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About The McCook tribune. (McCook, Neb.) 1886-1936 | View Entire Issue (Dec. 31, 1897)
H tM - * ' " " " " ' ' ' ' ! n , . . . . . . . P - | | , , . | , , , , B , INTERNATIONAL PRESS ASSOCIATION. . : B CHAPTER XXII. ( Continued. ) B " ' " she con- "Folk tnink ye o'er-gcntle , B tlnued , "but I've aye liked you because V I was sure ye had a stubborn w ill when ' your conscience told you that the right K' was on your side. If that man has P' , wronged Marjorie Annan , would you be B feared to face him and avenge her ? " B "If he has played the villlan , " an- H swered Sutherland , deadly pale , hut dc- F termined , "I would hunt him down and fl punish him , though I had to follow him PH round and round the world. " vV As the young man spoke , his face BLj -wore an expression which few had ev- B r noticed there before ; < all the softness K and sweetness disappeared , the lines B deepened , the eyes hardpned , and the B < -entire aspect grew hard as granite , and g as unrelenting' B "I was right , " said the old lady , neB - B ticing the change. "Ye have the Heth- f \f erington temper , Johnnie Sutherland , B ' Oh , that I were a man to gang in youi B place ! But you shall follow them with R- the sv/iftness o' youth and the keenness B o * injured love. " IB A few minutes later , Sutherland left B. the Castle , fully authorized to lwing B Marjorie back if possible , and armed B vrlth ample means , in the shape of a Bt large sum of money , which Miss Ilcth- V- ' -erington thrust upon him. B Left to herself in the lonely Castle , fB > * ne laly retired to her private suite oi B apartments , and there gave way to the B wild tempest of her sorrow and deB - B spair. Pride and self-reproach con- B tended together for the mastery of her VBt heart ; but love was there , too the in- B tense love of maternity , which for near- B ly eighteen years had been flickering B secretly like a feeble fire. B Sitting in her arm-chair , her head ly- B i"S back and her eyes fixed wildly on B > the window's glimmering square and B tne dreary prospect beyond , she fell in- B to a troubled dream of the past. B Again she was a proud , passionate K Sirl , reckless in her comings and goB - B ings , caring for nothing in the world B hut the smiles of one man , and fearing B nothing but the anger of her savaga B' brother , in whom the tigerish blood of B tue Male Hetheringtons ran twice fiery B through lust and wine. B So haughty and unlovable had she m seemed , so stubborn and capricious , B that only one man had dared to woo B ner that man her father's and her V k "brother's enemy , the enemy of all her K' house. They had met in secret , and B she , with characteristic stubbornness , Bv naa loved him better for the feud that BVy * * might have kept them asunder. And Bi at last , * n a u'ilc moment of impulse , B she had placed herself at his mercy , H' and had loved him without God's bless- B inS or the sanction of clergyman or H priest. H Then , to the terror and amaze of H both , came the knowledge that she was fl about to become a mother. B. Not till she confessed her situation B * to l"m did sue discover that the hate B ° f lier family was justified , and that B . he had loved a villain ; for almost B simultaneously came the news that he BJ "vvas about to marry the daughter of an Bf "English earl. She taxed him with it , fl and he scarcely took the trouble to de- fl nv it. He could never , he said , unite B himself with one of her house. P How it came about she scarcely B knew ; but one night , when she met her B lover and faced him with wild. up- B hraidings a hand like iron was laid H upon her arm , and turning , she saw B her brother Hugh. The two men faced B each ether ; there were a few words , fl then a blow , and she saw her lover's B face livid and bleeding as she swooned H away. B Later that night , when Hugh Heth- B erington sought her in that very cham- B her where she was now sitting , he had "B wrung the whole truth from her , and , fl hearing it. .had struck her , too , with B iifcs clinched fist in the face. L As she thought of that time , she rose B feebly and looked into the glass , les , B the mark was there yet ; she would m carry it to her grave. Her worn face B went ghastlier yet as she remembered B what had followed. How her wild B hrother left the place and was absent B for many days ; and how , just after he BK' returned and drove her forth , she read K ( in a newspaper that Lord Lochmaben , Bf ° f the great Lcchmabens of the Border , B hafl Just died suddenly in his 35th year , Bi somewhere abroad. There was no " B" scandal ; the world did not even know m how Lochmaben perished , but she K knew that he had fallen by the hand of B Hugh Ketherington , in a duel fought T with swords on foreign soil. B Ah , the darkness , the horror , the des- Bv elation of the next few months ! NeB B one but her brother knew her secret , B and ne kcPtifc well so tnat ali the B "world heard was that the brother and B sister had quarreled , and that she had B left the Castle to dwell , temporarily at B least , apart. No one wondered. The B Hetherington temper was well known , B a by-word ; it was as natural that such V& > a brother and sister should hate each L other as that swords should clash , or B > fire and torrent disagree. B Creeping in secret to a town upon the Bp English border , she had hidden her B ) shame among the poorest of the poor. B No one knew her ; no one suspected but K that she was some lowly woman who Ml had gone astray in the manner only B * too common among her class. Then at K last her little one was born. V Sitting and reviewing it all darkly , B seeing memory's phantom images mi flashing and fading before her , like colors ever changing in a kaleidoscope Miss Hetherington felt again that wild murderous thrill which hunted creat ures , animal and human , often feel and which tempts them despairingly deliriously to destroy their young She shuddered and cowered , remem bering her first impulse. But the chile had lived ; and one night , holding it to her heart , the mother had disappeared from the strange town as mysteriously as she had come , leaving no trace or clew. Fascinated and afraid , she had re turned to Annandale , hiding herself by day , traveling in the darkness only. How dark it had been , how the wind had roared , that night when she flitted like a ghost round the manse , and saw the gentle old pastor counting his souvenirs within ! Her intention had been to go right on to the Castle with her burden ; but the sight of the good man decided her , and she acted as the reader knows leaving the infant on the doorstep , and flitting silently away. That night the brother and sister stood face to face. What was said and done no one knew ; but after a stormy scene the lady remained at the Castle. No one dreamed of connecting her with the waif just discovered at the manse door , for no one but her brother knew the secret of her fall ; and as if by a special providence the corpse of a wom an was washed up some days later on the Solway sands , and suspicion point ed to this woman as the mother of the little castaway. From that'time forth , till the day ( which came so soon ) when her broth er died , Miss Hetherington had little erne no communion with him ; and when he paseed away , as wildly and darkly as he had lived , she shed no tears. She had never forgiven him , would never forgive him this side the grave , for slaying the only man she had ever loved , and who , perhaps , might have made amends. She brooded over her wrongs till „ she grew prematurely old , and dwelt in the lonely house , of which she was now sole mistress , like a ghost in a sepulcher , from dismal day to day. John Sutherland lost no time in the pursuit. He hastened to Dumfries at once , and , by questioning the railway offi cials , soon discovered that the fugi tives had gone southward by the mail the previous night. Further inquiry led him to Carlisle , and the very inn they had stopped at. Here he learned from the landlady that the young couple had been married and had tak en the one o'clock train for London. It was all over , then ; he had lost Mar jorie forever. Of what avail was it now to follow and attempt to save her ? Dazed and despairing , he found his way back to the railway station. He found the telegraph office still open , and at once dispatched a telegram to Dumfries , paying for a special messen ger to take it on to Annandale Castle. The message was as follows : "They were married here this morn ing , and arc gone south together. What amltoelo ? " To this came the answer : "Do not come back. Follow her ; hear the truth from her own lips ! Spare no expense , but find her. I leave it all to you. " It seemed a useless errand , but he wiis in no mood to argue or disobey. So ho took the first train that was go ing southward , and before mid-day was far on his way to London. CHAPTER XXIII. fij S } OR days Suther- (73 ( | 1 ys land searched Lon- . J . f5 = ! = 5y < ! ° n in vain for a /jC j I K V trace of the fugitive { OrojCj I VCI couple ; then acci- ( Lyipl ffllP dent revealed t0 I H Vi-i - * " * i nim what a search - \ vfc'Svcf m ° nths might -s y gi never have done. f [ He was walking a ' * " along moodily , with his eyes on the ground ; ho had passed into the neighborhood of Leicester Square , when suddealy he started and trembled from head to foot. A voice , it seemed to him a familiar voice , struck upon his ear. It was speaking volubly in the French tongue. Hurriedly he drew aside to allow the person to pass him by ; then , looking up , he recognized the French teacher Caussidiere. Yes , it certainly was he , beyond all manner of doubt ! He was carrying on such an excited conversation with his companion that he not even noticed Sutherland , whose sleeve he had al most brushed. Sutherland's first impulse was to rush forward and confront the French man , his next to drop back , to remain unobserved behind and follow him. The latter course he followed. Where he went he could not tell , be ing unversed in the ways and the by ways of the great city , but he was tak en in and out of by-streets and slums mostly inhabited by French refugees ; presently the two men entered a house , from which , after a lapse of an hour , which to Sutherland seemed an eterni ty , the Frenchman emerged alone. He called up a hansom ; Sutherland called up one also , and they rattled away aft er ea'ch other. The Frenchman's hansom stopped s gwvwr-i in iiibii3Bbm nmiiauiiMa presently at a house in Gowcr street Sutherland , after noting the number o ! the house in passing , pulled up hh hansom at the corner of the noxi street and walked quietly back again. By this time both Caussidiere and IiIe hansom had disappeared , but Suther land recognized the place. He walked up and down on the opposite side oi the way , examining the house , storing at It as if ho would fain penetrate those dark walls and see the fair face which he suspected to be within. Then he calmly walked over.knocked at the door and ineiuired for "Madame Caussidiere. " The servant admitted him , and he was at once shown upstairs. In one thing Sutherland was fortunate Caus sidiere was not at home. Ho had entered the house only for a moment to give his hurried instruc tions to Marjorie. "Pack up your things at once , " he had said ; "prepare yourself by the hour of my return. We leave for Paris to night. " Then he had hastened down again , entered the hansom , and driven away , Ju3t an hour later the hansom con taining Caussidiere stopped again be fore the house. This time the man re ceived his fare , and the cab drove away empty , while Caussidiere entered the house and went up to his rooms. He found Marjorie in tears , and John Sutherland by her ride. At sight of the latter he started , lock ing the reverse of pleased ; the presence of the young painter , by no means de sirable at any time , was at that mo ment particularly embarrassing. But Caussidiere was not easily abashed ; his presence of mind only deserted him for a moment ; then he came forward with a sinister smile. "So it is you , monsieur , " he said. "I am amazed , but I cannot say that I am altogether pleased , since through find ing Marjorie in your presence , I see her with a sorrowful face , and with tears in her eyes. " He came forward as he spoke , and held forth his hand , but Sutherland did not take it. He rose from his seat , and stood awkwardly looking at the two. Marjorie rushed forward and took her husband's arm. "Ah , Leon , " she said , "do not be an gry because I cried a little at seeing an old friend. Though I love the past , my love for you is not less ; and he lias told me such strange news. " Caussidiere smiled down upon her and patted her cheek. It was wonder ful how self-possessed he felt now ho knew that no one could step between him and his prize. "Well , my child , " ho said , "and what is this great news which he has told you ? " "He has told me of my mother , Leon of my dear mother. " "Pccitively. " "Do you understand , Leon , that Miss Hetherington is my " "Assuredly I understand , little one. If I remember rightly , it fell to my share to tax the lady with the fact some time ago , and she could not deny it. " "Then ycu did not know of it , and you never uttered a word ; you never tola me , Leon ! " "Told you ! certainly not , mon amie ! It was not my province to reveal the dark spots on the fame of the proud old lady of the Castle. " "It was not your province to tempt an innocent girl away from her home and her friends , " cried Sutherland ? iot- ly ; "yet you have done it. " The Frenchman flushed angrily. ( TO BE CONTINUED. ) WOMAN AND THE CAMEf. 'A. rhotojnp5 > V as a Profession Should Ap peal to the Fair Sex. Miss Frances Benjamin Johnston , the photographic artist , writes , in the Ladies * Home Journal , on "What a Woman Can Do With a Camera , " tell ing the requisites for artistic and finan cial success in the pursuit of photog raphy as a profession. "It is a profes sion , " she contends , "that should strongly appeal particularly to women , and in it there are great opportunities for a good-paying business but only under very well-defined conuitions. The prime requisites as summed up in my mind after long experience and thought arc these : The woman who makes photography profitable must have , as to personal qualities , good common sense , unlimited patience tp carry her through endless failures , equally unlimited tact , good taste , a quick eye , a talent for detail , and a genius for hard work. In addition , she needs training , experience , some capi tal , and a field to exploit. This may seem , at first glance , an appaling list , but it is incomplete rather than exag gerated ; although to an energetic , am bitious woman , with even ordinary op portunities , success is always possible , and hard , intelligent and conscientious work seldom fails to develop small be ginnings into large results. "Good work should command good prices and the wise woman will place a paying value upon her best efforts. It is a mistaken business policy to try and build up trade by doing something badly cheaper than some body else. A.s to your personal attitude , be businesslike ness-like in all your methods ; cultivate tact , an affable manner , and an unfail ing courtesy. It costs nothing but a little self-control and determination to be patient and good-natured under most circumstances. A pleasant , oblig ing and business-like bearing will of ten prove the most important part of a clever woman's capital. " Many of the convicts in French pris ons are paid for their labor , and earn about 35 cents a day. Half of this they are allowed to spend for extra food , postage , etc. , and the rest is saved , to be given to them on their discharge. TALMAfrIS SERMON. SCRIPTURE OF THE DEEP COD AMONG THE CORALS. I'rom the Text "No Mention Shall TJe Made of Coral" Job Chap. XXVIHi Verso 18 I.ovo of ( ioil for the lleaa- tlful. \ f 7 ( " 5X ( W * * Y fl0 you say v \ / \V \ jMll that , inspired dra- \ \ ! / MfSJW matist ? When you tf&XjLw W wanted to set fortb "SKIP / y\ the superior value " W 'T ' iiSfcS'K ' of our reliSlon , you vf0tiy tossed aside the fjfUnf \ \ onyx , which is ( q&c { N&k used for making | Wl % ' exquisite cameos , ( v\\S s. and the sapphire , sky-blue , and to paz of rhombic prism , and the ruby oi frozen blood , and here you. say that the coral , which is a miracle of shape and a transport of color to those ' who have studied it , is not worthy of men tion in comparison with our holy re ligion. "No mention shall be made oi coral. " At Saint Johnsbury , Vt. , in a museum built by the chief citizen , as I examined a specimen on the shelf , I first realized what a holy of holies God can build and has built in the temple of one piece of coral. I dc not wonder that Ernst Heckel , the great scientist , while in Ceylon , was so entranced with the specimens which some Cingalese divers had brought up for his inspection that he himself plunged into the sea , and went clear under the waves at the risk of his life , again , and again , and again , that he might know more of the coral , the beauty of which he indicates cannot even be guessed by those who have only seen it above water , and after the polyps , which are its sculptors , and architects , have died and the chief glories of these submarine flowers have expired. Job , in my text , did not mean to depreciate this divine sculpture in the coral reefs along the sea coasts. No one can afford to de preciate these white palaces of the deep , built under God's direction. He never changes his plans for the build ing of the islands and shores ; and for uncounted thousands of years the coral gardens , and the coral castles , and the coral battlements go on and up. I charge you that you will please God and please yourself if you will go into the minute examination of the corals their foundations , their pinna cles , their aisles , their pillars , their curves , their cleavages , their reticula tion , their grouping families of them , towns of them , cities of them , and continents of them. Indeed , you cannot appreciate the meaning of my text unless you know something of the coral. Labyrinthian , stellar , col umnar , floral , dented like shields from battle , spotted like leopards , embroid ered like lace , hung like upholstery twilight and auroras and sunbursts of beauty ! From deep crimson to milk- white are its colors. You may find this work of God through the ani malcules eighty fathoms down , or amid the breakers , where the sea dashes the wildest , and beats the mightiest , and bellows the loudest. Nothing so impresses me with the fact that our God loves the beauti ful. The most beautiful coral of the world never comes to human observa tion. Sunrises and sunsets he hangs up for nations to look at ; he may green the grass , and round the dew into pearl , and set on lire autumnal foliage to please mortal sight , but those thousands of miles of coral achievement I think he has had built for his own delight. In those galleries he alone can walk. The music of those keys , played on by the fingers of the wave , he only can hear. The snow of that white and the bloom o "f that crimson he alone can see. Having garnitured this world to please the hu man race , and lifted a glorious heaven to piea.se the angelic intelligences , I am glad that he has planted these gar dens of the deep to please himself. But here and there God allows speci mens of submarine glory to be brought up and set before us for sublime con templation. While I speak , these great nations of zoophytes , meandrinas and madrepores , with tentacles for trowel , are building just such coral as we find in our text. The diamond may be more rare , the crystal may be more spark ling , the chrysoprase may be more ablaze , but the coral is the long , deep , everlasting blush of the sea. Yet Job , who understood all kinds of precious stones , declares that the beauty and value of the coral are nothing com pared with our holy religion , and he picks up this coralline formation and locks at it , and flings it aside with all the other beautiful things he has ever heard of , and cries out in ecstasy of admiration for the superior qual ities of our religion : "No mention shall be made of coral. " Take my hand , and we will walk through this bower of the sea , while I show you that even exquisite coral is not worthy of being compared with the richer jewels of a Christian soul. The first thing that strikes me in look ing at the coral is its long continued accumulation. It is not turned up like Cotepaxi , but is an outbutting and an outbranching of ages. In Polynesia there are reefs hundreds of feet deep and one thousand miles long. Who built these reefs , these islands ? The zoophytes , the corallines. They were not such workers who built the pyra mids as were these masons , these crea tures of the sea. What small crea tions amounting to what vast aggre gation ? Who can estimate the ages between the time when the madrepores laid the foundations of the islands and the time when the madrepores put on the capstone of a completed work ? It puzzles all the scientists to guess through how many years the corallines were building the Sandwich and Society Islands and the Marshall and Gilbert groups. But more slowly and wonderfully accumulative is grace in the heart. You sometimes get discouraged because the upbuild ing by the soul does not go on more rapidly. Why , you have all eternity to build In ! The little annoyances , of life are zoophyte builders , and there will be small layer on top of small lay er , and fossilized grief on the top of fossilized grief. Grace dees not go up rapidly In your soul , but , blessed be God , it goes up. Ten thousand million ages will not finish you. You will never be finished. On forever ! Up forever ! Out of the sea of earthly dis quietude will gradually rise the reefs , the islands , the continents , the hem ispheres of grandeur and glory. Men talk as though in this life we only had time to build ; but what we build in this life , as compared with what wb shall build in the next life , is as a striped shell to Australia. You go Into an architect's study and there you see the sketch of a temple , the corner stone of which has not yet been laid. O , that I could have an architectural sketch of what you will be after eter nity has wrought upon you ! What pillars of strength ! What altars of su pernal worship ! What pinnacles thrusting their glittering spikes into the sun that never sets ! You do not scold the corallines because they can not build an island in a day. Why should you scold yourself because you cannot complete a temple of holiness for the heart in this short lifetime ? You tell me we do not amount to much now , but try us after a thou sand million ages of hallelujah. Let us hear the angels chant for a mil lion centuries. Give us an eternity with God , and then see if we do not amount to something. More slowly and marvelously accumulative is the grace in the soul than anything I can think of. "No mention shall be made of coral. " Again , I take your hand , and we walk on through this garden of the sea and look more particularly than we did at the beauty of the coral. The poets have all been fascinated with it. One of them wrote : "There , with a broad and easy motion , The fan coral sweeps through the clear deep sea. And the yellow and scarlet tufts of the ocean Are bent like corn on the uplanl lea. " One specimen of coral is called the dendrophilia , because it is like a tree ; another is called the astrara , because it is like a star ; another is called the brain coral , because it is like the con volutions of the human brain ; another is called the fan coral , because it is like the instrument with which you cool yourself on a hot day ; another specimen is called the organ pipe coral , because it resembles the king of mu sical instrument. All the flowers and all the shrubs in the gardens of the land have their correspondencies in this garden of the sea. Corallum ! It is a synomym for beauty. And yet there is no beauty in the coral com pared with our religion. It givds physiognomic beauty. It does not change the features ; it does not give features with which the person was not originally endowed , but it sets behind the features of the homeliest person a heaven that shines clear through. So that often , on first ac quaintance , you said of a man : "He is the homeliest person I ever saw , " ' when , after you come to understand him and his nobility of soul shining through his countenance , you said : "He is the loveliest person I ever saw. " No one ever had a homely Christian mother. Whatever the world may have thought of her , there were fwo who thought well your father , who had admired her for fifty years , and you , over whom she bent with so many tender ministrations. When you think of the angels of God , and your mother among them , she outshines them all. Oh , that our young people could un derstand that so much beautifies the human countenance as the religion rf Jesus Christ ! It makes everything beautiful. Trouble beautiful. Sick ness beautiful. Disappointment beau tiful. Everything beautiful. Near my early home there was a place called the "Two Bridges. " These bridges leaped the two streams. Well , my friends , the religion of Jesus Christ is two bridges. It bridges all the past. It arches and overspans all the future. It makes the dying pil low the landing place of angels fresh from glory. It turns the sepulchre into a May-time orchard. It catches up the dying into full orchestra , Cor- allum ! And yet that does not express the beauty : "No mention shall he made of coral. " I take your hand again , and walk a little further on in this garden of the sea , and I notice the durability of the work of the coral. Montgomery speaks of it. He says : "Frail were their forms , ephemeral their lives , their masonry imperishable. " Rhizo- pods are insects so small that they are invisible , and yet they built the Ap- penines and they planted for their own monument the Cordilleras ! It takes 1S7,000,000 of them to make one grain. Corals are changing the navi gation of the sea , saying to the com merce cf the world , "Take this chan nel ; " "take this channel ; " "avoid the other channel. " Animalcules beat ing back the Atlantic and the Pacific seas ! If the insects of the ocean have built a reef a thousand miles long.who knows but that they may yet build a reef 3,000 mi'ies long , and thus , that by one stone bridge , Europe shall be united with this continent on one side , and by another stone bridge Asia will be united with this continent on the other side ; and the tourist of the % I world , without the turn of a Htoamor'tf I wheel , or the spread of u ahlp'a sail , I may go all around the world , I and thus bo fulfilled the prophesy , I "There shall bo no more sea. " I But the durability of the coral's I work Is not at all to be compared with I the durability of our work for God. I The coral Is going to crumble In the I fires of the last day , but our work for I God will endure forever. No more dinI couraged man ever lived than BcethovI en , the great musical composer. Unmercifully - I mercifully criticized by brother nrtlsts. 1 and his music sometimes rejected. I Deaf for twenty-five years , and forced. I on his way to Vienna , to beg food and 1 lodging at a plain house by the roadI side. In the evening the family opened I a musical instrument and played and I sang with great enthusiasm ; and one I of the numbers they rendered was so I emotional that tears ran down tneir I cheeks while they sang and played , fl Beethoven , sitting in the room , too' B deaf to hear the singing , was curious B to know what was the music that so fl overpowered them , and when they got fl through he reached up and took the fl folio in his hand and found it was his fl own music Beethoven's Symphony In fl A and ho cried out , "I wrote that ! " fl The household sat and stood abashed I to find that their poor-looking gue3t fl was the great composer. But he never H left that house alive. A fever seized H him that night , and no relief could bo fl afforded , and in a few days he Ji-iJ. fl But just before expiring ho took the H hand of his nephew , who had been sent H for and arrived , saying. "After all. B Hummel , I must have had some talfl ent. " Poor Beethoven ! His work. B still lives , and in the twentieth eenfl tury will be better appreciated than ! t B was in the nineteenth ; and as long ns H there is on earth an orchestra to play B or an oratorio to sing , Beethoven's H nine symphonies will be the enchantment - B ment of nations. But you arc not a M composer , and you say there is nothing M remarkable about you only a mother M trying to rear your family for usefulM ncss and heaven. Yet the song with M which you sing your child to sleep M will never cease Its mission. You will M grow old and die. That son will pass M out into the world. The song with M which you sang him to sleep last night fl will go with him while he lives , a confl scious or unconscious restraint and inspiration - B spiration here , and may help open to B him the gate of a glorious and triumphant - B phant hereafter. The lullabies of this fl century will sing through all the cenB turies. The humblest good accomplished - B plished in time will last through cterB nity. I sometimes get discouraged , as fl I suppose you do , at the vastness o ? B the work and at how little we are deB ing. And yet , do you suppose the B rhizopod said , "There is no need of my B working ! I can not build the CordilB leras. " Do you suppose the madrepore B said : "There is no need of my working - B ing ; I can not build the Sandwich IsH lands. " Each one attended to his own H business ; and there are the Sandwich H Islands , and there are the Cordilleras. H Ah. < my friends , the redemption of this H world is a great enterprise. I did not H see it start ; I will not in this world H see its close. I am only an insect as H compared with the great work to be H done , but yet I must do my part. H Help build this eternal corallum I will. B My parents toiled on this reef long before - H fore I was born. I pray God that my H children may toil on this reef longj H after I am dead. Insects all of us , but H honored by God to help heave up the H reef of light across which shall break B the ocean's immortal gladness. Better B be insignificant and useful than great B and idle. The mastodons and megaB theriums of the earth , what did they H do but stalk their great carcasses H across the land and leave their skeleH tons through the strata , while the corH allines went on heaving up the island H all covered with fruitage and verdure B Better be a coralline than a masto B don. So now I am trying to make eiu fl little coralline. The polyp picks ou' ' fl of the wave that smites it carbonatc B cf lime , and with that builds up it. B own insectile masonry. So out of hi B wave of your tears I take the salt ; ou fl of the bruise I take the blue , and ou B of your bleeding heart I take the red fl and out of them altogether I take thi B coral , which I pray may not be dis B owned in the day when God makes u B his jewels. H Little things decide great thingr H All that tremendous career of the las H Napoleon hanging on the hand of H brakeman who ' , on one of our America H railways , caught him as he was fal H ing between the cars of a flying traii H The battle of Dunbar was decide H against the Scotch because the ! | matches had given out. Aggregatioc B of little things that pull down or buil B up. When an army or a regimer B come to a bridge they are always con B manded to break ranks , for their sip B ultaneous tread will destroy tl fl rtrongest bridge. A bridge at Angier B France , and a bridge at Broughto B England , went down because the reg B ment kept step while crossing. A B gregatiens cf temptation aggregatio B of sorrow , aggregations of assaukfl | aggregations of Christian effort , aggr | gations of self-sacrifices ! These mai H the irresistible power to demolish B to uplift , to destroy or to save. Litd B causes and great results. Christia B ity was introduced into Japan by i B failing overboard of a pocket Bh B from a ship m the harbor of Tokio. ' H The Meanest Sian. H "About the meanest man I e\fl B knew , " said the steady liar , "was B fellow over in Indiana. His little b B got a leg cut off by a sawmill and T H old villain had a wooden leg made f H the kid of green willow in the ho fl that it might grow as the boy did , a fl save him the expense of getting a n' H one so oftpn. " H