"That was a joke on the part of the shepherds," said Mr. Smooth-it-Away, with a smile. "It is neither more nor less than the door of a cavern which they use as a smoke-house for the preparation of mutton-hams." My recollections of the journey are now for a little space dim and confused, inasmuch as a singular drowsiness here overcame me, owing to the fact that we were passing over the Enchanted Ground, the air of which encourages a disposition to sleep. I awoke, however, as soon as we crossed the borders of the pleasant Land of Beulah. All the passengers were rubbing their eyes, comparing watches and congratulating one another on the prospect of arriving so seasonably at the journey's end. The sweet breezes of this happy clime came refreshingly to our nostrils; we beheld the glimmering gush of silver fountains overhung by trees of beautiful foliage and delicious fruit, which were propagated by grafts from the celestial gardens. Once, as we dashed onward like a hurricane, there was a flutter of wings and the bright appearance of an angel in the air speeding forth on some heavenly mission. The engine now announced the close vicinity of the final station-house by one last and horrible scream in which there seemed to be distinguishable every kind of wailing and woe and bitter fierceness of wrath, all mixed up with the wild laughter of a devil or a madman. Throughout our journey, at every stopping-place, Apollyon had exercised his ingenuity in screwing the most abominable sounds out of the whistle of the steamengine, but in this closing effort he outdid himself, and created an infernal uproar which, besides disturbing the peaceful inhabitants of Beulah, must have sent its discord even through the celestial gates. While the horrid clamor was still ringing in our ears we heard an exulting strain, as if a thousand instruments of music with height and depth and sweetness in their tones, at once tender and triumphant, were struck in unison to greet the approach of some illustrious hero who had fought the good fight and won a glorious victory, and was come to lay aside his battered arms forever. Looking to ascertain what might be the occasion of this glad harmony, I perceived, on alighting from the cars, that a multitude of shining ones had assembled on the other side of the river to welcome two poor pilgrims who were just emerging from its depths. They were the same whom Apollyon and ourselves had persecuted with taunts and gibes and scalding steam at the commencement of our journey the same whose unworldly aspect and impressive words had stirred my conscience amid the wild revellers of Vanity Fair. "How amazingly well those men have got on!" cried I to Mr. Smooth-it-Away. "I wish we were secure of as good a reception." "Never fear! never fear!" answered my friend. "Come! make haste. The ferry-boat will be off directly, and in three minutes you will be on the other side of the river. No doubt you will find coaches to carry you up to the city gates." A steam ferry-boat-the last improvement on this important route lay at the river-side puffing, snorting, and emitting all those other disagreeable utterances which betoken the departure to be immediate. I hurried on board with the rest of the passengers, most of whom were in great perturbation, some bawling out for their baggage, some tearing their hair and exclaiming that the boat would explode or sink, some already pale with the heaving of the stream, some gazing affrighted at the ugly aspect of the steersman, and some still dizzy with the slumberous influences of the Enchanted Ground. Looking back to the shore, I was amazed to discern Mr. Smooth-it-Away waving his hand in token of farewell. "Don't you go over to the Celestial City ?" exclaimed I. "Oh, no!" answered he, with a queer smile and that same disagreeable contortion of visage which I had remarked in the inhabitants of the dark valley "oh, no! I have come thus far only for the sake of your pleasant company. Good-bye! We shall meet again." And then did my excellent friend, Mr. Smooth-it-Away, laugh outright; in the midst of which cachinnation a smoke-wreath issued from his mouth and nostrils, while a twinkle of lurid flame darted out of either eye, proving indubitably that his heart was all of a red blaze. The impudent fiend! To deny the existence of Tophet when he felt its fiery tortures raging within his breast! I rushed to the side of the boat, intending to fling myself on shore, but the wheels, as they began their revolutions, threw a dash of spray over me, so cold- so deadly cold with the chill that will never leave those waters until Death be drowned in his own river that with a shiver and a heart-quake I awoke. Thank heaven it was a dream! JOHN HAY. HAY, JOHN, an American novelist, poet, journalist, and diplomat; born at Salem, Ind., October 8, 1838. He was educated at Brown University, studied law, and was admitted to the bar in Springfield, Ill., in 1861. In the same year he became Assistant Secretary of President Lincoln, and later his Adjutant and Aid. de-Camp. He served for a time in the Union army, and became an assistant adjutant-general. After the war he was Secretary of Legation at Paris and Madrid, and Chargé d'Affaires at Vienna. In 1870 he returned to the United States, and for six years was employed on the editorial staff of the "New York Tribune." From 1879 to 1881 he was Assistant Secretary of State. During his connection with the "Tribune" he became known by his dialect poems "Jim Bludsoe " and "Little Breeches." These were afterward published, with others of his verses, in a volume entitled "Pike County Ballads" (1871). In the same year he published "Castilian Days," a collection of sketches of Spanish life. He also, conjointly with John G Nicolay, wrote "The Life of Abraham Lincoln," which was published in the "Century Magazine," in 1886-87, and issued in ten volumes. His collected poems appeared in 1890. In 1897 President McKinley appointed him United States Ambassador to the Court of St. James's, and he was accepted just prior to Queen Victoria's celebration of the sixtieth anniver sary of her reign. In September, 1898, he was recalled, and appointed Secretary of State. WHEN PHYLLIS LAUGHS.1 WHEN Phyllis laughs, in sweet surprise Or if my ears take more delight In crinkled eyelids hid Love lies, 'These poems are copyrighted, and are reprinted here by permission of Mr. Hay Promise of raptures infinite, When Phyllis laughs. Far to the Orient fancy flies. I see beneath Idalian skies, Clad only in the golden light, NIGHT IN VENICE, LOVE, in this summer night, do you recall Hung round us, and our own hearts beat in tune Lit up on dome and tower and palace wall. WILLIAM HAYLEY. HAYLEY, WILLIAM, an English poet; born at Chichester, October 29, 1745; died at Felpham, a place near there, November 12, 1820. He was educated at Eton and Cambridge, and studied law; but being possessed of an ample fortune, he devoted himself to literary pursuits. In 1792 he became acquainted with Cowper, whose life he wrote ten years later. Hayley's writings are quite numerous, both in prose and verse, among which are an Autobiography. "Epistle on History" appeared in 1780; "The Triumphs of Temper" in 1781; "Epistles on Epic Poetry" in 1782; an "Essay on Old Maids" in 1785; "Essay on Sculpture" in 1800; and "The Triumphs of Music" in 1804. He wrote also a "Life of Milton" (1794). Cowper and Gibbon commended his "Epistles on Epic Poetry." Of his poetical works the best, besides a few small pieces, are "The Triumphs of Temper" and "Epistles on Epic Poetry." INSCRIPTION FOR THE TOMB OF COWPER. YE who with warmth the public triumph feel Ranks with her dearest sons his favorite name. INSCRIPTION FOR THE TOMB OF MRS. UNWIN. TRUSTING in God with all her heart and mind, And watched a poet through misfortune's vale. |