along the reins he seemed to flash his will; and instantly not one, but the four as one, answered with a leap that landed them alongside the Roman's car.

Messala, on the perilous edge of the goal, heard, but dared not look to see what the awakening portended. From the people he received no sign. Above the noises of the race there was but one voice, and that was Ben-Hur's. In the old Aramaic, as the sheik himself, he called to the Arabs: "On, Atair! On, Rigel! What, Antares! dost thou linger now? Good horse-oho, Aldebaran! I hear them singing in the tents. I hear the children singing and the women-singing of the stars, of Atair, Antares, Rigel, Aldebaran, victory!—and the song will never end. Well done! Home to-morrow, under the black tent-home! On, Antares! The tribe is waiting for us, and the master is waiting! 'Tis done! 'tis done! Ha, ha! We have overthrown the proud. The hand that smote us is in the dust. Ours the glory! Ha, ha!-steady! The work is done-soho! Rest!"

There had never been anything of the kind more simple; seldom anything so instantaneous. At the moment chosen for the dash, Messala. was moving in a circle round the goal. To pass him, Ben-Hur had to cross the track, and good strategy required the movement to be in a forward direction; that is, on a like circle limited to the least possible increase. The thousands on the benches understood it all: they saw the signal given-the magnificent response; the four close outside Messala's outer wheel; Ben-Hur's inner wheel behind the other's car-all this they saw. Then they heard a crash loud enough to send a thrill through the Circus, and, quicker than thought, out over the course a spray of shining white and yellow flinders flew. Down on its right side

toppled the bed of the Roman's chariot. There was a rebound as of the axle hitting the hard earth; another and another; then the car went to pieces; and Messala, entangled in the reins, pitched forward headlong.

To increase the horror of the sight by making death certain, the Sidonian, who had the wall next behind, could not stop or turn out. Into the wreck full speed he drove; then over the Roman, and into the latter's four, all mad with fear. Presently, out of the turmoil, the fighting of horses, the resound of blows, the murky cloud of dust and sand, he crawled, in time to see the Corinthian and Byzantine go on down the course after Ben-Hur, who had not been an instant delayed.

The people arose, and leaped upon the benches, and shouted and screamed. Those who looked that way caught glimpses of Messala, now under the trampling of the fours, now under the abandoned cars. He was still; they thought him dead; but far the greater number followed Ben-Hur in his career. They had not seen the cunning touch of the reins by which, turning a little to the left, he caught Messala's wheel with the iron-shod point of his axle, and crushed it; but they had seen the transformation of the man, and themselves felt the heat and glow of his spirit, the heroic resolution, the maddening energy of action with which, by look, word, and gesture, he so suddenly inspired his Arabs.

And such running! It was rather the long leaping of lions in harness; but for the lumbering chariot, it seemed the four were flying. When the Byzantine and Corinthian were half-way down the course, Ben-Hur turned the first goal.

And the race was won!

GEN. LEW WALLACE.

1. Dolphins, entablature, sheik, missiles, electrified, irrepressible, competitors, equalizing, discomfiture, pedestal, balustrade.

2. What is " a segment of a circle"? Why is e retained before able in unmanageable? What is meant by "the arena swam in a dazzle of light"? Tell what you can about Sidon. About Corinth. From what city or country was "the Byzantine"? The verses in part III. are from the chariot race in the Iliad, where Diomedes gained the prize. The Aramaic language was spoken in Palestine in the time of Christ.

LXXIX. THE WIZARD'S CALL.

JAMES THOMSON (1700-1748) was the son of a Scotch clergyman. He was graduated at the University of Edinburgh, and commenced the study of divinity, but soon gave it up and devoted himself to literature. In originality, power of description, and pathos, he takes high rank among the poets. "The Seasons," which describes the varied year with great beauty and truth, is the most popular of his poems, though it is marred by heavy narrative and interpolated declamation. "The Castle of Indolence," an extract from which is given, is the greatest effort of Thomson's genius. The charm of his personality and of his poems is his deep sympathy for suffering man or brute.

In lowly dale, fast by a river's side,

With woody hill o'er hill encompassed round,
A most enchanting wizard did abide,

Than whom a fiend more fell is nowhere found.

It was, I ween, a lovely spot of ground;

And there, a season atween June and May,

Half pranked with spring, with summer half embrowned, A listless climate made, where, sooth to say,

No living wight could work, ne carèd e'en for play.

The landscape such, inspiring perfect ease,
Where Indolence (for so the wizard hight)
Close hid his castle 'mid embowering trees,
That half shut out the beams of Phoebus bright,

And made a kind of checkered day and night.
Meanwhile, unceasing at the massy gate,
Beneath a spacious palm, the wicked wight
Was placed; and to his lute of cruel fate
And labor harsh complained, lamenting man's estate.

Thither continual pilgrims crowded still,

From all the roads of earth that passed thereby ;
For, as they chanced to breathe on neighboring hill,
The freshness of this valley smote their eye,
And drew them ever and anon more nigh;

Till clustering round the enchanter false they hung,
Ymolten with his siren melody;

While o'er th' enfeebling lute his hand he flung,
And to the trembling chords these tempting verses sung:

"Behold! ye pilgrims of this earth, behold!
See all but man with unearned pleasure gay;
See her bright robes the butterfly unfold,
Broke from her wintry tomb in prime of May!
What youthful bride can equal her array?
Who can with her for easy pleasure vie?
From mead to mead with gentle wing to stray,
From flower to flower on balmy gales to fly,
Is all she has to do beneath the radiant sky.

"Behold the merry minstrels of the morn,
The swarming songsters of the careless grove;
Ten thousand throats that from the flowering thorn
Hymn their good God, and carol sweet of love,
Such grateful kindly raptures them emove!
They neither plow, nor sow; ne, fit for flail,