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miseration perhaps, as well they may; perhaps gaze at him much, and long and rudely too. This only adds to his perplexity, and induces fresh resolves never to go again where there is any danger of the occurrence being repeated. Strange as it may seem, some deaf people often hear much better in the noisy street, or traveling in the cars, than in a quiet place.

This is the reason why deaf people shun society, for there lie the rough places in their pathway, because few know how to talk to them. We do not mean the very deaf, but those who enjoy a chat or a conversation with a friend without discomfort. Their greatest trouble is to hear mixed conversation, sermons, and the like. Familiar voices are easily heard by the partly deaf: so they are happiest at home, and avoid general society. The annoyances that seem to accompany the deaf are numerous, and often very hard to bear. It leads them very often to renew their determination to stay closer at home, plunge deeper into books, and try there to find compensation for the unattainable pleasure of social intercourse.

Katharine Armstrong.


AN amateur painter was once strolling through the streets of a coast town, when he suddenly espied, standing in the door of a little cottage, a beautiful young woman with a sturdy child in her arms. The pretty picture framed in the dusky doorway attracted him, and with an eye to a "study" he accosted the unconscious Madonna. The young mother answered that she was n't particular about herself, but that she should admire to have Iddy's picture taken. “Iddy!" rejoined the painter; “what's the rest of his name?" "Oh," said she, with an air of pardonable pride, “you know he's our first baby, and we did n't want him to have a name like everybody else; so he found some nice words in a book, and Iddy's name is one of 'emIdiosyncrasy!"

That the above is a true story as to the main fact makes it none the less melancholy. But at the same time there was the germ of reform wrapped up in the idea of an original name for the child. This motive governed our friend Mrs. Kenwigs, when she composed the immortal cognomen of her Morleena; and I knew a lady who bravely carried about the appellation of Garaphelia Mohalba. This was certainly unique, though for purposes of convenience it had to be dwarfed to the commonplace and every-day Garry.

In these complex times it is useless to hope that the simplicity and truth of the old Hebrew nomenclature can ever be restored. But what an amazing effect might be predicted if names were all at once to resume their old-time elasticity, and could be donned and doffed as character suggested. Think of being known as "Supplanter," or "Dishonest," or "Repentant," as the case might require. And what an immense stimulus to selfrighteousness there would be, supposing a man had really begun to mend his ways, in being addressed as "Virtuous," or "Excellent," or "Pure." It would never do. It would be " living in a lantern" with a vengeance. The present fashion of newspaper publicity would be retirement and secrecy compared with it, and something more serious than "dramatic situations" would inevitably result. It is probably for

the general good, therefore, that the moral condition of language renders such a state of things impossible. No doubt speech was orignally an honest interpreter of thought, but the interpreter has trifled with his moral sense until it is hopelessly degraded, and he has no longer even the courage of his opinions left. So we give a child his father's name just because it is his father's name, and not from any special fitness. Indeed, the whole question of fitness seems to be lost sight of, except in rare cases. The original significance of baptismal names is buried under a mountain of associations, and we characterize certain ones as stately, or somber, or piquant, chiefly because of the qualities of some former possessor. And as with " Iddy's " parents, the mere sound of a name goes far to recommend it to many people. The melodious arrangement of vowels and consonants is, after all, one of the main motives; and as tastes differ in regard to what constitutes melody, the standard has to vary in a somewhat trying manner. A large class of excellent people confine themselves with praiseworthy fidelity to Bible names, on account of which a girl now and then finds herself weighted in the race of life with such a burden as Keren-happuch, or a boy is forever jeered by his mates on account of being known as Tiglath-Pileser. Even this, however, is an improvement on the Cromwellian style of using whole formularies of theology, such as, "Through much tribulation we enter into the kingdom of Heaven" (which was irreverently condensed to Tribby), or the famous Praise-God Barebones. That was a quaint and not unpleasing usage of two generations back which gave our aunts and grandmothers such names as Patience, Mercy, Thankful, Submit, etc. But how an occasional “high-strung" maiden must have rebelled against the meekness of such an appellation. A mode which finds more or less favor in the Western States has at least the merit of being patriotic. Thus a boy born on the Fourth of July was christened Independence, and I remember such combinations as Indiana Martin, Peoria Frye, and Minneapolis Forsyth. There is a certain breadth and freshness, as it were, about these specimens which smack of wide rivers and wider prairies.

There is one aspect of the case against which the writer feels bound especially to protest. It is the nefarious practice of altering a child's name, now happily taking its place among other relics of barbarism-a very different thing, you will perceive, from the honesty of the Hebrew usage; but it has been largely sanctioned, even among the most intelligent people. Say, for instance, that a child has, after much anxious thought and search, been given her great-great-grandmother's majestic and honorable name. All the associations of early infancy naturally cling about it. The baby's silver cup and the little spoon and fork bear the three stately initials, and various precious heirlooms are held in trust for the future pleasure of the fortunate namesake. But an elder sister dies, and straightway, through some occult law of sympathy or sentiment, away goes the grand old name to give place to―Susie! It is nothing short of robbery. That obnoxious "ie" reminds me of another practice which is almost too absurd to combat. Can any reasonable being give a valid excuse for the strange fatuity which makes grown-up women, and business women at that, announce themselves to the world as Jennie, Mattie,

The Glacier versus the Editor.

ADOWN a Glacier's steep crevasse I dropped a little song,
And far within the shining depths it slipped and slid along.
Then to an Editor I sent the self-same song away;

The Editor accepted it upon that self-same day.

He did not print it - but his words were courteous, warm, and kind.
The Glacier held with frigid grasp my little song enshrined.

The Glacier or the Editor? I fain would see revealed

Which icy heart would be the first my little song to yield.

Far, far above, through sun and storm, the Glacier gleamed and shone;

I took my little rocking-chair and climbed the Alps alone;

For fifty years I sat and watched that Glacier's glittering way,
In hope to see it bring my song again to upper day.
For fifty years I watched the date the magazine appears
No murmur once escaped my lips in all those fifty years;

But still, with meek humility,-heart-sick with hope deferred,-
Deferred to judgment wiser far, and never once demurred.
And yet again the pages scanned each month with hope renewed,
Each month, in deep dejection lost, the cruel pages viewed.

Again Hope spake with cheering voice, and waved her drooping wing,
"Take heart! THE CENTURY of next month your song will surely bring!'
At last, with heart all turned to ice, despair too deep to name,
I calmly gave my poem up— the Glacier did the same!

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Sort of ethereal style, you know

Dark hair, and bottomless eyes.

We were college chums, but, powder and flame!
How can a fellow keep cool?

He never would even tell me her name,
And laughed, and called me a fool.

He liked her, too, I was sure he did,
He was praising her high and low,

And he 'd give me a look from under his lid-
Well, I certainly hated Joe!

Did I ever swear I was bound to win
If the kindly fates approved?

She was "more to him than friend or kin,"
And "the sum of all he loved."

In short, it was something else than play,
And at last I said so too,
And vowed in a most convincing way
He should tell me all he knew.

“Well — it's my brother at home,” said he,
Checking him off on his thumb;
"My two little sisters,- that makes three,-
And my cousin, and his chum:

"My mother, my aunt, and my uncle John-
It's the latest thing, you know.
Now of course you 're really in love, my son,
But which is the girl?" said Joe.

Dora Read Goodale.

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Charlotte W. Thurston.

Ballade of Rejected MS.

I'VE" submitted my verse and my prose
To the editors' "reading machines,"
Yet my name 's unfamiliar to those
Who subscribe for the best magazines.
I began to write verse in my teens,
By the light of sweet Erato's face;
Now, what is it the editor means
By," We 're sorry we have n't the space"?

Here are madrigals written to Rose-
'T is to Rose that my preference leans;
Here are triolets, rondels, rondeaux,
And the charms they portray our Fifines;
Here's "A Plea for our Gallant Marines
'T was the Admiral "stated the case";
Pray, what is it the editor means

By," We 're sorry we have n't the space"?

Here are tales quite as ghastly as Poe's,
And weird legends ; — the "limit" still screens

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All I fain to the world would disclose,
So I clasp my portfolio's shagreens:
But just here a grim thought supervenes
Does my "style" lack acceptable grace?
And is that what the editor means
By, "We're sorry we have n't the space"?


Friend,- for you 're at the back of the scenes,-
Does my Pegasus halt in his pace?
Can you tell what the editor means

By, "We 're sorry we have n't the space"?

Andrew Hussey Allen.

In Silken Hose.

IN silken hose and powdered hair,
And gay pumps twinkling at the toes,
He had no vulgar flesh to spare
In silken hose!

His cheeks were like Moore's laggard rose;
And though he breathed Parisian air,
Insidious wrinkles were his woes.
Time planned for him no sudden snare,
But probing age- his worst of foes-
Laid all his imperfections bare
In siiken hose!


William H. Hayne.

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APRIL, 1888.

No. 6.




HE humble fish-
ermen of Tyre
and Sidon, the capi-
tals of Phenicia, had
become rich and in-

fluential merchants long before the Christian era. By their enterprise they had made their cities the ports of the East, and had gained commercial intercourse with other countries bordering on the Mediterranean and with those beyond. Instead of being a barbarous people, with unattractive surroundings, they possessed many of the signs of elegance and taste which marked the cities of the West. Theaters were numerous; baths abounded; and the shows, the games, and the combats of wild beasts caused the people from all parts to pour into the Phenician cities. But little remains at Tyre or Sidon now to give evidence of their past. Seldom does a modern vessel touch at either port. The rapid traveler of to-day is content with a passing 'glimpse of them through a marine glass. When the weather is fair, the Mediterranean steamers pass near the shore and make such an opportunity possible, though that "soft artistic haze," so fascinating to the painter, is apt to obscure the distance, and shut from view the inclines bare, yet lovely, which reach inland. But when Tyre and Sidon were in their glory, how beautiful the scene must have been! Then the richly cultivated farms reached down to the very borders of the sea, and each cape,

promontory, and hill-top exposed to the glittering rays of the sun the white walls of some prosperous town or the sumptuous dwelling of a landed proprietor.

A small but magnificent port was then part of the glory of each city. When Herod ruled in Phenicia, these harbors were continually crowded with the vessels of all nations. The noise and confusion were scarcely less than at Antioch or Rome. The cities and the ports, though not extensive, always teemed. with life, and were vivid with a wealth of color. The moving vessels, the rude encounters of the sailors, the ravings of the wild beasts which were brought from the far East and South for the public games, the songs of the fishermen, the busy movements of the merchantsall together made up picturesque scenes in endless variety.

How changed it all is now!

Eastward are the undulating, fruitful plains, gay and bright with flowers and verdure, backed by the southern ridges of Lebanon. These plains, extending from one city to the other, twenty-five miles, constituted "the coasts of Tyre and Sidon," or, as the New Revision calls them, "the borders."

One may start from Sidon on the old road and then go through the wooded pathways and the romantic ravines of the spurs of Lebanon, until a height of six thousand feet or more is reached. Soon after the descent on the eastern side, the natural bridge which spans the Leontes is crossed, and then the road is good until the valley of the upper Jordan comes into view, and a turn to the south is made. If the start is made early in the day, the air will be fresh. The first rays of the sun, coming up over the mountains, set aglow one line of hills after another as the Copyright, 1888, by THE CENTURY Co. All rights reserved.

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