One of these, seeing his fate, seemed to glory in the thought that his life was to end in sacrifice for others. He put his hand to his lips, threw a kiss to the awestruck multitude, and thus parting with the world leaped into the flames. A man never knows how noble he may be till his worth is put to the test. Mr. Marlowe, the Quaker, thought that this man’s death was the noblest scene that he saw at the great Fair. [Illustration: FRENCH DEPARTMENT OF THE MANUFACTURES BUILDING.] The Court of Honor at night was a scene of the new world of electricity such as the past had never seen. One night amid the thronging thousands there burst over the vast area a song between the selections of the great orchestra. It was “Nearer my God to Thee.” It seemed like a cry in the night. At another time the song of “Old Folks at Home” in like manner followed the band. [Illustration: FRENCH COLONIES BUILDING.] The French building allured our trio, who were greatly interested in its beautiful rooms. The German building on the inside presented the stately and gloomy grandeur of an old cathedral. All of the foreign buildings were plans of their own countries, and in most of them, especially in the South American, one felt the charm and spell of what they were intended to express. Day by day the delighted crowds surged on. One could hardly dream here that there was such a thing as death in the world. None of the faces seemed to wear any trace of sorrow or care. Every one appeared happy. O blessed hours! When will the world ever find in associated life such pleasure again? A WABAN ROSE. I went out to the bowery hills of the little town named Waban, to see the wonderful Waban roses. “There must be some legends here?” said I. “There is,” said the gardener. Then we sat down among the roses, and he told it to me. WABAN. Tommy Trembly was a tinker. “Tommy Tinker” he might have been called, for, like his English craftsman of the same trade name, he was accustomed to roam the country around, Crying, “Old brass to mend.” The old New England tinkers were useful folk in their day, but they are as dead to customs of the present time as poor Christopher Sly, whom the curious ballad of “The Tinker’s Good Fortune” put for a time in a duke’s place, and whom Shakespeare so happily celebrates in the Induction to the comedy of the “Taming of the Shrew.” Our New England tinker, Tommy Trembly, did not experience any such good fortune as Christopher’s. But he resembled Sly in his alehouse habits, and like him, hoped for the accidents of fortune.