The old man died. When young Hannibal was now twenty-four he was made commander of the troops, and, dressed in a coat of armor, he started from Carthage with a mighty army. Away he marched toward Spain, conquering and slaying his enemies on the way. On and on he went, over rivers and highest mountains. The Romans, when they heard that he was in Spain, laughed at the thought of his coming to Rome; they said none but gods could do such a thing. But they had not long to laugh. He and his conquering host clambered over the Pyrenees, then over the high steep Alps, then “down upon the soft and smiling plains of Italy.” Then all was excitement in great Rome. Every one became a soldier of some sort. “To arms! to arms!” was the cry. The city was turned into a fort. Mighty armies went out to meet Hannibal, but one after another was slaughtered or put to flight. In one of the great battles forty thousand Romans were slain! The Roman general, Fabius, was a great man, but he was compelled to retreat before Hannibal. But just then, when the people in the great city were trembling lest Hannibal would be upon them to burn the whole city and put the inhabitants to death, word came from Carthage that he must hurry home with his army and save Carthage from a Roman army coming upon it, led by a wonderful general, Scipio. Soon these two conquering hosts met at Zama, not far from Carthage, and here for the first time poor Hannibal was defeated, and in the course of time proud Carthage was utterly destroyed. L. THE WAR OF THE ROSES. FIVE hundred years ago began very troublous times in England, and it went on many bloody years. You see, there were two great parties, as in this country, each struggling to rule. In this country they fight it out at the ballot box, with bits of paper upon which names are printed. The man or party which gets the greater number of ballots rules. In England years ago they fought it out with blows. The party which could strike the harder blows ruled. The names of these two great parties were York and Lancaster. The Yorkers wore the white rose, the Lancastrians the red rose, so it was called the War of the Roses. Oh! the fierce battles, the groans of the dying and the banners rolled in blood; neighbors, sometimes brothers, killing each other. And their homes, the mothers and children, what happened to them during all those hundred years? You must not know. But what must the Lord Jesus have thought of it all?