and weary, and I want a little rest!" The old man opened wide the gate, and said "Come in, my dear young friend, you have earned the rest you seek, and you shall find it here." He entered and his weakness seemed to leave him and his lame back grew strong, and then I lost sight of him in this beautiful throng, for he grew like the rest and he joined in the dance and the sports and pastimes, and all seemed happiness again. Presently the portal opened again and a little girl softly felt her way along until she touched the dear old man. Then she said, "Please, sir, may I come in. I am very weary, and my way is so hard to go, for I am blind?" The old man kissed the little child and said, "Come, my darling, and I will show you such lovely sights and you shall join with my merry children in the dance." But the little girl said, "O master, I cannot see these lovely sights, for I have been blind all my life, and I have so longed to see the dear blessed earth and sky, and the many pretty things of nature;" and the old man answered, "Yes, my child, you have endured much and now we will throw away the mist from your eyes and you shall enter and join with the children." She entered the gate and saw the pretty sights, and joined in the dance, and I lost sight of her for she become like the rest. So again and again the gate opened and others were ushered in, yet none entered with a burden, all those were left behind. Some laid down bundles of sorrow they had borne, but all burdens, great and small, were left behind, and all who entered became blithe and merry, and joined in the dance and true enjoyment of the beautiful place. Once I looked when the old man was talking earnestly with one whom, it seemed, could not enter. What is this, thought I, the child is beautiful and yet she cannot enter. In a moment I heard the old man say, "My child, you have no burden, you do not even sorrow for those you have left behind, go back to the world and earn a reward. Tarry longer on the earth, and you will meet with sorrows, and many will be the rocks that fall in your way, and when you come

again you shall have the reward that you have earned." The child turned away, little caring for she had no sorrow or burden, and of course she was light, free and happy, but this had been the first rebuff, this was the first rough place in her path, but she stumbled many a time on her way, for I watched her as far as the eye could reach.

I seemed to lay in a trance, and for a long, long time I watched the happy throng. As I looked, again the portal opened and the old man laid his hand upon the little child that he had sent back to earn her reward. I heard her softly whisper, "Oh master, let me in, I am so very weary now. I went back and found my way so hard. Many taunted me and called me proud and vain and wicked, and I had become so, but no one ever told me and I did not know that it was wrong till I came here, but I bore the taunts and I tried to overcome my pride and vanity, and now may I come in?" The old man gently took the burden from the child and ushered her into the valley of happiness, and she joined in the happy dance and pastimes. A mist came before me now, and the joyous scene passed from before me. For a long time I lay almost insensible, then I arose and thanked God for what I had seen. Yes, arose feeling better prepared now for my life's journey and the burden laid upon all, of which I must bear my share. O friends, take warning from this little picture, and do not frown and murmur because you have burdens to bear, for if you have no burdens to lay at the portal of heaven, the gates of that glorious place will not be open to you, and the keeper will say, "Go back to earth, and bravely earn a reward, before you expect to enter here and receive one." A. W. C.

THE MANATEE.

Can any one tell what a manatee is? If the cold weather in the South has not killed him he may be found in Florida, or in one particular section of that State, and there only. This locality, according to a writer in the Cincinnati Enquirer, is along the St. Lucie river, a

very short stream-the shortest navigable one, perhaps, in America-as it is only ten miles long. The stream has its source in the Halbatte eoka Flats, and becomes navigable at St. Lucie Bay. The Indians regarded the stream with mysterious awe-somewhat, in fact, as the Hindoo people do the Ganges. They found plants upon the borders that grew nowhere else, and here they found the manatee. The female of the manatee is known as the sea-cow. There is no more awkward, helpless or curious animal. The hand is broad, and the eyes are completely hidden by heavy folds of skin. The mouth is shaped very much like that of a cow, in every way but the teeth. These are long and sharp like those of the carnivorous tribe,"and yet the animal is said to be exclusively vegetarian. Its chief food is the manathe grass, but it, perhaps, eats occasionally other aquatic plants. This grass has large, broad blades, and is found in eight or ten feet of water, growing on the bottom and extending to the surface. The mature manatee weighs about one thousand two hundred pounds. One was captured which weighed one thousand five hundred. This was about twelve feet in length, and had a girth of

four feet. The manatee is provided with flippers about ten inches in length, and the body diminishes into a large, fantastic tail, similar to the porpoise; the skin is black, and is sparsely covered with short, thick hair.

This animal does not cut a graceful figure or move about easily on land, but it can go with speed through the water. The manatee cannot defend himself at all. He does not bite, and is at your

mercy if you have any means of capturing him. But his ear is phenomenally quick. He can hear the sound of an oar no matter how carefully handled, at a distance of half a mile, and he will take alarm at it. His body affords excellent food, as the Indians long ago found out, and they used to jerk the flesh and sell it to the Spaniards at a high price. The fattest, juiciest beef is by no means equal to it. The meat of no animal is so delicious. About ten years ago the meat could be bought at fifty cents a pound; but it will soon be unattainable at any price. There is no doubt that the manatee is rapidly becoming an extinct animal. Like the dodo which flourished in the middle ages, but is now extinct, the sea-cow will pass out of existence, and will be looked upon in a few centuries as a monstrosity. But the governor and legislature of Florida might, we should suppose, delay this catastrophe, by turning a part of the more swampy and least valuable portion of the St. Lucie river into a State park-which might be called Manatee Park-and appointing a parkkeeper with assistants to guard it. Its purpose should be simply for the preservation of this animal. As the manatee submits to captivity, he might even he cultivated by cultivating the manat e grass in other low, swampy regions in Florida. Manatee farming, as a specialty, might prove in fact an alluring business and far more profitable than orange growing, which has brisk competition in other countries. Nothing is more certain than that the world will always pay well for its rarer delicacies-as the sharp demands of the human appetite attest.

ON the twenty-second day of July, 1661, Mr. Samuel Pepys, direct from London, rode to Hatfield, where he arrived “before twelve o'clock," which was very good riding for that portly, worthy gentleman. There he was fortunate enough to meet with "Mr. Looker, my lord's

gardener," who courteously showed him the house, the chapel "with brave pictures," and also the gardens, which especially pleased the curious visitor, who made the note in his diary that he "never saw such in all his life; nor so good flowers, nor so great gooseberries, as big as

nutmegs." Several seasons later, this time it was in August, 1667, good Mr. Pepys and his excellent wife, with "our coach and four," paid another visit to the old market-town. They stopped at "the inn next my Lord Salisbury's house," where they dined and "were mighty merry," after which they walked out in the park and the vineyard, which he styled "a place of great delight."

Two hundred years denotes age to us. But Hatfield is nearly the same to-day as it was in those far-away days of the seventeenth century, when the gossipy Pepys visited its halls and walked under the grand old trees. The gardens are still as beautiful, the noble palace as stately, as gracious as ever; still mighty fine to look at. There still stands the tower from the window of which, according to tradition, the Princess Elizabeth envied the lot of the humble milkmaid, and in the park still towers the great oak under which she received the news of her accession to the throne. In fact, it is said that no home in the kingdom, erected at so early a date, remains so entire as Hatfield; none other is so little changed, all the additions and re-erections having been made accordant with the original style. In spite of the passage of years, in spite of the depredations of a great fire, much of the original house, all of its foundations, and many a real and enduring relic which Pepys saw, remain unaltered to-day.

As the ancestral home of the accomplished Salisbury, present Premier of the British Empire, Hatfield House naturally possesses interest not only to Englishmen, but to those claiming English descent, and when to this living interest is added the historic vista of centuries, in the transition from the hill fortress of the Norman period to the picturesque mansion of the Elizabethan age, much may be expected from the olden story, as well as from the instant interest which attaches to the present distinguished

owner.

"Castle of the ancient time,

Glory, splendor, all are thine; And, as in a flowing rhyme, All thy beauties richly shine."

Hatfield, the home of the Salisburys from the time that their ancestor, Robert Cecil, second son of the illustrious Lord Burleigh, exchanged Theobalds with the arbitrary pedantic, James I., though called a "House," is really a castle or a palace, and a splendid one at that. It covers with its courts and outbuildings somewhere between three and four acres of ground, and its stately towers rising above the noble trees can be seen miles and miles away. It is built of brick, in the form of a half H, after the most approved style of Elizabethan architecture. In the center is a portico of nine arches, and a lofty tower, on the front of which is the date 1611; and each of the two wings has two turrets with pretentious cupola roofs.

The story of Hatfield House goes back eight hundred years or more. It has seen fetes and revels galore, and welcomed proprietors more puissant even than the noble Cecils. The manor of Hetfelle, as it is called in Doomsday, was granted by King Edgar to the Abbey of St. Ethelred, at Ely; and upon the erection of that abbey into a Bishopric, in the reign of Henry I., 1108, it is supposed to have acquired the designation of Bishop's Hatfield. One of the warlike and luxurious bishops built a feudal structure here in the twelfth century, and more than one English king was entertained within its walls. William of Hatfield, second son of Edward III., was born here. Bluff King Hal took possession of it in 1628, and after that monarch the castle was successively the residence of Edward VI. immediately before his accession, of Queen Elizabeth during the reign of her sister Mary, and of James I. Robert, the first earl of Salisbury, built the present mansion, 1608-1611, and the next year, dying, left it to his son William, the second earl. The present bearer of the family honors is the eighth earl of the line and the third marquis, having inherited his title upon the death of his father in 1868.

We saw Hatfield on a beautiful summer day, the reality of Longfellow's ''perfect day," a day:

"On which shall no man work, but play."

Perhaps no one has thought of it, but the old castles and manor houses need summer sunshine for "beauty's heightening;" they are too stern and grim at other times. We saw this one in June, in the atmosphere of umbrageous oaks and green fields, and the place could never have looked lovelier. The dull, red bricks and fine gardens were rich with warmth and color imparted by the sunlight. The eighteen miles' ride from London had been passed in some two hours and a half, and we stood at last under the shadow of the great tower which has looked down on many a grand pageant and will probably look down on many more. The Marquis had not returned from his London house in Arlington Street, and so the palace was open to visitors, at which, as the enthusiastic Pepys would have said, we were mightily pleased.

The brick entrance to the park and grounds are of a date earlier than the reign of Henry VIII.; and the Tudor carvings and ornamentations are alike quaint and picturesque. After entering, all that remains of the old palace inhabited by Edward VI.and Queen Elizabeth meets the eye. A large portion of this is used as stabling and other offices. The chamber which Queen Elizabeth occupied is situated on the north side of this building; the exterior, of darkened brickwork still, is partly overgrown with ivy. The stable has a wooden roof springing from grotesque corbel heads and is lighted from windows partly filled with stained glass on each side. This apartment is very lofty and of great size, and was the banqueting hall of the old palace. Here were kept the Christmas merrymakings; and at Shrovetide, 1556, Sir Thomas Pope, the governor of the castle, made for the "Ladie Elizabeth, alle at his own costes, a great and rich maskinge, in the great hall at Hatfielde, where the pageants were marvellously furnished." At night the cupboard of the hall was richly garnished with gold and silver vessels, and a “banquet of sweete dishes, and after a voide of spices and a suttletie in thirty spyce, all at the charges of Sir Thomas Pope." On the

next day was the play of Holaphernes, Queen Mary, however, did not approve of these "folliries," and intimated in letters to Sir Thomas that those "disguisings" must cease.

The principal entrance to the mansion is at the northern front; both here and at the south front three pairs of metal gates were placed in October, 1846, when the Marquis of Salisbury, the premier's father, was honored by a visit of Her Majesty and the Prince Consort. By the north entrance you are admitted into a spacious hall, which leads to a gallery of great length, open on one side by a sort of trellis work to the lawn. This hall is in itself a storehouse of curiosities. Arms that men captured from the Spanish Armada, Queen Elizabeth's saddlecloth that she rode on at Tilbury, weapons taken in the Crimean War, models, etc., enough to interest the visitor's attention for hours, are shown in this noble hall. It was in this wing that the fire broke out in November, 1835, when the Dowager Marchioness of Salisbury, the grandmother of the present marquis, perished in the flames. The building has been well restored; and in the carved wood-work of a mantelpiece in one of the chambers an oval frame has been introduced, containing a well-painted portrait of the deceased marchioness when she was a young girl.

In the chapel at the other end is a stained-glass window, of considerable brilliancy. It is of Flemish work, and contains, in compartments, scenes from Bible history. The light streams in from the numerous windows on the dark, oak floor, and lights up cabinets and furniture of curious workmanship. Here is a state chair once used by Queen Elizabeth, and the hat which, we are told, she wore when she received the messenger in the park. There are several famous pictures in this room, among them a head of Henry VIII., by Holbein; heads of Henry's queens; a characteristic portrait of Elizabeth and other historic personages. The room can have changed but little through many a long year. As it looks now so it must have looked, one fancies, to Pepys, and pretty much so to

King James I., when he was entertained there two hundred and seventy odd years ago. The bedroom in which James lodged has the fittings, it is said, exactly as when the king last used them.

The grand staircase is one of the most magnificent features of this palace home. It is ascended by a flight of five landings, and occupies a space of thirty-five feet by twenty-one in dimension. The balusters are massive and boldly carved in the Italian form; above the hand-rail are represented griffins, armorial lions and other devices; and there is a carved hatch-gate, probably to keep the favorite dogs from ascending to the drawingrooms. The wall is hung with choice portraits of the Cecils by Lely, Vandyke, Kneller, Reynolds, etc. Some of these Pepys could never have seen, but the stairway itself he must have passed over on that memorable visit of his. How many noble, how many graceful feet must have walked up and down these stately stairs since his day!

At the foot of the staircase is the door of the dining parlor, and over it a white marble bust of Lord Burleigh. This room is paneled throughout with oak and has an enriched chimney-piece and ceiling. Over the mantel, in gilded letters, is the family motto of the Cecils: "Sero sed serio-Late, but seriously." I could not help thinking that most of the family had caught the inspiration of it.

They have all been hard workers; the first earl worked himself to death in the service of King James, and the present marquis is a tremendous toiler. Adjoining the dining parlor are the summer, breakfast and drawing rooms. These apartments are in the east front, and the remainder of the wing on the ground floor is occupied by spacious private apartments, furnished in the olden taste.

On ascending the staircase, the first apartment entered is the great chamber, called King James' Room, nearly sixty feet long, and twenty-seven wide, and lighted by three immense oriel windows. The vast apartment has the ceiling elaborately decorated in the Florentine style. The whole of the furniture is heavily gilt. The grand staircase also communi

cates with the upper end of the great hall, or as it is called, the Marble Hall, fifty feet by thirty. It is lighted by three bay windows on the side and an oriel at the upper end, near which the lord's table stood in the "golden days" of our ancestors. There is an open gallery at one side enriched with carving, amidst which are introduced lions, forming part of the insignia of the family, bearing shields of the cartouche form, on which are blazoned the arms. The room is paneled with oak and the walls lined with splendid tapestry brought from Spain.

A gallery one hundred and sixty feet long, hung with valuable paintings and decorated with statues and suits of ar mor, leads to the library, which is one of the grandest rooms in the mansion. Pepys does not speak of it, but as he saw it, and as others saw it long before Pepys, so we see it to-day. It contains one of the most valuable collections of art, books and MSS. in the kingdom. Here are relics also, and we are shown the oak cradle of Elizabeth, the pair of silk stockings presented to her by Sir Thomas Gresham, and the purse of James I.

The picturesque park and gardens have many interesting objects, besides charming prospects, the richly-colored brick-work harmonizing with the various shades of verdure. They are the crowning glory, the eye of Hatfield. The garden facing the east front is in the ancient geometrical style of the seventeenth century, and below it is a maze which belongs to the same period of

taste.

We did not notice the gooseberries, but assuredly Pepys would feel at home could he once more visit the scene. The vineyard is entered through an avenue of yew trees cut in singular shapes straight and solid as a wall, with arches formed by the branches and imitating a fortress, with towers, loop-holes and battlements; and from the center turfed steps descending to the River Lea. No one can imagine the bewitching beauty and quietness of these Armada gardens, whispering of the last enchantment of