And thus her shining net grows until it hangs suspended in the air, half visible, half vanishing, like some phantom wheel of moonbeams.
The commercial travelers are the spiders of enterprise, spinning and weaving without distaff or loom, swinging from town to town, from city to city, from continent to continent; and they are weaving the golden web of commerce around the world, drawing the nations closer together in the warp and woof of universal love and the universal brotherhood of man.
THE GATE IN THE GROUND.
BY ROBERT LOVEMAN.
At the end of the lane of joy and pain,
We come to the little gate,
The king and the clown, and the court go down,
Through its portals soon or late;
The peasant, the peer, the sage and the seer,
Depart when the hour comes round,