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"Even now he tries," replied Claudius; "but he is met on either side by the torch. The fiercest beast of the desert shrinks from fire. Prudent and fortunate device! Lo! the horse seems at last to have ascertained that he who has this day mounted him is worthy of his services; do you hear the tread of his hoofs, as he traces the circle of the arena, guided by those steady hands from which flames appear to flow? Faster and faster rushes the steed, always restrained and turned by the outer torch, which is brought near his head, while the inner is held further to the rear. His sides are flecked with foam. The pace grows too rapid for a short curve, and the steed is now guided straight for the western opening in the arena opposite to where we sit, while the light breeze from the east counteracts the current of air made by the animal's own career, and keeps the flare of those torches almost even.

"They are gone; and again, hark! Is not that shout like the roar of waters on a storm-beaten shore, as a hundred thousand men proclaim the success of a generous and brave youth, who could face the chance of being torn limb from limb in order to give to a poor slave like me, condemned to a frightful death, his life and his liberty, a home and a future?"

"But surely," said the imperial child, "it is not over so soon. It is like a dream."

"I have tried to make you see what I saw," returned Claudius. "It was a wonderful struggle - the youth looked beautiful; and in the swift whirl, as you beheld the graceful and perfect rider, his hands apparently streaming with flames, and his face so calm and clear, you would have imagined that it was one of those beings whom the poets have feigned and sung, as having gifts superior to the gifts of ordinary mortals, who was delivering some terror-stricken land from a demon, from a cruel monster, and compelling ferocity, craft, uproar, and violence to bend to far higher forces, to man's cool courage and man's keen wit."

The sun, as if in wide-flowing garments of red and golden clouds, had sunk level with the broad western opening of the amphitheater, when the hum of voices was hushed once more, and Claudius was commanded in a whisper to resume his task.

"I cannot with certainty discern," said the slave, "what occurs; there is such a vast heavenly shield of red light hanging opposite to us in the western sky. Against it, approaching at a walking pace toward the gap in the arena, along that avenue of chestnut trees in the country, I see a horseman. All eyes are turned in that direction. It is he; it is Paulus Lepidus Æmilius, returning on the Sejan steed. The animal is enveloped in sweat, and dust, and foam, and rather stoops the

head which looked so fierce two hours ago. The rider has thrown away those torches, and now holds the reins low down on either side, a little in front of the beast's shoulder. His hat is gone, and his brown locks, as you see them against the sun, are so touched with the light that he seems to wear a headgear of golden flames. Hark! again, as before, the people and the army shout to him. He is bowing to them on each side; and now, as he advances, what do I see?"

The slave paused, and the child impatiently cried :"How can I tell what you see, you dog? You are here for no other purpose than to tell me that."

"He has streaks of blood upon his forehead," resumed Claudius.

"Oh! oh!" cried the other; "the branches of the trees have no doubt struck him. Is he pale? Does he look faint? Is he going to fall off?"

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'No," said Claudius; "he has reined in the horse, which stands like a horse of stone in the middle of the arena. Tiberius and Germanicus have both ridden toward him, with their retinues of mounted officers behind them. They have halted some six yards from him. They are speaking to him. As they speak, he bows his head and smiles. A crowd of people on foot have broken into the arena. The grooms have drawn near, at a sign from Tiberius; they are cautiously approaching the Sejan beast;

but this last shows no restiveness. They have slipped the muzzle round his nose, under the reins. The youth dismounts. I do not see him now; he has become mixed with the crowd, I think; yes, it must be so, for I miss him altogether."

Augustus now rose, and his rising was taken by the multitude as a signal that the entertainments of the amphitheater for that evening had closed.

MILES GERALD KEON.

Miles Gerald Keon, the last male descendant of an old Irish family, was born February 20, 1821, on the banks of the Shannon. As a boy he entered the Jesuit College at Stonyhurst, England, where he won many honors. On quitting college he served for a short time with the French army in Algiers, afterward studied law, and finally turned his attention to literature. In 1859 he was appointed Colonial Secretary at Bermuda, which position he held until his death, June 3, 1875. It was while at Bermuda, in 1866, that he published "Dion and the Sibyls," a classic Christian novel, which has been declared by competent judges the equal of "Fabiola," and one of the two or three great English Catholic novels.

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Education and Patriotism.

As they alone are Christians who strive earnestly to lead a high and worthy life, so only those who are seriously intent on making themselves wise, strong, and virtuous are patriots. Words are idle unless they are filled with meaning by the deeds of those who utter them. A soldier may die in battle, and be only a mercenary; but he who so lives as to make men thankful that he is their fellow citizen is a patriot. By making use of the opportunities which liberty offers, one may amass vast wealth, and be an enemy of freedom; but he who frees himself from within by overcoming ignorance and greed makes us think well not only of himself, but of his country also.

Children love their parents, not when they praise them, but when by their intelligent and virtuous behavior they make them happy, and so those who boast of the greatness of their country do not therefore love it; but its true lovers are those who strengthen and glorify it by their wisdom, honesty, unselfishness, sincerity, and courage.

The characteristics of a true American are good will, sympathy with the helpless and oppressed, intelligence, uprightness, energy, courage, and industry; and if we love our country and desire to make its institutions

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