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tr I i- I I- r A 1 I i- 1 ~Xi 3 ~Xi I •'.•M 7 9 3 1 I A. 1' •. I ft ^1 IS •fij 1 1 15 1 .* I .V V* Stj #S «S •c •».... Vs |i II tfivt?.* &* *-5 S A A E S S E O O N TII13 VISIOV AM) T1IK IIKATII siiiiriin.\ Tin*: Sleep. ... a i' •. tv .n.vin'vu There is not a man so isolated in life but there is some one in heaven with whom he once shook hands. As a mail gets older the number of his celestial acquaintances very rapidly multiplies. We have not had one glimpse of them since the night we kissed them good-by, and they went away but still we stand gazing at heaven. As when some of our friends go across the sea. we stand on the dock, or oil the steam tug. and watch them, and after awhile the hulk of the vessel disappears, and then there is only a •patch of sail oil the sky. and soon that is gone, and they are ail out of sight and yet we stand looking in ,, the same direction so when our friends go away from us into the future world we keep looking down through the Narrows and gazing and gazing as though we expected that they would come out and stand on some cloud and give us one glimpse of their blissful and transfigured faces. v4s While you long to join their com panionship, and the years and the days go with such tedium that they break your heart, and the vipers obtain, and »orrow, and bereavement keep gnaw ing at your vitals, you will stand, like i, Stephen, gazing Into lieaven. You wonder if they have changed since |-ou saw tliem last. You wonder If they would recognize your face now, *o changed has it been with trouble. •You wonder If, amid the myriad de lights they have, they care as much for you as tliey used to when they gave you a helping hand and put their shoulder uiuit'r your burdens. You .wonder if they look any older and sometimes in the evening-tide, when llie house is all quiet, you wonder if you should call them by their first |i?name If they would not answer and fPfperhaps sometimes you do make the !)%experiment, and when no one but God ||and 1- 1 |*call to OF Klv«» Hon nil I (i I l*iM iii'cn—1l.ookiny Into Ilcfivcn—'llir Stoning ui tl»* Sti'iilh'jjM of To-l):iy—i'iic L:iNt New York. Special.—In his sermon for to-day Ilev. Dr. Taliiiage lias cho sen a theme as picturesque as it is spiritually niMpiriii^r. I It' groups his discourse into "Five Pictures." The text selected wils "Heboid. I see the lienveus opened."—Ads, vili., rili-GO. Stephen had been preaching a rous ing .sermon, and tlie people could not stand it. They resolved to do as men sometimes would like to do in this day, it' they dared, with some plain preacher of righteousness—kill liiin. The only way to silence this man was to knock the breath out of him. So they rushed Stephen out of the piles of the city, and with curse, and whoop, and bellow, they brought him to the cliff, as was the custom when they wanted to take away life by stoning. Having brought him to the edge of the elill' they pushed him off. After he had fallen they came and looked down, and seeing that he was not yet dead, Ihey began to drop stones upon him. Amid this horrible rain of mis siles Stephen clambers up on his knees and folds his hands, while the blood drips from his temples: and then, looking up. lie makes two players one for himself and one for his mur derers. "Lord .lesus. rec.-ivc my spirit:" that was for himself. "I.oni.y lay not this sin to their charge thai was for his murderers. Then from pain and loss of blood, he swooned away and feil asleep. I want to show you to-day five pictures. Stephen gazing into heaven. Ste phen looking at Christ. Stephen stoned. Stephen in liis dying prayer, Stephen asleep. I First, look it Stephen gazing into heaven. J'.eforc you take a leap you want to know where you are going to land. Hcfore you climb a ladder you want to know what point the lad der reaches. And it was right that Stephen, within a few moments of heaven, should be ga/.iug into it. We would all do well to be found in the same |xsture. There is enough in heaven to keep us gazing. A man of large wealth may have statuary in the hull, and paintings in the sitting room, and works of art in all parts of the house, but he has the chief pictures in the art gallery, and there hour after hour you walk with catalogue and glass and ever-increasing admiration. Well, heaven is the gallery where Cod has gathered the chief treasures of liis nttlm. The whole universe is his palace. In this lower room where we stop there are many adornments tes sellated floor of amethyst, and on the winding cloud-stairs are stretched out canvas on which commingle azure, and purple, and saffron, and gold. But heaven is the gallery in which the chief glories are gathered. There are the brightest robes. There are the richest crowns. There are the highest exhilarations. St. John says of it: "The kings of the earth shall bring their honor and glory into it." And I see the precision forming, and in the line come all empires, and the stars spring up into an arch for the hosts to march under. They keep step to the sound of earthquake and the pitch of avalanche from tlie mountains, and the Ilag they bear is the tlame of a consuming world, and all heaven turns out with harps and trumpets and myriad-voiced acclamation of angelic dominions to welcome them in, and so the kings of tin* earth bring their honor and glory into it. Do you won der that good people often stand, like Stephen, looking into heaven. We have many friends there. yourself are there you •distinctly their names, and listen, and sit gazing into heaven. wjpf Pass on now and see Stephen look ,?j£Jlng upon Christ. My text says lie saw J%he Son of man at the right hand of pffi'God. Just how' Christ looked in this ,$,.-iworld, just how he looks In heaven, we cannot say. The painters of the different ages have tried to imagine the features o'f Christ, and put them •upon canvas teli but we will have to wait until with our own eyes we see him and with our own ears we can hear him. And yet there is a way of see ing him and hearing him now. you I have that unless you see and hear Christ on earth you will never see and hour him in heaven. Look! There he is! Heboid tlie Lamb of tied! Can you not see liiinv 'I lieu pray to Cod to take the scales oil your eyes, l.ook that wav—trv to look that way. 11 is voice come* down to you tills (lav—conies down to the blindest, to the deafest soul, saving, "Look unto me. all ve ends of the earth, and lie ye saved, for 1 am God and there is none else." Hroohiniaiion of universal emancipation tor all slaves. I ell me. ye who know most ot tin world's history, what other king ever asked the abandoned, and the lorlorn. and the wretched, and the out cast to come and sit beside him'/ Oh, wonderful invitation! \ou can take it to-day. and stand at the head of the darkest alley in all tins city, and say, "Come! Clothes for your rags, salve for your sores, a throne lor your eter nal reigning." A Christ that talks like that—do you wonder that Stephen stood looking at him? I hope to spend eternity doing tlie same tiling. 1 must see liiin I must look upon that face once clouded with my sin, but how ra diant with my pardon. 1 want to toucn that hand that knocked off my shackles. 1 want to hear the voice that, pronounced my deliverance. Re hold him, little children, for if you live to three-score years and ten. you will see none so fair. Heboid him. ye aged ones for he only can shine through the dimness of your failing eyesight. Itehoid him. earth. Heboid him. heaven. What a moment when all the nations of the saved shall gather around Christ! All faces that way. All thrones thai way, gazing on .lesus. I liis worth if ail the nations knew Sure the whole earth would love him, loo. I pass on now. and look at Stephen lied. The world has always wanted ..or rid of good men. Their very is an assault upon wickedness, uui with Stephen through the gates of the city. Down with liiin over the precipices. Let every man come up and drop a stone upon his head. Hut these men did not so much kill Ste phen as they killed themselves. Kvery stone rebounded uihui them. While these murderers were transfixed by the seorn ot' all good men, Stephen lives in the admiration of all Chris tendom. Stephen stoned. Inn Stephen alive. So all good men must be pelted. "All who will live godly in Christ •lesus must suffer persecution." it is no eulogy of a iiian to say that every body likes liiin. Show me any one who is doing all his duty to state or church, and I will show you scores of men who utterly abhor him. If all men speak well of you it is be cause you are either a laggard or a dolt. If a steamer makes rapid pro gress through the waves, the water will boil and foam ail around it. Hrave soldiers of .lesus Christ will hear tlie carbines click. When I see a man with a voice, and money, and influence till on the right side, aud some caricature him, and some sneer at him, anil some denounce him. and men who pretend to be actuated by right motives conspire to cripple liliii. to cast him out, to destroy him, 1 say. "Stephen stoned." When I see a man in some great moral or religious reform, battling against grog-shops, exposing wicked ness in high places, by active means trying to purify the church and better the world's estate, and I tiud that the newspaper anattliematize him. and men, even good men. oppose him and denounce him. because, though he does good he dees not do it in their way, I say. "Stephen stoned." Hut you no tice my friends, that while tliey as saulted Stephen they did not succeed really in killing liiin. You may assault a good man, but you can not kill him. Oil the day of his death. Stephen spoke before a few people in the Sanhedrim this Sabbath morning he addresses all Christendom. Paul tlie Apostle stood on Mars' Ilill Addressing a handful of philosophers who knew not so much about science as a modern school girl. To day he talks to all the millions of Christendom about the wonders of justification and the glories of resurrection. John Wesley was howled down by the mob to whom he preached and they threw bricks at liiin, and 1liey denounced him. and they jostled him. and they spat upon liini and yet to-day in all lands, lie is admitted to be the great father of Methodism. Hooth's bullet vacated the presidential chair but from that spot of coagulated blood (on the floor in the box of Ford's Theater there sprang up tlie new life of a nation. Stephen stoned, but Stephen alive. Pass on now, and see Stephen in his dying prayer. His first thought was not how the stones hurt his head, nor what would become of his body. His first thought was about his spirit. "Lord Jesus receive my spirit.'The murderer standing on the trap door, the black cap being drawn over his head before the execution, may gri mace about the future, but you and I have no shame in confessing some anxiety about where we are going to come out. You are not all body. There is within you a soul. 1 see a gleam from your eye to-day. anil I see it irradiating your countenance. Some times 1 am abashed before an audience not because I come under your physi cal eyesight, but because 1 realize the truth that 1 stand before so many im mortal spirits. The probability is that your body will at least tinil a sepul elier in some of the cemeteries that surround this city. There is no doubt but that your obsequies will be de cent and respectful, and you will he able to pillow your head under the maple, or the Norway spruce, or the cypress, or the blossoming tir but this spirit about wliicl. Stephen prayed, what direction will that take? What guide will escort it. What gate will open to receive it? What cloudwill be cleft for its pathway'.' After it lias got beyond the light of our sun will there be torches lighted for it the rest of the way? Will the soul have to travel through long deserts before It reaches the good land? If we should lose our pathway, will there be a castle at whose 'gate we may ask the way to the city? Oh, tills mysterious spirit within us! It has two wings, but it is in a cage now. It is locked fast to keep it b*:t let the door of this cage open the least and that souK is off. Eagle's wing could not catch it. The lightnings nre not swift enough to come up with it. A\ hen the soul leaves the bodv it takes fiTt.v win Ids at ,1 bound. And have 1 no .lnxietj about it Have you no anx iety about it I do not care what you do with inr bi d.v when iiiv soul Is gone, or wheth er jou believe in cremation or inhuma tion. I shall sleep just as well in a tupping ot sackcloth as in satin lined with eagles down. Hut mv soul—lie lore I close this discourse I will find out where it will stand. Thank Cod foi' the intimation ot my text that when we die .lesus takes its. That answers all questions for me- What though there were massive liars be tween here and the citv of light. le sus could remove them. hat though there were great Saharas of darkness, .lesus could illume them. What though I got weiirv on the way. Christ could lilt me on Ins omnipotent shoul der. hat though there were chasms t-. iitw, ln h.-iud could iranspori mi?. Then let Stephen's prayer be my dy ing litany "Lord Jesus, receive my spirit." It may be in that hour wo will be too feeble to say a long prayer. It may be in that hour we will not be able to say the "Lord's I'rayer." for it lias seven petitions. Perhaps we may be too feeble even to say the in fant prayer our mothers taught lis. which John (.Hiiiioy Adams. To years of age. said every night when he put his head upon his pillow: Now 1 lay me down to sleep. I pray the Lord my soul to keep. Wo may be too feeble to employ either of these familiar forms: but this prayer of Stephen is short, is so ••oiicisc, is so r:inu»xf. is cujii prehensive. we surely will be able to say that: "Lord Jcsrs reeeive my spir it oh. if that piayer is answered, how sweet it will be to die! This world is clever enough to us. IVrhup* it has ireateii us a great ileal better than we deserved to lie treated: 1 mir if on the dying pillow there shall break the light of that better world, we shall have no more regret then about leav ing a small, dark, damp house for one large, beautiful and capacious. That dying minister in Philadelphia, some je.ars ago. beautifully i• ict• I ir when, in tlie last moment, in* Threw uo liis hands and cried out: "I move into the light!" Pass on. now. and I will show you one more pieinre. and that is Stephen asleep. With .1 pathos and siuipiieitv uliar to the Scriptures, the toxi says of Stephen: "He fell asleep." "Oh." you say. -what a place that was to sleep! A hard rock under him. stones falling down upon liiin, the blood streaming, the mob howling What a place it was to sloop!" And yet my texi takes that symbol of slum ber f_. describe It is departure, so sweet was it, so contented was it. so peace ful was it. Stephen had lived a very laborious life. His chief work had bee it to tare for the poor. How many loaves of bread he had distributed, how many bare feet he had sandaled, how many cots of sickness and dis tress he liad blessed with ministries of kindness and love. I do not know yet from the way he lived, and the way he preached, and the way he died. I know he was a laborious Christian. Hut that is all over now. He has pressed the cup to the last fainting lip. He has taken the last insult from liis enemies. The hist stone to whose crushing weight he is susceptible has been hurled. Stephen is dead. The disciples come! Tliey take him up! They wash away the blood from the wounds. Tliev straighten out the bruised limits They brush back the tangled hair from the brow, anil then they pass around to look upon the calm countenance of him who had liv ed for tlie poor and died for the truth. Stephen asleep. I have seen the sea driven with the hurricane until the tangled foam caught in the rigging and wave rising above wave seemed as if about to storm the heavens, anil then 1 have seen the tempest drop, and the waves crouch, and everything become smooth and burnished as though a camping place for the glories of heaven. So have seen a man. whose life lias been tossed and driven, coming down at last to an infinite calm, in which there wtis a hush of heaven's lullaby, Steph en asleep! I saw such an one. He fought all his days against poverty and against abuse. Tliey traduced his name. They rattled at the door-knob while lie was dying with duns for debts lie could not pay: yet the peace of Cod brooded over his pillow, and while the world faded, ilea veil dawned, and the deepening twilight of earth's night was only the opening twilight of heav en's morn. Not a sigh. Not a tear. Not a struggle, llush! Stephen asleep. I have not the faculty as many have to tell the weather. I can never tell by the setting sun whether there will be it drouth or not. I can not tell by the blowing of the wind whether it will he fair weather or foul on the morrow. Hut I van prophesy, and I will prophesy what weather it will lie when you. the Christian, come to die. You may have it very rough now. It may be this week one an noyance. the next another annoyance. It may be this year one bereavement, the next another bereavement. Hut at the last Christ will come in and darkness will go out. Aud though there may be no hand close to your eyes, and no breast on which to rest your dying head, and no candle to lift the niglit, tlie odors of God's hanging garden will regale your soul, and at your bedside wil halt the chariot of tlie king. No more rents to pay, no more agony, because flour has gone up, no more struggle with "the world, the (lesli. and the ilevll but peace—long, deep, everlasting peace. Stephen asleep! Asleep in .Testis, blessed sleep, From which none ever wake to weep A calm anil undisturbed repose, Uninjured by the last of foes. Asleep iti Jesus, far from thee ^jjj Thy kindred jind their graves may be Hut there is still blessed sleep From which none ever wake to weeg. You have seen enough for one day. No one can successfully examine more than five pictures In a day. There fore we stop,.having seen this cluster of Divine Raphaels—Stephen gazifig Into heaven Stepheu looking at Christ Stephen stoned Stephen in THIlEESt'OKE A?tU TK.V. Who leach their threescore years and ten. As I have mine without a sigh. Are either more or less than men— -Not such am I. I am not ol them: life to me Has been a strange, bewildered dream, Wherein I know not things that le*te« From tilings that seem. I thought. I hoped. I knew one thing. Anil had one gift, when 1 was voting— i'he impulse and the power to sing I And so I sung I'o have a place in the high choir a Of poets, and deserve the same— hat mole could mortal man desire '1 hail poet's fame .' I sought it long, but never found, The choir so full was. and so strong The jubilant voices there, they drown ed My simple song. Men would not hear me then, and now 1 care not. I accept my fate. SYheii white hairs thatch the furrowed brow Crowns come too late! The best of life went long ago From me: it was not much at lies': Only the love that young hearts know, The dear unrest. Hack on my past, through gathering teal's. Once more I cast my eyes, and see P.right shapes that in my butler years Surrounded me. They left me here, they left me tlcre. Went down dark pathways, one by one— The wise, the great, the young, the fair: Hut. I went on! I And I go on! Anil, bad or good, 1 Tne old allotted years of men I have endured as best I could— Threescore and ten! AT WATERLOO 1UNQUKT. 4--1 e, -4 W t1: -f^ He was a factor, pr estate agent, for one of tlie oldest of old Scotch lam Hies. Four generations had occupied the lands in liis time, and each suc ceeding nobleman had honored him with confidence and friendship. A staunch, trusty man was lie, aud of the good old-fashioned type. He had many strange experiences. Here is his account of one of them: "When in London, on one occasion, I met a man In the streets whom I re membered as having been at one time valet, afterward steward, to a Scotch nobleman. He was a man with a de cided personality, by no means bash ful. Sharp by name and sharp by na ture. Kecognizing me at once, lie sa luted In his usual faultless style, and I stopped to exchange a few pleasant lies. lict'ore we separated lie re marked: 'Now, sir, what can I do for you in London? I shall ever remember your kindness in procuring good situations for my sons, aud shall be glad to be of any service to you. Give me the op portunity now." "1 said I was obliged to him, but, really, every sight in London seemed to have a money value—that 1 had no dilticulty. "'t'ii. but, sir, I probably could get you a sight that mi.ney could not buy. Now try me.' 'Well, then. Sharp, could you fake me to the Waterloo banquet to-mor row' "It was. to my mind, the occasion of interest above all others. 'Impossible, absolutely impossible,' he said at onc.». "Why. you can't know what you are asking, sir. Not a living son! except the olliccrs lio fought in the battle can get to the banquet. The rule is positively saer'tl. The king is the one exception, and he has to con •iiiler himself a privileged guest.' "'Oh. well.' 1 said in mock resent ment, 'you Insisted on mv naming some i.Utit which money could not buy. and the \ery first mention beats you. Sharp.' "i was turning away when the reaily wiitcil fellow sprang after tne, and •.villi a show of spirit, said 'Well. sir. you have put me to the "si. 1 will undertake to show you the ••Vatorioo banquet to-morrow night. Oil his occasion. However, you must obey ay instructions. \ou must come, in '\euilig dross, to the opposite side .if! i'iccadilly from Apsley House, at clock ounctually. l\et.p your eye on he window dirietly jpiiosile to tic :de or east gate. You will s. me ap- I 'ir there ex icily at the hour. If l' old both arms above my head and a'ckou to you with my hands, you may .ustii that all is right. If'you see keep my arms down ar.il shake my lead, all is wrong: you may go home. all is right prepare to walk leisurely icross the street towards the gate, vliich you will find guarded by polic oii as wvll as by soldiers. Time your •elf to arrive at the gate just as I do. 'or I will lie visible. And then. sir. ••nve the rest to me.' "We parted for the day. and I made eivr.tl calls in the afternoon, one of 'u rn. strangely encugli. on Sharp's for masier, who urged me to come and ine with iiiin tile following evening. olding out as an Inducement that he veulil get siveral mutual ncquaiut •necs with whom we should be sur to ave a night ot' fun anil story-telling of !:iys his prayer Stephen asleep. dying gone by. 1 declined again anil gMn. saying that I v.as already en .igcd. 'Come, come,' said liis lordship, 'put our engagement off: remember I prom se you will meet those worthies. Do.' 'Well, my lord,' 1 replied. 'I may Ive to meet them again, but 1 shall ever have another chauee of my to uorrow night's engagement.' 'Come, come' (a common expression liis lordship's, who was as good a .mail as ever flavored a glass of old •lort). 'What is tills great engagement au are :so bound to?' 'Well, my lord. I am going to the Waterloo banquet to-morrow night.'. "You should have seen liltn whistle and laugh as he exclainud: 'Why. man, you can't possibly be so privileged even I could not go." 'Oh. I nm quite aware of that, ray lord, but 1 am going.' 'Come, com •, how is this to be ac complished lie asked. "'Hell, do you remember Sntirp. whom you hail first as valet, tlcn is fiteward years ago. lie has promised to let me see this sight ot' all sights.' I or re a and then he remarked: Well, sir, if that man Sham Mis un dertaken to let you lie present at the Waterloo banquet, he will fulfill liis p.'online. At a levee on on.- occasion he was in attendance on mv two sisters and myself. 1 he crush was itnusiiallv great, and one of mv sisters grew faint, tlii'other very nervous. I turned to Snarp for help, and lie. rising to the oce-.sien at ouee. ullered ins arm to one ot my sisters. She took it. anil sharp, askn.g us to follow linn, managed to make ins way through the press a side divir. which he opened. We found ourseivi's in a charming room, with luiichiMin on tlie table. Sharp locked the door, and, oftiering my sisters chairs, we enjoyed an excellent re past and some good wine. Fortified in this way. wo were able to stand out the fatigues of the levee. Yes. Sharp Is a wonderfully clever fellow." "Next day 1 was at my trysting place in plenty of time, but far from being happy at the role 1 expected to play. I dreaded being found out anil disgraced. "Prompt to time. Sharp appeared at the window. His hands were high above his head, liis face beaming with delight. How he happened to be in Apsley House I rever found out. lie was a strange fellow. 1 slowly walk ed across the street, picking my sr. os with unnecessary care, trying to anti cipate the challenge of the sentries by finding some pica for entrance. Ail ar once 1 became aware of some one shouting my name, and calling me a great, lumbering, dilatory fellow, who was always late. I lo.-.ked up in amazement, but Sharp, for Sharp it was. only shouted the louder. 'Conie away, confound you. come away at once: you're keeping bai all the pre parations.' He seemed so very an gry that the sentries and policemen were completely taken in. and. in fact 1 was myself in more senses than one. "l luce indoors. Sharp assured me all was right, but. for my part. I Was wishing myself anywhere but in Aps ley House. In the side room, where I took off in j- oveieiat. I was introduc ed to the Duke of Wellington's house stcivard. and—oil. mercy me!—to the chief of police in charge of the force on duty. This gave me a start that I implored Sharp to let tne put on my coat and go. Hut the fellow was as cool as ever. I saw him and he only said, 'Nonsense, sir.' So here I was. a Justice of the peace and deputy lieu tenant. to be exposed in Apsley House as an impostor. Sharp had van islieil. and I had to keep up conver sation with the chief inspector. I was in a desperate fright. What I talked about, have not the smallest recollection. "Then back came Sharp, as respect ful now as ever. 'Come this way if you please, sir.' I had to follow. He lead me into a grand hall, and placed me at the foot of the staircase, on one side, telling me I was not to move six Inches till he came for me again. "I obeyed. "After gathering my wits and look ing round, I saw, opposite rne. a 'boardly' man, like myself, in every way even to his clothes. He also was motionless and never a word we spoke. Now we had not stood very long when the Duke of Wellington himself came down the stair and stood stock still between us on the center of the lowest Step. "It was the hour of arrival, and. standing there, be received all the old heroes in a true military fashion. All seemed punctual to the minute. What a sight it was! Veterans with legs a wanting, arms a-wanrlng, lots not winged at all. None without medals and orders purchased by daring brav ery. "I felt my blood rise. To look at such heroes was a glorious joy. The scene was worth ten years of my life. A few minutes after the comiianv had arrived, there was an extra stir at the door. The group divided and straightened up. aud. sir. before I had realized what had happened, in came the king. "He walked through his old war riors, and well he might look proud of tliem. The Duke stepped forward, bowed, and shook hands. Then up the stairs the two went, the duke one step behind his sovereign. The otlieers fol lowed. and all was quiet. 1 was thinking how privileged I had been when, from behind, came friend Sharp's voice, 'Well, sir, how have you got on?"' 'i ill. first rate.' I said. 'It was magnificent. Now let me go." 'Not at till: the best is yet to come.* "lie took me into tlie picture gallery next the banqueting hall. wliei'e we found tlie chief inspector again, and several other gentlemanly-looking individuals. We examined the pic tures anil old furniture. Sharp going in and out. as if lie hail the entire re sponsibility of the house. "Coming tip to me one time, he told me to stand steadily while he put something in my tail pocket. When he hail done so. he explained in a side whisper. '1 have plucked a feather our of the king's hat. and one out of the duke's. Keep them as mementoes of this day.' "Just fancy my feelings as 1 looked at the chief inspector, and thought what a fine job he could make of me. Shortly after this. Sharp desired me to be in readiness to draw back one half of a large sliding-iloor. so as to throw the gallery into the banquet ing hall. My vis-a-vis of the stair case appeared on the scene again, ami took liis stand by the other half. We acte.d to orders, and there, full before my eyes, as the iloors slid back, was the brilliant assembly, the Waterloo banquet. The table glittered with Its plate and crystal there was the great circle of gallant hearts, the king, the duke. The remembrance is still fresh as ever the gay uniforms, the bright light, the silver clink of the glasses, the perfume of the flowers. "I stood In the recess of the gallery, and feasted my eyes. "As I watched the old duke rose, glass in hand, liis steady eye upon the company. A silence fell for a moment, and, raising his glass, he said, in-a voice charged with respect, pride, and dignity, "The King's health.' Then, turning with a bow, 'Sire, your health.' It was done with noble simplicity. The company rose as cne man. I tell you, sir, if I had shouted unr!" the ror.f rang, and been shot lor it. vouldn have cured, 'lalk of patriotism? Mv old spirit was a lurv. iln lad. ilir old gentleman seemed to have reached a climax, for words laded hcre.i hen the companv broke in. I whs taken bv the dukes steward to a snug room, where I again bumd i.iv filend. the chief inspector--who had now no terrors tor me—and some eth ers. Here wo. cinovrd an e::cel!eat supper. "At last Sharp brought mv over coat, and helped me into ir. remarking as he did so. He careful, sir: in one pocket I have put the hand-glass u.-e I bv the king, in tlie other, the one used by the duke, tliev are wrapped in oa per. And be careful, also, sir, of the feat hers. C.ornhdl III 1I)R or 'I'ill-: I'KRIOI) llflll to Thacli :iui! 11 (i I in«. i*. NO Sin't'CK-HllPN in .« ern.v, Dlckt'iis There are decided indications [hat. the world'sslock of humor is at a low ebb. This is noticeable even in our own comic papers, which are constant ly rehashing and regrinding out une white-headed gag or another. Kuro pean journals of this class are f.ir worse. Their attempts at the humor ous are often nauseating. In the ev ery day contact of life, be ir in tin: drawing room, in the ctiice. or with an acquaintance on the street, humor lags. This confession is made at tie risk of being considered Xordaue-nne. In literature, too. the sarie i.di tioii of ilecadence as to humor pre--, vails. .Modern burVsiptes till the'i*.-. verse with execrable puns, showing. no mastery either of the grot. s.p!cly. limited minds out of which they w'-ii to strike a spark or of their own impa tience with those minds. Instead of the slight shock which 'rue humor should always give, the humorist of to-day usually confuse-: one witli a jumble of ideas from which no dis tinct. sense of incongruity—nothing but sense of IlCoilefency elneVge. Then* bewilderment drowns huu.or. The gift which Dr. W. Holmes termed "the sharpening of one'.- men tal knives in order to cut off junks of joy" responds only to a sharp s-use of contrast. It is a sudden e'fer' es cence between the alkali of hah'tea I association and the keen acid ..f the. humorist's happy caprice. The bad omen for modern ir n' is tha' the minds of so many of o.n intending humorists se.-m hardly a blob to distinguish between their grasp oft. the feeling they desire to surprise by a contrast and their grasp :f feeling with which they wish to contrast it. When Lamb, with a stammer as char acteristic ,,f i,iM1 ,| S j, well-known drawl of Mark Twain typical of Mr. Clemens, answered the thick-headed yokel who asked him how the turnips were likely to yield by saying he (Lamb) supposed that would depend upon the boiled legs of mutton, he realized at least as keenly the stiff clay of the peasant's mind as lie did the hop. skip and jump by which lie passed from it to his own frivolous an ticipation of the dish with which he was the most accustomed to relish tur nips. When Dickens makes Mr. Wellcr. Sr.. describe his second wife's death in terms of Sam's usual coachman's metaphor. "After that, though we did put on the brake, all we could, too. she went down hill very fast and paid the last pike tit a quarter past six." it is dillicuit to know which is the more surprising, the conventionality of the coachman's professional phraseology or the inconceivable inadequacy of its•: terms to the meaning Mr. Weller do-: sired to convey. Our modern humor ist too often fails by not having the strongest possible grasp of th" strict limitations of the minds he is p'.ayi: upon, as well as of the surprise he in tends to give thctn. It is usuallv the former which gives all the keenno-". to the latter. Hut there may yet re deiuption for our humorists.—i t.ihi-: delpiu'a Itecord. ..V He Followed tlie l'rcctMlPiit. I went to the Kbbitt house two or three days ago to call upon an old ac quaintance who had stopped there on her way through town. As 1 passed the reception room on the ground flour I noticed a couple of extremely young people. She was draped in lavender, find luul evidently been weeping, ile wore a black frock co.it and a white cambric necktie, and there was po matum on his somewhat long curly hair. It was tbont 11 in the morning. "Then you will go i.utsaid she, with trembling lips. "And leave me all alone?" "Oh. 1 must go out a while, you know." "You leave me here, and we have been married only six days' "Why. goodness. Dora." said the des perate youth, "the Almighty himself rested on the seventh day."New Yolk Itecorder. I Humor* of Coiitfros*. During ail exciting debate ill the house of representatives the members sometimes not only indulge in mixed metaphors, but rival Sir lioyle H.u-lie, the member of the Irish parliament tnosr famous for liis "bulls." A member, in referring,to one of his colleagues, said: "The gentleman, like a mousing owl, is always putting in his oar where it is not wanted." In another speech occurred this ex pression: "The iron lieel of stern necessitv darkens every hearthstone." And another member, in a very forcible and dramatic manner, asked I the house this startling question: "Would you stamp out the last flickering embers of a life that is last I ebbing away?"—Youth's Companion. lit cycle CntiHnnll it's There are collisions with carts and carriages, and also between wheel men themselves. Then there are bi cycle runaways, and how strange it seems that a man should run a wav with himself, but wlieu one loses con trol of his wheel on a steep down grade It certainly becomes as danger--, ous as any other runaway. A very curious instance of the bicycle risk is found in the action brought by a .voting woman against *er teacher.' She was a pupil in a fl "Vtf -.-A bicycle school aud while taking lessons fell and broke her leg, for which she demands S5000 damages? alleging that it was due to her teach er's carelessness.—New York Letter.