country, and sailed for Havana, whence he intended sailing to Spain to see his exiled mother, but by orders from the Court of Madrid he was detained there some time.

He returned to the United States, whence he sailed for England in 1800, became the "citizen king" of France, and died in England two years after the revolution of 1848.

In 1803, Jerome Bonaparte, nineteen years of age, arrived in New York. Visiting Baltimore, he fell in love with Miss Elizabeth Patterson, and was accepted by her, and married with great ceremony by the Catholic bishop of the diocese.

In 1805 he started for France, leaving his wife to follow. An order of the emperor prohibited her entering France at any place, and she saw her husband only once after his departure.

The First Consul had their marriage annulled by his council of state, and forced Jerome, who was his youngest brother, to marry the daughter of the King of WÃ¼rtemberg. Six days after the ceremony the young prince was made King of Westphalia.

Joseph Bonaparte, a brother, one year older than the emperor, was by him invitedâ€”or, rather, compelledâ€”to accept the kingdom of Naples in 1806, and the kingdom of Spain two years later.

After Wellington's victory at Waterloo, Joseph, with leave of his brother, quitted France, and coming to the United States as the Comte de Survilliers, he purchased an estate of fifteen hundred acres of land in Bordentown, New Jersey, and settled down to the life of an opulent gentleman and philosophical student. He also established a summer residence at Lake Bonaparte, in the Adirondacks. In 1832 he returned to France to aid in sustaining the pretensions of his nephew, Louis Napoleon, to the throne, and failing in this he went to Florence, where he died in 1844.

Three other Bonaparte princes who crossed the Atlantic were Charles Lucien, Pierre, and Antoine, sons of Lucien Bonaparte, Prince of Canino, and nephews of the great emperor. Pierreâ€”best remembered, perhaps, as the man who shot Victor Noir in a duelâ€”and his brother Antoine were mere transient visitors, but Charles Lucien lived in Philadelphia for half a dozen years. He was a man of quiet tastes, and an enthusiastic student of bird-life. He devoted most of his time to the preparation of a revised and enlarged edition of Alexander Wilson's "American Ornithology." The work appeared in three volumes, from 1825 to 1833, with both Wilson's name and that of Charles Lucien Bonaparte upon its title pages. Before the third volume was issued the prince had returned to Europe, where the rest of his life was spent.

Two sons of Joachim Murat, who married the first Napoleon's sister, Caroline, and was proclaimed King of the Two Sicilies in 1808, settled in Florida a few years after their father was shot by the Neapolitans. Napoleon Murat was of a scientific turn of mind, and took great interest in our educational institutions. He married a grandniece of George Washington, and died in Tallahassee in 1847.

His brother, Napoleon Lucien Charles, came to America in 1825, and married a Miss Frazer, of Bordentown, New Jersey. He went to France in 1848, and received the title of a prince of the imperial family.

In 1836, Charles Louis Napoleon, the late Emperor of the French, was banished to the United States for attempting to gain the throne of his uncle, the first emperor, by revolutionary means. He landed at Norfolk in March, 1837, and then came to New York, where he remained until May, when he sailed for Switzerland to see his dying mother.

Two visits to this country were made by the Prince de Joinville, third son of Louis Philippe, and brother-in-law of the late Dom Pedro, Emperor of Brazil. On the first he arrived in New York in 1842, where he met with a reception due the son of a king of France, who had also been the custodian of the remains of the great emperor when they were brought from St. Helena to Paris.

On the second visit, made in 1861, the Prince de Joinville was accompanied by his son, the Duc de PenthiÃ¨vre, and his nephews, the Comte de Paris and the Duc de Chartres. He placed his son in the naval service, and accepted for himself and nephews commissions on General McClellan's staff, as the Army of the Potomac was about to resume the march upon Richmond. After the removal of "Little Mac" the prince returned to France.

In September, 1860, the Prince of Wales, traveling as Baron Renfrew, with his tutor, the Duke of Newcastle, arrived at Detroit, after a tour through Canada. He received a most generous series of ovations in the United States, going as far west as Illinois, and while in Washington he was the special guest of President Buchanan.

Shortly after the departure of the Prince of Wales we had a visit from Prince Napoleon and his bride, the Princess Clothilde, daughter of Victor Emmanuel II, and aunt of the present King of Italy. This prince was a son of Jerome Bonaparte and his second wife, Catharine of WÃ¼rtemberg. The couple made many friends during their brief sojourn.

Queen Emma, widow of a former king of the Sandwich Islands, landed at San Francisco in 1866, and, after making a thorough inspection of our religious and educational systems, she went to England via New York.

On January 21, 1870, Prince Arthur, third son of Queen Victoria, who is now the Duke of Connaught, arrived in New York from Montreal, whither he had been ordered on military service. Three days later he was introduced to President Grant by the British minister, and was honored with a grand ball in the Masonic Temple in Washington.

Early on the morning of November 19, 1871, the Grand Duke Alexis, son of the Czar Alexander II of Russia, appeared in his flagship in the lower bay of New York Harbor. His reception was of a dual character: first as an officer of the Russian navy, and then as the son of an imperial father.

Kalakaua, King of the Hawaiian Islands, stepped ashore at San Francisco, in November, 1874, visited our chief ports, examined our industrial resources and capabilities, and endeavored to hasten the negotiation of a commercial treaty between his government and that of the United States.

The Emperor of Brazil, Dom Pedro, visited the United States in 1876, during the Centennial Exposition in Philadelphia.

Queen Liliuokalani came to plead her cause after she was deposed from the Hawaiian throne, during President Cleveland's second administration.

The Comte de Paris, accompanied by his son, the present Duc d'Orleans, again came to the United States in 1890 to visit the grave of General McClellan, on whose staff he had served during our Civil War.

In 1893 the Princess Eulalia, daughter of the late Queen Isabella of Spain, and aunt of the present king, came to the United States as the official representative of the queen regent at the time of the World's Columbian Exposition, held in Chicago.

The Crown Prince of Siam, Somdetch Chowfa Maha Vajiravudh, with his brother, who is next in succession to the throne, visited this country on his way home from his ten years' college life in England, in 1902. In that same year the Grand Duke Boris, of Russia, cousin of the Czar, and Prince Henry of Prussia, brother of the German Kaiser, also visited us.

His Highness the Maharajah Gaekwar of Baroda, Hindu prince of the first rank, came to the United States in May of this year. He was chosen ruler when a boy of twelve, and he began at once the careful study of the needs of his state and people. Under his rule the slovenly Hindu town of Baroda became a fine modern city with colleges for men and women, and a technical school.

On this Subject Our Planet Is as Secretive as a Woman, and Inquisitive Scientists CanDo Nothing More Than Guess at It.

The earth is almost as secretive on the subject of its age as is a woman who has passed the thirty mark. Several years ago Richard A. Proctor, the celebrated astronomer, addressed himself to an investigation of the subject, and then wrote as follows:

The age of the earth is placed by some at five hundred millions of years; by others, one hundred million years; and still others, of later time, among them the Duke of Argyll, place it at ten million years. None place it lower than ten millions, knowing what processes have been gone through.

Other planets go through the same process. The reason that other planets differ so much from the earth is that they are in so much earlier or later stages of existence. The earth must become old. Newton surmised that it would lose all its water and become perfectly dry. Since then other scientists have confirmed his opinion.

As the earth keeps cooling, it will become porous, and great cavities will be formed in the interior, which will take in the water. It is estimated that this process is now in progress, so far that the water diminishes at the rate of the thickness of a sheet of paper each year.

At this rate, in six million years the water will have sunk a mile, and in fifteen million the water will have disappeared from the face of the globe.

The nitrogen and oxygen in the atmosphere are also diminishing all the time. It is in an inappreciable degree, but the time will come when the air will be so thin that no creature we know could breathe it and live; the time will come when the world cannot support life. That will be the period of old age, and then will come death.

Flowers of History, Philosophy, and Mendacity Culled by Caddies to the MuseWhose Metrical Feet Have Wandered Into the Debatable TerritoryThat Lies Between Fiction and Fact.

By Jessie Pope.

When morning crowns the distant downsWith veil of azure gossam;When black bat wheels, and twilight stealsThe blush from every blossomâ€”Hist! to a sudden mysterious click,The caddie shudders and shrinks,The scarlet-jacketed heart beats thickâ€”'Tis the fantom of the links.The first was he on the family treeOf canny professional laddies,In Pluto's halls he hungers for ballsâ€”They say he's a weakness for caddies.Hist! when you feel a thrill in the breeze,A whisper that rises and sinks,When there looms a shape by the misty treesâ€”'Tis the fantom of the links.Then fly the green tho' fit and keenTo drive like soaring rocket,You'll search till dark for balls you markâ€”They're in his intangible pocket.Back from the cliff and the shimmering bay,The dune and the pebble-strewn brinks,Mortal, you'll get the worst of the playWith the fantom of the links.When through the gray the dawning daySlants over gorse and heather,When sun has set and grass is wet.And mist-wreaths twine togetherâ€”List to a sudden mysterious click,The caddie shudders and shrinks,The scarlet-jacketed heart beats thickâ€”'Tis the fantom of the links.

The first was he on the family treeOf canny professional laddies,In Pluto's halls he hungers for ballsâ€”They say he's a weakness for caddies.Hist! when you feel a thrill in the breeze,A whisper that rises and sinks,When there looms a shape by the misty treesâ€”'Tis the fantom of the links.

Then fly the green tho' fit and keenTo drive like soaring rocket,You'll search till dark for balls you markâ€”They're in his intangible pocket.Back from the cliff and the shimmering bay,The dune and the pebble-strewn brinks,Mortal, you'll get the worst of the playWith the fantom of the links.

When through the gray the dawning daySlants over gorse and heather,When sun has set and grass is wet.And mist-wreaths twine togetherâ€”List to a sudden mysterious click,The caddie shudders and shrinks,The scarlet-jacketed heart beats thickâ€”'Tis the fantom of the links.

London Queen.

Standing one day on the golf-links,I was weary and ill at ease;And I baffled and foozled idlyOver the whins and tees.I know not what I was dreaming,Or where I was rubbering then;But I swiped that ball, of a sudden,With the force of two score men.It sped through the crimson twilightLike a shot from a ten-inch gun;And it passed from my fevered visionTo the realm of the vanished sun;It chassÃ©ed over the bunker,It caromed hazard and hill;It went like a thing infernalâ€”I suppose it is going still.It shied each perplexing stymieWith infinite nerve and ease;And bored right on through the landscapeAs if it were loath to cease.I have soughtâ€”but I seek it vainlyâ€”That ball of the strenuous pace,That went from the sole of my niblickAnd entered into space.It may be some blooming caddieCan sooner or later explain;It may be that only in heavenI shall find that ball again.

It sped through the crimson twilightLike a shot from a ten-inch gun;And it passed from my fevered visionTo the realm of the vanished sun;It chassÃ©ed over the bunker,It caromed hazard and hill;It went like a thing infernalâ€”I suppose it is going still.

It shied each perplexing stymieWith infinite nerve and ease;And bored right on through the landscapeAs if it were loath to cease.I have soughtâ€”but I seek it vainlyâ€”That ball of the strenuous pace,That went from the sole of my niblickAnd entered into space.

It may be some blooming caddieCan sooner or later explain;It may be that only in heavenI shall find that ball again.

Smart Set.

We were propped against the 'dobe of that joint o' Poker Bill's,When a tenderfoot was spotted, actin' queerlike in the hills;He'd a ball of gutta-percha, and was puttin' in his licks,Jest a-knockin' it to glory with a bunch o' crooked sticks.Well, we went up there quite cur'us, and we watched him paste the ball,'Til a itchin fer to try it seemed to get a holt of all.And at last Packsaddle Stevens asked to give the thing a swat,And we gathered round to see him show the stranger what was what.Well, the golfer stuck the speroid on a little pile o' dirt,And Packsaddle swiped and swatted, but he didn't do no hurt.He barked his shins terrific, and he broke his little stick,And when he heard a snicker his guns came out too quick.We dropped behind the cactus, with some holes clipped in our clothes,While the golfer for the sky-line wagged his checker-boarded hose;And when we took home Stevens and three others that was hurtThe golf-ball still was settin' on its little pile o' dirt.So we ain't no new St. Andrews, and we hope no golfer thinksHe can cut loose here in Cactus with a set of oatmeal links;We go in fer games that's quiet, and stir up no blood and fuss,And down in Cactus Center poker's good enough for us.

Well, we went up there quite cur'us, and we watched him paste the ball,'Til a itchin fer to try it seemed to get a holt of all.And at last Packsaddle Stevens asked to give the thing a swat,And we gathered round to see him show the stranger what was what.

Well, the golfer stuck the speroid on a little pile o' dirt,And Packsaddle swiped and swatted, but he didn't do no hurt.He barked his shins terrific, and he broke his little stick,And when he heard a snicker his guns came out too quick.

We dropped behind the cactus, with some holes clipped in our clothes,While the golfer for the sky-line wagged his checker-boarded hose;And when we took home Stevens and three others that was hurtThe golf-ball still was settin' on its little pile o' dirt.

So we ain't no new St. Andrews, and we hope no golfer thinksHe can cut loose here in Cactus with a set of oatmeal links;We go in fer games that's quiet, and stir up no blood and fuss,And down in Cactus Center poker's good enough for us.

From an Old Scrap Book.

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