The beauty of Israel is slain upon thy high places How are the mighty fallen! Tell it not in Gath Publish it not in the streets of Askelon, Lest the daughters of the Philistines rejoice Lest the daughters of the uncircumcised triumph, Ye mountains of Gelboa, let there be no dew, Neither let there be rain upon you! For there the shield of the mighty was vilely cast away, The shield of Saul, the anointed of the Lord. From the blood of the slain, From the fat of the mighty, The bow of Jonathan turned not back And the sword of Saul returned not empty, Jonathan and Saul Were lovely and pleasant in their lives And in their deaths they were not divided; They were swifter than eagles, They were stronger than lions, Ye daughters of Israel, weep over Saul, Who clothed you in scarlet, with other delights, Who put on ornaments of gold on your apparel, How are the mighty fallen in the midst of the battle! O Jonathan, thou wast slain I am distressed for thee, my brother Jonathan! Very pleasant hast thou been unto me, Thy love to me was wonderful, Passing the love of women, How are the mighty fallen, And the weapons of war perished! LOUIS SEVENTEENTH: The Boy King Who Never Reigned It was the early morning of a bright June day, and the famous gardens surrounding the palace at Versailles were gay with bloom and heavy with scents as rare as was the morning. King Louis Sixteenth of France looked from a window out over the terraces in their vari-coloured beauty, and saw among the blossoms, a little figure busy with spade and rake, and although the King's heart was heavy with sorrow because of the death of his elder son, the Dauphin, as the eldest son of the King of France, and heir to the throne, was always called, yet he was filled too with pride as he looked out at the little Louis Charles, to whom only three short hours before had descended the titles and honours which had belonged to his brother. The King's long and earnest glance at the little Dauphin attracted the child's attention, and dropping his tools, he waved frantically towards the window, crying out: "Papa, see the beautiful flowers. I am pleased with myself. I shall deserve mamma's first kiss to-day, I shall have a bouquet for her dressing-table. May I come and show it to you?" The king bowed his head in answer and smiled a sad smile as he turned to the queen, Marie Antoinette, who even then stood beside him, weeping bitterly for the other son who had gone from her for ever.