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I fU CHAPTER TIL fCosTiNUEiO
R IA The day following there was a sim-
fti d pie funeral , In a solitary burial-place ,
\ \ seldom used , and lying within a short
II % distance of the spot whpre the bodi
es \ $ / was found. Mr. Lorraine defrayed the
ft Ha J expenses out of his own pocket , saw
H p fv that everything was decently , though
Ij simply arranged , and himself read the
L. Bl beautiful burial service over the coffin.
* \ "e nac * now n0 doubt In his mln.1 that
a
I si ) lne drowned woman was the mother of
I ffl the infant left under his care , and that
$1 UJ" destroying herself she had simply
J | f 'arried out her desperate determina-
vl $ * ' attempts to identify her. how-
ft pT ovc-r , continued without avail. In-
H 'IS quiries were made on every aide , ad-
I * ftvertisements $ inserted in the local
L * * newspapers , without the slightest re-
.Ir sult ; no one came forward to give any
*
HrW , information. But by this time the
fl minister's mind was quite made up.
J
Bv wt . He would keep the child , and , with
I if < God's blessing , rear her as his own :
B * ( h * would justify the unhappy mother's
fl \ • < . dependence on his charity and loving
ft j\ kindness.
r \ i So it came to pass that late in the
I \ / gloaming of the old bachelor's life the
, / cry of a child was heard In the lonely
/ ' house ; and somr-how or other , despite
I \ Solomon Mucklebackit's prognostica-
I ' tions , the house became brighter and
I / nurrier for the sound. Solomon him-
I S self soon fell under the spell , and when
I f { a little warm with whisky he would alB -
B ' hide to the child , with a comic sense
B i\ ) of possession , as "oor bairn. "
B i ' At last , one day , there was a quiet
I \ f christening in the old kirk , where Mr.
m " 't \ Lorraine had officiated so many years.
I \ ' . Mysie held the infant in her arms ,
Ny | wliile Solomon stood at hand , blinking '
I tf through his horn spectacles , and the
I \ \ minister performed the simple cere-
I | * \ mony.
% f After long and tender deliberation
HP 6 | the minister had fixed upon a name ,
IV which he now gave to the poor little
ft % } castaway , who had neither father nor
ft | \ mother , nor any kinsfolk in the world
k g \ after whom she could be called.
| g M ' He christened her Marjorie Annan.
B I Marjorie , after that other beloved
B 9 1 Marjorie , who had long before joined
V ire • or so he dreamed the bright celes-
fl \ % I Ta * band ; Annan , after that troubled
B iff water wherein the miserable mother
Bs V i had plunged and died.
BL V ' CHAPTER IV.
ft C _ / jjtt lilii ? ' sixteen and seven-
W mtK IllrllSflsij scribed in the first
f k 'L might have been
\ , seen tripping down.
ft § ' the High street of.the market town of
I - Dumfries. Her dress was prettily if
I ! J * not over-fashionably cut , a straw hat
ft \ shaded her bright blue eyes , and her
fl J ooots and gloves were those of a lady.
ft - ' Under her arm she carried several
WL A books school books , to all intents andy
ypurposes. .
ijFI J By her side , talking to her eagerly.
* pi / was a young man about three years her
W 4 \ senior.
| I J From time to time as she tripped
§ > f along with her companion she had tea
a lV i stop and exchange words with passera-
1y wlto Sieeted her by name ; and from
m I \
" x J r many of the shop doors and windows
> Vj | ' friendly heads nodded and bright
II \ M faces beamed. It was clear that she
flJUlf | ' was well known in the little town , and
# a encral favorite. Indeed , there were
K I
% S f lew of the residents within a radius
R \ * 1 of ten miles round Dumfries who did
I \ S\ llot know something of Majorie An-
i iC nan' the fostercuid and adopted
/ '
I Jl | * \ daughter of Mr. Lorraine.
flj I Her companion , John Sutherland ,
t' was fair comPlexioned and very pale.
I i\
1 f\ " He was plainly clad in a suit of dark
I * \ \ tweed , and wore a wide-awake hat.
jrt j * His whole aspect betokened delicate
>
\ \ \ J health , and there was a sad light in his
J blae eyes whica told of a th ° ughtful
\aP spirit lodging within. His manners
Mf. \ were gentle ? .nd retiring in the ex-
jL J treme.
iLM 1 "When did you come back ? " Mar-
jm jorie had asked , after some previous
conversation.
mt \
\Jl 1 "Last night , by the express from
M j J { Ixindon , " answered the young man.
[ ( / ft"I'm going down to see the old folk
* \ \ tonight Shall you be at the manse ? "
\ Marjorie nodded , smiling gayly.
m. X \ "And how did you like London ? " she
-Jri I demanded. "Did you see the queen ?
\j \ and Westminster Abbey ? and did you
! L I = o to the great tabernacle to hear
LfJ . / Spurgeon preach ? " -
lk f "No , Marjorie. My time was short ,
\j i and most-of my spare time was spent
among the pictures ; but when I saw
m ( \
/ 2 vf them , thousands upon thousands of
! Jm A\ masterpieces , it made me despair of
W ever becoming a painter. I thought to
IL / * " " ' myself maybe it would be better , after
# all , to bide at home , and stick to weav-
B'X ing like my father. "
( T I As he spoke , Marjorie paused at the
kl | \ corner of a quiet street , and held out
] ( # v her hand.
( ft t "I must go to my lesson. Goodby. "
flh , 1 "How are you going down ? By the
ifll I -wagonette ? "
"So am I ; we can go together. Good
by till then ! "
And with a warm squeeze of the
hand the young man walked away.
Marjorie stood looking after him for
a moment with a pleasant smile ; then
she turned and walked down the
.street. She had not many yards to go
before she paused before a dingy-look
ing house , on the door of which was
a brass plate with the inscription :
M. LEON CAUSSIDIERE ,
Professor of Languages.
m
She rang the bell , and the door was
opened almost immediately by a
Scotch servant in petticoat and short
gown , who greeted her with a familiar
smile. Answering the smile with a
friendly nod , Marjorie tripped along
the lobby and knocked at an inner
door , which stood ajar. A clear , mu
sical voice , with an unmistakable for
eign accent , cried , "Come in , " and she
entered.
The room was a plainly furnished
parlor , at the center-table of which a
young man sat writing. The table was
littered with writing materialsbooks ,
and journals , and in the window re
cess was another table , also strewn
with books.
The young man , who was smoking a
cigarette , looked up as Majorie en
tered.
"Ah , is it you , Mademoiselle Mar
jorie ! " he exclaimed , smiling pleasant
ly. "I did not expect you so early , and
T was just smoking my cigarette. You
do not mind the smoke ? No ? Then ,
with your permission , I will smoke
on. "
He spoke English fluently , though
his accent Avas unmistakable , and his
pronunciation of certain words pecu
liar. Personally , he was tall and hand
some , with black hair worn very long ,
black mustache , and clean-shaven
chin. His forehead was high and
thoughtful , his eyes bright but sunk
en , his complexion swarthy. He was
dressed shabbily , but somewhat show
ily , in a coat of brown velvet , shirt
with turn-down collar loose at the
throat , and a crimson tie shapen like
a true lover's knot. He carried a pince-
nez , secured to his person by a piece
of elastic , disused while writing or
reading , but fixed on the nose at other
times. Through this pince-nez he now
regarded Marjorie with a very decided
look of admiration.
"I came early , monsieur , " said Mar
jorie , "because I cannot come in the
afternoon. I am going home , and I
shall not be back in Dumfries till Mon
day. Can you give me my lesson now ,
please ? "
"Certainly , " answered the French
man ; "I was only writing my French
correspondence , but I can finish" that
when you are gone. Will you sit theri\
mademoiselle , in the arm-chair ? No ?
Then in this other ? We will begin it
once. "
Marjorie sat down and opened her
books. The .Frenchman , taking th 3
arm-chair she had refused , regarded
her quietly and keenly.
"Now read , if you please , " he said ,
with a wave of the hand. "Begin
where yeti left off yesterday. ' *
Marjorie obeyed and read aloud in
a clear voice from an easy French
reading-book. From time to time the
teacher interrupted her , correcting her
pronunciation.
"You advance. ' mademoiselle , " he
said presently. "Ah , yes , you are so
quick , so intelligent. Now translate. "
In this porti . of her task also the
girl acquitted herself well , and when
she had finished , the young man nod
ded approvingly.
"Now let us converse in French , if
you please. "
But here Marjorie was at a loss , not
knowing what to talk about. She
finally took the weather as a topic , and
advanced the proposition that it was
a very fine day , but that there would
soon be rain. Her master responded ,
and , urged to higher flights of imagi
nation , Marjorie hoped that it would
not rain till she reached home , as the
public wagonette in which she was to
travel was an open one , and she did
not want to get wet. In this brilliant
strain the conversation proceeded.
Marjorie stumbling over the construc
tion of her sentences and getting very
puzzled over the other's voluble an
swers when they extended to any
length. But at last the lesson was
over , and the teacher expressed himself
well pleased.
"And now , " he said , with a smile ,
"we will talk the English again before
you go. Will you tell me something
about yourself , mademoiselle ? I have
seen you so often , and yet I know so
littl ° . For myself , I am almost a re
cluse , and go about not at all. Tell me ,
then , about j'ourself. your guardian ,
your home. "
"I don't "know what to tell you ,
monsieur , " answered Marjorie.
"Call me not 'monsieur , ' but "Mon
sieur Leon. ' 'Monsieur' is so formal
so cold. "
"Monsieur Leon. "
"That is better. Now answer me , if
you please. You have no father , no
mother ? "
The girl's eyes filled with tears.
"No , monsieur "
"Monsieur Leon. "
"No , Monsieur Leon. " '
"Ah , that is sad sad to be an or
phan , alone in the 7/orld ! I myself
; ' ' "T'
ir * nr
have no father , but I have a mother
whom I adore. And you live with your
guardian always ? "
"Yes , monsieur Monsieur Leon. lit
is my guardian and my foster-father ;
and Solomon is my foster-father , loo. "
"Solomon ? "
"Solomon is our clerk and sexton.
He lives in the manse. He was living
there when the minister found me ,
nearly seventeen years ago. "
The young Frenchman had arisen
and stood facing Marjorie Annan.
"Ah , yes , I have heard , " lie said ,
"And you have dwelt all these years ,
mignonne , alone with those two old
men ? "
"Yes , Monsieur Leon. "
"It is terrible it is not right ! You ,
who are so young and pretty ; they ,
who are so old and dreary ! And you
have never seen the world never trav
eled from your native land ! Never ?
You have lived in a desert , you have
never known what it is to live ! But
you are a child , and it is not too late.
You will see the world some day , will
you not ? You will find some one to
love you , to care for you , and you will
bid adieu to this triste Scotland , once
and forever ! " *
As he spoke very volubly , he nent
his face close to hers , smiling eagerly ,
while his breath touched her cheek.
She blushed slightly , and drooped hei
nyes for a moment ; then she looked ur
u ite steadily , and said :
"I should not care to leave my home
Mr. Lorraine took me to Edinburgh
once , but I soon wearied , and was glad
to come back to Annandale. "
"Edinburgh ! " cried Monsieur Leon
witli a contemptuous gesture. "A citj
where the sun never shines , and it rain : ,
six days out of seven , what you call a
Scotch mist ! You should see my coun
try , la belle France , and Paris , the
queen of cities of the world ! There
all is light and gay ; it is Paradise on
earth. Would you not like to see Pur's.
Mademoislle Marjorie ? "
"Yes , monsieur , maybe I should , " ic-
plied Marjorie ; "but I'm not caring
much for the town. But I was forget
ting something , though , " she added.
"Mr. Lorraine told me to give you
this. "
So saying , she drew forth a small
silk purse , and drawing thence two sov
ereigns , placed them on the table.
"Put them back into your purse , ii
you please. "
"But I have not paid you anything
and I owe you for ten lessons. "
"Never mind that , mademoiselle , "
answered the Frenchman. "Some oth
er time , if you insist , but not today. It
is reward enough for me to have such
a pupil. Take the money and buy
yourself a keepsake to remind you of
me. "
But Marjorie shook her little head
firmly and answered :
"Please do not ask me , Monsieur
Leon. My guardian would be very
angry , and he sent me the money to
pay you. "
The Frenchman shrugged his shoul
ders.
"Well , as you please , only I would
not have you think that I teach you
for the money's sake ah , no. You
*
have brd .t light and sunshine to my
heart in J. , y exile ; when you come I
forget my sorrows , and when you go
away I am full of gloom. Ah , you
smile , but it is true. "
"Good-bye , now , Monsieur Leon , "
said Marjorie , moving toward the door ,
for she felt embarrassed and almost
frightened by the ardent looks of her
teacher.
"Good-bye. You will come again oi
Monday , will you not ? "
"Yes , Monsieur Leon. "
And Marjorie left the room anc
passed out into the sunny street.
( to be continued. )
"No Fish. "
Fine as are the salmon of New
Foundland , they are without honor in
their own country , as the following in
cident from Dr. S. T. Davis's "Cari
bou-Shooting in Newfoundland" will
show : Our way into the interior was
over a lovely pond. We had made an
early start , and left the foot of the
pond just as day was breaking. We
had not proceeded far when the writer
thought he could occasionally see the
water break with a splash in close
proximity to the canoe. Seated as he
was in the bow , he turned to the native
who was handling the paddle in the
stern , and inquired whether there were
any fish in the pond.
"Fish ? No , sir , no fish , sir. " -
Presently , when about half-way up
the pond , and just as the sun was peep
ing over the eastern horison , he saw ,
not six feet from the bow of the canoe ,
a magnificent salmon rise to the sur
face , and with a swish of his tail , dis
appear. Again the writer turned to his
friend with the remark , "Daddy , did
I understand you to say that there were
no fish in this pond ? "
"No fish , sir ; no fish. "
"Yes , but I beg your pardon I a
moment ago saw what I took to be a
twelveor fifteen-pound salmon break
the water not six feet from the bow of
the canoe. "
"Oh , that was a salmon. There are
plenty of trout and salmon in all these
waters , but no fish , sir. Nothing counts
as fish in these parts but codfish , sir. * '
So Triclcy.
"Seme folks , " said Uncle Eben , "is so
tricky dat when dey comes acrost ? r
man dat's shu' 'nuff honest dey gets
skyaht an' says he mus' be playin' a
pow'ful deep game. " Washington
Star.
Gum chewing is not a modern habit. ,
Way back in the time of the Vedas the j
Hindoo maidens chewed gum. But •
then , they were uncivilized and knew .
no better. {
In .England 511 boys and 489 girls is )
the normal proportion of births a year i
to every thousand of population. (
" * " ' ' ' ' " * " ' " ' ' '
" * ; i M
K"i7i • " * - - -
.
glSfMfcVimi.iir ii. jmp ' yMiTiiiiiipii ' iifiLil. 'MSIlMtoi ii.im , . " 'Pi ' i " i " ! ' ! ' " " . " ! " " '
' ' " y in ttt . .iVlr. N c-i > t.i'4w''i"j
TALMAGE'S" SEEMON.
/
"MUSIC IN THE CHURCHES"
SUNDAY'S SUBJECT.
I'rom the Text , II. Chron. . * : i : ; an Fol
lows : "It fa mo 1ch to I'ass the
ShiKcr.i Were ii * Ono to Mnk < > One
Sound la the rraijse or the Lord. "
temple wa3
done. It was the
very chorus of all
magnificence and
pomp. Splendor
fHE against
splendor. It was
the diamond neck
lace of the earth.
From the huge pil
lars crowned with
'leaves and flowers
anu rows of pomegranate wrought out
in burnished metal , down even to the
tongs and snuffers made out of pure
gold , everything was as complete as
the God-directed architect could make
it. It seemed as if a vision from
heaven had alighted on the mountains.
The day for dedication came. Tradi
tion says that there were in and around
about the temple on that day two hun
dred thousand silver trumpets , forty
thousand harps , forty thousand tim
brels , and two hundred thousand sing
ers ; so that all modern demonstrations
at Dusseldorf or Boston seem nothing
compared with that. As this great
sound surged up amid the precious
stones of the temple , it must have
seemed like the River of Life dashing
against the amethyst of the wall of
heaven. The sound arose , and God , as
| f to show that he was well pleased with
the music which his children make in
all ages , dropped into the midst of the
temple a cloud of glory so overpower
ing that the officiating priests were
obliged to stop in the midst of the ser
vices.
There has been much discussion as
to where music was born. I think that
at the beginning ; "when the morning
stars sang together and all the sons of
God shouted for joy , " that the earth
heard the echo. The cloud on which
the angel stood to celebrate the crea
tion was the birthplace of song. The
stars that glitter at night are only so
many keys of celestial pearl , on which
God's fingers play the music of the
spheres. Inanimate nature is full of
God's stringed and wind instruments.
Silence itself perfect silence is only
a musical rest In God's great anthem
of worship. Wind among the leaves ,
insect humming in the summer air , the
rush of billow upon beach , the ocean
far out sounding its everlasting psalm ,
the bobolink on the edge of the forest ,
the quail whistling up from the grass ,
are music. While visiting Blackwell's
Island , I heard , coming from a window
of the lunatic asylum , a very sweet
song. It was sung by one who had
lost her reason , and I have come to be
lieve that even the deranged and disor
dered elements of nature would make
music to our ear , if we only had acuteness -
ness enough to listen. I suppose that
even the sounds in nature that are dis
cordant and repulsive make harmony
In God's ear. You know that you may
come so near to an orchestra that the
sounds are painful instead of pleasur
able , and I think that we stand > so near
devastating storm and frightful whirl
wind , we cannot hear that which makes
to God's ear and the ear of the spirits
above us a music as complete as it is
tremendous.
I propose to speak about sacred mu
sic , first showing you its importance
and then stating some of the obstacles
to its advancement ,
j I draw the first argument for the im
portance of sacred music from the fact
that God commanded it. Through
Paul he tells us to admonish one an
other to psalms and hymns and spiritu
al songs ; through David he cries out :
( "Sing ye to God , all ye kingdoms of the
earth. " And there are hundreds of
other passages I might name , proving
that it is as much a man's duty to sing
as it is his duty to pray. Indeed , I
think there are more commands in the
Bible to sing than there are to pray.
God not only asks for the human voice ,
but for the instruments of music. He
asks for the cymbal and the harp and
the trumpet. And I suppose that in
the last days of the church the harp ,
the lute , the trumpet , and all the in
struments of music that have given
their chief aid to the theater and bac
chanal , will be brought by their mas
ters and laid down at the feet of Christ
and then sounded in the church's tri
umph on her way from suffering into
glory. "Praise ye the Lord ! " Praise
him with your voices. Praise him
with stringed instruments and with
organs.
S I draw another argument for the im
portance of this exercise from the impressiveness -
pressiveness of the exercise. You
know something of what secular mu
sic has achieved. You know it has
made its impression upon governments ,
upon laws , upon literature , upon whole
generations. One inspiring national
air is worth thirty thousand men as a
standing army. There comes a time in
the battle when one bugle is worth a
thousand muskets. In the earlier part
of our civil war the government pro
posed to economize in bands of music ,
and many of them were sent home , but
the generals in the army sent word to
Washington : "You are making a very
great mistake. We are falling back
and falling back. We have not enough
music. " I have to tell you that no
nation or church can afford to severely
economize in music ,
i Why should we rob the programmes
of worldly gaiety when we have so
many appropriate song3 and tunes
composed in our own day , as well as
that magnificent inheritance of church
psalmody which has come down fra
grant with the devotions of other gen
erations tunes no more worn out ' • • n
when our great-grandfathers climbed
up on them from the church new to
i i i i rt il > jSSftmm Li i n 11 1 i h ii i i 7ftii <
f
glory ? Dear old souls , how they used
to sing ! And in those days there were
certain tunes married to certain hymns
and they have lived in peace a great
while , these two old people , and we
have no right to divorce them. Born
as we have been amid this great wealth
of church music , augmented by the
compositions of artists in our day , wc
ought not to be tempted out of the
sphere of Christian harmony , and try
to seek uncdnsecratcd sounds. It is
absurd for a millionaire to steal.
Many of you are Illustrations of what
a sacred song can do. Through it you
were brought into the kingdom of Jesus
Christ. You stood out against the warn
ing and the argument of the pulpit , but
when , in the sweet words of Charles
Wesley or John Newton or Toplady , tin :
love of Jesus was sung to your soul ,
then you surrendered , as an armed cas
tle that could not be taken by a host ,
lifts its windows to listen to a harp's
trill. * * *
But I must now speak of some of the
obstacles in the way of the advance
ment of this sacred music , and the first
is that it lias been impressed into the
service of Satan. I am far from belicv-
Jng that music ought always to be posi
tively religious. Refined art has open
ed places where music has been secu
larized , and lawfully so. The drawing
room , the concert , by the gratification
of pure taste and the production of
harmless amusement and tha improve
ment of talent. have beepme very
forces In the advancement of our civil
ization. Music has as much right to
laugh in Surrey Gardens as it has to
pray in St. Paul's. In the kingdom
of nature we have the glad fifing of
the wind as well as the long-meter
psalm of the thunder. But while all
this is so , every observer has noticed
that this art , which God intended for
the improvement of the ear , and the
voice , and the head , and the heart , has
often been impressed into the service
of error. Tartini , the musical com
poser , dreamed one night that Satan
snatched from his hand an instrument
and played upon it something very
sweet a dream that has often been
fulfilled in our day , the voice and the
instruments that ought to have been
devoted to Christ , captured from the
church and applied to the purposes of
sin.
Another obstacle has been an inordi
nate fear of criticism. The vast ma
jority of people singing in church nev
er want anybody else to hear them
sing. Everybody is waiting for some
body else to do his duty. If we all
sang then the inaccuracies that are
evident when only a few sang would
be drowned out. God asks you to do
as well as you can , and then if you get
the wrong pitch or keep wrong time
he will forgive any deficiency of the
ear and imperfection of the voices.
Angels will not laugh if you should
lose your place in the musical scale or
come in at the close a bar behind.
There are three schools of singing , I
am told the German school , the Ital
ian school , and the French school of
singing. Now , I would like to add a
fourth school , and that is the school
of Christ. The voice of a contrite ,
broken heart , although it may not be
able to stand human criticism , makes
better music in God's ear than the most
artistic performance when the heart is
wanting. God calls on the beasts , on
the cattle , on the dragons , to praise
him , and we ought not to be behind the
cattle and the dragons.
Another obstacle in the advancement
of this art has been the erroneous no
tion that this part of the service could
be conducted by delegation. Churches
have said , "O , what an easy time we
shall have. The minister will do the
preaching , and the choir will do the
singing , and we will have nothing to
do. " And you know as well as I that i
there are a great multitude of churches -
this land where the
all through people i
are not expected to sing. The whole j
work is done by delegation of four or ;
six or ten persons , and the audience (
are silent. In such a church in Syracuse -
cuse , an old elder persisted in singing - ,
ing , and so the choir appointed a committee - j
mittee to go and ask the elder if he j
would not stop. You know that in
many churches the choir are expected
to do all the singing , and the great
mass of the people are expected to
be silent , and if you utter your voice
you are interfering. In that church
they stand , the four , with opera-glasses
dangling at their side , singing "Rock
of Ages , Cleft for Me , " with the same
spirit that , the night before on the
stage , they took their part in the
Grand Duchess or Don Giovanni.
My Christian friends , have we a right
to delegate to others the discharge of
this duty which God demands of us ?
Suppose that four wood-thrushes pro
pose to do all the singing some bright
day , when the woods are ringing with
bird voices. It is decided that four
wood-thrushes shall do all of the sing
ing of the forest. Let all other voices
keep silent. How beautifully the four
warble ! It is really fine music. But
how long will you keep the forest still ?
Why , Christ won't come into that for
est and look up , as he looked through
the olives , and he would wave his hand
and say , "Let everything that hath
breath praise the Lord , " and , keeping
time with the stroke of innumerable
wings , there would be five thousand
bird voices leaping into the harmony.
Suppose this delegation of musical per
formers were tried in heaven ; suppose
that four choice spirits should try to do
the singing of the upper Temple.
Hush now ! thrones and dominions and
principalities. David , be still , though
you were the "sweet singer of Israel. "
Paul , keep quiet , though you have come
to that crown of rejoicing. Richard
Baxter , keep still , though this is the
"Saints' Everlasting Rest. " Four spir
its now do all the singing. But how
long would heaven be quiet ? How
long ? "Hallelujah ! " would cry some
glorified Methodist from under the al
tar. "Praise the Lord ! " would sing the
martyrs from among the thrones.
"Thanks be unto God who giveth us
the victory ! " a great multitude of re-
1 •
deemed spirits would cry myriads of | |
voices coming into the harmony and It
the oue hundred and forty and four | | M
thousand breaking forth into ono ac- If \ <
claumtiou. Stop that loud singingr ff U
Stop ! Oh , no ; they cannot hear me. ' * * \ ,
You might n3 well try to drown the | • * I
thunder of the sky , or beat back the ' t { |
roar of the bea , for every soul in heav- ' t " 1
en has resolved to do Its own singing. a
Alas ! 1 hat wo should have tried on N
earth that which they cannot do In ii
heaven , and , Instead of joining all our w
voices in the pralso of the Most High M
God , delegating perhaps to unconse'M
crated men and women this most sol- jM
emu and most delightful service. m
*
Music ought to rush from the au- m
dlence like the water from a rock s
clear , bright , sparkling. If all the oth- ft
er part of the church service Is dull , M
do not have the music dull. With so M
many thrilling things to sing about , . H
away with all drawling and stupidity ! jfl
There Is nothing makes me so nervous Ml
as to sit in a pulpit and look off on an ' fl
audience with their eyes three-fourthB iw
closed and their lips almost shut , mum- l | |
bllug the praises of God. During my % ' { Hi
recent absence I preached to a large &
audience , and all the music they made 1
together did not equal one skylark.
People do not sleep at a coronation. Do | i *
not let us sleep when wc come to a *
Saviour's crowning. In order to a prop- 1'
er discharge of this duty , let us stand 1
up , save as age or weakness or fatigue a1
excuses us. Seated in an easy pew we \ ft
cannot do this duty half so well as ft
when , upright , we throw our whole I
body into it. Let our song be like an ft
acclamation of victory. You have a ij
right to sing. Do not surrender your ft
prerogative. Si
We want to rouse all our families ij
upon this subject. We want each fam- II
ily of our congregation to be a singing
school. Childish petulance , obduracy IB
and intractability would be soothed if II
we had more singing in the household. f'I
and then our little ones would be pre- I I
pared for the great congregation oa I fl
Sabbath day , their voices uniting with fl
our voices in the praises of the Lord. jfl
After a shower there are scores of | B
streams that come down the mountain | fl
side with voices rippling and silvery. IV
pouring into one river , and then roll- ' , ft
ing In united strength to the sea. So l ft
I would have all the families in our M
church send forth the voice of prayer M
and praise , pouring it into the great M
tide of public worship that rolls on and f |
on to empty into the great wide heart 1 |
of God. Never can we have our church I B
sing as it ought until our families sing / B
as they ought. | H
There will be a great revolution on B
this subject in all our churches. God * ' B
will come down by his Spirit and rouse B
up the old hymns and tunes that have H
not been more than half awake since H
the time of our grandfathers. The silent - H
lent pews in the church will break j H
forth into music , and when the con- ; ft
ductor takes his place on the Sabbath ft
Day there will be a great host of voices F l
rushing into the harmony. My Chris- f l
tian friends , if we have no taste for l l
this service on earth , what will we do f l
in heaven , where they all sing , and M
sing forever ? I would that our singing - M
ing today might be like the Saturday M
night rehearsal for the Sabbath morn- fling
y
ing in the skies , and we might begin B
now , by the strength and by : he help B
of God , to discharge a duty which none B
of us has fully performed. And now ; fl
what more appropriate thing can I do B
than to give out the Doxology of the- B
heavens , "Unto him who hath loved H
us , and washed us from our sin3 in hi ? B
own blood , to him be glory forever ! " B
QUEER FABRICS. - |
There is a firm in Venice which is H
turning out glass bonnets by the thousand - B
sand and several other European factories - . |
tories are showing remarkable results ft
in this particular industry. The In- H
fonta Mercedes , sister of the little king H
5f Spain , recently received from the , H
Venetian factory a white ball dress of ' H
spun glass as pliable as silk. Many j B
society women with a whim for the |
curious have similar gowns. j j H
Queen Victoria owns a more marvel- ft
ous robe. In 1877 the empress of Bra- j H
zil sent her a gown woven from a cer- ft
tain spider's web which for fineness of ' > l
texture and beauty surpasses the love- r | |
liest silk. A drachm of web reaches 200 „ j H
miles and is proportionately stronger } |
than a bar of tempered steel. A web _ |
of equal thickness would support sev- , |
enty-four tons , while steel would t j H
break at fifty tons. These spiders when i M
at work eat seventy-eight times their r |
own weight every day and produce only - |
half of silk.
ly a grain j
jo l
Louis XIV. has a coat made of spi- H
ders' web which was a great curiosity t fl
in those days. Le Bon , a great beau I l
of Languedoc , had , some 200 years ago. n B
webs woven into gloves and stockings. f' B
In one of Gilbert's funny "Bah Bal- |
lads" there is a story of two noted B
dukes , one of whom wore silver un- s' ' H
derclothing and the other pewter. The n B
Japanese make underclothing of H
much cheaper commodity paper fine- I H
ly crisped and grained. This is cut. H B
sewed together as cloth would be , and f |
where buttonholes are necessary linen l ft
is used for strengthening the paper. ' 1
The material is strong and flexible * fl l
and light , weighing about ninety grains x l
to the square foot. The Japanese also c H
make umbrellas of paper which even ( l
after it has become wet is hard to * H
* |
t H
To Get Kid of File * . o B
Pope Stephen ( A. D. 890) ) drove away .e l
a plague of locusts by sprinkling the as fl
fields with holy water , while St. Bernard - B
nard destroyed an innumerable multitude - B
tude of flies which filled his church H
and interrupted his sermon by simply B
pronouncing the words excommunico • H
eas ( "I excommunicate them" ) . Corn- , B
hill Magazine. j B