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The trees overhead were coming into new leaf, and the grass plots newly trimmed,—the resurrection of spring evidently near at hand. Arc lights from a distance shone through, giving a silvery lustre to the undersides of the new foliage, and a radiant glow which permeated the long vista.

He looked above into the azure,—it was a starlit night; also towards the horizon, down one of the wide avenues which intersected at the park. Upon a public building in the distance some statuary above the cornice stood distinct in outline against the sky, but from time to time the figures were obscured by clouds of smoke or steam enveloping as in a luminous mist. The figures came and went as if they themselves were endowed with movement. He watched the smoke-mist, tracing to its source,—a press establishment,—the newspaper workers busy while the public slept. He hoped that to-morrow’s issue might bring news of something better than the smoke of war, mists of politics, and the vile conflicts of the debased side of humanity. Why not accentuate the good in the world instead of the evil? Such would be the way of truth in life, to overcome the evil with the good. But he did not feel very sanguine that to-morrow’s issue would be of that sort,—certainly not so long as the use and abuse of head-lines purposely to mislead the public for the sake of cash obtained.