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
