Newspaper Page Text
i THE 'SAVING LOOK. Sei, T. De Witt Talmage’* Intended Discourse at the Tabernacle. Bdooklyn, Oct. 38.—[Special.]—The de -*t ruction of the Brooklyn Tabernacle by fire at an early boar this morning prevented the usual Sunday services. The manuscript of 'the following sermon was handed to the re porters who called upon Rev. T. De Witt Talmage at his home. Dr. Talmage said it was the discourse he intended to deliver this morning, aud requested that it be printed with this explanation: The-subject of his sermon was “The Saving Look,” and the text Hebrews xii., 8: “Look ing unto Jesus.” In the Chiistaurlife we must not go slip shod. This world was not. made for us to rest in. In time of war you will find around the streets of some city, far from the-scene of conflict, men in soldier’s uniform, who have a right to be away. They obtained a fur lough and they are honestly and righteously off duty; but l to tell you that in this Christian conflict, between the first moment when we enlist under the banner of Christ, and the moment in which we ishout the victory, there never will be a single instant in which w« will have a right to be off duty. -Paul throws all around this Christian life the excitements of the old Roman and Grecian games—thise games that sent a man on a race, with suth a stretch of nerve and muscle, that sometimes when he came up to the goal, he dropped down exhausted. In deed, history tells t|at there werecases where men came up and inly had strength just to .grasp the goal and then fall dead. Now, says this apostle, making allusion to those very .games, we are all tornn the race, but not to crawl.it, not to wdk'it—but “run the race -set before us, looking unto Jesus,” and just .asJn the olden timet, a man would stand at the end of the road tith a beautiful garland that was to be put wound the head or brow -of the successful race! so the Lord Jesus Christ stands at the end ofthe Christian race with 'the garland of eternjl life, and may God grant that by his hoy spirit we may so run as to obtain. The distinguished' Pelliston, the ehemist, was asked where hist iboratory was. and the inquirers expected to be shown some large apartment filled with rery expensive apara ‘tus; but Welliston o dered nis servant to bring on a tray a few glasses and a retort, and he said to the im lirers: “That is all my laboratory. I make ,11 my experiments with those.” Now, I knoT that there are a great many who take awh le library to express their theology. The; have so many theories on 10,000 things; bu I have to say that all •my theology is_ com iassed in these three words: “Looking ur ;o Jesus;” and when we can understand ti: > height and the depth and the length and t.i e breadth and the in finity and the imensit rof that passage we can understand all. I .remark in the first plaee, we must look to -Christ as our person il Savior. Now, yon know as well as I tliai man is only a blasted ruin of what he once \ as. There is not so much difference betwe<n a vessel coming out of Liverpool harbor, with pennants flying and the deck crowded with good cheer, and the guns booming, and that same vessel driving against Long Island coast, the drowning passengers ground to pieces amid the timbers -of the broken up steamer, as there is between man as lie came from the hands of God, equipped for a grand and glorious voyage; but.afterward, through the pilotage of the •devil, -tossed and driven and crushed, the coast of the new future strewn with the frag ments-of an awful and eternal shipwreck. Our body is wrong. How easily it is ransacked -of .disease. Our mind is wrong. How hard it is to -remember, and how easy to forget. The whole nature disordered, irom the crown of the head to the sole of the foot—wounds, bruises, putrefying sores. “All have sinned «nd come shot tof the glory of God,” “By one man sin entered into the world and death by sin, and so death has passed upon all men for that, all have sinned.” There is in Brazil a plant they call the “murderer,” for the simple reason that it is so poisonous it kills almost everything it touches. It begins to wind around the roots of the tree, and coming «P to the branches reaches out to the ends of the branches, killing the tree as it goes along. When It has come to the tip end of the broach the tree is dead. Its seeds fall to the grotnd and start other plants just as murderous, And so itis with sin. It is a poisonous plant that was planted in our soul a long while ago, and it comes winding about the body and the mind and soul poisoning, poisoning, poisoning—killing, killing, killing os it goes. Now, there would be no need of my discours ing upon tbk if there were no way of pluck ing out that plant. It is a most inconsider ate thing for me to come to a man who is in financial trouble and enlarge upon his trou ble if I have no alleviation to offer. It is an unfair thing lor me to come to a man who is sick and enlarge upon his disease if 1 haveno remedy to offier. But-1 have a righ tto come to a man in financial distress or physical dis tress if 1 have financial reinforcement to offer orasurecuretopropose. BlessedbeGod that among the mountains of our sin there rolls and reverberates a song of salvation. Louder than all the voices of bondage is the trumpet of God’s deliverance, sounding: *‘oh. Israel, thou hast destroyed thyself, but in me is thy help.” At the barred gates of our dungeon, the conqueror knocks, and the hinges creak and grind at the swinging open. The famine struck pick up the manna that falls in the wilderness and the floods clap their hands, saying: “Drink, oh thirsty soul, and live forever,” and the feet that were torn and deep cut on the rocky bridle path of sin now come into a smooth plaee, and the dry alders crackle as the panting heart breaks through to the water brook b and thedark night of the soul begins to grow fray with the morning, yea to purple, yea to ame, from horison to horizon. The batten lesof temptation silenced. Troubles that fought against ns captured and made to fight, on our side. Not as a result of any toil or trouble on our part, but only as a reeelt of “Looking unto Jesus.” “But, what do you mean by 'Looking unto Jesus?’ someone in quires. I mean faith. “What do you mean by faith?” I mean believing. “What do you mean by believing?” I mean this: If you promise to do a certain thing for me, and I have confidence in your veracity—if you •ay you will give me such a thing and I need it very modi, I come in confidence that you are an honest man and will do what yon say, Now, the Lord Jeeua Christ says: “Yon are in need of pardon and life and heaven, you can have them if you come and get them.” You say; “I can’t come and ask first. lam afraid you won't give it to me.” .Then you say: "I will come and ask. I know, • Lord Je sus. thou art ih earnest about this matter. I come asking for pardon. Thou host prom ised to give it to me, thou wilt give it to me, thou host given it to me.” This is faith. Do you see it yst? “Oh.” said some one. “I caa t understand it.” No man ever did, without divine help. Faith is the gift of God. Yon saw: “That throws the respo usability of my shoulders.” No Faith is the gift of God, but it comm in answer to prayer. All over glorious is my Lord, He must be loved and yet adored; His worth if all the nations knew. Sure the »We earth would lore Him, too I remark again, that we meat look to leeus aa an example. Now, a mere copyiat you know la always a failure. If a painter go to a portfolio or a gallery of art, how <eeer exquisite, to get this idea of the natural world from tbeae pictures, he will not succeed ae well as the artist who starts out and dashes t|ie dew from the gram and sees the morning just as God built it in the clouds, or poured it upon the mountain, or kindled it upon the sea. People wondered why Tur ner, the famous English painter, succeeded so wejl in sketching a storm upon the ocean. It remained a wonder until it was found out that cereal times he had been lashed to the deck in the midst of a tempest and then looked out upon the wrath of the aea, and coming home to his studio, he pic tured the tempest. It is not tb# copyist who sucoeeds, but the man who confronts the nat ural world. So If a man in literary composi tion resolves that he will imitate the smooth ness of Addison, or the mggid vigor of Car lyle, or the weirdness of Spenser, or the epi grammatic style of Ralph Waldo Emerson, he will not succeed as well as that man who cultures his own natural sty le. What is truo in this respect is true in respect to charac ter. There were men who were fas. cinated with Lord Byron. He was lame and wore a very largo collar. Then there were tens of thousands of men who resolved that they would be just like Lord Bryon.and they limped and wore large collars, but they did not have any of his geniuß, You cannot successfully copy a man; whether heis bad or good You may take the very best man that ever lived and try and live like him, and you will make a fai'ure. There never was a better man than Edward Payson. Many have read bis biog raphy, not understanding that he was r sick man, and they thought they were growing in grace because they were growing like him in depression of spirit. There were men to copy Cowper. the poet, a glorious man, but sometimes afflicted with melancholy almost to insanity. The copyists got 'Cowper’s faults, but none of his virtues. My brother, my sister, there is a balm that cures the worst wound. There is a light that will kiudle up the worst darkness. There is a harbor from the roughest ocean. You need and may have the Savior’s sympathy. lou «annot get on this way. I see your trouble is wearing you out body, and mind, and soul. I come on no fool’s errand to day. 1 come with a balm that can ‘/al any wound. Are you sick? Jesus itag sick. Are you weary?. Jesus was *§&ry. Are you persecuted? Jesus was persecuted. Are yon bereaved? Did not Jesus weep over Lazarus? Oh, yes, like a roe on the mountains of Betlier, Jeasus comes bound ing to your soul to-day. There is one pas sage of scripture, every word of which is a heart throb: “Come unto me, all ye who are weary and heavy laden and I will give you rest.” Then there is another passage just as good.” “Cast thy burdeu on*the Lord and He will sustain thee.” Oh, there are green pastures where the heavenly shepherd leads the wounded and sick of the flock. The Bon of God stands by the tomb of Laz arus and will gloriously break it open at the right time. Genesaret cannot toss its waves so high that Christ cannot walk them. The cruse of oil will multiply into an illimitable supply. After the orchard seems to have been robbed of all its Iruit, the Lord has one tree left, full of golden and ripe supply. The requiem may wail with gloom and with death; but there cometb after a while a song, a c. ant, an anthem, a battle march, a jubilee, a coronation. Oh, do you not feel the breath of Christ’s sympathy now, you wounded ones, you troubled ones? If you do not I would like to tell you of the chaplain in the army who was wounded so he could not walk, but he heard a distance among the dying a man who said: “0, my God!” He said to himself, “I must help that man though I can’t walk.” So he rolled over ‘and rolled through his own blood and rolled on over many of the slain, until he came where this poor fellow was suffering and he preached to him the comfort of the gospel, and with his own wound he seemed to soothe that man’s wound. It, was sympathy goiug out to wards an object most necessitous, and one that he could easily understand. And so it is with Christ, though wounded all over him self, he hears the cry of our repentance, the cry of our bereavement, the cry of our poverty, the cry of our wretchedness, and he says: “I must go and help that soul,” and lie rolls over with wounds in his head, wounds in bis hands, wounds in his. feet, toward us, until he comes just where we are weltering in our own blood, and he puts his arm over us— and I Bee it is a wounded arm and it was a wounded hand—and as he throws his arm over us I hear him say: “I have loved thee with an everlasting love.” Again, we must look to Christ as our final rescue. We cannot with these eyes, however good our sight may be, catch a glimpse of the heavenly land for which our souls long. But I have no more doubt that beyond the cold river there is a place of glory and ofrest, that we have that across the Atlantic ocean there is another continent-. But the heavenly land and this land stand in mighty contrast. This is barrenness and that verdure. These shallow streams of earth which a thirsty ox might drink dry, or a mule’s hoof trample into mire, compared with the bright crystalline river from under the throne, on the banks of which river the armies of heaven may rest, and into whore clear flood the trees of life dip their branches. These instrument of earthly music, fo easily racked into discord, compared with the harps that thrill with eternal raptures, and the trumpets that are so musical that they wake the dead. These streets along which we go panting in summer, and the poor man carries his burden and the vagrant asks for alms, and along which shuffle the feet of pain and wantandwoe, compared withtliore streets that sound forever with thejfeet of ji.y and holiness, and those walls made out of all manner of precious stones, the light inter shot with reflections from jasper and chryso iite and topaz and sardonyx and beryl and emerald and chrysoprasus. Oh, the contrast between this world'where we struggle with temptation that will not be conquered, and that world where it is perfect joy, perfect holiness and perfect rest! Said a little blind child: “Mamma, will I be blind in heaven?” “Oh, no, my dear,” replied the mother, “you won’t be blind in heaven.” A little lame child said: “Mamma, will Ibe lame in heaven?” “No,” she replied, “you won’t be lame in heaven.” Why, when the plainest Christian pilgrim arrives at the heavenly gate it opens to him, and as the angels come down to escort him in, and they spread the banquet and they keep festi val over the august arrival, and Jeans contra with a crown and says, “Wear this,” and with a palm and says, “Wave this,” and points to a throne and says, “Mount this.” Then the old citizens of heaven come aronnd to hear the newcomer’s recital of deliverance wrought for him, and as the newly arrived sonl tells ot the grace that pardoned and the mercy that saved him, all the inhabitants shout the praise of the King, crying, “Praise Him! Praise Him!” Quaint John Banyan caught a glimpse of that consummation when he said: “Just as the gates were opened to let in the man. I looked in after them, and behold the city shone like the sun; the streets were also paved with gold, and in them walked many men with crowns on their heads, and golden harpe to sing praises withal. And after that they shut- up the gates, which when i had seen, I wished myself among them.” Brothers are Barred. Boston Courier. “Now then, Jennie.” said the bride groom to the bride after they re. turned from the church whtre the knot had just been tied, “how many brothers have you?” “Brothers!” exclaimed the bride in astonishment, “you know I haven't any brothers. I’m the only child oi my parents.” “Oh, I know that, but how many young men did you promise to be a sister to before you accepted me? Those are the brothers I want to know about.” “Well,” replied the bride, smiling, “I think I must have about half a dozen of brothers.” “All right. You just drop a note to each of them and tell them the brother and sister business is all off now as you have got a husband. If they want sisters tell them to look around among the girls that are single. I’m all the brother you need now.” FORGOTTEN WORKERS. they lived, and they were nseflri: this we know, Andnangh beside; So record of their names is left, to show How soon they died; They did their work, and then they passed away, An unknown band: Bat they shall live in endless day, in the Fair, shining land. And were they yonng, or were they growing old, Or ill, or well, Or lived in poverty, or had they wealth or gold— No one can tell; Only one thing is known of them—they faithful Were and true Disciples of the Lord, and strong, through prayer, To save and do. Bat what avails the gift of empty lame? They lived to God : They iloved the sweetness of another name, And gladiy trod The rugged ways of earth, that they might be Helper and friend, And in the joy of their ministry Be spent, and spend. No glory clusters around their names ou earth; But in God’s heaven Is kept a book of names of greatest worth, And there is given A place for all who did their Mnster please, Though here unknown; Aud their lost names shine forth in bright est raye Before the throne. O, take who will the boon of fading fame; But give to me A place amongst the workers, though my name Forgotten be; And as within the book of life is found , My lowly place, Honor and glory unto God resound For all His grace. A PRACTICAL JOKE. The picnic at Allen’s Corners was over. Rather prematurely over, per haps, on account ot a tremendous thunderstorm, accompanied with a tornadolike gust of wind and jagged streaks of blue lightning that seemed to bury themselves in the ground. Horses and vehicles were brought hurriedly to the edge ofthe platform; the young people dispersed like a flock of sheep in various directions. “I don’t care,” said Frank Warren, speaking between his set teeth. “I wasn’t having such a particularly pleasant time. Matty Vail was be having very badly.” “It doesn’t make much difference to me,” said Miss Tail, with a toss of her curly head. “I’ve danced all I wanted to, and Frank Warren has been glaring at me like a Bluebeard the whole time. Such imprudence, indeed! And me not regularly en gaged to him, after all! One thingis certain, I never shall be now! And as for riding all the way home to Daisyville with him to-night, I won’t do it! There’s that little girl from the city; I’ll just put her in my place. Her shoes are dreadfully thin, and she has no umbrella. She’ll be glad of a chance to ride. And I’ll go with Harry Dix or Sam Pratt!’, “Oh, Mat! cried Miss Dillon, Mat ty’s chief confidante and bosom friend, “what will he say?” “What he pleases—when he finds it out.” So when Mr. Warren’s handsome black horse was led up, shying and rearing in the uncertain glimmer of the lanterns and the flash of light ning, Matilda Howitt found herself, she scarcely knew how, in the seat be side the handsome young farmer. She sat quite silent, wondering if it was improper to ride home with a gentle man to whom she had never been formally introduced, and trembling, ever and anon, at the storm and her unwonted companionship and the wild speed of Black Douglas as he flew along the pitch-dark, dripping roads. “Are you frightened?” Mr. Warren asked in a low voice when they had gone a little way. “N-not much!” faltered Matilda, and then she trembled more than ever as an arm crept slowly but sure ly around her waist. But what was she to do? There was no back to the seat, and there was danger of her being jerked out in one of these sudden curves. “Don’t be afraid,” soothed War ren. “You know yon are safe with me in spite of everything.” “Ye-e-es,” murmured Matilda Howitt. “Matty!” She was silent. This growing in timacy was beginning to be appall ing- “ Matty!” accompanied with a gen tle pressure of the encircling arm. “Don’t be cross with me, Matty. You know how much I love you, my own one!” “0, gracious me!” thought Miss Howitt, “what will he be saying next?’i “You will promise to be my wife, Matty? It may seem sudden, but Whoa, you villain!” For Black Douglas bad given a tremendous sideways jump, and re quired all his master’s will and energy to subdue him; and by the time they had reached the Vail farm house Matilda Howitt found herself engaged, by implication, to a young man she had never seen before in her life until that day. She jumped out and ran quickly into the house. Mrs. Vail met her in the hall. “Where’s Matty?” she cried. “Who are you?” “I’m Matilda Howitt,” said the girl, “I’m here because he left me. I—l don’t quite know why; but the horse behaved so badly, and the place where I board Is three miles beyond the swamp. Please, can’t I stay all night?” “Why, of course,” said Mrs. Vail. “You’re the city school-ma’am, ain’t yon,that boards to Widow Dunkley’s? Come in and sit down and dry your clothes! Dreadful shower, ain't it? Ido wish our Matty was safe at home!” All this was very unconventional. But, then, thought little Miss Howitt, country life is unconventional. In New York it would have taken a month, at the very least, for a young man to screw himself up to the pro posing poin. Did she love this man well enogh to marry him? Well, she wasnotaltogether certain ofthat. But he was certainly very handsome, and her heart gave a not altogether un pleasant jump when she remember ed that gentle pressure around her waist. It was love But here the current of her reflec tions was interrupted by the arrival of Matty herself—“ Martha Auda” was her christened name—in compa ny of Mr. Sam Pratt, a dashing cav alier of another village. “It’s not late,” said Sam. “Can’t I come in? Just for a little while.” “Nonsense, Sam,” said the belle. “Oh, now, Matty!” “Nonsense, I say,” and Miss Vail shut the door in Mr. Pratt’s face with a laugh. “He’s not half so pleasant as Frank after all,” said Matty to herself; and then followed an interview with her unexpected guest. “How nice!” cried Matty. “Wecan sleep together and talk everything over, can’t we? Oh, no, ma, I'm not wet much, and you needn’t hare saved tea for us. We had a lovely supper in the woods.” “Oh!” cried Matilda Howitt, clasp ing Miss Tail’s hand, “I’ve so much to tell you!” “Matty's eyes sparkled. “What did he say?” “I’ll tell you after the lamp is put out,” said Miss Howitt’ hanging down her head. “You don’t mean ” “Yes, I do,” whispered Miss Howitt. “He really and actually did—pro pose!” “Nonsense!” said Matty Vail, biting her lip. “You must have misunder stood him!” “Misunderstood, indeed!” retorted Miss Howitt! “I’m sure he spoke plain enough.” “But you wouldn’t accept a man who was caught in such a trap as that?” “A trap!” stammered Miss Howitt. “Yes, of course. He thought it was me.” “Do you suppose he did?” (in faltering accents.) “There can’t be a doubt about it.” “Then, of course, there’s an end of this matter,” said Matilda, with a little quiver in her voice. “But you’ll tell me just what he said?” “No; I certainly shall not betray his confidence.” “Confidence, indeed!” flashed out Matty Vail. “A pretty confidence! But do tell me, just for the joke of the matter.” Matilda was silent. To her it was no joke. “I’d have you to know that I have had a proposal, too,” added Matty, brushing out her luxuriant blonde tresses. “That ridiculous Pratt. Of course, I only put him off. Ido think all the men are crazy!” Matty Howitt made no answer, but she shed a few silent, bitter tears after she was in bed. The sensation of “being engaged” was very pleas ant- It was a pity that it had been so brief! “As good as engaged to Matty Vail, are you?” said - Mr. Warren, who had met Sam Pratt at the post office next day. “May I ask when this happened?” “Last night, coming home from the picnic.” “As it happened, she came home with me.” Sam Pratt rubbed his hands glee fully, “All that was a joke, old fellow,” said he. “You brought home the little New York school-teacher; who boards at Ma’am Dunkley’s! Mattie Vail managed all that. You don’t mean to say you never found it out? I tell you, Mat and l had a good laugh over it going home.” Frank Warren set his teeth tightly together. The girl who could enjoy “a good laugh,, with Sam Pratt over such a practical joke as this was rap idly losing caste in his estimation. “I congratulate you,” said he, somewhat bitterly. “Knew you’d be pleased, old fel low,” said Sam, smiling broadly. “But they tell me the school-teach er takes it terrible hard. Cried all night. Went home before daylight on foot, all the way to the swamp. Thought that you were dead in love with her. Di’dn’t like the idea of it’s being all a put-up job.” Frank Warren turned upon him with a sudden flash in his eyes. “And who told you,” said he, “that it was a put-up job?” “Eh?” Sam’s gooseberry-colored orbs dilated with surprise. “You don’t tell me—” “I tell you that it would be a par ticularly good idea for you to mind your own affairs.” Frank Warren went straight to the Widow Dunkley’s and asked for Miss Howitt. Matty came tp him with cheeks unnaturally red and a restless sparkle in her dark gray eyes. “I—l very sorry,” she began. “Sorry for what? Not that I ask ed you to be my wife, I hope,” said the young man cheerily. She was not as pretty as Matty Vail, he thought, but she was dainty and delicate, like a violet blossoming in the shade. “But you didn’t mean it?” she fal tered. “I am not in the habit of saying what I don’t mean. I am here to confirm my last night’s words. Will you confirm yours, Miss Howitt?” “But I know to little of you, Mr, Warren.” “That is a disability which can be easily remedied by time. Won’t you trust me, Matty?” and he held out his hand. * And she decided to trust him. The village belle was discomfited beyond measure when she heard that her practical joke had turned into reality. For in her secret heart she had loved Frank Warren as much as it was in her to love anybody. “Engaged to you, indeed!” she cried to Sam Pratt, with blazing eyes. “How dare you say such a think? I wouldn’t marry you if there wasn’t another man in the world!” And Mr. Pratt departed, inconsol able. As for Mr. Warren, he never had cause to repent his sudden resolve. Matilda Howitt made him the best of gentle little wives. “Although it was rather uncon ventional, that wooing of yours, Frank,” said she, “Now wasn’t it?” “Well, rather so, I must admit,” said the young husband. “How-, ever, Matty, all’s well that ends well, you know.” And Matty Vail’s practical jdke has ended in a fine prospect of her being an old maid at last.—New York Ledger. W hen Woman’s Bights Wore Not Con* sidered. What the early Christians did was to strike the male out of the defini tion of woman. Man was a human being made for the highest and no. blest purposes; woman was a female made to serve only one. She was on earth to inflame the heart of man with every passion. She was a fire ship continually striving to get alongside the male man-of-war to blow him up into pieces. This is the way in which Tertullian addresses women: “Do you not know that each one of you is an Eve? The sentence of God on this sex of yours lives in this age; the guilt must of necessity live too. You are the devil’s gateway; you are the unsealer of that forbidden tree; you are the first deserter of the divine law; you are she who persuaded him whom the devil was not valiant enough to attack. You destroyed of so easily God’s image, man. On account of your desert, that is, death, even the Son of God had to die.” And the gentle Clement of Alebandria hits her hard when he says: “Nothing dis graceful is proper for man, who is endowed with reason; much less for women, to whom it brings shame even to reflect'd what nature she is.” Gregory Thaumaturgus asserts: “Moreover,among all women Isought for chastity property to them, and I found it in none. And verily, a per son may find one man chaste among a thousand, but a woman never.” The Testament of the Twelve Patri archs makes a queer statement, and adds: “By means of their adorn ment they deceive first the minds of men, and they instill poison by the glance of their eye, and then they take them captive by their doings,” and therefore” men should guard their senses against every woman.” “The angel of God showed me,” it says in another passage, “that for eyerdo women bear rule over King and beggar alike; and from the King they take away liis glory, and from the valiant man his strength, and from the beggar even that little which is the stay of his poverty.” How, then, were men to treat this frivil ous, dress-loving, lust-inspiring creature? Surely the best plan was to shut her up. Her clear duty was to stay at home and not let herself be seen anywhere. And this duty the Christian writers press upon her again and again. She is not to go to banquets, where her looks are sure to create evil thoughts in the minds of men who are drinking large ly of wine. She is not to go to mar riage feasts, where the talk and the songs may border on licentiousness. Of course she is not to wander about the streets in search of sights, nor to frequent the theatre, nor the pub lic baths, nor the spectacles. Does she want exercise? Clement of Alex andria prescribes for her: “She is to exercise herself in spinning and weav ing, and superintending the cooking if necessary.” He adds: “Women are with their own hands to fetch from the store what we require; and it is no disgrace for them to apply themselves to the mill.”—Principal Donaldson, in the Contemporary Ke view. Always fatten a fowl as quickly as possible. Ten days is long enough to get a fowl fat, and it should be con fined either in a coop or a number in a small yard. Give plenty of fresh water, and feed four times a day, be ginning early and giving the last meal late. A mixture of cornmeal three parts, ground oats one part, shorts one part, scalded, is best for the first three meals, with all the corn and wheat that can be eaten up clean at night. To prevent cake adhering to the pan when baked, scatter a little flour over the greased surface before pour ing in the dough. A linchpin is a rolling-pin when the wagon moves. In the china closet an ounce oi holdfast saves pounds of crystal cement. Some men make two bites at » cherry, but the man wbe bites the dust never takes but one. Tramp—Will you gfve me a chance to get warm, sir? Man of House— Certainly, sir. You know that saw. mill two miles down the road, don’t you? Well, I’ll give you 15 minutes to reach it. Come, bravo! It is a mean St. Louis man wbo says that Chicago people after they die always think they go to Heaven,, whether they really have or not. Young Hal (visiting neighbor)— Why, Mrs. Hammer, you are quite big. Mrs. Hammer—Yes, my dear; did you have an idea that 1 wasn’t? Young Hal—Yes, um, cause ma said you were so mighty small that no one could get along with you. “I trust you will not think hard o me,” he remarked reaching for his hat. “Sir,” she answered frigidly,, “one who knows you can never think hard of you.” And wandering home ward, ’neath the electric light he wondered what it was she meant to convey.—Harper’s Bazar. A little boy of 3 years, whose mothT er played the organ in church, and who was obliged to be left to the care of others, was asked one Sunday morning what his kitten was crying; so piteously for. “I don’t know, said he, in tearful tones, “but I ’spect the old cat has gone to church.”— New York World. Moneybags—“ You say you wish to marry my daughter? Well, yon know I have three, and on the mar riage of each I shall give her husband* SIO,OOO. Which one do you want?” 1 Jack Napes—“l’ll tell you what we’ll do. You’ll move out to Utah, and' I’ll l ake all three of them off your hands. I’m willing to do the square thing.”—New York Sun. Sweet Girl (at 18)—“Oh, it’s just lovely to receive so much attentionr That horrid[Miss Pert will go just wild with’envy when she hears that five gentlemen called on me this evening.” Same Girl (at 19)—“Oh, it just drives me wild! Every time he calls some other man has to come poking in, to spoil the whole evening/’—Puck. Mrs. Gibblegabble—“Doctor, there is something the matter with my tongue; it pains me badly at timesv. and I don’t know what to do for it.”' Physician—“ Place a little cotton pit— low under it between meals; it may be tired and need rest.” Mrs. Gibblep fabble —“But I couldn’t talk then.” ’hysician—“That is why I prescribe.” One wet evening Mr. Cyrus Cole throw's the stub of a cigar in a pile of old scrap-iron and starts a million dollar fire. At a later date he at tempts to start a fire in the grate, and although he uses a dol lar’s worth of kindlers and a half gallon of kerosene, he is obliged to Sive it up as a failure—Harper’s azar. Life insurance agent (encountering Prince of Wales, who is traveling incog.)—“Have you a few momenta to spare, sir? I will not detain yon long. Life, you know, is short and uncertain, and—” Prince (the image of his royal mother raising before his mind’s eye)—“Short? Uncertain? Merciful heaven! My friend, where have you lived for the last seventy five or a hundred years?” Insect Scavengers. “Under the microscope,” says Mr. Henry J. Slack, F. R. M. 8., “it in seen that as animal and vegetable matter rots away, swarms of ferments come into existence. For example, in a drop of water the flesh of a dead* water flea was noticed in commotiom while the writer was engaged on this paper. Thousands of U shaped vi brious were living upon it. All ii> brisk motion, straightening and bending their bodies with whip like flicks. They were a company oi scavengers, sweetening the water by a chemical process necessary for their own nutrition. Our rivers and ponds would become factories of deadly poisons, and all the earth’s soil would be contaminated, if inex pressible myriads of minute plants and animals did not attack dead or ganic matter and cause its elements to enter into new and useful combin ations. If we find thousands of such little ferments at work on a frag ment no bigger than a fall stop of this print, what must bethenumbem in operation when tons upon tons are dealt with in the contents of our sewers, in the manures we put out on/ our fields, and in the vast multitudes of human and other bodies that per ish on land or in sea?”—New York. Telegram. V ■ *