PENNARBY MINE,
Pennarby Shaft is dark and deep,
Eight foot broad, eight hundred deep,
Rough the bucket and tough the cord,
Strong as the arm of Winchman Ford.
+ Never look down:
Stick to the line! ¢
That was the saying at Pennarby X we
A stranger came to Pennarby Shaft :
Lord! to see how the miners laughed!
White in the collar and stiff in the hat,
With his shining boots and his silk cravat,
Picking his way
Dainty and fine,
Btepping on tiptoe to Pennarby Mine,
Teuring from London—so he said ,
‘Was it copper they dag for, or tin, or lead?
Where did they find it? How did it come?
If he tried with a shovel might he get some?
Stooping so much
Was bad for the spine;
And wasn’t it warmish in Pennarby Mine?
*Twas like two worlds that met that day—
The world of work and the world of play;
And the grimy lads from the reeking shaft
Nudged each other, and grinned and chaffed,
“Got 'em all out!”
“A cousin of mine I”
So ran the banter at Pennarby Mins,
and Carnbras Bob, the Pennarby wit,
Told him the facets about the pit ,
How they bored the shaft till the brimstone
smell
Warned them off from tapping—well,
He wouldn't say what,
But they took it as a sign
To dig no deeper in Pennarby Mine.
Then, leaning over and peering in,
He was pointing out what he said was tin
In the ten-foot-lode—a crash, a jar,
A grasping hand, a splintered bars
Gone is his strength,
With the lips that laughed ;
Oh, the pale faces at Pennarby Shaft!
Far down on a narrow ledge
They saw him cling to the crumbling edge.
“Wait for the bucket! Hi, man, stay!
That rope ain't safe ; it's worn away!
He's taking his chance:
Slack out the line!
Bweet Lord be with thee!
Mine.
‘He's got him !
will!
Thank God! He's over and bre
And he—— Lord sakes now!
Well,
Blowed if it ain't our London swell!
Your heart is right
If yoar coat is fine,
Give us your hand!” cried Pennarby Mine.
~A. Conan Doyle, in Pall Mall Magazine.
A Pullman Car Episode
’ eried Pennarby
He has him! Pull witha
athing still,
what's that?
BY CHARLES
SUMNER CLARE.
HAD just dropped
my numerous traps
on the front seat of
section eight, car
number twelve, of
the Chicago
limited, which left
New York City on
Tuesday of last
week, when the
brakeman cried
“All aboard!” the
engineer opened
the throttle, the
engine began to
labor, and by the time the last car bad
reached the end of that vast Jersey
City shed the train was at full speed,
bearing its precious freight—I say
precious because every one had a full
pocket-book, and necessarily so—to
the World’s Fair.
Unlike most men, I travel without
either a silk skull-cap, a smoking-
jacket, a duster, or a pair of home-
made slippers, for my street clothes
and etceteras are comfortable enough,
and even if they were positive torture,
all-possessing vanity forbids that I
should make an uncomely spectacle of
my carefully-adorned person, as some
careless-of-appearance sybarites are
wont to do in their journeyings. So,
without wasting time in getting into
deshabille, I sank into the unoccupied
seat and viewed the passing landscape
until my head began to ache. Then I
turned my attention, not to a book,
but to my fellow-passengers.
Sitting directly opposite me was a
girl. One glance was enough to tell
me that she was divine in features,
form and dress. Of course, having
glanced once I glanced again, and at
the second glance I thought I detected
something familiar about her. Where
had Iseen her? The third glance
solved the question.
Five years ago, when twenty-one, I |
spent the summer at Richfield, and
there met Margie Fenton.
fair, with laughing eyes, cherry lips,
and a figure of willowy grace. Margie.
too, was rich—or, at least, her father
was. Can you blame me for falling in
love with her?
Ah, what a summer we spent! Rides,
drives, dances, dinners, luncheons,
tennis, moonlight rambles, and best of
all, long talks in dark corners where
hands were clasped and vows of eternal
love were exchanged. And so we lived
in elysium ; the pleasures of each day
marred only by regret that its passage
brought the season nearer to its close.
September 25th was the day set by
the Fentons for their departure. I
had to stay longer because my mother,
supreme in her ownership of the pocket-
book, so wished. Shall I ever forget
the day? ‘Lhe train left in the early
forenoon, and with it went the sun-
shine of my life, leaving me inconsol-
able. My only comfort was in writ-
ing letters. This I did at the rate of
five a day for ore week; but as Mar-
gie wrote only seven in thai time, I,
fearing that I would annoy her,
dropped to the same nurhber. We
kept it up for two months. Then she
began to skip a day now and then, and
s0 did I. After a little her ardor was
represented by only two letters a
week ; mine by the same number.
This rate was continued for about six
months, when all of a
Margie was |
sudden she |
stopped entirely, and I did likewise.
Thus ended the same old story.
However, her eyes, her lips and her
figure had remained fresh in my mem-
ory. Glancing once more at her across
the way I felt almost certain that she
was Margie Fenton. There was a slight
change in her figure, to be sure. She
had grown more plump, as healthy
girls are apt to do as the years go on;
her hair, too, was probably a degree
lighter, but that often happens with
the druggist’s aid. But the nose, the |
eyes, the mouth, I could not be mis- |
taken in them. ‘‘Yet, if it is she why |
doesn’t she recognize me?” I asked |
myself. ‘Surely she doesn’t blame
me for breaking our summer engage-
ment?’ She evidently did, however,
for she never looked up from the book
she held before her, though she knew
that I was intently watching her. But
this knowledge apparently caused her
no annoyance, for her face wore a
roguish smile, which could not have
been provoked by the contents of her
novel, since she was professing to read
“Jess,” and was looking at the pages
near its painfully sad end. So I came
to the conclusion that she was Margie,
quite willing to renew acquaintance,
but wanting for me to make the ad-
vance. This I was ready to do, for the
sight of her dear face aroused all my
old affection, and renewed the bonds
which I wore with such pleasurein the
days gone by.
While I sat trying to muster up
courage to address her, and just about
e time I had succeeded, the porter
came through the train announcing,
“Luncheon now ready in the dining-
car!” The words acted upon my
divinity with astonishing celerity. She
droppe od her book, utterly regardless |
of her place, and rising from her seat |
without even glancing in the mirrors
that are so numerous in Pullman cars,
ssed out with a smile, but never a
look in my direction. My first im-
pulse was to follow her, but on second
thoughts I decided differently. She |
answered the porter’s call with such
avidity I reasoned that her hunger was
her first consideration for the nonce;
and when a girl is hungry there is a
woeful lack of sentiment about her.
So I was still, framing a conversation |
for later use. I thought of many
pretty things to say; then I thought
of many more. An age seemed to have
passed, but still she ate.
I glanced over a railroad-guide
which was stuck in a frame near the
door; then I glanced over it again—
but she kept on eating. I walked to
the other end of the car and dropped
into a seat which was occupied by a
newspaper, from which I read adver-
tirements—but still she ate. I locked
at ray watch ; she had been gone forty-
five minutes. ‘‘How can so lovely a
creature have so vulgar an appetite?”
I said, almest aloud. “Why, I
vouldn’t—" A ray of sunshine shiv-
ered the car. I looked up, and theze
she was. I gathered my courage,
gave a hasty thought to my pretty say-
ings, and with a beating heart walked
up to her and said:
“I beg your pardon, but are you not
Miss Fenton, Miss Margie Fenton, of
New York?”
She gazed up into my face, and as
the color slowly mounted her cheeks,
and a hundred little imps played |
games in her eyes, replied: ‘No; but |
I’ve been mistaken for her very, very
oiten.”
I was “‘set flat back” —as the inele-
gant but forcible colloquialism has it
—and could only stammer: ‘Par—
pardon me. Pray don’t think me for-
ward, will you?”
“My! no, quite the contrary. Miss
Fenton was a very pretty girl, and to
be taken for her is quite flattering.
She was also adear friend of mine, and
if you were acquainted with her that
is sufficient recommendation. Won't
you be seated?” And here the hun-
dred little imps tugged at her pretiy
mouth until they had arched it in a
most mischievous smile. She removed |
the books and boxes which littered the |
seat beside her, saying that I preferred
riding backward, which was the truth
—1I wanted to study her face.
This she seemed to understand, for
taking a heavy veil from her satchel,
she tied it about her face just low
low enough to conceal her eyes, giving
as an excuse for her action that the
jarring of the train loosened her curls.
There is something mysterious about
you, my lady, I thought, as I hastily
glanced at her traps in the hope of as-
certaining her name. She watched me
closely, and just as my eye caught
sight of the little silver plate on her
hand-bag she reached for it and placed
it plate downward in her lap. Her
object was so apparent that it embar-
rassed us both very much, but being a
man I recovered more quickly than
she, and set a trap.
“You snatched that satchelas though |
I were a thief, Miss—Miss—"
She took the bait. ““Not Miss at
all,” she replied, “but Mrs.—Mrs.
Tommy Trenton Trix.”
“Then you are married?” And half
my interest in this pretty woman went
out with the question.
“Yes; and Miss Fenton was at my
wedding.” She was silent a moment,
and then continued: “I believe, too,
[human products.
! believe it?
that thet was the lasf social even’ she |
ever attended.
There seemed to be a touch of sad-
ness in her voice. All kinds of horrible
things suggested themselves to my |
mind. The love of the summer of 1888
came rushing upon me with cyclonic
force. With a gigantic effort IT man- |
aged to ask: ‘Is she dead?”
Mrs. Tommy Trenton Trix raised |
i |
|
|
her veil and solemnly angwered:
‘No; married.”
“To whom?’ !
Those hundred little imps were now
holding high carnival. Her eyes
beamed ; her pretty lips were parted |
with impish mirth; even the dimples
in her cheeks seemed to smile as she |
measuredly replied:
«Po — Mr. — Tommy — Trenfon — |
Trix.”
| it now,
“Then you were—" But here the
dining-car man entered, crying: *‘Last
call for luncheon!” ,
I hope Mrs. Tommy Trenton Trix
did not hold the watch on me, for I
was gone for many, many hours. Sor-
row is a good bit like a cat—it’s rather
hard to drown. That’s what kept me
so long. —Frank Leslie’s Weekly.
ee Bm
Music That Speaks Truth.
In the folk songs of the different
Nations of the world men of scienco
will one day recognize a body of
evidence of great value in the study of
popular origins, racial relations,
primitive modes of thought, ancient
custons, antique religions and many
other things which make up the study
of ethnology, says a writer in the
Musical Herald. These folk songs are
the echoes of the heart beats of the
vast, vague, irresistible people. In
them are crystalized habits, beliefs
and feelings of unspeakable antiquity ;
yet not in the words of the songs
alone. Study of folk song text isonly
half study; indeed, it is study of the
lesser half of the subject in respect of
truthfulness. The words of the
people’s songs are a record of exe
ternals chiefly, and very often they
are only half truths. If we would
know the whole story which their
creators put into them, consciously or
unconsciously, we must hear also the
music.
As the term implies, the folk song is
the product of a people; and a people
do not lie. Music is an essential ele-
ment of it, and music not only does
not—it cannot lie. The things which
are at the bottom of musie, without
which it could not be, are unconscious
We all act on a
recognition of this fact when we judge
of the sentiments of another, not so
much by what he says to us as by his
manner of saying it. The feelings
which sway us publish themselves in
the pitch, dynamic intensity and
timbre of our voices. Try as we may,
| if we are Dover? riully moved we cannot
conceal the fact if we open our mouths
for utterance. Involuntarily the
muscles of the vocal organs become
tense or relax in obedience to the
emotional stimulus, and the drama
which is playing on the hidden stage
of our hearts is disclosed by the tones
which we utter. I do not say in the
words, mind, but in the tones. The
former may be false, but the tones are
endowed with the elements already
enumerated, of pitch, intensity and
timbre, and the modulation of these
elements makes expressive melody.
Silence has recognized this law and
Herbert Spencer has formulated it:
‘“Variations of the voices are the
physiological results of variations of
feelings 3 and ‘‘feelings are muscular
stimuli.” Thus simple is the ex-
planation of the inherent truthfulness
and expressiveness of the people’s
musie.
Co RL
YWeight of an Eagle in Dollar Bills.
Said Mr. C. K. Stout, of the Treas-
ury office, as he sat before the scales,
with $3000 or $10,000 in double
eagles at his elbow: ‘‘How many $1
bills do you think it would take to
weigh as much as one of these coins?”
The reporter considered a moment
and made a guess.
‘It takes just twenty-seven, unless
the bills are trimmed close. Twenty-
eight new $1 bills always weigh a little
more than a double-eagle. Don’t you
Just wait.”
He disappeared in the vault for a
few minutes, and presently emerged!
with a package of brand-new dollar
bills in his hand. Then he counted
out twenty-seven of them, and said to
the reporter: ‘Choose any coin you
will.”
The reporter chose a coin, which
Mr. Stout put on one of thescale pans.
Then he put the twenty-seven dollar
bills on the other pan. The long
needle that moves on the indexshowed
that the beam was almost level. The
man of money added another bill to
the twenty-seven, and the coin went
up. Then the reporter offered to
treat, for his guess had been shy just
973 dollar bills. —Cincinnati Commer:
cial Gazette.
— eet ER Reema
A War Story.
A group of Congressmen were sitting
in the half deserted hall of the House
when Judge Livingston, of Georgia,
remarked to General Cogswell, of Mas-
sachusetts.
“If it had not been for the leniency
shown by you to me on a certain occa-
sion I would not be here to-day.
“How is that?” inquired Cogswell.
“Do you remember one evening that
your regiment was scouring about At-
lanta and captured a fellow who was
wandering about that country? The
| circumstances of the capture made the
y-isoner liable to trial as a spy. I was
he prisoner. Ihada farm about there
and was looking to get home for a
glimpse at my » people. You were good
enough to decide that I was not liable
to the charge of being a spy and let me
go. The next evening I had five of
your men in my hands. I kept them
shut up in the barn over night and
then turned them loose.” —~New York
Sun.
apehiul ESSE ec
Ancient Use of the Parachute.
Tt seems that as early as 413 B. C. a
prisoner in Egypt astonished the na-
tives by jumping safely from a high
tower, impeding his downward Pro-
aress'and *‘landing” without too vio-
lent a jar by holding a blanket over
his head. The parachute, as we know
is said to have been invented
by an adventurous Frenchmen who ex-
hibited it in Paris in 1796, and early
in this century an English seronaut
named Green precipitated himself,
with a parachute’s restraining aid,
from the ample ether to terra firma in
Fairmount Park, in Philadelphia, thus
making the first recorded descent in
America,—Chicago Herald.
HE FAD THEN SINGING
THE REV. DR.TALMAGE TALKS OF
Oid - Fashioned Hymns and Helpful
Churches. Sunday Should Be in
Harness With the Other
Six Days.
Text: “Send thee
ary.”—Psalms xx., 2.
If you should ask fifty men what the chureh
is, they would give you fiity different a
swers. One man would say, *“It is a convens#
tion of hypocrites.” Another, *‘It is an as.
sembly of people who feel themselves a grea’
deal better than others.” Another, ‘Tt
place for gossip, where wolverine dispo
tions devour each other.” Another, ‘It is 1
place for the cultivation of superstition ant
cant.” Another, “It is an arsenal wher:
theologians go to get pikes and muskets anc
shot.” Another. *‘It is an art gallery, wher
men go to admire grand arches and exquisit
fresco, and musical warble and the Darn-
tesque in gloomy imagery.” Another man
would say, “It is the best place on earth ex:
cept my own home.” If I forget thee, O
Jerusalem! let my right hand forget her eun-
ning.
Now, my friends, whatever the chureh is,
my text tells you what it ought to be—1
great, practical, homely, omnipotent help.
“Send thee help from the sanctuary.” Thy
pew ought to yield restiulness to the body.
The color of the upholstery ought to yield
pleasure to the eye. The entire service oughz
10 yield strength for the moil and struggle of
everyday life. The Sabbath oug ht to behar<
nessed to all the six days of the week, draw:
ing them in the right direction. The church
ought to be a magnet, visibly and mizhtily
affecting all the homes of the worshipers.
Every man gets rouzhly jostled, gets abused,
help fiom {ie sanciue
gets cut, gets insulted, gets slightel, gets
ex: asperated.
By the time the Sabbath comes he has ar
accumulation of six ds
that is a starveling ehv
not strength enough to take
ed annoyance and hurl it into perdition.
business man sits down in church headachey
from the wee engagements, Perhaps hy
wishes he had tarried at home on the lot ing
with the newspapers and the slippers. That
man wants to be cooled off and g¢ i
diverted. The first wave of the reli
sarvico ought 10 dash clear Ove r the
cana decks and 1 him ¢&
and glad heaven aotion.
from the sanctus
In the first place, netuary help ought to
come from the mu A woman dying inf
England persisted in singing to tho last mo+
ment. The attendants trie : I
to stop, saying it would ext
make her disease worse. She a
must sing. I am only practicing for tho
heavenly choir.” Music on earthis a re
hearsal for music in heaven. If you andi
are gol ing to take part in that reat orches-
tra, it is high time that wo were stringing
and thrum ming our harps. They tell us tha:
Thalbergand Gottschalk never would go into
a concert until they had first in ‘private re-
hearsed, although they were such masters of
the instrument. And ean it be that we ex-
pect to take a part in the great oratorio ol
heaven if we do not rehearse here? But
am not speaking of the next world. Sabbath
song ought to set all the wesk to music. We
want not more harmony, not mors artistic
expression, but more volume in our cauren
musie.
+ Now I am no worshiper of noise, but I be-
lieve that if our American churches would,
with full heartiness of soul and full emphasis
of voice, sing the songs of Zion this part ot
sacred worship would have tenfold more’
power than it has now. Why not take this
part of the sacred service and lift it to where
it ought to be? All the annoyances of life
might be drowned out of thar sacred song.
Do you'tell me that it is not fashionable to
sing very loudly? Then, I say, away with
the fashion. We dam back the great Mis-
sissippi of congregational sinzing and let a
few drops of melody trickle through the
dam. Isay, take away the dam and let the
billows roar on their way to the oceanic
heart of God. Whether it is fashionable to
sing loudly or not, let us sing with all pos
sible emphasis.
We hear a great deal of the art of singing,
of music as an entertainment, of music as &
recreation. It is high time we heard some-
thing of music as a help—a practical help.
In order to do this we must only have a few
hymns. New tunes and new hymns every
Sunday make poor congregational singing.
Fiity hymns are enough for fifty years. Toe
Episcopul Church prays the sams prayers
every Sabbath, and year after year and
century after century. For that reason they
have hearty responses. {et us take a hint
from that fact, and let us sing the same
songs Sabbath after Sabbath. Only in that
way can we come to the tull force of this
exareise, Twenty thousand years will no:
swear out the Aymns of William Cowper and
Charles Wesley and Isaac Watts.
Suppose now each person in this audience
has brought all the annoyances of the last
365 days. Fill this room to the ceiling with
sacred song, and you would drown out all
those annoyances of the 365 days, and you
would drown them out forever. Organ and
cornet are only to marshal the voice. Let
the voice fall into line, and in companies, and
in brigades, by storm take the obduracy and
sin of the world. If you cannot sing for
yourself, sing for others. By trying to give
others good cheer you will bring good cheer
to your own heart. When Londonderry,
Ireland, was besieged, many years ago, the
people inside the city were famishing, and a
vessel came up with provisions, but tne ves
sel ran on the river bank and stuck fast. The
enemy went down, with laughter and de-
rision, to board the vessel, whe n tha vessel
gave .a broadside fire against the emeny, and
by the shock was turned back into the stream,
and all was well.
Oh, ye who are high and dry on the rocks
of melancholy, give a broadside fire of song
against your spiritual enemies, and by holy,
rebound you will come out into the calm
ince, and
rich has
cumulat+
of anto
Thy
4
i8and theo h
waters, If we wanr to make ourselves
happy, we must make others happy.
“ ‘Mythology tells us of Amphian, who played
his lyre until the mountains were moved and
the walls of Thebes arose, but relizion has a
mightier story to tell of how Christian song
may build whole temples of eternal joy and
lift the round earth into sympathy with the
skies. I tarried many nights in London, and
I used to hear the bells the small bells of
the city—strike the hour of night-—-one, two,
three, four, and after they were done stril-
ing the hour of night, then the great St.
Paul's Cathedral would come in to mark the
hours, making all the other sounds seem ut-
terly insignificant as with mighty tongue it
announced the hour or the night—-zvery
stroke an overmastering boom.
My friends, it was intended that all the
lesser sounds of the world should be drowned’
out in the mighty tongue of congrezational
song beating against the es of he
Do you know how they m the
heaven?. They have no clocks, as they havo
no candles, but a great pendulum of halle-
luiah swinging across heaven irom eternity
to eternity.
Let th
WwW
ze re use io sing
V r knaw our God,
Tut oe of {hz heaver
Should speak taelr joys al 5
Again I remark that sanctuary help ou
:ome from the sermon. Of a thousand
pe sople in this or apy other audience, how
many want sympathetic help? Do you guess
a hundred? Do you gu 500? You have
zuessed wrong. I will tell you just the pro-
portion. Out of a thousand ze0ple in this
audience there are just 1000 who need sym-
pathetic help. These young people want it:
just as much asthe old. The old people some-
times seem to think they have a moropoly
of the rheumatism, and the neuralgias, and
the headaches, and the physical disorders of
the world. But I tell you there areno worss
heartaches than are felt by some of theso
young people.
Do you know that 1 ol the worz is
done by the young? el died at Thtrey
seven, Richar: d ITI at thirty-three, Gustavus
Adolpaus died at thirty eight ! Innocent IIT,
came to his mighti i at thirty-
: Cort Mexico at thirty:
Don Juan won Lepanto at twenty-five ; Gro-
tius was Attorney General at twenty- four,
and I have noticed amid all classes of men
that some of the severest battles and the
toughest work comes before thirty. There-
{ore we must have our sermons and our ex-
hortation in prayer meeting all sympathetic
with the young.
And so with these people further, on in life.
What do these doctors and lawyers and mer-
chants and mechanics cars about the abstrac-
tions of religion? What they want is help to
bear the whimsicalities of patients, the brow-
beating of legal opponents, the unfairness of
customers, who have plenty of fault finding
for every imperfection of handiwork, but no
praise for twenty excellences. What does
that brain racked, hand blistered man care
for Zwingle's “Doctrine of Original Sin,” or
Augustine’ Ss TAnthropologyy:
Youm ht as
put on his side a plaster made out ot Pr
Parr’s “Treatise on Medical Jurisprudence.”
While all of a sermon may not be helpiul
alike to ali if it be a Christian sermon
preached by a Christian man, there willbe
nelp for every one somewhere. We go Into
an apothecary store. We ses others beir
waited on. We do not complain because we
do not immediately get tho medicine, We
know our turn will come after awhile, And
so, while all parts of a s2rmon may not be
appropriate to our ease, if we wait prayer-
fully Before the sermon is through we shalt’
have the divine prescription. I say to these
young men who come here Sabbath by Sab-
oath, and who are going to preach the gos-
pel—these theological students—I say to
them, we want in our .sermons not more
metaphysics, nor mre imagination, nor
more logie, nor more profundity.
What we want in our sermons and Ch
tian exhortations is more sympathy. When
Father Taylor preacned in the Sailors’ Bethel
at Boston, the jack tars feit that they had
help for tneir duties among the ratling: and
the forecastles. When Richard Weaver
preached to the operatives in Oldham, Eng-
land, all the workingmen felt they hau more
grace for the spindles. When Dr. South
reached to kings and princes and princesses
all the mighty men who heard him felt prep-
gration for their high station.
Again I remark that sanctuary help ought
to come through the prayers ot “all tue peo-
pie. Che door of the eternal storehouse is
fxungz on one hinge—a gold hinge, the hinge
ot prayer—and when the whole audience lz Ly
hold ot that door, if must come open, Thero
ire here many people spending their first
Babbath after some great bereavern . Wi nai
will your prayer do for them? I v
help the tomb in that man’s heart? Here
are people who have not been in church be-
fore for ten years. What will your prayer
do for them by rolling over their soul holy
memori
Here are people in cris
tation. They are on the verze of despair or
wild blundering or theft or suicide, What
will your prayer do for them this morni
in the way of giving them strength to resist?
Will you be chiefly anxious about the fit of
the glove that you put to your forehead
while you prayed? Will you be chiefly
critical of the rhetoric of the pastor's
petition? No. No. A thousand people will
feel, “That prayer is for me.’ and at every
step of the prayer chains ought to drop off,
and temples of sin ought to erush into dust,
and jubilees of deliverance ought to brandish
their trumpets. In most of our churches we
have three prayers—the opening prayer,
what is called thz ‘long prayer,” and the
closing prayer.
There are many people who spend the first
prayer in arranging their apparel after en-
trance, and spend the second prayer—the
‘‘long prayer’’—in wishing it were through,
and spend the last prayer in preparing to
start for home. The most insignificant part
of every religious service is the sermon. The
more important parts are the Seriptural les-
son and the prayer. The sermon is only a
man talking to 2a man. The Scripture lesson
is God talking to man. Prayer is man talk-
ing to God. Ob, if we understood the grand-
eur and the pathos of this exercise of prayer,
instead of being a dull exercise, we would
imagine that the room was full of divine and
anzelic appearances.
But, my iriends, the old style of church
will not do the work. We might as well now
try to take all the passengers from New York
to Buffalo by stage coach, or all the passen-
gers from Albany to Buffalo by canalboat, or
to do all the battling of the world with bow
and arrow, as with the old style of churchto
meet the exigencies of this day. Unless the
church in our day will adapt itself to the
time it will become extinet. The people read-
ing newspapers and books all the week, in
alert, picturesque and resounding style, will
have no patience with Sabbath humdrum,
We have no objections to bands and sur-
plice and all the paraphernalia of clerical
life, but these things make no impression—
make no more imprsssion on the great
masses of the people ‘than the ord linary usi-
ness suit that you wear in Wall street.
tailor cannot make a minister. Some of the
poorest preachers wear the best clothes, and
many a backwoodsman has dismounted from
the saddlebags and in his linen duster
preached a sermon that shook earth and
heaven with its Christian eloquence. No new
gospel. only the old gospel in a way suited
to the time. No new church, but a church
to be the asylum, the inspiration, the prac-
tical sympathy and the eternal heip of the
people.
But while half of the doors of the church
are to hesst open toward this world the other
half of the doors of the church must be set
open toward the next. You and Itarry here
only a brief space. We want somebody to
teach us how to get out of this life at the
right time and in the right wa) Some
fall out of life, some go stumbling out of life,
some go groaning out ctlife, some go curz-
ing out of life. We want to go singing,
ing, rejoicing, triumphing. We want half
the doors of the enureh set in that direc-
tion. We want half the prayers that way,
half the sermons that way. We want to
know how to get ashore from the tumult of
this world into the land of everlasting peace.
We do not want to stand doubting and shiv-
ering when we go away from this world. We
want our anticipations aroused to the high-
est piteh.
We want to have the exhilaration of a dy-
Ing child in England, the father telling me
the story. When he said to her, ‘Is the path
narrow?’ she answered: ‘‘The path is nar-
row. It is so narrow thatI cannot walk arm
in arm with Christ, so Jesus goes ahead and
He says, ‘Mary, follow.’ Through these:
church gates set heavenward how many of
your friends and mine bave gone? The last
time they were out of the house they came
to churcn. Tae ei earthly Dilgrimage ended at
the pillar of public worship, and then they,
marched out to a bigger and brighter assem-’
lage. Some of them were so old they could
not walk without a cane or two cratches.
Yow they, have eternal juvenescence. Or
tney were so young they could not walk ex-
cept as the maternal hand guided them. Now
they pound with the hilarities celestial.
he last time we saw them they were
vasted with malarial or pulmonic disorder,
but now they have no fatigue and no diffi-
culty of respir: ition in the pure air of heaven.
How I wonder when you and I will cross
over! Some of you have had about enough
of the thumping and flailing of this life, A
draft from the fountains of heaven would co
of awful temp-
ris-
you good. Complete release, you could
tiand very well. {f you got on the other
pide and had permission to come baek, you
Though you were invited
ur friends on es arth,
), let me tarry here wu: til
shall not risk going bac. it
heaven, he “had wetter stay
would not come.
to come back and
you would say, **2
they come. 1
aman reaches
there.”
Ch. I join hands with you this
that up!i:ted splendor!
Zi
morning in
When the shorz is won at fost
Wao wilt count the billows pus
roourg, Switzerland, thie is
tree 00 years old.
pmanted to commemorate an event. About
ten miles irom the city the Swiss conquered
the Burgundians, and a young man wanted
to take the tidings tothe city. He took a tree
branch and ran wea such speed the ten miles
that when be rsached the city waving the
tree brunch he Yd only strength to ery **Vie-
tory !” and dropped dead. The tree branch
In. F
trunk of
the
That tree was
that he carried was planted, and it grew to
be a great tree, { wenty feet in circum{erenes,
and the remains of it are there to this day.
My hearer, when you have fought your ast
battle with sin and death and hell, and they
have heen routed in the conflict, it will be a
joy worthy of celebration. You will fly to
the city and cry “Victory!” and drop at the
feet of the Great King. Then the palm
branch of the earthly race will be planted, to
become the outreaching tree of cverlasting
rejoicing.
When shall these eyes Thy heaven- Jul Ww alls
- gates “behol d;
THY SE Es with sa:vation strong
_ And streets of shining gold?
AN ANIMALS EDUCATION.
HOW TFOUR-FOOTED CIRCUS PER-
FORMERS ARE TAUGHT TRICKS.
A Ring Master Describes the Way
ifn Which Horses, Elephants, Bogs
and Pigs are Trained.
EOPLE who go to circuses and
and see horses, elephants and
dogs perform wonderful tricks
G must often ask themselves how
the animals are taught to do them. A
leading ring master supplies interest-
ing information concerning horses.
“The horse,” he says, ‘‘conirary to
general belief, is the m ros stupid ani-
mal on earth. He has only one fac-
ulty—memory. Having forced tricks
into his head, yon must use the short
whip when he resists, and give him a
carrot when he obeys. Whips and
carrots form the secret of the trainer.
The horse must be from five to seven
years old. Before that age he is too
spirited, after it his muscles are nob
elastic enough.
“The first thing fo
tom your horse to the ring, to make
him run round regularly and then to
stop at a given signal. To accomplish
this the “animal is brought info the
rine. The trainer holds in his left
hand a tether, which is passed into
the cavesson, a kind of iron crescent
armed with sharp points fixed on the
nose of the horse. In his right hand
he holds the long whip. Behind the
animal an as ant with a stout, short
whip is pasted. The trainer calls on
the horse to start, and pulling his
tether and hn his long whip
forces him to gallop round. If he re-
fuses the assi tant uses his whip also.
If he is obedient he is rewarded with
a carrot. To make him stop short the
trainer cracks his long whip again,
while the assistant with his shirt whip
throws himself suddenly in front ol
the animal, and the result is obtained.
‘“The horse has a grat objection to
kneeling or lying down at any mo-
ment. This feat is taught by means
of iron bracelets placed on his ankles
and attached to a tether held by tha
trainer, who, by sudden jerks or pulls
as he is moving, makes him {fall or
kneel. The animal remembers the
lessons, and, by dint of whip and car
rot, ultimately performs them at the
mere command of the trainer. The
horse is taught to dance to music
in the same way with the foot brace-
lets.”
With respect to dozs,
trainer, who is now
troupe of them, says
is & work of time and patience. Some-
times it takes two years. “I use
neither sugar nor whip,’ he informs
us. “I take my dog in my hands, talk
to him and try to make him under
stand what he is to do. Iperform the
tricks myself, and the dogs follow and
imitate me.”” At present he is show:
ing a carriage dog which performs on
the single wire. ‘‘I will tell you how
I taught him to become an equilibrist.
I made him first of all walk on a plank
which was balanced to and fro. The
plank was gradually reduced in width
every day “and the movement accel
erated. At length the plank dwindled
down to a narrow slip; this was re
placed by a long, round stick, and ul
timately the dog found himself on the
single wire.” Strange to say this dog
is blind. Scent is the great quality
which enables dozs to perform some
tricks. For example, the poodles are
taught by their scent. The traine:
touches the dominoes which the dog
has to play, and the animal, smelling
them, picks them out from the rest
and plays them.
do is to ancecus-
a celebrated
exhibiting a
their education
The pig is said to be the most diffi
cult animal to train. A clown who ex
hibits a troupe of performing porkers
does not believe in learned pigs. They
are to be taught only by their weak
point, their gluttony. “When I have
got my young pig,” he says, “I begir
on the principle that I shall obtair
nothing from him without satisfying
his appetite. I feed him myself, and
during a few days I vary his food ir
order to find out what he likes best.
As soon as Thave discovered his favorite
dish I deprive him of it completely.
This dish is my great talisman. The
chief pig I am now performing with
prefers beef fat. I put a piece in my
pocket. I jump over hurdles and the
pig follows me, doing likewise, in this
way he learns his exercise and gets his
fat. I decrease the piece of fat every
day and at last I give him nothing.
Should he refuse to work I thrash him
till he does, and having completed his
performance I recompense him with
his favorite meal.”
The elephant, on the contrary, is ex-
tremely intelligent, and his education
would be easy but for his cumbersome
weight, which forces the trainer to have
recourse to cruel means. For in
stance, to make him raise and hold oul
his foot an iron ring with sharp point:
is placed on it, ond being drawn by a
rope the points enter the flesh. The
elephant, feeling the pain, lifts up hit
foot and keeps it in the air till the pair
ceases. After a few repetitions he re
members the pain, and at the sight o!
the iron raises hisfoot. His instruction,
thanks to his intelligence, is soon con
pleted. Some elephants arc taught in
less than a fortnight to play on a drum,
work a tricycle, and beg on their hind
legs.—New York Advertiser.
One half of the population of Mexico are
full-blooded Indians.
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