er mpm or Hm 21 10 HUTY. a ie i The camp-fire dimly burns ? Through the night and the snow, And over a frozen earth The wild winds blow. Dut the sentinal stands at his post As the hours ereep by, 4 While crowds grow heavy and thick , In the sullen sky. — His limbs drag hard, he longs 3 To rest awhile | ; Yet over his white, cold lips Comes never a smile. : For his heart is a soldier's heart, And his biood runs warm When he thinks of his brother-mea Asleep in the storm. Then he shoulders his gun and draws A quick, deep branth ; What foeman shall conquer him now But the foeman Death! —G. E. Montgomery. in Youth's Companion. OPENING HIS EYES. BY HELEN FORREST GRAVES. HAT'S jest what I was sayin,” said Peter Pinkeroft. “There ain't a far- mer in Drowsy Dell I'd ruther work for than Mr. Hale. His barns is a picter to look at, the stun walls an’ fences is all plumb straight, and there ain’t an improvement in hay-cutters or hoss- rakes or threshers but he gits a-holt pn it the fust thing.” “Oh!” said, Nancy. ““Yaas,” drawled Peter. ‘Jest what I was sayin’. . Right up to the mark. Ther’ ain’t no gittin’ ahead of him. I oD do s’pose, now, he’s made more money puten his farm than any other man in| Park County.” “Humph!” said Nancy. Peter sat and looked at her, uncon- gciously winking his dull eyes as she washed and wiped the old India China dishes with a rapidity and skill which inspired him with involuntary respect. | “Jest what I was sayin’,” he after- ward remarked. “Ezackly like chain- lightnin’. Never see any one work so fast in my life. Fairly made me dizzy!” “Well, Nan, there ain't no such hurry,” said Farmer Hale, coming complacently in from the adjoining room, where he had been interviewing » carpenter on the subject of an addi- tion to his barn. ‘‘Can’t you atiord to set down a spell?” Nancy Hale—a feminine copy of her tall, resolute-faced brother—shook her head. “There's always harry,’ #4ill the works done!” “Jest what I was a-sayin’,” said Peter, rubbing his horny hands ‘and becretly calculating on the chances of his being asked to stay to dinner. “Far I smelt chicken fricassee,” he reported, ‘‘an’ I'm dretiul partial to ‘owl meat.” Just then Nancy whirled areund and fooked her brother full in the face. ¢“Ain’t there no dreens to carry this dish-water away ?”’ said she. Mr. Hale shook his head. “We ginerally pour it round the roots of the grapevines and plum trees,” said he. “It’s called very fer- = ilizin’.” «Jest as I allus say,” put in Peter. “Better'n bone-dust.” Nency took the shining tin kettle in her hand. “Where's the water faucet?” she. ““Ain’t none nearer than the well,” said her brother, a little uneasily. “Come now, Nan, you're completely sp’iled, livin’ in them city flats.” Miss Hale uttered a sniff. «And I hope you won’t put no non- sense in Jenny's head,” added the farmer. 2 «<I calculate it’s put there a'ready,” gaid Nancy. ‘Why, Elnathan, your completely behind the times.” «A man with a farm the size o’ mine ean’t afford to throw away no money in humorin’ the whims of the women- folks,” observed Mr. Hale, with some asperity. “Well, T want you to unlerstand one thing,” remarked Nancy, giving the pan of dishwater a fling toward the trellis, where a vencrable Isabella grapevine coiled itself like a jointed snake, “I shan’t stay long, if you don’t fix up the kitchen a little han- dier!” “Jest what I was a-sayin’,” mut- tered Peter Pinkecroft, looking fur- tively from one to the other of the contesting parties. ¢Qur mother didn’t went none o’ them newfangled traps!” sullenly spoke Hale. «She wanted ‘em, I guess,” said Nancy, “but she didn’t get ’em. She said she, 3 asked worked herself to death and died afore | she was middlesaged. And father mar- ried a second wife, and she wore her- gelf out, too. Father he stood it bravely. He didn’t have to lug the water and pour away the swill and milk the cows and run arter the little turklets and ducklings—"" “I guess we ain’t no better’'n our ancestors!” growled Hale. “We ought to be wiser, at any rete,” retorted Nancy, measuring & lidful of tea into the shining britannia teapot. s¢Well, I hain’t no tims to stand here srgufyin’”’ said Hale, with increasing acerbity. «-Jost what I was a-sayin’ myself,” remarked Peter, slowly rising. go down 's far’s the bars with you, Squire Hale. It's my way.” The carpenter came back for a two- foot rule he had. left of the two men dipped down under the slope of the hill. : Risa Nuncy Hale eyed him severely. *+30 they're the barn?” dition to said she. Car ~ chy 20.0, «rl | just as the heads | going on to build an ad- | cesponded the ecar-. penter, returning her glance with tle respect due to a woman who was re- ported to have ‘‘mcney out at inter- est.” : “That means more hay room and more cows, don’t it?” “I expect likely, mom.” “And more work for the women?” “Yes, mom, thar ain’t no doubt 0’ that.” “Do they hev to go fur for water for the stock?” incidentally questioned Miss Nancy. “No, mom,” said the carpenter. pipes from the spring on Adder Hi” “Save lots o’ trouble,” said Naney. “Yes, mom. And everything is car- ried off same way. any parlor. Squire, he’s things down pretty nice.” “Humph !”’ snorted Miss Nancy. She lifted up the lid of the kettle, and the last Jonas Nailhead saw of her face it was surrounded, aureole fash- jon, with a cloud of fricassee-scented vapor. ““3he’s a smart ‘un,’ said Jonas Nail- head to his two-foot rule. figured tion as forewoman in a corset manu- and help around, in order to give Jenny Hale, her niece, a chance to “chirlz up.” For Jenny was not over- strong this summer. { *I think it's airs an’ graces,” said Mrs. Peter Pinkcrop. ‘an’ nothin’ | else.” | “Jest what I say myself,” assented | her spouse. “Cod liver oil, indeed,” said Mrs. | | Pinkerop, “and iron pills! When I was a gal, gentian tea and saxairax was good enough for anybody. I dunno what this world’s comin’ $0.” “Aint that jest what I'm allays sayin’ ?” retorted Peter, in aggrieved accents. Mr. Hale was full of his new build- ing plans when he came in to dinner. | Nancy was brusque and curt as usual. Jenny was quite silent, sitting there like a drooping flower. “Yon must hurry and brace up, Jenny,” said the farmer. no time to lose. I've engaged three i of Mr. Mendex’'s Alderney cows, and I mean to put the hull north medder into pasture this year. There'll be lots to do. I expect I'll hev to keep another hired man, what with the new team of oxen and the tobacco fields.” Jenny looked up qiickly. “And ain't you goin’ to keep no help for me, father?” “You! Mr. Hale dropped his two- | tined fork. ¢‘There never was a hired | gal help in this house, and there never shall be!” | “But you have three men, father.” “Well, what o’ that? This house | 2in’t a hundred-acre farm, is i627 | “Father,” spoke up Jenny, “mother | died young. I've always fancied she worked too hard. Aunt Nan says that my Grandmother Hale—” | Mr. Hale rose up from the table in a passion. <*T wish,” he growled, ‘that your Aunt Nan would mind her own busi- ness. The maiden lady smiled grimly. <tWe don’t none of us do that, El- nathan,” said she. your heart at rest. ing more.” It was late in the evening when Mr. Hale was returning from the village by a short cut across the churchyard. The sky glowed a soft opal tint; the fire flies glistened here and there, and the two stiff, white tombstones that Elunathan so prided himself on erect- ing to the memory of his mother and his wife shone spectrally in the uncer- tain light. As he came to the little grass-grown path which curved in that direction, he paused. Jenny's words came back to him: ‘Mother died young. mother Hale—" Yes, it was quite trae. I shan’$ say noth- 2 And Grand- His wife when they carried her across the farm- house threshold. And he could just remember his pale, weary-looking mother forever bending over the washtub, straining great pans of milk. and toiling everlastingly in the kitchen. “But we all have to work in this world,” he thought, almost resent- fully. . At that moment he heard the sound of a voice on the other side of the high churchyard wall—Jenny's soft voice, talking to some one else. “¢Yes,” said she, “I’ve made up my ' mind to go to the city with Aunt Nan. T’d rather a great deal stay here, but the work is too hard for me already, and father’s going to make it harder ‘ gtill. Aunt Nan can find me somo- thine to do, and—I don’t want to go as | all the women of the family have | done.” And here a sob choked her words. | ¢di's a shame!” said the cheery | voice of Alice Wickham. ‘But what | does Will Norris say to it?” ‘fe don’t know,” Jenny answered. | “Do you think I would complain of my own father?” Will would enough.” “I wouldn't accept it of him if I were to go to him penniless and friendless. No, I'll work out my own destiny, Alice, as best as 1 can. Oh, I haven't decided on this in a hurry! ! I’ve seen it coming this long time— | like some terrible shadow, nearer and | nearer all the while. Ilove father—1 ! do love him—-but I can’t endure this life. No woman could!” Silent and stoical, Elnathaa Hale | stood there as the voices died away— : ‘ give you a home fast | stood there with his hand resting on | the tombstone of Jennie’s mother. asked himself. Am I driving my own away from me? Have I made | such & mistake of my life? Then I'll do it no more!” “It’s brung right into the yard in| The barn’s neat as | Miss Nancy Hale had left her posi- | factory to stay at the farm a month | “There ain't | ‘But you can set | had been scarcely more than a girl <:Be I such a tyrant as this?” he He stooped—this hard-handed, prac- i tical son of the soil—-nd pressed his | [Lips first to one cold stone moulding, then to the other. «Pll do it no more!” he repeated. He went home and called his sister. | **Nan—Nancy! Where are you? | Come here—I want to speak to yon!” Nancy came—tall, straight and un- compromising. «s3ee herg!” said Elnathan, ‘If you was goin’ to live here in this house all your life, what would you do to fix it up—to make it real handy and con. venient, you know?” “What!” “I'm in real earnest, you know. Tell me, Nancy!” pleaded Hale. “And I want you to give up that business in New York, and come here and live with us. Come to think of it, there is a good dcal of work to be done in a | house like this, and Jenny's a slim | piece arter all. So if you've a mind to speak tc Juliana Hedgings to com. | here by tha year—" { Nancy's hard visage softened. ¢Winathan,” said she, *‘I do b’lieve there’ssome common sense left in you, arter all. Yes, I'd ruther live here in | the old homestead than anywhere else, and Juliana’s a real good worker.” Jenny came in presently, and Nancy loudly proclaimed the new order of | things. | The girl gave a startled look at her | father, but Elnathan patted her head. “ve been sort o’ thinkin’ things | over, my dear,” said he. ‘‘Jone Nail- head shall come here and do what- 1 | | | ever you and Aunt Nancy choose, and —and you may not know it, Jenny, but your old father thinks a good deal of you!” He kissed her, and stalked awkwardly | out of the room. | Jenny looked at Nancy with eyes brimming full of tears. «II never thought father cared so much for me!” said she. The neighbors were much surprised at the radical reforms which took place in the Hale househould. : ¢\iss Nancy settled down for good,” said they, ¢‘and a hired girl, and new buttery shelves, and brass water faucets in the kitchen and an iron sink, and Will Norris goin’ there reg’lar ev'ry | Saturday night! Is the millennium | comin’?” 3 ‘Jest what I've always been a-sayin’ I” sagely observed Peter Pinkeroft. ¢-Squire Hale he sets lots of store by that slim gal o’ his’'n.” “He'll lose her pretty soon,” said old Aunt Sandifield. “Will Norris is dead in earnest.” “‘Ain’t that what Ivesaidall along?” protested Peter Pinkcroft.—Saturday Night. eee Renee To Graft Arms. t is said that Theodore Lee, a well- to-do, though armless, man of Tacoma, Washington, is encouraged to hope { that his missing member may be re- | placed by arms, not wooden, or cork, | or rubber substitutes, but real arms of | 4esh and blood and bone. He has been | going about among the surgeons of thu | East, and they think that if he can | persuade some criminal condemned te death to sell him a pair of healthy arms they might succeed in grafting them to him. As to the method of grafting an arm, Mr. Lee has been in- formed that the splice would have to be made just above the elbow joint, i where there are practically only twe muscles, one main artery, and only ons nerve. When Mr. Lee has found a per- son who will submit to the operation they will have to be brought together in such a position as to permit of the arms of both, which are to be operated upon, being placed in plaster casts, so that they cannot ‘be moved. Then it is proposed to cut the back part of both the arms, also cutting through the bone. The arm that is to be grafted to Mr. Lee's stump, or that portion of it that is cut away at the first operation, is to be adjusted and fastened to the stump and allowed to remain until it heals, and there is evidence of circulation between the stump and the part that is grafted on. The second operation will be the cut- | ting of the remainder of the inside | portion of the arm, together with the ‘artery and the nerve. This operation, | however, is not to be undertaken until the surgeons are satisfied that the cir- | culation through the part of the arm grafted on is sufficient to nourish and support the new forearm. This would be ascertained by placing a ligament on the arm of the person who was con: tributing the new member above the elbow and shutting off the blood which was flowing through the artery into his own arm through that portion that was not already cut off. Mr. Lee is now looking for somebody with a heelthy pair of ams to sell. —New Orleans Pic- ayune. ree EE pret How a Beaver Chops Down a Tree. Examination of one of them re- vealed the secret of how a beaver can perform such feats as chopping down a birch tree sixteen inches in diameter, | not to speak of softer woods, like the basswood, of much greater size. The tooth is composed of two materials. Along the outer face or front of the tooth is a thin plate of exceeding hard enamel; on the latter, forming the body of the tooth, is a substance called | dentine. The dentine, being softer, | wears away with use; the thin enamel remains comparatively unworn, sd that the tooth assumes the shape of a keen chisel that never grows dull. The length, and is filled with a nourishing substance which keeps it constantly growing. Thus, not only is the natu- ral wearing away provided against, but a certain amount of wear becomes an actual necessity. = With such instru- | ments the beaver is admirably fitted for obtaining its natural food, the bark of shrubs and trees.—New York Tele- | gram. rte erence ee So far as quantity is concerned coal stands for eighty-five per cent. of all the minerals extracled tooth is hollow at the base for half its | REV. DR. TALMAGE'S SERMON —_—— WEEK DAY RELIGION, ——— The Christian’s Compass Too Often Neglected in His Life. —p——— Text: “In all thy ways acknowledge Him." —Proverbs iii., 6. There has been a tendency in all lands and ages to set apart certain days, places and oc- casions for especial religious service, and to think that they formedthe realm in which re- ligion was chiefly to act. Now, while holy days and holy places have their use, they can never be a substitute for continuous exercise of faith and prayer. In other words, a man cannot be so good a Christian on Sabbath that he can afford to be a worldling all the week. If a steamer start for Southampton and sail one day in that di- rection and the other six days sail in other directions, how long before the steamer will get to Southampton? Just as soon as the man will get to heaven who sails on the Sab- bath day toward that which is good, and the other six days of the week sails toward the world, the flesh and the devil. You cannot eatso much at the Sabbath banquet that you ean afford religious abstinence all the rest of the week. y Genuine religion is not spasmodic, does not go by fits and starts, isnot an attack of chills and fever—now cold until your teeth chatter, now hot until your bones ache. Genuine religion marches on steadily up steep hills and along dangerous declivities, its eye ever on the everlasting hills crowned with the castles of the blessed. Ipropose, so far as God may help me, to show you how we may bring our religion in- to ordinary life and practice it in common things —yesterday, to-day, to-morrow. And, in the first place, I remark, we ought to bring religion into our ordinary conversa- tion. A dam breaks, and two or three vil- lages ars submerged, a South American earthquake swallows a city, and people be- gin to talk about the uncertainty of human life, and in that conversation think they are engaging in religious service when there may be no religion at all. I have noticed that in proportion as Christian experience is shallow men talk about funerals and death- beds and hearses and tombstones and epi- taphs. If a man have the religion of the gospel in its full power in his soul, he will talk chiefly about this world and the eternal world and very little comparatively about the insignfl- cant pass between this and that. Yet how seldom it is that the religion of Christ is a welcome theme! Ifa man full of the gospel of Christ goes into a religious circle and be- gins to talik about sacred things, all the con- versation is hushed, and things become ex- ceedingly awkward. As on a summer day, the forest full of song and chirp and carol, mighty chorus of bird harmonies, every branch an orchestra, if a hawk appears in the sky, all the voices are hushed, so I have sometimes seen a social circle that professed to be Christian silenced by the appearance of the great theme of God and religion. Now, my friends, if we have the religion ot Christ in our soul, we will talk about it in an exhilarant mood. It is more refreshing than the waters, it is brighter than the sun- shine, it gives a man joy here and prepares him for everlasting happiness before the throne of God. And yet, if the theme ot religion be introduced into a circle, every- thing issilenced—silenced unless perhaps an aged Christian man in the corner of the room, feeling that something ought to be said, puts one foot over the other and sighs heavily and says, ‘‘Oh, yes ;that’'s so!” My friends, the religion of Jesus Christ is not something to be groaned about. but something to talk about and sing about, your face irradiated. The trouble is that men pro- {essing the faith of the gospel are often sc inconsistent that they are afraid their con- versation will not harmonize with their life. We cannot talk the gospel unless we live the gospel. You will often find a man whose en- tire life is full of inconsistencies filling his conversation with such expressions as, “We are miserable sinners,” “The Lord help us,” “The Lord bless you,” interlarding their conversation with such phrases, which are mere canting, and canting is the worst kind of hypocrisy. If a man have the grace of God in his heart dominant, he can talk religion, and it will geem natural, and men, instead of being re- pulsed by it, will be attracted by it. Do you not know that when two Christian people talk as they ought about the things of Christ and heaven God gives special attention, and He writes it all down. Malachi iii., 16. “Then they that feared the Lord talked oae to the other, and the Lord hearkened and heard, and a book of rsmembrance was writ- ten.” But I remark again, we ouzht to bring the religion of Jesus Christ into our ordinary employments. Oh,” you say, “that’s a very good theory for a man who manages a large business. who has great traffic, who holds a great estate—it is a grand thing for bankers and for shippers—but in my thread and nee- dle store. in my trimming establishment, in my insignificant work of life, you cannot apply those grand gosple principles.” Who told you that? Do you not know that a faded leaf ona brook’s surface attracts God's attention as certainly as the path of a blaz- ing sun, and that the moss that creeps up the side of the rock attracts God's attention as certainly as the waving tops o1 Oregon pine and Lebanon cedar, and that the crackling of an alder under a cow’s hoof sounds as loudly in God's ear as the snap of a world’s conflagration, and that the most insignifi- cant thing in your lifeis of enough impor- tance to attract the attention of the Lord God Almighty? My brother, you cannot be called todo any- thing so insignideant but God will help you in it. If you are a fisherman, Christ will stand by you as He did by Simon when he dragged Gennesaret. Are you a drawer ‘of water? He will be with you as at the well curb when talking with the Samaritan woman. Are you a custom house officer? Christ will call you as He did Matthew at the receipt of custom. The man who has only a day’s wages in his pocket as certainly needs religion as he who rattles the keys of a bank and could abscond with a hundred thousand hard dollars. And yet there are men who profess the religion of Jesus Christ who do not bring the religion of the gospel into their ordinary occupations aad employ- ments. There are in the churches of this day men who seem very devout on the Sabbath who are far from that during the wesk. A coun- try merchant arrives inthis city, and he goes into the store to buy goods oi a man who professes religion, but has no grace in his heart. The country merchant is swindled. He is too exhausted to go home that week ; he tarries in town. On Sabbath he goes to some church for consolation, and what is his amazement to find that the man who carries around the poor box is the very one who swindled him. Butnevermind. The deacon has his black coat on now and looks solemn and goes home talking about that blessed sermon! Christians on Sunday. Worldings during the week. That man does not realize that God knows evary dishonest dollar he has in his pocket, that God is looking right through the iron wall of iis money safe, and that the day of judgment is coming, and that ‘‘as the par- tridge sitteth on eggs and hatecheth them not, so he that getteth riches and not by right shall leave them in the midst of his days, and at his end shall be a fool.” But how many there are who do not bring the religion of Christ into their everyday occupation. They think religion is for Sundays. Suppose you were to gO out to fight for your country in some great contest, would you go to do the battiing at Troy or at Springfield? No, you would go thers to get your swords and muskets. Then you would go out in the face of the enemy and contend for your country. Now, Itake the Sabbnth day and the church to be only the armory where we are to get equipped for the great battle of life, and that battlefield is Monday, | Tuesday, Wednesday, Thu rsday, Friday and Saturday. ‘‘Antioch,” and “St. Martin's” | you say. and ‘Old Hundred’ are not worth much if we do not sing all the week. A sermon is of little account if we cannot carry it behind the counter and behind the plow. The Sab- bath day is of no valusif it last only 24 hours. “Oh,” says some one, ‘if I had a great sphere, I would do that. If I could have lived in the time of Martin Luther, if T could have been Paul's traveling companion, if I had some great and resounding work to do, then I should put into application all that " I must admit that the romance and knight errantry have gone out of life. There is but very little of it left in the world. The temples of Rouen have been changed into smithies. The classic mansion at Ash- Jand has been cut up ints walking sticks. The muses have retreated before the emi- gract’s ax and the trapper’s gun, and a Ver- monter might go over the Alleghany and the Rocky mountains and see neither an Oread nor a Sylph. The groves where the gods used to dwell have been cut up for firewood, and the man who is looking for great spheres and great scenes for action will not find them. And yet there are Alps to scale and there are Hellesponts to swim, and they are in com- mon life. It is absurd for you to say that you would serve God if you had a great sphere. If you do not serve Him on a small scale, you would not on a large scale. If you cannot stand the bite of a midge, how could you en- dure the breath of a basilisk? Our national government does not think it belittling to put a tax on pins and a tax on buckles and a tax on shoes. The individual taxes do not amount to much, but in the aggregate to millions and millions of dollars. And I would have you, oh Christian man, put a high tariff on every annoyance and vexa- tion that comes through your soul. This might not afnount to much in single eases, but in the aggregate it would be a great revenue of spiritual strength and satisfaction. A bee can suck honey even out of a nettle, and if you have the grace of God in your heart you can get sweetness out of that which would otherwise irritate and annoy. A returned missionary told me that a coms pany of adventurers, rowing up the Ganges, were stung to death by flies that infest that region at certain seasons. I have seen the earth strewn with the carcasses of men slain by insect annoyances. The only way to get prepared for the great troubles of life is to conquer these small troubles. Suppose a soldiershould say, ‘This is only a skirmish, and there areonly a few enemies —I won't load my gun ; wait until I get into some great general engagement.” That man is a coward and would be a coward in any sphere. “If a man does not serve his country in a skirmish, he will not in a Waterloo. And if you are not faithful going out against the single-handed misfortunes of this life you would not be faithful when great disasters with their thundering blessings you will never think of mentioning before God. We must see a blind man led along by his dog before we learn what a grand thing it is to have one's eyesight. We must see a man with St. Vitus’s dance before we learn what a grand thing it is to have the use of our physi- cal energies. We must see some soldier crippled, limping along on his crutch or his empty coatsleeve pinned up. befora we learn what a grand thing it is to have the use of all our physical faculties. In other words, we are so stupid that nothing but the misfor- tunes of others can wake us up to an appre- ciation of our common blessings. We get on board a train and start for Bos- ton and come to Norwalk bridge, and the ‘“‘draw” is off and crash! go2s the train. Fifty lives dashed out. We escape. We come home in great excitement and call our friends around us, and they congratulate us, and we all knell down and thank God for our escape while so many perished. But to- morrow morning you get on a train of cars for Boston. You cross that bridge at Nor- walk ; you cross all the other bridges: you get to Boston in safety. Then you return home. Not an accident, not an alarm. No thanks. In other words, you seem to be more grate- ful when 50 people lose their lives and you get off than you are grateful to God when you all get off and you haye no alarm at all. Now. you ought to be thankful when you es- cape from accident, but more thankful when they all escape. Inthe ome case your grati- tude is somewhat selfish ; in the other it is more like what it ought to be. Oh, these common mercies, these common blessings, how little we appreciate them and how soon we forget them! Like the ox grazing, with the clover up to its eyes, like the bird picking the worm out of the furrow —never thinking to thank God, who makes the grass grow and who gives life to every living thing from the animalculee in the sod to the seraph on the throne. Thanksgiving on the 27th of November, in the autumn of the year, but blessings hour by hour and day by day and no thanks at all. Ieompared our indifference to the brute, but perbaps I wronged the brute. Ido not know but that among its other instinets it may have an instinct by which it recognizes the divine hand that feeds it. I do not know but that God is through it holding cogmu- nication with what we call ‘‘irrational crea tion.” The cow that stands under the wil- low by the water course chewing its cud looks very thankful, and who can tell how much a bird means by its song? The aroma of the flowers smell like incense, and the mist arising from the river looks like the smoke of a morning sacrifice. Oh, that we were as responsive! If you were thristy and asked me for a drink and I gave you this glass of water, your common instinet would reply, ‘Thank you.” And yet, how many chalices of mercy we get artillery came rolling down over the soul. This brings me to another point. We ought to bring the religion of Jesus Christ into our trials. If we have a bereavement, if we lose our fortune, if some great trouble blast like the tempest, then we go to God for comfort, but yesterday in the liftle annoy- ances of your store or office, or shop or fac- tory, or banking house, did you go to God for comfort? You did not. My friends, you need to take the religion of the Lord Jesus Christ into the most ordi- nary trials of your life. You have your mis- fortunes, you have your anxieties, you have your vexations. ‘‘Oh,” you say, ‘‘they don’t shape my character. Since I lost my child, since I have lost my property, I have been a very different man from what I was.” My brother, it is the little annoyances of your life that are souring your disposition, clip- ping your moral character and making you less and less of a man. You go into an artist's studio. You see him making a piece of sculpture. You say, “Why don’t you strike harder?” With his mailet and his chisel he goes click, click, click ! and you can hardly see from stroke to stroke that there is any impression made upon the stone, and yet the work is going on. You say, “Why don’t youstrike harder?” Oh!’ he raplies, ‘that would shatter the statue. I must make it in this way, stroke by stroke.” And he continues on by week and month until after awhile every man that enters the studio is fascinated. Well, I find God dealing with some man. He is shaping him for time and shaping him for eternity. I say, ‘‘O Lord, why not with one tremendous blow of calamity shape that man for the next world?” God says. “*That’s not the way I deal with this mac . it isstroke after stroke, annoyance after annoyance, ir- ritation after irritation, and after awhile he will be done and a glad spectacle for angels and men.” Not by one great stroke, but by ten thou- sand little strokes of misfortuns are men fitted for heaven. You know that large for- tunes can soon be scattered by being paid out in small sums of money, and the largest estate of Christian character is sometimes entirely lost by thes small depletions. We must bring the religion of Jesus Christ to help us in thess little annoy- ances. Do not say that anything is tog insignificant to affect your character. Rats may sink a ship. Ons lucifer match may destroy a temple. A queen got her death by smelling of a poisoned rose. The scratch of a sixpenny nail may give you the ioskjaw. Columbus, by asking for a piece of bread and a drink of water at a Franciscan convent, came to the discovery of a new world. Anil there is a great connsction between trifles and im- mensities, betwesn nothings ana every- things. . Do you not suppose that Gol earss for your insignificant sorrows? Way, my friends, there is nothing insignificant in your life. How dare you take the responsibility of say- ing that there is? Do you not know that the whole universs is not ashamed to take careof one violet? Isay: ‘‘Whaatare you doing down there in tne grass, poor little violet? Nobody knows you are here. Ara you not afraid nights? You will die with thirst. Nobody cares for you. You will suffer ; you will perish.” ‘*No,” says a star, «I'll watch over it to-night.” ‘'No,” says the cloud, ‘I'll give it drink.” “No,” says the sun, “I'll warm it in my bosom.” Anl then the wini rises and comes bending down the grain and sounding its psalm through the forest, and 1 say, *‘Whither away, O wind, on such swiit wing?” and it answers, ‘‘I am going to cool the cheek of that violet.” And then I see pulleys at work in the sky, and tne clouds are drawing water, and I say, ‘What are you doing there, O clouds?’ They say, ‘‘We are drawing water for that violet.” And then I look down into the grass, and I say, ‘‘Can it be that God takes care of a poor thing like you?” and the answer comes.up, ‘‘Yes, yes. God clothes the grass of the field, and He has never forgotten me, a poor violet. Oh, my friends, if the heavens bend down to such in- significant ministry as that, I tell you God is willing to bend down to your care, since He is just as caraful about the construction of a spider's eye as He is in the conformation of flaming galaxies. Plato had a fable which I hava now nearly forgotten, but it ran something liks this : He said spirits of the other world came back to this world to find a body and find a sphere of work. One spirit cams and took the body of a king and did his work. Anotherspirit came | and took the body ot a post and did his work. | After awhile Ulysses came, and he said: | “Why, all the fins bodies are taken, and all | the grand work istaken. Theres is nothinz left for me.” And some one replied. ‘‘Ah, | the best ons has been left for you.” Ulysses | said, “What’s that?” And the reply was, ‘The body of a common'man, doing a com- mon work and for a common reward,” A | good fable for the world and just as good fable for the church. But, I remark again, we ought tobring the religion of Jesas Christ into our ordinary blessings. Every autumn the President of the United States and the governors make | proclamation, and we are called together in | our churches to give thanks to God for, His goodness. But every day ought to bethanks- giving day. We take most of the blessings of life as a matter of course. We have had ten thousand blessings this morning | which we have not thanked God. Before the | night comes we will have a thousand more hour by hour from the hand of the Lord, our Father and our King, and we do not even think to say, ‘Thank you.” More just to men than we are just to God. Who thinks of thanking God for the water gushing up in the well, joaming in the cas- cade, laughing over the rocks, pattering in the shower, clapping its hands in the sea? Who thinks to thank God for that? Who thinks to thank God for the air, the fountain of life, the bridge of sunbeams, the path of sound, the great fan on a hot summer day? Who thinks to thank God for this wonderful physical organism, this sweep of vision, this chime of harmony struck into the ear, this crimson tide rolling through arteries and veins, this drumming of the heart on the march of immortality? I convict myself and I conviet everyone of you while I say theses things, that we are unappreciative of the common mercies of life. And yet if they were withdrawn, the heavens would withhold their rain and the earth would erack open under our feet, and desolation and sickness and woe would stalk across the earth, and the whole earth would become a place of skulls. Oh, my friends, let us wake up to an ap- preeiation of the common mercies of life. Let every day be a Sabbath, every meal a sacra- ment, every room a holy of holies. We all have burdens to bear : let us cheerfully bear them. We all have battles to fight; let us courageously fight them. If we want to die right, we must live right. You go home and attend to your little sphere of duties. I will go home and attend to my little sphere of duties. You cannot do my work ; [ cannot do your work. Negligence and indolence will win the hiss of everlast- ing scorn, while faithfulness will gather its garlands and wave its sceptre and sit upon its throne long after the world has puton ashes and eternal ages have begun their mhrch. : eee Eee i: a Mummies as Brie-a-brac, It is estimated that the number of bodies embalmed in Egypt from B. C. 2000, when mummification is supposed to have been first practised, to A. D. 700, when it ceased, amounts to 420,- 000,000. Some Egyptologists, who extend the beginning of the art to a much earlier date, estimate the num- ber of mummies at 741,000,000. These mummies are very productive to the Egyptians. i The modern traveler is not content to collect merely beads and funeral statues and such small game. He must bring home an ancient Egyptian. The amount of business done of late years in this grim kind of bric-a-brac has been very considerablef Mummies,» however, are expensive hobbies, only to be indulged in by the wealthy, From $300 to $500 was at one time the average price of a full- sized specimen, while from $50 to $60 was asked for a baby.—New York ‘World. et A China’s Literary Prodigy. The marvelous child mentioned in the Chinese classics who, at four years | old, was able to recite the 360 verses of the T'ang poetry as well as the Ancient Book of Odes, has been eclipsed by an infant prodigy of the same age, who has presented himself at the recent licentiate examinations in Hong Kong as a candidate for literary honors. The P’anyu Chehsien personally ex- amined this tiny candidate, and found that the child could write a concise essay on the subject that had been - given him, although, of coursein an infantile scrawl. It is observed by a for | local commentator that it now remains only for the Literary Chancellor to “pass” the prodigy ere he can be | styled as ‘having entered the portals | of the Dragon's gates” —that is, ob- tained the degree of ‘‘3Siu-ts’al,” or | licentiate. —Liondon News. i { { —_— Queen Victoria leads a busy site, de spite the number of ministers and ser- vants she has. During the summer she drives down from Windsor Castle about 9 o’clock and breakfastsat Frog- more, usually in a tent on the lawn. | After breakfast the Queen does her | morning’s work in another tent, all | dispatches, letters and boxes goming down to her from the castle. eins | the morning two mounted grooms are | kept riding between Frozmore and | the castle with massagas and lettors, | and about 1.30 the Queen drives back | in time for luncheon. £ Au Ea i — by aif Dru —The p Bring: : tends t i rightly - ter than less ex] adaptin the nee the valu laxative remedy, Its ex in the f Ek ant to th it: benecficic ; ative; e dispellir and per It has gi met wit professic neys, Li . ening tl. every of Syrup gistsin ! ufacture Co. only package and bei accept a “Ia that if Flower this, sick, 0 a dysp of our no ben heart, Everyt that I] Flower cine ¢ SLEEP] TRADE 4 ry W A : Tllustrat Catalogu Fr eC. LL rouncad ho aud in ten 4 iness. A passed a @0IT 350. the Best’ given, A
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers