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THE'. PITTSBtmG-BISirATOH,F1SIJNDATf"DEOEMBERi,'u22- fl88
18 ; &si 'Tl 5 i t fblonde hair and bright eyes was, if pos "Eible, prettier than before. ".Ho auaiLlbis time." Bhe remarked gaily ?'io me aside. ."We haven't any squabs, old fellow." said ihe husband privately. 'Neither auail nor 0.uab was on the table. ."but roast beef, which could lead to no ap kprehensions. The fire was blaxing cheer fully, the tDie was ht reaaines, mc uimug Jroom door opened, and' the maid announced: Tlie dinner is serve u. Jntt b we had finished the beef, and were- I waiting for the salad, in the silence of per rfect contentment, what did Hawsley do but igo over to his wile ana as uer. xie was .moved first by his Rood .meal, and then by ' his regret for tne memorauie scene 01 tne jear before. , . , , ".ATld WUen X LlllUJl, UC VUUMUUCU, "that last year, just because of some (wretched squabs "Quail, dearest, quail." sne interposed. "Oh. no. my darling, I made inquiries; they were squabs." "I asked, too, my -aear. xney were quail." o, squaDsr "Quail!" Well! This time it was truly frightful. There was nothing more to be done. Two quarrels in two years! It was too regular. This time little Mrs. Hawsley did not cry. She rose to her fnll height, a little pale, and with dilating nostrils, and turned toward ne. "Sir. I claim you as mv witness." TheD she called for her hat, a pretty little affair all feathers and lace and tied at the tide, and her long fur cloak falling to her feet. She wonld go home to her mother; and she did, leaving the meal unfinished. Hawsley took the departure ol his wife less perturbedly than might reasonably have been expected. He was sorry and ashamed. but he seemed to leel sure tnat sne wouia return the next day and submit to a recon ciliation. "We are not an unloving couple," he .said, "but our road to happiness is so de vious that it sometimes seems likely to lead to misery." "Well," I said, intending to be consola tory, "stand among the Allegheny Moun tains, especially near what is called the Horseshoe, and you will find a train of cars almost doubling on itself, and sitting in the back car you see a locomotive coming as you look out the window, and you think it is another train, when it is only the front of the train in which you are riding; and sometimes you can hardly tell whether the train i- going toward Pittsburg or toward Philadelphia, but it is on the track, and it will reach the depot for which it is started, and all the passengers will be dis charged at the right place. Now, there are a great many sharp curves in life. Sometimes we teem to be going this way, and sometimes we seem to be going that "way; but if we are Christians we are on the right track and we are going to come out at the right place. Do not get worried, then, about the sharp curve. A sailing vessel starts from New York for Glasgow. Does it go in a straight line? Ob, no. It changes its tack.. every little while. Now, you say, "This vessel, instead of going to Glasgow.mustbegoingto Havre, or it is going to Hamburg, or it is going to Marseilles. No, no. It is going to Glas gow. And in this voyage of lire we often have to change our tacks. One storm blows 11s this way, and another storm blows us that way; but He who holds the winds in His fist'will bring tis into a haven of ever lasting rest, just at the right time. Do not worry, then, if you have to change tacks. We three may eat a pleasant Christmas dinner yet. "O, I believe so," was the cheery re sponse. "To tell the truth, it was not a direct road that led to matrimony between lionise and me, and I onght to be tolerant of any infirmities of temper in her, since sbe is a good little woman at heart, and I was not exactly honest in marrying her. I will confide the whole story to you." The account which he gave can best be transferred from the first person words into a third person's account, and in that form I give it. Once, in a special meeting of the New York Society lor 'Egyptian Besearcb, a member addressed his companions in set phrases as follows: "Whatever one may say, gentlemen, there are dead peonle whom we can never replace. Among the number is he whom we mourn to-day. Who will dare to propose himself as a successor, in this company of which one late friend was for 15 years one of the chief glories? Above all, who will feel strong and patient enongh to go on with the "History of Sebekoteph, .that stupendous work to which he had con secrated his whole life, and which a cruel late did not allow him to finish?" ' The speaker paused, for an unexpected disarrangement of his notes prevented him from finding his seventh and last page. Then, without being disconcerted, he passed forthwith to his peroration, which he knew by heart, and which ended with: "Fare well, dear and noble friend; tireless worker, adieu. Sleep in peace, Solomon Bayard." There was a moment's hesitation and silence. The Chairman waited a few sec onds to see if this enlogy was the last. Then, seeing that no one else spoke out, he closed the meeting decorously. The scientists be gan to fojhi little groups and discuss the literary success of the dead man. a success achieved after many vain attempts, for dur ing his lifetime Solomon Bayard had been assiduous in several specialties of culture. He had justly passed among his colleagues lor a happy man. Never had a life been more free from care and anxiety than his, and from its moaest beginning no one could have foretold the high reputation in store for him. The srm of a rich merchant he had but to succeed his father and make for himself an honor able name in trade. But he soon deserted profitable business for the thankless pursuit of literature. At the end of five years he became discouraged by constant failures to originate anything noteworthy. He tried first painting and then, philology. This last attempt seemed likely to succeed, and he was on the point of gaining some fame with a small but exclusive portion of the public, when he conceived the unlucky idea of publishing an erudite work under the fceductive form of a romance an egregions lolly of which the world of learning soon showed him the impropriety. In short, at the age of 50 he produced a few works of doubtful value. Bayard now married the youthful daugh ter of a celebrated orientalist, recently de ceased. Wonderful to relate, this ill assorted match was decidedly lucky for the husband. Not only was he respected by his young wife, but, moreover, under the guidance of that bright woman this much abused savant, this scholar of many fail ures, found himself rapidly transtormed into an Egyptologist of the highest ability. Some Coptic translations found among the papers o his father-in-law, and which he published soon after his marriage, operated in his favor so as to produce a complete change in critical opinion, and two years later, at the mere announcement of his forthcoming great wort upon Xing Sebek oteph and the Second Dynasty of the Pha raohs," he was established in the literary world as a genuine producer of worthy mat ter. He worked at it all day long with jealous care, alone and without any help. Nobody was allowed a sight of this work, which was to number four big volumes, and to unveil to an impatient publicthe hitherto mysterious history of the first ruler of Egypt. But suddenly he died. A lew days later the Champollion,the journal of the orientalists, gave the follow ing in'ormation: "It is not yet known whether the manuscript left unfinished by Solomon Bayard will be given to the pub lic It seems that the illustrious scholar look care to signify his wishes m this re siect. His instructions, it is said.were con tained in a letter which is not to be opened until ten months after his death. It may be mentioned that the New York Society for E; ptian Research must choose a president to Mircced onrmuch regretted fellow-worker. The candidates thus far named are Dr. Den tnn. Prof. Springer and Arthur Hawsley. Thrre will be a hot contest between the first two. equally famous for the number and importance ot their works. As to Mr. Havsley, we imagine that the mention ol his name, is simnlv made to draw him into :. prominence, for he is a young man, and his 'comparative newness to 'Egyptian study J cuts off his chances of being chosen for such an important succession." When the time for an election arrived the members were called upon to choose a suc cessor to Solomon Bayard, but none of the three candidates could be chosen. Suffi cient votes were stubbornly cast for young Hawsley to hinder his rivals from obtaining a majority, and tbe business was deferred until the loliowing spring. It was in this interval that Hawsley made his trip to Egypt which has already been mentioned. Nearly a year passed, while the three scholars pursued their ambitious course. Prof. Springer published an essay upon Manchoo poetry, which he hastened to send to all whose votes he desired. Dr. Denton bent all his genins to composing scientific dinners which should triumph over the indigestion of the scholarly stomach. As to Hawsley he too had hit plans of cam paign, as ingenious as it was simple, and not confined to actual researches in Egypt. He went very often to call on lionise Bayard, who, since her husband's death had lived in retirement. Could Hawsley be in love? Why not? The youthful widow was intellectually and per sonally attractive enough to melt the stony heart of a young Egyptologist. With her heavy hair" confined by a circlet of gold and her large eves, she resembled an Egyptian princess. But, when all is told, it was not wholly lionise herself who attracted Haws ley. He professed to regard love -as an emotion of an inferior order, quite beneath the chosen minds among whom he modestly classified himself. A secondary object which he hoped to obtain was a perusal of the famous manuscripts of the late Solomon Bayard. He thought that if he conld finish the ''History of Sebekoteph" his election and fame wonld be assured. lionise was pleased by his attentions, and gradually be gan to love him with 3ll the strength of her nature, and that was the situation when the appointed time came, ten months after Bay ard's demise, according to his orders, to open and read a certain sealed envelope. "When shall I begin, Madam?" the fam ily lawyer said. "The sooner the better," said the widow; "now. if yon will." The legal adviser, and custodian of the paper had come to read the last wishes of Bayard concerning the manuscript, and had dined in company with Louise and Hawsley. He was an amiable person of loquacious tendencies, and during the meal he had sought to divert the widow with anecdotes that had delighted several generations. But be could not break the ice. Inferring, at last, from the embarrassment of the yonng pair that it was a case of lovers, and that his presence was inopportune, he curbed his desire to talk and the company soon ad journed to the library the same library in which Hawsley told tbe story to his friend. At his hostess' invitation, the lawyer drew from his pocket a black-bordered let ter, showed that the seal was intact, and be gan in unctuous tones: "I, the undersigned, Solomon Bayard, bequeath, all my books, manuscripts,papers and miscellaneous works to my dear wife, Louise Bayard, leaving her to dispose of them as she shall see fit I de sire that my 'History of Sebekoteph' may not be published except in case my wife, on remarrying, shall judge her new husband worthy to finish that important work. In this case I authorize her to deliver to my successor, but not until the third Christmas after her marriage, theinclosed key, which wall ODcn lue utviuuua -u, , .n -u auu ju.01 my bookcase No. 7, where the aforesaid work will be found." "My late client," added the lawyer, "thus'gives a fine example of his rare gen erosity of mind. Generally husbands object to tbe idea thattheirwives may marry again. This one, however, seems to advise you not to give yourself up to eternal and vain re- grets." Then remembering the tender glances which had passed between his companions at dinner, he added with fine discernment: "We may be permitted to hope that the 'History of Sebekoteph' will be published some day." "Who knows?" murmured Xouise, dart ing a glance at tbe young orientalist; where upon Arthur Hawsley, profiting by the in attention of the lawyer, who was arranging his papers, seized her hand and imprinted upon it a kiss. "Now, that is the way in which I wooed and won my wife," said Hawsley. at the conclusion of the narrative, "and do you think I am the man to be intolerant of my wife's whims? Our two quarrels in your presence have been foolish, and when she returns to-morrow, 1 shall ask her forgive ness. Of eourse, every man's own experi ences seem to him to be pregnant themes, but really, Pardee, I believe the Christmas sermon you are going to preach might well contain something about husbands' duty to their wives." CHAPTER ILL JOSIAH BtJKfTHAM'S CUBIOUS CONDUCT. That my friend Hawsley's love of Egyp tology was genuine, the library in which we sat- bore proof. Not only did it contain many books and exhibits left by the late Bayard, but tbe present master had added to both, and, besides, prided himself on the possession of editions of the Bible lacking in the richest theological libraries in Amer ica. He owned Bibles printed about 145 from the presses of Gutenberg and Paust, the Bible of Luther, the polyglot Bible of Plantin, that of Aldus Manutius, and the like. Lastly he took down from the shelf two volumes of a modern aspect, and said banteringly: "Here, I have reserved this for the flower of tbe collection., It is one of the crown dia monds among my treasures." "Yon don't call that a crown diamond,'" I said, "that reprint of the last century?" "Exactly so, my dear Pardee, and with perfect justice. In the first place, altbough printed in English, it was once the property of Erederick the Great, who deigned to ornament one ot the two volumes with marginal notes, more witty, to be sure, than reverential, as might be expected from the friend ofVoltaire." To me the holy books seemed to have been shockingly desecrated by the flippant monarch, and I did not care to peruse his marginal notes. Hawsley stood with one of the volumes in his hand when Josiah Burnham rapped and came in. His visage wai more repellent to me than it had been a year before; and his singular behavior im pressed me, vaguely though curiously, at the time. His eyes fell on the book, and, with a shiver and a recoil, he seemed abont to qnit the roomy With a manifest effort he delivered tbe errand which had brought him, and then started to withdraw. "How are you, Josiah?" I asked. "Pretty well," and his tone was almost aggressive. "Y6u don't remember me?" "Yes I do. You preached to me about the money that was minel" "Tlje money that belongs to Mary, the widow by betrothal of yonr dead "wife's son. I thought you might have given it to her ere this." "No, I haven't, and, what's more, I won't. So yon may lecture me if you like, and you may preach Christmas sermons with me in the text if you care to, but the law is with me." "Josiah, let us leave law human and divine out of the case, and consider the moral question whether you have done right by your dead wife " "Who says I done wrong to my dead wile?" he savagely interrupted. "Let yocr own conscience decide for you," I said, seeing that I had affected bim. She was your best friend no doubt. Wives are usually their husbands' best friends. Have you been true to her in this matter? In this world so full of heartlessness and hypocrisy, how triflling it is to find some friend at faithful in days of adversity as In days of prosperity. David had such a friend in Hushai. The Jews had such a friend in Mordecai, who never forgot their cause. Paul had such a friend in Onesiphorus, who visited him in jail. Christ had such in the Marys, who adhered to Him on tbe cross. Why, you don't have to look far in the Bible to find some good examples of fidelity between friend and friend," and I carelessly turned the pages of Hawtlev'i cherished copy, which had lain on the table. "I don't want scripture quoted toae,J'J Josiah exclaimed, retreating "not out of that book." "I preach two kinds of sermons," I went on; "the one on the faith of tbe Gospel, the other on the morality of the Gospel and the one is just as important as the other, for you know that in this land to-day there are hundred's of men hiding behind the com munion tables and in churches who have no business to be there as professors of re ligion. They expect to be all 'right with God, although they are all wrong with mail, and I tell my congregations that by the deeds of the law no flesh living can be justi fied, and a mere honest lite cannot enter us into heaven. I want you as plainly to un derstand that unless the. life is right the heart is not right," "That is meant for me," Hawsley good humoredly said; "and it is true, Pardee it is true. I will treat my wife from my heart not from my head. Now, you, Joshua," and he turned to the gardener, "why don't you do just right by your dead wife? Give Martin's money to Mary, as he wished, and as his mother would have done if she had lived." "I was mentioning Bible instances of loyal friendship," I resumed, "of cases in which a friend surely you and Martin were friends did his duty conscientiously by that friend. Naomi had such a true friend in Buth," and I took the first appro priate passage that happened to come under my eye; "and it was Buth who cried out 'Entreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee; for whither tbou goest, I will go; and where thon lodgest, I will lodge: thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God; where thou diest I will die, and there will I be buried; the Lord do so to me, and more also, if aught but death part thee and me.'" Josiah was livid with rage, as he broke out: "I won't have any texts from the Bible, I tell you I've had one too many from it already." t The book seemed to be an object of terror to bim, and he retreated from it as from something deadly, quitting the room in a strange state of excitement. We discussed him after his departnre, and Hawsley told all he knew of him, beyond what I had already learned. "When I married Louise," my friend said, "she brought me as her dowry this small estate, where we decided to lire, as it was within a convenient distance of the city's center and of my professional head quarters. You were pleased yesterday to admire our garden, with its hedges, and its winter remnants of last summer's beauty. But I am sorry now that I did not take you beyond into the homely but nseful vegeta ble garden, for probably you have- never seen a haunted bouse, and there I could have shown you one. There is nothing sinister in its appearance, though some of the more ignorant folks claim that it is largely the rendezvous of the unquiet dead. It is a small one-story cottage, almost hid den in summer under honeysuckles and jasmines. The windows have lost their glass, while within, the fireplace is full of rubbish and broken plaster, the walls show their laths, and the woodwork is crumbling away in the dampness and mold. As a dwelling house it was abandoned by Josiah Burnham after his wife's death, and serves now only as a storehouse for his flower pots and gardening tools. "When we first came here the house was tenanted by tbe gardener and his wife, both of whom worked at his trade. They kept our grounds in order, and culti vated flowers to sell to the city florists, as well as some garden truck for the markets. Josiah had tried several times, it seems, to rise above his state of toil, but his undertakings had always failed, and he made many bitter complaints. "Still, I shall get rich, he would add; I don't know how or when, but it will come." "He was harsh with men and with ani mals, and often beat his dog immoderately and unreasonably, -not in anger, but with cool deliberation, as if for personal gratifica tion. Twice when thieves were caught in the garden he sent them off with broken heads. The servants of the neighborhood detested him; and some of them believed that, he bewitched the cattle that even human beings were powerless under his evil eye- "Josiah married late in life a -widow with a grown son Martin Jeffries who was lost at sea, as I have told you. Tbe woman in nocently contributed much to her husband's ill-repute, because the idle gossips thought her the victim of her husband's fancied oc cult powers. She trembled before bim like a bird fascinated by a snake. Moreover, she often tell into a state of lethargy, and would remain for days in a strange sleep so like death that during the first a'ttack she came near being buried alive. The doctor -said it was epilepsy, but the ignorant thought it supernatural, once were tbe hnsband and wife. But, having no personal grievance against Josiah, who seemed in dustrious and honest, we did uot think of dismissing him. and attached no import ance to the vague and absurd reports con-' cerning mm. "Well, soon after my return from my Egyptian trip, and my sad report of the death of Martin, his mother died before transferring his money to his affianced wife. She was found stretched out on her bed, pale and rigid, with her eyes wide onen and the pupils dilated. " 'Another of her attacks,' said Josiah, witbout apparent emotion. They proposed to send for the doctor, but he protested loudly: 'No indeed, I haven't any money to watte. She will wake up soon of her own accord, as she always does.' "It was not until three days later, when unmistakable signs of death were manifest, that tbe doctor came. He could only cer tify to the demise, at which no one thought of being surprised, considering the ill health of the poor woman. That is all." This account of Josiah's disregard of his wife, and his wrongful withholding of Mar tin's money from .Mary, led me to devote my ensuing Christmas sermon to the sub ject of Christian loyalty to those with whom we are associated. My text was, "Do unto others as ye would that they should do unto you," that great humanitarian dictum of Christmas' originator. I dwelt upon man's duty to women especially; and when I spoke of woman's seli-defe'nselessness, Josiah gazed from a pew half angrily, half cring ingly, while Arthur Hawsley slightly nodded assent, as I said: "The daughter of a regiment in any army is all surrounded by bayonets of defense, and, in the battle, whoever (alls, she is kept safe. And you are the daughter of the regiment com manded by the Lord of Hosts. After all, you are not fighting tbe battle of life alone. All heaven is on your side. CHAPTER IV. IN A 'WEEK BEFOBE CHEISISIAS. How could I decline, or dislike, to make . a third Christmas visit to the Hawsleys, when I knew that tbe time was at hand for my friend to receive, at last, the singularly bequeathed manuscript of Solomon Bayard? I was invited to be present as the only wit ness, other than Arthur and Louise, of tbe opening of the treasure of research, industry and learning. The pair greeted me cor dially. "We don't quarrel anymore Arthur and I," Mrs. Hawsley said to me confidentially. "He is the kindest and best of husbarfds.and the words 'quail' and 'squab' can be spoken between us without the slightest danger." In proof of that we had a jolly, talkative dinner, and the husband and wife spoke apologetically of their two quail-squab squabbles, as she termed them. I trembled with fear that pleasantry on that topic would prove explosive, but it did uot, and we were a very happy trio clear through the first meal of'mv stay. "Your last Christmas sermon did me a great deal of good," Louise remarked. "O, because you think it made me reform my treatment of you?" Arthur laughingly suggested. 'No, no," she soberly protested; "I didn't mean that What I meant was that it set me thinking about conjugal duties about wifely duties and well, I love my husband now sincerely." "Not more genuinely than I love her," Arthur declared, to me, as though I were a referee. "Duties performed always lead,to greater amiability and to greater' happiness," I re- marked. "I don't say this to belittle any or every endeavor in that direction, but I am to begin the composition of another Christmas discourse, vou Know, ana x am thinking that it shall he devoted to an en-' couragement of good endeavor for the gen eral benefit of other people. Prom the moment our Savior went out of the caravan sary of Bethlehem to the moment when the cross was plunged into the socket on the bloody mount, He was busy for others. Does that remind us of ourselves? It does not remind me of myself. Oh, if we lift a burden, it must be light If we do wbrk it mus be popular. II we move in a sphere of usefulness it must be brilliant. If we have to take hold of a load, give us the light end of the log. In this way to heaven fan us, rock us, sing us to sleep. Lift us up toward heaven on the tips of your fingers under a silken sun shade. Stand out of the way, all you mar tyrs who breasted the fire; stand out of the way and let this colony of 'tender-footed Christians come up and get their crowns." "You are deriving your theme from me atrain." said Hawsley. "You know I am depending on the manuscripts that are to be mine;tyou are thinking that I seek to avail, myself of another s researcn iortne gioriuca tion of myself; yon are " "Stop, stop," I exclaimed. "I have had my 'Western eye on you all the year, and I Know that you have been figuring hand somely in your chosen line of archaeological research, quite on your own account." "Come into the library and I will show you some of the jresults," and heled the way from tbe finished dinner to his store room of knowledge. "There in the corner cabinet which is a fireproof safe, as well is the Solomon Bayard manuscript. Not until 12 o'clock of Christmas morning will the combination numbers of the lock be sent to me by the lawyer, to whom they were entrusted by Louise's husband." We chatted, looked at rare books, and at length recalled Josiah Burnham, whose queer conduct in that room a year before had indelibly impressed me. I said to, and Hawsley added that he, too, had been struck by the man's perturbation. "With the $1,000 that he wrongfully con verted to his own use," Hawsley went on, "he left us and set up in business for him self as a florist Fortune, on whom he had waited so long, smiled upon him, and he had become very prosperous quickly. I have not personally spoken with him since that night in this room, for he gave up all work for me, and sent a friend to settle up our account. I set myself to thinking about him intently, and especially about the particular Bible which seemed to agi tate him." "Probably, any copy of the Scriptures would have done'the same. He was angry, apparently, because I quoted from it to his condemnation." "But dou t you remember his telling you that he had" had texts enough from, that especial Bible? I recalled that after his sudden departure, and then, of a flash. I re membered an incident In addition to his work in the garden, Josiah used, to have several tasks to perform in the house. One Saturday he was waxing the library floor. I entered unexpectedlyand fonnd him stand ing near this particular shelf in the act of reading this particular Bible. At the sound of my entrance he hastily closed the book, but not before he had marked the place with a piece ot paper which he happened to have at hand. I took no notice of him, seeing by his confusion that he felt himself to be at fault for meddling with my books. He re stored the volume to its place and I never happened to discover the mark, which was not very conspicuous, until a few days ago. Here it is." He opened the book, and we looked at the slip of paper which had served as a mark. It was a scrap which in itself could mean nothing, but Hawsley had left it just where he had found it, even making a star with his pencil on one of the two leaves between which he had found it They belonged to the Book of Judges. I ran my eye down the columns, but could see nothing which seemed like matter which. Josiah would have marked. - "Probably an accidental bookmark only," I said. "Doubtless." my friend assented: "but he did place it there he did act strangely when I came in on him and ho did get ex cited when you used tnat Bible for quota tion." Again I scanned the two pages, and this time I discovered a stain in the margin be side the fourth verse of the twenty-first chapter of Judges. Hawsley looked at it closely and said: "That was made by Josiah's forefinger, and the stain is the wax that he was using on the. floor." The verse was this: "Then Jael, Heber's wife, took a nail of the tent, and took a hammer in her hand, and went softly unto him, and smote the nail into his temple, and fastened it into the ground; for he was fast asleep and weary. So.he died." It seemed clear to us that the finger print and the bookmark, too, were merely acci dental, and that Josiah had only been angry with me without reference to that particu lar Bible. And Mary the girl whom he frauded? I inaulred. really de- "Marv Welles is a very poor, hardwork ing girl," was the reply. "She is a dress; maker, with a mother de'pendent on her for support, and only by hard work does she get along at all. That (1,000 might have established her in a little business of her own. Now, Pardee, I have a conscience, though I may not have always heeded it In this matter of Solomon Bayard's manu scripts,which will be in my possession three nights hence, I am going to let my conscience dictate my course. It was a de sire to get them that led me, more than love, to marry Louise these' and the other treas ures that her husband left, and which, in my Egyptomania, I coveted unreasonably. That was the primary cause of my marrying her. You may smile, but it was so. Wellr I got my wife, whom I now love for herself alone, and that is my undeserved reward. I won't take any more. Whatever valuable secrets may be contained in Mr. Bayard's manuscript I shall give to the world, as from him not stealing them for my own aggrandizement as a savant Whatever profit comes from their publication Iam re solved to give to Mary Welles. Every cent shall go to that girl, because it was through me that she lost 'her lover, and it was an employe of mine who defrauded her. That is settled in my mind." . The rest of the week before Christmas passed. Twelve o'clock struck at the close of Christmas Eve. The twelfth clear ring from the clock on the parlor mantel was im mediately followed by one at the front door, and a man delivered a letter from the law yer. It contained the figures necessary to know in order to open the iron cabinet. The messenger took a receipt and departed. Then the Hawsleys and I went to tbe library. Arthur turned the knob of the safe, and, despite his laborious calmness, was so nervous that he could not work the combination nntil alter half a dozen trials. Bnt at length the long-shut door swung open. He next disclostd division H. It was empty! No. A large but flat envelope lay in the spacious compartment. To our great sur prise, tbe long anticipated papers resolved themselves into a single letter. With fever ish haste Arthur broke the seal and read: "Dear and honored successor: "You will seek in vain for the MS. of the 'History of Sebekoteph,' the wonld-be work to which I owe my reputation as a literary man. Long ago I burned the few notes once collected in view of this undertaking. After devoting the better part of my life to barren pursuits which brought me no honor, I have felt justified in obtaining by false pretenses tbe fame which was refused to my honest efforts. Hence I have spread abroad the report of .a colossal work which I was preparing, and which my advanced age would probably not allow me to complete. I was able to devote the latter years of my lire to the pleasures which I had formerly rejected. Now I must consider my dear Louise who, if I life some years longer as a spendthrift, will find herself at my death lonely and penniless. Consequently I have promised my history to any one who should marry her the second time. I hope thus to tempt someone, of my confreres, who will fi nd himself Justly punished for hisamb tious schemes. O, reader, yon are ambi tious, and you Joust at tbu aosaent be astounded by my deceit Still, do not de spise me too' much. You will find Louise a good and gentle companion, who will make you happy. As to the, 'History of Sebeko teph," jou will he forced to keep silence, under pain of the bitterest ridicule unless you prefer to emulate my example and die in tbe midst of the work, for cannot a work of this magnitude exhaust three savants?" Dumb surprise fell upon the occupants of that library. We were minutes in making even a partial recovery of our speech, and for awhile our utterances were exclamations only. Then the letter from Louise's former husband to her present one was read over and over, and finally it was freely dis cussed. Arthur went again to the cabinet, and looked it through for any other possible con tents. Three letters were found in an ob scure drawer. One was a receipted bill and another was a business note of no conse quence. They were of the same date as to postmarks, and had evidently been over looked by Mr. Bayard when he had last cleared out the cabinet for its odd final use. The third letter was so -interesting that it took our thoughts away from the fraud of the non-existent manuscripts. It had not passed through the mail, but the inclosure bore ft date corresponding with the other two envelopes. It was addressed to Mr. Bayard, and it ran as follows: ' " "I write this to you because I am in fear of my life. I do not know anybody else to turn to for protection. My husband means to murder me. lam sure. He is all the time studying up poisons kinds that don't leave any sign on them they kill. Then, I see him often reading about murders in the newspapers and he goes over and over every case where they don't know who did tne murder, or how. I know him well. He has murder in his heart and he will let it out on me, sooner or later. Can I come and talk with you about him?" That was signed by the wife of Josiah Burnham. What action the recipient had taken, if any, was not indicated. Probably he treated it as the idle fears of a hysterical and epileptic woman, for he had carelessly thrown it aside. But Arthur Hawsley and I gazed at each other with round eyes. Then we hastened to take the peculiarly-potent Bible from Its case, and turned again to the doubly marked passage. That verse had instructed Josiah how to kill his wife by doing to her what Jael had done to her victim, We both believed in stantly that a nail had been driven into Mrs. Burnham's head by her husband. It was subsequently found to have been so. The avaricious scoundrel, with the murder of his ailing and burdensome wife already in his heart and the means ot perpetrating it ready in his mind, had been incited immedi ately to the deed by his desire to get Mar tin's $1,000. The deadly nail, concealed by the victim's natr, would never have been discovered except for the remarkable circum stances which have been narrated here. The next day a police inspector, whom we informed of our discovery, went to Josiah's house and found him seated alone at the supper table. The official placed his finger on the murderer and said, without circum locution: "You murdered your wife." The wretch began to tremble, his teeth chattered, and he gasped out : "Yes, yes! Heaven is avenging her. The book tbe book I am choking," and he fell back dead, struck by apoplexy. Shadowed blackly as was that third Christmas at Hawsley's, it still was marked by gifts ot happiness. To Arthur and Louise it was given to be, as they had not been a year before, content and true with each other. To Mary Welles it brought Martin Jef fries' thousand dollars multiplied by three, for in Josiah's effects was found a will be queathing all his property to her. The man left no blood relatives, and why should he not mase reparation alter he was done with the plunder? the end Copyrighted, 1889. All lights reserved. K0T HEWS TO TUB OLD MAN. Uncle Abimelech Knew Bis Wife Better Than tho Doctor Sid. Youth's Companlon.1 Uncle Abimelech Barnes regards himself as dreadfully abused by his wife, Aunt Amanda, who scolds him more or less,doubt less with good reason. Tbe other day Aunt Amanda complained of being ill, and sent Uncle Abimelech for the doctor. The physician arrived, felt Aunt Amanda's pulse, and told her to show her tongue. - "Uml" said the doctor, shaking his head; "A pretty bad tongne, Mrs. Barnes; a very bad tongue." Uncle Abimelech wriggled a little at this, and presently managed to get the phys ician a little to one side. "Look a-here, doctor," he said, in a whisper, "that don't prove no thin' at all. She's had the wust kind of a tongue ever sence we was marriedl" CONFEDERATE MONEY ABROAD. A Londoner Succeeds In Buying a Coat With a Worthless Bill. London Globe. 1 At Worship streetPolice Court yesterday, a wood-turner, named Abraham Halfant, was charged with having obtained a coat worth 30s. and 50s. in money by false pre tenses from Gabriel Davis, a clothier, of Whitechapel. In October the prisoner bought a coat from the prosecutor, and tendered in payment an American note, which he said was worth 4. He received the coat and BOi. change, and after he left it was discovered that the note was issued by the "Confederate States," and was redeem able "two years after the conclusion of a treaty of peace." Tbe prisoner afterward- pawned the coat The magistrate f Mr. M. Williams) said the prosecutor ought to have seen- that the note was worthless, and discharged the prisoner, refusing to make any order as to the coat Then Ag'In. From the Yankee Blade. IM BOWKEB he said el he'd had a fair show. And a big enough town for his tal ents to grow. And tbe least bit of assistance in hoein his row. Jim Bowker, he said. He'd fill the world full of the sound of his name, And climb tbe top round in the ladder of fame. J yi It may have been so; - Idnnno; Jest so It might been, j. nen ag'in But he bad tamal luck; everythin' went ag'in bim. The arrears 'of fortune they alios 'ud pin bim: So he didn't get a chance to, show what was In him, Jim Bowker. he said, Ef he'd had a fair show, you couldn't tell where he'd come. An' tbe feats he'd a done, an' the heights he'd a clnmb. It may have been so; I dunno; Jest so It might been, Then ag'in But we're all like Jim Bowker, thinks I, more or less. Charge fate for our.bad luck, ourselves for suc cess. An' give fortune the blame for alt our dis tress, As Jim Bowker, he said. If it hadn't been for luck an' misfortune an' slcb, We might have been famous, and might a' been rich. It might be jest so; I dunno; Jettso might bees, ... Thsn ag'in JK&. w. MK W JOYS OF FARH LIFE. Bessie Bramble Takes a Pessimistid View of the. Inch-Vaunted DELIGHTS OE A IUBAL EXISTENCE When it ia Darkened by the; Shadow of a Heavj Mortgage. 1 WHI FARMERS' WIVES BECOME IUSAHE fWBnnaf son thi disp atch.i To those constrained by force of fate or pressure of environment to dwell amid "the crowd, the hum, the shock of men," the idea of country life ever holds out test, refresh ment, and the sweetness of living in clover. The solemn quiet of the sequestered vales and leafy forests, broken only by the flutter of the leaves, the whisper of the wind, or the voice of birds; the gentle ripple of the flowing waters; the meadows fair, and densely wooded hills; the cosy homestead bounded by broad fields of grain and tas seled corn, present a picture to those whose lives are passed amid the din of factories, the roar and racket ot busy marts and moving merchandise, the sharp contests of competition, the wearing turmoil of every day's business in the battle of life that suggests nothing but calm I content, beatitude and bliss and beds of, roses. To them it seems that life amid such surroundings must be slow, and mav hap a little dull, but it is not lived at the pace that kills. They fondly, perhaps, imagine that some day, when fortune plays them fair and gives them luck, nothing will be sweeter than to settle down in the autumn of life in such "sequestered scenes and bow'ry mazes and surrounding greens," and trust to "rural sights and rural sounds to exhilarate the spirit antf restore the tone ot languid nature. . The traveler on trains enjovs short glimpses of the many cozy, spacious and comfortable homesteads' in the midst ot fer tile fields, fruitful orchards, and luxuriant gardens, and he is wont to welcome the illu sion that if anywhere is to be enjoyed Pope's epitome of happiness: "Reason's whole pleas are. all the Jots of sense, lie in three words health, peace and com petence," it is in such homes, where, with the ioys and charms of nature, the royal task of man is to labor and trust the result to heaven, and then "to sit every man under his own vine and fig tree and revel in the fat of tbe land and CALL NO MAK MASTEB. No man is so independent as the farmer say the eloquent orators of the Orange. He is his own boss, and is not subjected to the whims and caprices of magnates and mil lionaires. He crooks no hinges of his knee that thrift may follow fawning, as Shake speare puts it He and heaven are partners. He furnishes the labor, and the sun and showers and increase come as the share of heaven to swell the profits. He can manage to get a living whether stocks go up or down, whether business booms or beats upon the rocks, whether hanks break or money kings are swept to ruin by a cyclone of insolvency. The forces of nature are not subject to panics, but to universal law. If crops are short prices are high. The poets keep up the illusion that life upon a farm is Arcadian in its happiness, and halcyon in itsquiet,happy peacefulness. Volumes have been written upon the beau ties of rural life and the felicities of the farmer 'Armed with poetic license they uuaie in. uowing numoers ana regulation feet upon the beauties, the pleasures, the transporting scenes of country life, while the artist with no less of enthusiasm and ideality portrays the lovely bits of land 'scape, the romantic old mills, the cozv cot tages, and all the picturesque glories seen in their summer1 ontmgs in an entrancing way that suggests .only the sweetness of a quiet life far Irom the madding crowd's ignoble strife. But perhaps withal no man expresses him self more discontentedly than does the farmer. And as a chorus to his song are the complaints of the dwellers in the country villages which, as observation goes, seem so quiet and peaceful and happy. But if the towns' people have their illusions as to life in the conntry.Uhe ruralists have no less their delusions as to life in the city. The country boy gets tired of the monotony of planting potatoes, and dropping corn, and bring home the cows. He is full of the bright ideals of youth, and sees in the city the golden chances of life. His hopes of highest happiness are beyond the grubbing and the moiling on tbe old farm, and in his fancy the prizes of the world are waiting to be captured by courageous hands, but he soon finds that happiness is no more realiza ble in the busy markets, in tbe struggle for places in the professions, in the toil -and hardship of bread-winning than in the heat of summer and the cold of winter, and the ungenial work and depressing surround ings of THE FAMILY FABM. The philosophy of disenchantment bears quite as hardly upon those who see in these rural homes the peace, the pleasure, the happiness that the world is so determinedly seeking, and of which, saith John Stuart Mill, mneteen-twentieths of the people -fall short Beneath the roofs of these quiet homes are lived lives as fall of tragedy as ever shown in song or story. Within those walls, surrounded by all that is beautiful and blooming, maybe found unhappiness as profound and direinl as was ever conceived or concealed within the busy haunts of city life. Within tbe closets ot those vine-covered, flower-embowered, picturesque old farm houses ate skeletons hidden as horrible and heart-breaking as any to be found within the stone walls of city mansions. Men are as cruel, ns stubborn, as cross grained when brought up under nature's teachings, and familiar from their earliest hours with the charms of fields and flowers, of sun-kissed hills and forest glades, of heavenly zephvrs,delicious odors, and earth in verdure clad. Oppression, tyranny, injustice are as often lound on the farm as though no emancipation act had ever been proclaimed, or no brutal legislation of the common law had,ever been repealed. Little children grow up upon farms who are taxed with work cruelly be yond their powers, whoni the labor laws of the Legislature has had no power to protect All hands are needed for work if it is only those of tbe little ones who carry water to the fields. Longfellow paints a'beautiful picture of Evangeline carrying flagons of home-brewed ale to the reapers in tbe har vest heat, and while it reads beautifully, it must have been hot, tiresome work, espe cially if she had in addition, the dinner to get and dishes to wasb. as Evangelines out of poetry have to do. Whatever the princes of the pen may say, or the artists ideally portray, life on tbe farm has little of ro mance'or poetry about it. It is full of hard work for both women and men whose high est endeavors are likely to be ruined by the weather, and whose best planted hopes go to wreck oftentimes by a matterof temperature. Mrs. Poyser puts it well when she says: "As for farming, it's putting money in your pocket wi' your right hand and fetching it out wi your left. As fur as I can see it's raising victuaLfor other folks, and just get ting a mouthful for yourself and your chil dren as you go along. It's more than flesh and blood 'nil bear sometimes, to be toiling and striving and up early and down late, and hardly sleeping a wink for thinking as the cheese may swell, or the cow may slip her calf, or the wheat may grow green in the sheaf and after all, at the end of the year, it's like as if you'd been cooking a feast and had got the smell of it for your pains." A fAkmee's ibotjtbles. ' A farm is generally esteemed a good thing, but this truth was more apparent in tbe days when the farm about yielded everytniBe neeaea ior tne support ot tne family, aatLwheaj with community of inter . I it- 1 est, there was community of help and effort, but nowadays when the wants of the" farmer in the way of-clothing and luxuries are the same as those of other people, and high wages are the demand of laborers, a farm must be an exceptionally good one to pay at ail, or even come out so as to mage both ends meet at the end of a year. Perhaps the farm upon which life it most miserable, and the illusion of happiness is least tangible, and pessimist views are most largely entertained, is that upon which a mortgage rests with the ever-present horror of piling up a yearly interest that must be paid whether crops-are good or not whether tbe weevil ruins the' wheat, or the rot at tacks the potatoes, or the hay is spoiled by wet weather. The fanner's wife must do witbout a bonnet, the children must go without shoes, the pinch of poverty that turns life to bitterness must be felt on the score of that blighting monster of a mort gage. "Happy tbe man whose wish and care A few paternal acres bound," says the poet, but when the man has to pay taxes, and the interest ot a mortgage, and eke out a scanty living on his paternal acres, he is very likely to agree with Socrates that "happiness was a pure illu sion, and that lite seems pleasing only to the 100L" "No man on earth is more independent than the fanner," sounds like irony to him whose enslavement to a mortgage drives sleep fromjiis pillow, ives bitterness to his soul, and incites an affirmative to the ques tion, "Is life an affliction?" Somebody has said that a farmer s dollar is as big as a cart wheel. But what wonder? Who knows so well as he -What work it was to earn it? But with too many of the tillers of the soil the hoarding of dollars becomes a passion for parsimony. They deny their families everything save the barest neces sities. Even when prosperous, some farmers' wives are the veriest drudges. No woman, perhaps, on the face of the earth toil more strenuously than do some of them. From early .morn till dewy eve their labors are in cessant Bemote in many cases from neigh bors, they perform their daily tasks in monotonous round without the stimulus of wages, meed ot appreciation, hope of better things, or the solace of sympathy. Driven by spur of necessity to toil beyond their strength, they grow cross and wornout and homely long before their prime. a fabmeb's "WIFE in Pennsylvania who hasnohelp and help is next to impossible to get save for those who pay large wages has to be uo before the dawn to milK and feed the chickens, to get breakfast and dress the children, to make the beds and clean the rooms and do the dishes, and wash, and iron, and bake, take care of the milk,,churn the butter, get tbe dinners, make the garden, do the sew ing and mending, gather tbe eggs, and other multitudinous things which her city sister would never dream of doing. AH this work, with jio time to rest, or to read, witbout society since every woman in the neighborhood is as busy as herself and anyhow so far apart that social intercourse can scarcely be main tained without recreation, save if going to church may be called such, or "a wake" once in a while for a spice of variety. . No holiday, or Sabbath rest even on Sunday, for cows must be milked, chickens and pigs must be fed, meals must be got dishes mnst be washed, children must be dressed and cared for even on the day held by men holy to rest. In the vicinity of cities and within reach of things by decent roads the isolation may not be so depressing and disheartening, but out West and in regions sparsely settled thelife is described by those who have ex perienced it, as nothing less than sheer mar tyrdom. "I married the man I ardently loved," said a lady in telling her story, "with the most brilliant anticipations of wedded love. A home on the prairie held no horrors for me, with him by my side. Loneliness would" not he felt in a desprt were he my companion. But, alas I- how soon were my dreams dispelled. He proved to be one of the sort of dull, practical, heartless men who think the duty of a wife consists in being a willing slave, to whom no kind words are due alter marriage, and.no consid eration is included In-the marriage bond.' There was a mortgage on our farm, as there is on almost all of them through the West, and the struggle to pay the interest let alone" the principal--wa!i up to the notch of what flesh and blood can stand. Work? No factory hand or Southern slave ever worked harder than I did. My husband, alter his toilsome day at the plow or in the harvest field, went to bed and rested, while I had to sit up and make and mend the clothes- of the family. Many a day when haste was essential to save the hay or other crops I have worked in the fields and done the most of the housework at night That mortgage crushed out every flower that might have bloomed in my life. It defrauded my children of their mother's care when they most needed it It starved my mind by depiiving me of books and nanftrs. and fivn tbft ' x 1 , . - TIME TO BEAD. L '"Itmade my husband niggardly,penurious add illtempered if he was; not born so. Nor were things much better after by incessant toil ana struggle the farm was at last cleared. 'Mortgage' was the first bugbear to keep me stinted of every comfort and pleasure, then it began to be the 'rainy day, against which we were to fight. Little recked the man I had once so fondly loved that all the days were rainy to me." This is only a little bit of individual ex perience, but it gives something of a clue as to why, in the matter of insanity, farm ers and farmers' wives exceed in numbers those of any other occupation, and why, in the statistics of suicider they stand at the head of the list by a large majority. Their laborious lives, their lack of congenial society, their isolation from neighbors, their short allowance of recreation, all tend to the lowness'of spirits, that leads to melancholy and finally insanity. Men are less subject to this than women, because they have the change of going to market, meeting their fellows in business and politics, and gossip ing at the country store, while their wives often times stay at home from one year's end to another. One farmer's wife, who dwelt within IS miles of Pittsburg for 50 years, had never been in the city nor out of the township. She grew melancholy, and finally "queer," as so many country peo ple do. As preservative of health and happiness farmers shonld arrange it so as to dwell more in communities with their farms out lying where society,recreation,amusement, could more easily be enjoyed. They should remember, as Milton puts it, that "Loneli ness is tbe first thing which God's eve named not good." Moreover, it max ke added that nothing is more conducive to the enjoyment and happiness of country life than to have the farm well stocked up with bank stock or Government bonds, or some source ot income that will preserve them from being "land poor," or dependent alto gether npon sunshine, showers and high markets. Moreover, nothing will so con tribute to his joy and pleas ure in home life as to see to it that his wife is no more overworked than his favorite horse. Worry and too much work will kill anybody or put them in imminent danger, of tbe insane asylum, and the farmer's wife should take thought upon this matter, and refuse a martyrdom that shows np only on her tombstone, and is the subject of talk at "intermission" on Sunday at church. - "Shiftless" may be the verdict pronounced upon her by those who do not know, . but to preserve herself from insanity and her Children from her loss, she should set her foot down hard on incessant work and endless worry. Bessie Bbamble. A Great Placo for Bags. San Francisco Examiner, j It is interesting to know that Oakland is inhabited by over 200 varieties of beetles. Explorer Torrey has discovered them and presented specimens of these Oaklanders to the Academy of Science. Ken I and Apparent. Vonkers Statesman 4 A drunken man sees everything double but'fllV jaoaey. It-is oaly.the mas" who' wyw.was see in assey oeBle. , - l!. . , .-' .. .. , - I SUNDAY THOiKfHTS -ON- MORALS AND fr BY A CLEBGYMAN., 'H. At the recent notable meeting of -the Evangelical Alliance there was or the part of all present a recognition of the drifting apart or the Church and tbe people. Thus, the Bey. Dr. Josiah Strong (author. ofthe famous book, "Our Country,") exclaimed: "The Church has largely lost touch with the world. It is more institutional than per sonal. The cry too often is not 'Here am I, send me!' but "Here is njy check, send somebody elsel' There is salt enough in tho country, but it is barreled up in,- the Church." Bishop. Huntingdon, of the Episcopal 9 Communion, asked: "How does it come to pass that the people, being at the Church's door, are on the outside? Certainly there can be no fault in the gospel. Is the ob stacle then in the people? If so, we cannot get it oat until we get at the people. No; the ob stacle Is in ourselves. Tbe Gospel and tbe people belong together. They were made for each other. No matter what tbe apostolicltr of the Church may be. the putting apart of the Gospel and the people is her apostacr." The Bev. Dr. Parkhurst. of New TorV de clared that he "would rather take the chances of an atheist before the bar of God, than those of a saved (?) man who was not at the same time a savior." These are hopefnl voices. Do they indicate the dawn of a better day? Whatever may be tbe surprises of tbe future, religion will sur vive. For, as Locke said of the Bible: "It has God for its author, salvation for its end. and troth without any admixture of error for its subject matter." Hence, we may be sore that " the etherlal world. Incapable of stain, will soon expel bermischief. And purse off tb e baser fire, victorious." One thing, however, is certain. Tbe Chorea will never rehabilitate Itself in popular influ ence by meretricious expedients, ic Is not to be saved by broom drills, dairy maid fairs, and catch-penny festivals. Neither will it better its condition by preaching dolorons sermons from tbe Book of Lamentations. The Church cannot nil Its pews by lazily opening its doors once a week; clanging its bell in ding-dong fashion, and saying: "You sinners out there, come in here and be saved!" If sinners ran their business as saints ran the Church they would go Into bankruptcy in a year. Imagine Paul standing in a gorgeons palpit, with a $10,CO0 salary and a $5,000- choir, fna church where pew rent is as high as house rent, with two or three pews down near the J door set apart forthe poor, and attributing tbe v absence of the people from such a service to total depravity! Tbe Cbnrcb must preach practical, not techni cal, gospel. It most make Itself a leader la helpfulness. It mast put the emphasis on con duct instead of belief. Christ never lacked bearers. "The common people heard bim gladly." The apostles never complained of tbo absence of tbe people. They went where they were. They gave out instead of absorbing. But many of our preachers are like the Bour bons they learn nothing and forget nothing. They are too stubborn to change. Their typo Is Baal's chef herdsman. Doeg. -having charge of the males." It is tbe wise remark of an eminent diviue that a religion that does not take hold upon the life that now is, but dwells in sublimities, is like a cloud that does not rain. A cloud may roll in grandeur and be an object of admiration, bat if it does not rain it is ot little account so far as utility is concerned. And a religion that consists in tbe observance of magnificent ceremonies alone, bat that does not touch the duties ot daily life, is a religion of show and ot shame." In saying this, ws do not wish to be under stood as depreciating ritual. Tbe rltoalistie bodies are among tbe mosthelpiul and prac tical of alt Bat whatever be tbe creed, and whatever the ceremonial, it most be wedded to practical, everyday helpfulness if it would win and hold the respect of tbe community. "Giro me only fire enongh," said Bernard Pallssy. "and these.paints will become indelibly fixed on this china." And he went about trying, "More fire; more firel" We say the same more fire! more fire! The Blindness of Parents. It Is the sage remark of a recent writer that parents are a peculiar people. Many of them are blind color blind. All the beautiful tints belong to their Jennie or Johnnie, and it is . only in the children wbo lire next door or aorosa the street that they detectkthetnglyfmhk shades. They don't speak to theJlttled ones about these things because they are angels, and wbo ever saw an angel smoke or drink or swear? Some parents are selfish. They see faults, even sins, in their children; but it is easier to live for their own personal comfort tban to correct the evils around them, and thus frequently their children are lost through their own indifference. Other parents are a little at fault themselves, and, although tbey preach well, they practice so poorly that tbe children may follow the practice instead of the preaching. The M. E. Book Concern. The Methodist Episcopal Book Concern cele brated itscentennial anniversary two Sabbaths ago by special services in many of the churches. With the exception of the late Jobs M. Phil lips, all tbe agents of the concern have been ministers, and have proved to be good business men. Tbe first agent was John Dickens, of Philadelphia, where the. bookbonse was first located, who was appointed in 17S9. He bezan holiness by borrowing $600 as capital. From this small beginning the trade bad enlarged until last year tbe sales at the New York house amounted to 31,093,559, and at the Cincinnati house to 789,943. Tbe profits between tbe years 1838 and 18X2 amounted to $2,500,000. From these profits the superannuated ministers have received welcome relief and tbe missionary boards an Important part ot their income. Stanley's Work In Africa. It is difficult to decide whether geography or philanthropy owes tbe most to.Stanlej, tbe ex plorer of Africa. There jhave been two pre eminent explorers of the dark continent in oar day, the one just mentioned and the lamented Livingstone. The latter died In bis work. The former still lives, but by amlracle. He has just completed tbe most adventurous and romantic tour on record. From Jane 28, 1887, to Decem ber, 18S9, he traveled through, the heart of Africa, locating rivers, fixing lakes, tracing mountains, threading interminable forests, every step a battle with pestilence and with bloodthirsty - savages who were a living, pestilence. Again and again he stood at tbe gates of deatb. After enduring wbat no words can tell, this Is his conclusion: This has certainly been tbe most extraordinary expedition I have ever led into Africa- .A veritable divinity seems to have hedged us while we journeyed. I say it with all reverence. It has impelled as wbitber it would, effected its own will, but nevertheless guided and protected ns." And again, after repeating In brief para graphs the achievements and sufferings of bis officers and men, and expressing tbe joy of final success, he says: "Tbe vulgar will call it luck. Unbelievers will call it chance: bat deep down in each heart remains tbe feeling, that of verity there are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamed of in common philosophy." And the last words of his letter are: "Thanks be to God for ever and esrer." May we not pray that tbe knowledge gained, and through this, the enlightenment made possible, may compensate the toil and danger? Africa and tbe North Pole are about tbe only ' problems left unsolved. Heroic expeditionists will never rest until tbese secrets, too, become the property of Christian civilization. Sanday Serraoaette. lost in finding a livelihood. Lire is Bpurgeon. Sufferings are lessons. It is easier to contend with evil 'at the flu than at tbe last Leonardo de VineL If the thlnjf loved Is base, the lover-becomes base. lb. There a legend of an artist who was about to give np in despair his attempt to carve a Madonna from sandal-woodVwhen a dream bade bim shape tbe figure from an oak block which was destined for the fire, and he produced masterpiece. So tbe materials for religious happiness lie near at hand in the common fire side virtues. Vavghan. Had I my choice of all things that might tend to my present earthly felicity, I would pitch upon this, to have my bean possessed with the greatest kindness and affection toward all men in the world. ScougaU Men must know that in this theater of man's life it is reserved only for God and angels to be lookers on. Lord Bacon. Der Luiheriir.hu KalmAer tnr 1SHO. Inst nub- llsbed, gives the following statistics of tbe Lutheran Church in the United States: Min- Isters, 4,591; congregation, 7,8(2; communicants, 1,080,013. The growth of the Lutheran Church, largely by immigration, has been wonderful. Is now ranks in numbers nrxt to the Methodists and Baptists, and if tbe growth of tbe past decade continues ten jears longer, it is likely to become the largest denomination in the conntry. Ethel said "Hy new beau 'tis Bent this perfume that I wearL A 4trlinrt'a iwas4 QatTtnntf 5Bte-- Of all seente sort pure and mSgfsV ." j ' : " f. , 1' - . w ? i - sci".., rB 4Sttf -.- ' "fe m3F , mm ' - - i - &.-- , && i-rtS,., tJ?1. -isv asT.