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STORIES OF THE OZARKS.
SOME OF THE WAYS OF THE NATIVES. XIMnt?n fur a tVhli<-»p I!and— A I oun Hunt— The I'lnt lilrjrle Seen In Cliadwlrk— They BcrAou D!atnnre by the O Appetite for Firewater. We stopped for the niglit at a small 'Christian county cabiu one evening last August and the host appeared to be very glad to see us. After sitting 'Out in the open air for an hour past dusk, listening to the quaint melody of a jewsharp in the hands of the oldest boy, we were invited to go to *'ed in the loft. We complied and in /n minutes my companion and I were fast uRleep. It was about midnight, that a slight noise from below awak ened me. and distinguishing voices apparently from the outside of the cabin, I listened intently. "You make er noise on ther iuside," I heard one •of the voices say, "an' when they jump from up thar I'll shoot." The horror of the situation struck me in an instant. Wo were probably taken for revenue officers by desperate bald knobbers who resolved that we should never get away. I lay perfect ly still, however, and awaited the noise from the inside. Pretty soon it came. I awakened my companion, und at the same time put my hands upon him and •commanded him to lie still. A long silence followed and after some more whispering that wa9 not clear to either of us, the lerrific racket inside the bouse resumed. Still we remained quiet. A moment later two shots rang >out, and there followed a shout in a •voice that I recognized as being that of my host. "We gottem, boys, eh?" he yelled. "Dead sure," was the reply; "thoy's 'dead as a mackeril." We hastened down from the loft and out into the moonlight night. The mountaineers had killed two raccoons that they had run to the roof of the little bouse. Who Won the Uet? The first bicycle had reached Chad wick, and as it stood in its crate on the little depot platform, everybody in town came up to examine it. "Yer don't mean to say that 'or man kin ride thot thing?" questioned old •Silas Frink. "Thet's whut they sav," said long, lank young Simpson. "I ain't seed hit done, but ther agent say 9 hit's easy." "An' only them many wheels?" "Two's er nuff." "I'll bet you my bat hit kaint be ■did." "All right," responded Simpson; •' Putter up." Just at the moment the arrange ments of the wagor were completed, a -dapper young man came up, and with a strong arm pulled the slats from the cnite. He took tho glittering macliino out, gave its pedals a few whirls, nimbly jumped into the saddlo and •was off like the wind, down the gravel load. "There!" exclaimed Simpson, be fore the bicycle had got thirty feet away, "girama that hat." It was ill-luck or pride or something ■else that made the young man run into a small rock, and nature did the rest The machine stopped and the rider went over into tLe road. When the doctor got through and put him on the train for home, old Si and Simp son were arguing over who won the bet. Ho had shown his ability to ride, Simpson said, but the old man still declares that bicycles are a fail ure. How He Reckoned Distance. It was near the Arkansas line in Howell county, on the Mountain Home Hood, that I was taken up by a native whom I encountered in possession of - a shaky old vehicle and two of the >poorest oxen I had ever seen. He agreed to take mo the rest of my jour ney for a dollar and "findin's" and so I got up beside the nntive and we started. In something over half an ihour the native began to squirm un easily. Presently he murmured: "Aint we 'most thar?" "Where?" I asked in return. "Ther fust mile," he returned. *T don't know," was my reply, •"what hasthat to do with the ques tion of going to Mountain Home?" "Nothin'," he responded senten tiously, on'y-." Then he stopped and urged the oxen into a brisker gait, if such a thing 'were at all possible. Five minutes dater he again began to squirm. "Aint this erbout right?" he began "For what?" I asked. "Fer er drink," he broke out Then I learned that the average mountaineer measures distance by bis appetite. My driver got thirsty every mile- Old timers get thirsty oltener and young fellows go further without ai smile. When you contract to pro •vlde the "flndin's" for an Ozark driv er, it would be a good idea to learn how much experience ho has had. Tho Earth's Age. The age of the earth is estimated :from the incromeut in the temperature tu we penetrate its crust. Tho rate at which the earth cools can only be determined by making use of data confeessiiy imperfect; but from these Sir William Thomson finds that 100, Ç 00.000 or 200.000,000 yoars ago it first began to be crusted over with a solid -film of rocks; that 10,000,000 years afterwards it was still so hot that tho temperature increased two degrees Fahrenheit for every foot vertically descended below tho zone of constant temperature. The present rale of increase averages about 1.51 of a degroc for every foot HOPI NG A S AILOR. Tic life and Expedition* Manser In Which Jape Captare Ktotoai Tare. A sailor ashore has long been hail ed as the spirit of prodigality and tumult. In Asiatic ports there are al ways drinking shops kept by men who, of a former day, were English or American sailors, and in these the jolly tars assemble, drink whisky, cing songs, quarrel und finally overstay their le ives'and resolve to desert out right. Captains of ships, whose sail ors are ashore tarrying long at the wine, have now and then a very excit ing hour getting their men. They manage as follows: An order is made by the consul directed to these drink ing shop keepers to turn all of a cer tain ship's sailors out of their houses and into tho streets. They do this promptly, as to disobey or to lie lag gard about it would result in the revocation of their license. So. all thoro sailors, drunk or sober, who went down to the sea in the particu lar ship ia question, ure cut adrift in tho streets. What follows is amusing and one of tho stock entertainments of Yokahama. Tokio and other Japan ese souports. While the ejected one with frowns on his tanued face and profanity and scorn on his lips is go ing unsteadily about in the streets with all those doors before so wide and hospitable closed in his indignant face, two wary, active and very sober Japs appear. They are about to mako a prey of this son of tho ocean, tho captain of his boat having offered $10 for his capture. They don't rush up and grapple with him as his tar-stained, salt-hard ened fists are capable of blows which would lay up the stoutest Jap for a week. They know a better, safer and more certain way, 1 hey bear between them—one at each end—a light, strong cord like a clothesline, some thirty feet long. As they come near the man of theiK choice, who perchance is caroling a lay—very hiccoughy and fervent—of tho deep bluo sea, they stretch the rope to its length. At a signal they rush so as to catch tho vic tim near tho center of tho cord and with incredible swiftness run around him in opposite directions, passing and repassing each other and winding the cursing sailor from neck to ankle. By tho time they cease for luck of longer rope, his arms are bound tight to his sidos, his legs are tight together, everything is tied down except his tongue. Jack was never so utterly helpless in his life. Then tho phlegmatic Japs—with no trace of excitement, for with them it is merely business—taking ono the heels and the other the head of the captive mariner, like a sack of grain carry him to tho wharf. Here the Japs get their $10 and go back to seek for more. Tho bibulous one is cast all corded and bound in the bottom of the boat, and his thongs arc not removed until he is laid safe on the deck of his own vessel. As many us a dozen of these pinioned recalcitrants may be seen in one merry boat load going to their ship. The Arizona Kicker. We had business over at the Elbow the other day, and our esteemed con temporary saw in the fact a long sought opportunity. He sent a mes senger around by the river road to get there ahead of us and off the boys $50 to draw our body up to a limb. The boys were ready enough, but when they came to look for the body it wasn't there. We suspected what was brewing and lit out. Do we blame our esteemed contemporary? Not a bit. Every man out this way has his peculiarities, and every other man respects them. We came here and found the field occupied by a wretched apology for a weekly pnper, conducted by a wretched apology for a human hyena. In three months we had driv en him into a hole, and in six he was the sickest man in all Arizona. He wouldn't be human not to feel hurt in his mind—such a mind as he has. He has shot at us, tried to poison us, set our office on fire, bribed our em ployes, hired assassins to slay us, and the plot the other day wus his latest move, Go in, old boy! Hang an un der dog who won't bite, even when ho knows he's licked!—Free Press. Signs of Cickaesj. Nearly twenty years ago Dr. Wilks directed attention to the curious fact that a transverse furrow always ap pears on the nuils after a serious ill ness. Medical men ignored what they called the visionary opinions of Mr. Wilks, giving the matter but little at tention in their medical works. Re cently a new interest in the subject has been revived and pathological societies have begun an investigation. Ono remarkable case shows nail fur rows caused by three Bays' seasick ness. Ton Gs I Bstiro. Should you have become soured on this cold world and desire to get away from tho sight of man. there ure no less than 470 islands in the Indian ocean to which you can retire and become the only living inhabitant and monarch of all you survey. - ABOUT THE TEXAS FAUNA THE BURRO,THE STEER AND the cowboy. - Wor-.sn"« View of Son? ot the I'erulltr Deni* *»»• of the Bailee toautr;—A Number of Old Jokes la a Bright Ser Story- Teller's Dress. The fauna of west Texas is charac terized by a universal evasiveness, and is as hard to catch onto as the flora is easy, writes Alice McGowan, a breezy newspaper correspondent, on her first visit to the western part of the Lone Star commonwealth. The burro is an animal that will re pay study. He is undoubtedly u phi losopher, and regards with passive, stoic contempt the master against whom he connot openly contend. He can be broken, subdued, made to drudge, but to go beyond his accus tomed pace, to descend to undignified haste for any man's pleasure, he will not; and his revenge upon his taskmas ter is to travel along in saturnine en joyment, und ufa snail-like gait, while tho tyrant wastes his breath in execra tions that are as incenso to tho burro's nostrils, and blows that aro a sweet tribute to his powers of aggravation. Ho is familiarly known as the mocking bird, and is famous, not for his beauty but for his voice. He might more properly be called a nightingale, for ho loves to sing in the sweet dusk of summer nights. When the heart is too full of the mournful music of his cadenzas to bear more, steal out and attach u stone to the warbler's tail, and he will warble no more till it is re moved. To him, as to more dulcet singers in more civilized climes, the attitude of the vocalist is more impor tant than the music; and his chosen posture, when he would pour forth his soul in song, is with head and tail ele vated, one umbrageous ear drooping pensively forward on his thoughtful visage, and one thrown back over his shoulder, in a dégagé and careless manner, as Frederick Paulding used to wear his cloak in the palmy days when he played Hamlet. The strictly accurate mind hesitates, in mentioning the largest aud most conspicuous thing about the burro, be tween his bray aud his ears. Ttie lat ter aro shaped something like a snow shoe and are about that size. They tell a tale out here—but I do not be lieve it and only introduco it hero be cause it has been considered by good judges tobe mildly amusing—of a Hol lander who carao to West Texas and was conveyed out by his host to view the landscape o'er. The house stood on a rolling plain, and just over a little rise were several burros, of whom, however, nothing could bo seen but their ears. "He's nize und lladt, undt," his dull eye brightening as it lit on tho burros' curs. "1 see you got vitid inills too. " The Texas steer, though irreclaima bly uncivilized himself, makes valua ble contributions to civilization, sup plying boef, leather and unlimited 1 it erary material. The ranchmaD, like misfortune, early mnrks him for his own. Though sharp, he is often roped in. Still he is never subdued, and goes bellowing and protesting on his wild and devious way, till he reaches the destination of all Texas steers — Chicago; where his lust act, as an in dividual, is often to furnisti matorial for a stirring paragraph. Perhaps the most curious and inter esting animal of West Texas fauna is the cowboy. Closely allied to man lie yet hus traits that are peculiar to him self alone. Ho is a pleasing and at tracive species, extremely gentle and tractable when properly approached. He is the only genus of the entire West Texas fauna that will stand long enough to bo properly studied aud classified. He is mild and gregarious in disposition, easily tamed and do mesticated. The impression so long obtaining in the oast that ho is a dan gerous animal, subsisting chielly on fire-water and exceedingly destructive to human life, is entirely erroneous. Closely associated with tho cowboy, and. indeed, a species of the same family, is the bronco-buster, with his attendant figure, the bronco. These two the discriminating naturalist will bracket together, somewhat in the manner of the buffalo and the buffalo bird. But at any moment tho bronco buster is liable to reverse his position and become tho bronco-busted. The above are extracts from my forthcoming work, "Tho Flora and Fauna of West Texas,'' and wheu a respectable gentleman with a thin, pale face and fat, red book rings your door bell and invites your attention to the work, do not rail at him nor drive him away. It will be my book, and it will be a good book, as these few brief extracts have shown you. A raj of Milk. "Here you are. two pounds o; chops, good scant weight." said the merry Cranston Street grocer to the young man of family who hud brought in an order from his wife, ••and now for the milk: where's your can?'' The young man of family protested that no tied n't read tho order, and bad not been »qu'pped with a cm. "Never mind." suid the grocer; ' here. hold.on to il." and ho dexteriou»ly slipped one paper sugar bag inside of another nnd filliped the corners into place. The two quarts of milk were poured into the inner bag. "The grease in tho milk prevents it from going through the paper, as water woidd." explained the I grocer. "I had hard work to get peo | pie to believe they could carry milk ! in a bag at first, and hud to let i( go at my own risk. I've sent it so half a mile by slow transit; still I'd advise you not to stop to toll any long stories on the way home."—Providence Journal. "HEL LO DOC TOR!** ; As Aaniai Inter?!«» Held Through a (It; Tele phone. Many useful and wonderful things i aro accomplished by the telephone. One of its most important functions is 1 the enabling of patients to commun icate promptly with their physicians. Sometimes the instrument may be of doubtful service to the doctor. One afternoon a city doctor w»> called from the dinner table, just as he had finished his carving for the family and begun to eat on his own account, to answer the telephone. "Hello! Hello!" came a sharp, eager call ovor the instrument. I The doctor recognized tho voico of a very nervous man of his acquaint ance. j "Well, what is it?" he asked. "Oh, I'm not well at all, doctor, but I haven't got time to come and see you, and I want you to cure me by telepnone, you know." "Well-" "Well, just hear this cough: ahum! ahum! ahum! Isn't that pretty bad?" "But," the doctor began, "I can't—" "And what do you think of my breath. Now, I'll breathe into tho tolephone. Fhwee! Do you get that?" "But I can't judge of your breath through the telephone!" "You can't, eh? So you can't— that's a fact! Well, I haveu't any time to come and see you, nor to wait here until you come down, so I guess I'll call in at Doctor Handy's on my way down town, and get him to pre scribe for me. Oh, I say! Don't put this in your bill, now!" As the doctor goes back to his cold roast he speculates as to whether the absurdly thoughtless and nervous man or the telephone is tho greater un noyancc.—Youth's Companion. Gom Bsfore. There's a beautiful face in tho silent air, Which follows me over and near, With smiling eyes and amber hair. With voiceless lips, yet with breath of prayer That I feel but cannot hear. The dimpled hands and ringlet of gold Lie low iu a marble sleep ; I stretch my hand for a clasp of old, But tho empty air is strangely cold, And my vigil alone I keep. Thero's a sinless brow with a radiant crown, Aud a cross laid down in the dust; There's a smile where never a shade comes now. And tears no more from these dear eyes flow. So sweet in their innocent trust. Ah, well! And summer is come again, Singing her same old song; But oh, it sounds like u sob of pain, As it floats in the sunshine and the rain O'er the hearts of tho world's great throng. There's a beautiful region above the skies. And 1 long to reach its shore, For I know I shall find my treasure there, The laughing eyes and amber hair Of the loved ono gone before. Another Youaj George Waihingtori. The bottle of glycerine and whisky, kept in a Chicago houso solely for the cure of colds, has been found empty. When last seen it had contained enough for two or three doses. A search was made for the culprit who emptied it. While tho inquiries were in progress Willie sat in one corner of the room reading a newspaper. It came his turn at last. "Willie," said his mother, "did you drink this?" No answer. lie was too deeply in te reste 1 in the newspaper. "\\ illio. " repeated his mother, "did you drink this?" "Dr.nk what?" he answered, looking up abstractedly. "The mixture that was in this bot tle." "What was it?'' "Glycerine and whisky. You know what it was. Did you drink it?" "Yes mamma," he said fearlessly. "I drank it. "I'd rather drink a whole bottle of whisky than tell a lie about it." A Baft of Kindrid Trouble]. "Well, Sutton, old man, you look pale —how aro you?" "I'm sick. I'm suffering from nerv ous prostration und kindred troubles." "That's bad. I know, -'or I have suffered from kindred troubles myself. Have got 'em now. I have an uncle in tho Texas legislature and another in the Ohio state prison, my brother in-law ran on the fusion ticket in New York and my sister is going to marry u poor Methodist preacher. You needn't tell me anything ubout kin dred troubles and tho way they pros trate a fellow's nervous system. I toll you, l'vo had 'em-had 'em all had on both sides."—Texas Siftings. l.'a.ih Injuitha Housot^miier (sharply); "Well, what do you want? Tho idea of i n able-bodied man like you going «round begging.' Tramp (from Boston); "You do me injustice, mum. I'm not ••eggin', mum. hut he n' us I'm tem po: urily unable to realize on me assets I'm endeavorin' to.- regotiule a loan, mum." by of 1 I a ; I s PRACTICAL RELIGION. ÏIIAT IS WHAT IS NEEDED TODAY, ' SAïS DR. TALMAGE. Frauds of All Kinds Would Suc cumb to a Proper Observance of Christian Tenets Among Chris tian*.—Faith Without Work* of Little Account. Brooxltm, N, Y., Feb, 15. — Great audiences again assembled at the service by Dr. Talmage in the Brooklyn Academy of Music this morning and also in the New York Academy of Music in the evening. The remarkable interest in the latter con tinues without evidence of abatement At the service iu New York last Sunday even ing ihero wore many emotional episodes among tho vast audience, and tonight these were repeated, hundreds pledging them selves anew to Christian lives henceforth. Dr. Talmage took for his toxt, "Fuith without works is dead."—James 2. 20. Tho Homan Catholic church has been charged with putting too much stress upon good works and not enough upon faith. 1 charge Protestantism with putting not enough stress upon good workg as con nected with salvation. Good works will never save a man, but if a man have not good works he has no real faith and no genuiue religion. There aro those who depend upon tho fact that they are all right inside, while their conduct is wrong out side. Their rcligiou, for the most part, is made up of talk—vigortms talk, fluent talk, boastful talk, perpetuffl talk. They will entertain you by tho hour in telling you how good they are. They como up to such a higher life that they have no patience with ordinary Christians in the plain discharge of their duty. As near as I can toll this ocean craft is mostly sail and very little tonnage. Foretopmast stay sail, foretopmast studding sail, maintop sail, mizzcn-topsail—everything from fly ing jib to mizzen spanker, but making no useful voyage. Now the world has got tired of this, and it wants a religion that will work into all the circumstances of life. We do not want a new religion, but the old religion applied in ail possible directions. Yonder is a river with steep and rocky banks, and it roars like a young Niagara ns it rolls on over its rough bed. It does nothing but talk about itself all the way fiom its source in tho mountain to the placo where it empties into tho sea. 'The banks are so steep the cattle cannot come down to drink. It doc3 not run ono fertil izing rill into tho adjoining field. It has not one grist mill or factory on either side. It sulks in wet weather with chilling fogs. No one cares when that river is born among the rocks, and no one cares when it dies into the sea. But yonder is another river, nnd it mosses its banks with the warm tides, and it rocks with floral lullaby tho water lilies usleep on its bosom. It ha3 three grist mills on ono side and six cotton factories on the other. It is the wealth of two hundred miles of luxuriant farms. The birds of heaven chanted when it was born in the mountains, and the ocean shipping will press in from the sea to hail it as it comes down to the Atlantic coast. The one river is u man who lives for himself. Tho other river is a man who liv?s for others. I have often spoken to you about faith, but now I speak to you about works, for "faith without works is dead." I think you will agree with mo in tho statement that the great want of this world is more practical religion. Wo want practical religion to go into all merchandise. It will supervise the labelling of goods. It will not allow tho merchant to say that a thing was made in uuo factory when it was trade in another. It will not allow the merchant to say that watch was munu ; factored in Geneva, Switzerland, when it I was manufactured in Massachusetts. It will not allow the merchant to say that wine came from Moderia when it came from California. Practical religion will walk along by tho store shelves and tear off all tags that mako misrepresentation. It will not allow the merchant to say that is pure cofTee, when dandelion root and chicory and other ingredients go into it. It will not allow him to say that is pure sugar, when there arc in it sand and ground glass. When practical religion gets its full swing in the world, it will go down the streets, and it will como to that shoo store and rip off the fletitious soles of many a line looking pair of shoes, and show that it is pasteboard sandwichod between the sound leather. And this practical religion will go right into a grocery store, and it will pull out the plug of all the adulterated syrups, and it will dump into the ash barrel, in front of the store, tho cassia bark that is sold for cinnamon und tho brickdust that is sold for cayenne pepper; aud it will shake out the Prussian blues from the tea leaves, and it will sift from tho flour plaster of Paris and bonodust and soapstone, and it will by chemical analysis separate the one quart of Ridgewood water from the few honest drops of cow's inllk, and it will throw out tho live animalcules from tho brown sugar. There has been so much adulteration ol articles of food that it is an amazement to me that there is a healthy man or woman in America. Heaven only knows what they put into tbe spices and into the sugars and into the butter and into tho apothecary drug. But chemical unalysis and tho mi croscope havo made wonderful revelatious. The board of health in Massachusetts ana lyzed a great amount of whut was called pure coffee, and found in it not one partielo of coffee. In England, there is a law that forbids tho putting of alum in bread. Tho public authorities examined flfty-oue pack ages of bread, and found oil guilty. The honest physician, writing * prescription, does not know but that it may bring death instead of life to his patient, because there may bo one of tbe drugs weakened by a cheaper articlo. and another drug may be in full force, and so the prescription may have just the opposite effect intended. Oil of wormwood warranted pure from Boston was found to havo forty-one per cent of resin and alcohol and chloroform. Scnm mony Is one of the most valuable mod leal drugs. It Is very rare, very precious. It is tho sap or gum of a tree or bush in Syria. The root of tho tree is expose«!, an incision is raado into the root und then shells are placed at this incision to catch the sap or gum as it exudes. It is very precious, this scummony. But tho peasant mixes it with cheaper matorial; then it is taken to Alep po, and tho merchunt there mixes it with a cheaper material; thou it comes on to the wholesale druggist in London or New York, aud he mixes It with a cheaper material; then it comes to tho retail druggist and bo mixes It with a cheaper material, and by the timo tho poor sick man guts it into his bottle, it is ashos and chalk and sand. Bad some of wbat bos been culled pure scam uoay after analysis baa been found to be M acammoar at all Uow, practical religion will rectir v an (hi*. It will go to those hypocritical pro fessors of religion who got a "corner' i a corn and wheat in Chicago and New York sending prices up and up until they were beyond the reach of tho poor, keeping these breadstuffs in their own hands nr controlling them until tho prices going U p and up and up, they were, after awhile 1 ready to sell, they sold out, making them selves millionaires in one or two years— trying to flx the matter up with the Lord by building a church or a university or a hospital — deluding themselves with the idea that the Lord would be so pleased with the gift He would forget the swindle. Now, as such a man nmv not have anv liturgy in which to say his prayers, I will compose for him one which he practically is making: "O Lord, we by getting a 'corner' in breadstuff») swindled the people of the United States out of ten million dollars, and made suffer ing all up and down the land, and we would like to compromise this matter with thee. Thou knowest it was a scaly job but then it was smart. Now, here wo compromiso it. Take one per cent of tho profits, and with that ono per cent of tho profits you can build an asylum for theso poor miserable ragamuffins of the street, and I will take a yacht and go to Europe' forever aud ever. Amen!" Yes, this practical religion will also go into agriculture, which is proverbially honest, but needs to be rectified, nnd it will keep tho farmer from sending to the New York market veal that is too young to kill, and when tho farmer farms on shares, it will keep tho man who doo3 tho work from making his half three-fourths, and it, will keep tho farmer from building his post and rail fence on his neighbor's promises and it will make him shelter his cattle in tho winter storm, and it will keep the old elder from working on Sunday afternoon in tho new ground where nobody sees him. And this practical religion will hover over tho house, and over tho barn, and over the field, and over the orchard. Yes, this practical religion of which I speak will como into tho learned profes sions. The lawyer will fool his responsi bility in defending innocence and arraign ing evil, nnd expounding the law, and it will keep him from charging for briefs ho uever wrote, and for pleas he never made, and for percentages he never earned, and from robbing widow and orphan because they ure defenceless. Yes, this practical religion will come into tho physician's life, and ho will feel his responsibility us tho conservator of tho public health, a profes sion honored by the fact that Christ him self was a physician. And it will make him honest, and when ho dibs not under stand a case he will say so, not trying to cover up lack of diagnosis with ponderous technicalities, or send tho patient to a reckless drug store because tho apothecary happens to pay a percentago on the pro scriptions sent. And this practical relig ion will como to tho school teacher, mak ing her feel her responsibility in prepar ing our youth for usefulness and for hap piness and for honor, and will keep her from giving a sly box to a dull head, chastising him for what lie cannot help, and sending discouragement all through tha after years of a lifetime. This practical religion will also come to the newspaper men, and it will help them in the gather ing of the news, ami it will help them in setting forth the best interests of society, und it will keep them from putting tho sins of the world iu larger type than its virtues, and its mistakes than its achievements. Yes, this practical religion will come and put its hand on what is called good society, elevated society, successful society, so that people.will have their expenditures within their income, and they will exchange the hypocritical "not at homo'' for the honest explanation "too tired," or "too busy to see you," and will keep innocent reception from becoming intoxicated conviviality. Thera has got to bo a new departure in religion. I do not say a new religion. Oh, no; but tho old religion brought to now ap pliances. Iu our timo wo havo had tho duguerreotype and tho ambrotype and the photograph; hut it is tho sumo old sun, and theso arts ure only new appliances ot the old sunlight. So this glorious gospel is Just what wo want to photograph the im age of God on ono soul, and daguerrotype it on another soul. Not a new gospel, but the old gospel put to now work. In our time we havo had tho telegraphic invention and the telephonic invention und tho elec tric light invention; but they are all the children of old electricity, au element that the philosophers have a long timo known much about. So this electric gospel needs to flash its light on tho eyes aud cars and souls of meu, nnd become a telephonic me dium to mako tho deaf hoar; a telegraphic medium to dart invitation and warning to all nations; an electric light to illumine the eastern aud western hemispheres. Not a new gospel, but the old gospel doing a new work. Give your heart to God and then fill your lifo with good works. Consccrato to him your store, your shop, your banking houso, your factory und your home. They say no one will hoar it God will hear it. That is enough. You hardly knew of anyone else than Wellington as connected with the victory at Waterloo; but he did not do the hard fighting. The hard fighting was done by tho Somerset cavalry and the Ryland regiments, and Kempt's infantry, aud the Scots Grays and the Life Guards. Who cares, if only the day was won. Iu the latter part of tbe last century a giVl in England became a kitchen maid in a furm house. She had many styles of work uud much hard work. Time rolled on, and she married the son of a weaver of Hali fax. They were industrious; they saved money enough after awhilo to build them a borne. On tbe morning of tho day wheu they were to enter that homo, the young wife arose at four o'clock, entered tbs front door-yard, knelt down, consecraWd the place to God, and there made this solemn vow: "O Lord, if though wilt bless me in this place, the poor shall have a share of it." Time rolled on and a for tune rolled in. Children grew up around them, and thoy ail became affluent; one, a member of parliament, in a public place declared that his success came from that prayer of his mother in the dooryard. All of them were affluent. Four thousand hands in their factories. They built dwelling houses for laborers at choup rents, and when they were invalid and could not pay they had tho houses for nothing, Ono of these sons came to this country, admired our parks, went baok, bought land, opened a great publie park, and made it a present to the city of Hali fax, Eugland. They endowed an orphan age. thoy endowed two almshouses. All Eugland has heard of the generosity and the good works of tho Crossleys. Moral: Consecrate to God your small mean* and your humble surroundings, and you will have larger means and grander surround ings. "Godliness Is profitable unto all thiugs, having promise of tho life that now is and of that which is to come." "Have faith in God by ail means, but remember taut faith without works Is dead." Broken hearts are never dangerous as long as dinner issics good. C'hrlttm.iR is •* old at many of the hU|», yet uotocy thinks of calling It a chestaufc