rulers, nor by the violence of mutinous troops led on by greed; nor had it been founded by any angel, archangel, or any created power whatever, but by the eternal Paraclete himself. How! was he indeed yielding to the charm of a giddy girl,—to a tear or two, perhaps feigned at that, was he for such a motive to belittle and put aside that greatest of dignities, that sacred authority which God did not concede even to the very archangels nearest his throne? Could he ever be content to descend to the common herd, to be lost among them? Could he be merely one of the flock when he had aspired to be its shepherd, tying or untying on earth what God should tie or untie in heaven, pardoning sins, regenerating souls by water and the Spirit, teaching them in the name of an infallible authority, and pronouncing judgments which the Lord would then ratify and confirm in highest heaven? When Don Luis reflected upon all this, his soul flew aloft and soared high above all the clouds into the farthest empyrean; and poor Pepita Ximenez was left behind there, far below, scarce visible, as one might say, to the naked eye. Soon however would his winged imagination cease its flight, his spirit return to earth. Then once more he would see Pepita, so gracious, so youthful, so ingenuous, so loving; and Pepita combated within his heart his most inflexible determinations. Don Luis dreaded, with but too much reason, that in the end she would scatter them all to the winds. HOW YOUNG DON FADRIQUE WAS PERSUADED TO DANCE From Commander Mendoza' HEN a child, Don Fadrique used to dance the bolero very creditably. Don Diego- for such was his father's name WHE had pleasure in seeing the boy exhibit his grace and skill whenever he took him about to pay visits with him, or when he received visitors at his own house. On a certain occasion Don Diego, with his son Don Fadrique, went to the little city,-I have never been willing to give any name to it,-distant about two leagues from Villabermejo, in which little city the scene of my novel 'Pepita Ximenez' is laid. XXVI-953 At that time Don Fadrique was thirteen years old, but unusually tall for his age. As visits of ceremony were to be made, he had put on a crimson damask coat and waistcoat, with burnished steel buttons, together with white-silk stockings and buckled shoes,-a costume in which he was like the midday sun, for the fine and becoming effect of it. Don Fadrique's well-worn traveling-suit, much spotted and patched, was left behind at the inn, as were their horses as well. Don Diego was of a mind that his son should appear in his company in unclouded splendor; and the boy was most self-complacent at finding himself decked out in such modish and elegant attire. This fine dress, however, inspired in him at the same time an ideal of a certain exaggerated formality and reserve of conduct, he thought he ought to observe to be in keeping with it. Their first visit was made to a noble dame, a widow with two unmarried daughters. Unluckily here the family spoke of young Fadrique; how he was growing up, and his skill in dancing the bolero. "He does not dance as well at present as he did a year ago,” his father explained; "for he is just now at the awkward hobbledehoy age, an ungainly period, between schoolmaster's rod and the first razor. You know that boys at that age are unendurable, -trying to ape the airs of grown men, when they are not men in the least. Nevertheless, as you are kind enough to desire it, he shall give you an example of his accomplishments in the dancing line." The ladies, who had at first but politely suggested it, hereupon. urged their request quite warmly. One of the young daughters of the house picked up a guitar, and began to strum suitable dance music. "Dance, Fadrique," said Don Diego, as soon as the music struck up. But an unconquerable repugnance to dancing upon that occasion took possession of the boy. He fancied there was a prodi gious irrelevancy-a regular Antinomian heresy, as they would have said in those days-between his dance and the mature coat of ceremony he had then put on. It should be stated that he wore such a coat on this day for the first time; and this too was the very first appearance of the new costume - if indeed it can be called "new," after having been made over from a suit which had first been his father's, and then his elder brother's, and only handed down to him when it had grown too tight and short for them. "Dance, Fadrique," his father repeated, beginning to lose patience at his delay. Don Diego-whose own garb, of a kind adapted both to country wear and to traveling, was presumably quite correct enough without change-had not donned a formal coat, like his son. His attire consisted of a complete suit of dressed deerskin, with long boots and spurs; and in his hand he carried the huntingwhip with which he was wont to keep in order both his spirited, horse and a pack of dogs that followed him. "Dance, Fadrique!" cried Don Diego, repeating his order for the third time. His voice had an agitated tone, due to anger and surprise. Don Diego held so exalted an idea of the paternal authority, and of his own in particular, that he marveled at the species of taciturn rebellion at which he was assisting. "Let him alone, I beg, Señor Mendoza," interposed the noble widow. "The child is tired out with his journey, and does not feel like dancing." "He has got to dance, and at once." "No, no, never mind," protested she who strummed the guitar. "Probably we shall have the pleasure of seeing him some other time." "He shall dance, and on the instant, I say. Dance, I tell you, Fadrique." "I won't dance in a coat of ceremony like this," the youth at last responded. Aqui fué Troya [Here stood Troy]. Don Diego ignored the presence of the ladies, and all other restraining motives. The reply had been to him like a match applied to a powder maga zine. "Rebel, disobedient son," he shouted in a rage, "I'll send you away to the Torribiós! [A severe reform-school founded by a certain Father Torribío.] Dance, or I will flog you." And he began flogging young Don Fadrique with his riding-whip. The girl who had the guitar stopped her music for an instant in surprise; but Don Diego gave her such an angry and terrible. lo that she feared he might make her play by hard knocks, just as he was trying to make his son dance, and so she kept on without further pause. When Don Fadrique had received eight or ten sound lashes, he all at once began to perform the dance, the very best he knew how. At first the tears ran down his cheeks; but presently, upon the reflection that it was his own father that was beating him, and the whole scene striking his fancy in a comic light,- seeing his case, for instance, as if it were that of another person, he began to laugh heartily. To dance, in a coat of ceremony, to the accompaniment of a volley of whip-lashes, what could be funnier? In spite of the physical pain he was suffering, he laughed gayly, and danced with the enthusiasm of a veritable inspiration. The ladies applauded the strange performance with all their might. "Good! good!" now cried Don Diego. "By all the devils! have I hurt you, my son?" "Not at all, father. It is clear I needed a double accompaniment to make me dance to-day." "Well, try and forget it, my boy. Why did you want to be so obstinate? What reasonable ground for refusing could you have had, when your new coat fits you as if it were simply painted on, and when you consider that the classic and highbred bolero is a dance entirely suited to any gentleman? I am a little quick-tempered, I admit; but I hope these ladies will pardon me." And with this ended the episode of the bolero. HENRY VAN DYKE (1852-) 塞 HE literary clergyman has made some very pleasant and important contributions to the great body of English literature. A worthy American member of the confraternity is the Rev. Dr. Henry Van Dyke, a popular and able preacher, a writer of mark upon religious subjects, and in the field of belles-lettres a graceful and accomplished essayist and poet. Henry HENRY VAN DYKE Dr. Van Dyke comes of distinguished clerical stock, his father being the Rev. Dr. Henry J. Van Dyke of Brooklyn, New York. the son was born November 10th, 1852, at Germantown, Pennsylvania; and was educated at the Brooklyn Polytechnic Institute, and at Princeton, in the college and Theological Seminary. He took a further course at the German University of Berlin. His first pastorate was that of the United Congregational Church at Newport, Rhode Island, which he held from 1879 to 1882; then coming to the Brick Presbyterian Church in New York city, which charge he has since retained. Dr. Van Dyke was a Harvard preacher from 1890 to 1892; and in 1895-6 delivered the Lyman Beecher lectures at Yale, published in 1895 under the title 'The Gospel for an Age of Doubt,'-recognized as a brilliant setting forth and interpretation of the modern intellectual situation. Dr. Van Dyke's writings fall into a threefold division: sermons and other distinctly religious books; literary appreciations and papers; and poems. Of the former may be mentioned The Reality of Religion' (1884), 'The Story of the Psalms' (1887), 'God and Little Children' (1890), 'Straight Sermons: to Young Men and Other Human Beings' (1893), 'The Bible As It Is (1893), 'The Christ-Child in Art: A Study of Interpretation (1894), and Responsive Readings (1895). Dr. Van Dyke is an enthusiastic student of Tennyson; and his very popular 'The Poetry of Tennyson' (1889) is one of the most authoritative and eloquent studies of the late Laureate. 'Little Rivers' (1896) contains a series of charming papers descriptive of the author's fishing excursions in picturesque places,- essays "in profitable idleness," showing ( |