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About The Loup City northwestern. (Loup City, Neb.) 189?-1917 | View Entire Issue (Oct. 1, 1897)
INTERNATIONAL PRESS ASSOCIATION. CHAPTKIl Ill.-ICONTIM *i>.) The day following there was a sim ple funeral. In a solitary burial-place, seldom used, and lying within a short distance of the apot where the body waa found. Mr. Lorraine defrayed the expenses out of his own pocket, saw that everything was decently, though simply arranged, and himself read the beautiful burial service over the coffin. He had now no doubt In his mind that I he drowned woman was the mother of the Infant left under his care, and that by destroying herself she had simply carried out her desperate determina tion. All attempts to Identify her, how ever, continued without aval). In quiries were made on every side, ad vertisements Inserted In the local mwspapera, without the slightest re sult; no one came forward to give any Information. , Hut by this time the minister's mind was quite made tip. He would keep the child, and, with Hod's blessing, rear her as his own; h* would Justify the unhappy mother's dependence on his charily and loving kindness. Ho It came to puss that late In the gloaming of the old bachelor’s life the cry of a child was beard In the lonely bouse; and somehow or other, despite Holomon Mucklebacklt'a prognostica tions, the bouse became brighter and merrier for the sound. Holomon him self soon fell under the spell, and when a little warm with whisky he would al lude to the child, with a comic sense of possession, as "oor bairn." At last, one day, there was a quiet christening In the old kirk, where Mr. Lorraine had officiated so many years. Mysle held the Infant In her arms, while Holomon stood at hand, blinking through hla horn spectacles, and Lhe minister performed the simple cere mony. After iong and tender deliberation me minister had fixed upon a name, which he now gave to the poor little <astaway, who had neither father nor mother, nor any kinsfolk In the world after whom she could be called. He christened her Marjorie Annan. Marjorie, after that other beloved Marjorie, who had long before joined or so be dreamed—the bright celes tial band; Annan, after that troubled water wherein the miserable mother bad plunged and died. CHAPTKR IV. N A BRIGHT morning of early spring, between sixteen and seven teen years after the eve nts de scribed In the first chapters of this story, a golden haired young girl , might have been seen tripping down the High street of the market town of Dumfries. Her dress was prettily If not over-fashlonably cut, a straw hat shaded her bright blue eyes, and her noots and gloves were those of a lady. Under her <trm she carried several book*—school books, to all Intenta and purpose*. •By her able, talking to her eagerly, wao a young man about three years her rt nlor. Prom time to time as she tripped along with her companion sho had to stop and exchange words with passers by who gieeted her by name; and from n.any of the shop doors nnd windows friendly beads nodded and bright facea beamed. It was clear that she was well known In the little town, and :t general favorite. Indeed, there were lew of the residents within a radius of ten miles round Dumfries who did not know something of Majorle An nan, the foster-child and adopted daughter of Mr. Is>rralne. Her companion, John Sutherland. _I- ... •>!.,* I..•> ...I .. . He was plainly clad In a suit of dark tweed, and wore a wide-awake hat. Ills whole aspect betokened delicate health, and there wax a sad light In hW blue eyea which told of a thoughtful spirit lodging within, ills inunuerx were gentle rnd retiring In the cs ireme. "When did you come hack?" Mar jorie had naked, after some previous conversation. "least night, by the express from London.'' answered the young mau "I'm going down to see the old folk tonight. Shall you be at the manse*" Marjorie nodded, smiling gayty "Aial how did yon like Umdou?" the demanded Old )ou see the yneen • and Wrsl ml aster Abbey? and did you go to the great tabernacle to bear Spurgeon preach?” "No. Marjorie My time was short, and most of my spar* time waa spent among the pi lures, bat when I saw them, thouaaads up»n thousand* of mastsmtlece* M mad* m* despair of ever Inkumlag a palatar I thought to myself maybe it would be better, after all, to hide at burn*, and •< > a to • *«, lag Ilka my If her " Aa he spoke Marjorie paused at the cornea of a gtiei street aud held out "I man* g*» la my lemon Mwodby "Mow are y ju going guant Mr ih« aagoaetis* ■ "Tea, Juhaau “ I Ho am I; we can go together, tjood t»y till then!" And with a warm squeexe of the band the young man walked away. Marjorie stood looking after him for t moment with a pleasant smile; then ihe turned and walked down Ihe itreet. She had not many yards to go lefore she paused before a dlngy-look ing house, on the door of which was i brass plate with the Inscription: .M, LKON (’At'KHIIMEHE. Professor of lainguages. She rang the hell, and the door was opened almost Immediately by a r'cofrh servant In petticoat and short (own, who greeted her with a familiar ■mile. Answering Ihe smile with a Friendly nod, Marjorie tripped uloug Ihe lobby and knocked nt an Inner iloor, which stood ajaf. A clear, mil deal voice, with an unmistakable for eign accent, cried, “Come In,'' and she nntered. The room was a plainly furnished parlor, at the center-table of which a young man sat writing. The table was littered with writing materials, books, ind journals, and In the window re ess was another table, also strewn with books. The young man, who was smoking a Igarette, looked up as Majorie en tered. ‘‘Ah, Is It. you. Mademoiselle Mur lorle!" he exclaimed, smiling plc.issnt y. “I did not expect you so early, and I was Just smoking my cigarette. You lo not mind the smoke? No? Then, o/lfh vntir tturmlggl/iii I If* spoke Kngllsh fluently, though iile accent was unmistakable. .-.ml tils pronunciation of certain words pecu lar. Personally, he was tall anil hund lorne, with black hair worn very long, dark mustache, and ('lean-shaven •bin. Ills forehead was high and hoiightful, his eyes bright but sunk en, his complexion utvarfhy. He was 1 reused shabbily, but somewhat show ily, In a coat of brown velvet, shirt with turn-down collar loose at the throat, and a crimson tie shapc.n like i tree lover's knot. He carried a pince nez, secured to his person by n piece >f elastic, disused while writing or reading, but fixed on the nose at other times. Through this plnce-ne/. he now regarded Marjorie with u very decided look of admiration. "I came early, monsieur," said Mar |orle, "because 1 cannot come in the afternoon. I am going home, and I shall not be hack in Dumfries till Mon day. Can you give me my lesson now, please 1" "Certainly," unswered the French man; "1 was only writing my French correspondence, but i can finish that when you are gone. Will you sit there, mademoiselle, In the arm-chair? No? fhen In this other? We will begin at unce.” Marjorie sat down and opened her hooka. The Frenchman, taking the arm-chair she had refused, regarded her quietly anil keenly. "Now read, If you pleaae," he said, with a wave of the hand. "Begin— where you left off yeaterday." Marjorie obeyed and read aloud In a clear voice from an easy French leading-book. From time to time the teacher Interrupted her, correcting her pronunciation. "You advance, mademoiselle," he said presently. "Ah, yes, you lire so quick, so Intelligent. Now translate." In this porllbn of her tusk also the qlrl acquitted herself well, and when she had finished, the young man uod ;led approvingly. "Now let us converse—In French, If you please." But here Marjorie was at a loss, not knowing what to talk about. Hhe Him 11 y took the weather us a topic, and idvanced the proposition that It vas i very tine day, but that there would Mum be rain. Her muster respouded, tnd. urged to higher Nights of Imagi nation. Marjorie hoped that It would not rain till she reached home, uu the liutdlc wagonette In which she was to travel was uti open one, und she did tot want to get wet. In this brilliant itralu the conversation procfaded Marjorie stumbling over the construe Ion of her sentences and gettlug very •insled over the other’s voluble uu iwera when they extended to uny length. Hut at last the lesson was iver, and the teacher expressed htuiself sell pleased. "And now," he eald, with a smite. 'w« wait talh the Kngltsh again before • 4*4i go Will you tell me something ibout yoursalf mademoiselle* | have you sit often, and yet I know m* title Pur myself, I am almost a te too and go a Una not at all tell me, hen, about yourself, your guardian. • our home ‘ "I don t know what to tell yen •*•• oaten r. answered Marjutte 'fall me not xesulrar, but Men dew luMta ' 'Monsieur' ts so formal to i add * 1 Monsieur t eon " That la halter Now shew, r me tl tan please You bate n» father *■< Mother *” The gtrl’a eyes lllwl with tsars. ' No. monsieur . ** ' Mo aateur Ueun 1 ' No Moaaleur neon * Ah that M ami sad to be an Ft I*has, aktna in the worm’ I my«elf have no father, hut I have a mother whom I adore. And >ou live with your guardian alwaya?” "Yea, monaleur— Monaleur Leon. fie la my guardian and my foa'er-father: and Solomon la my foater-father, too." "Solomon?” "Solomon la our clerk and rexton lie llvaa In the manae. He waa living there when the mlnlater round me. nearly aeventeen yeara ago.” The young Frenchman had arisen und atood facing Marjorie Annan. "Ah, yea, I have heard,” he aald. "And you have dwelt all theae team, mlgnonne, alone with thoae two old men?" "Yea, Monaleur Leon.” "ft la terrible It la not light! You, who are ao young and pretty; they, who are ao old and dreary! And you have never aeen the world never trav eled from your native land! Never? You have lived In a deaert, you have never known what It la to live! Hut you are a child, and It la not too late. You will Hen the world aomr day, will you not? You will find aome one lo love you, to care for you, und you will hid adieu to ihla trlate Scotland, incc and forever!” Aa he npoke very volubly, he bent hla face cloae to hera, amtling eagerly, while hla breath touched her cheek. She bluahed allghtly, and drooped her cyea for a moment; then ahe looked lip quite ateadtly, and aald: "I ahould not care to leave my home. Mr. f/orralne took me to Edinburgh once, but I aoon wearied, and waa glad to come Itack lo Annandale." "Edinburgh!” cried Monaleur Leon, with a contemptuoua geature. “A city where the aun never ahlnea, and It ralna alx daya out of aaven, what you call a Scotch iniat! You ahould ace my coun try, la belle France, and Faria, Hie queen of cltlca of the world! There all la light and gay; It la Faradlao on earth. Would you not like lo *e<- Par'a, Mailemoiaii* Marjorie r '•Yea, monaleur, maybe I ahould," ie plled Marjorie; "but I’m not caring much for the town. But I waa f »igel ling aomethlng, though," abe added. "Mr. l>orrMlfie told me to give you thla." Ho an) lug. alie drew forth c amull Milk purae, and drawing thence I wo ant - erelgna, placed I hem on the table. "Put them back Into your pur*#, II you pleaae." "But I have not paid you anything, and I owe you for ten leaaona." "Never mind that, mademolvellc, anawered the Frenchman. "Home oth er time, If you lualat, but not today. It la reward enough for me to have euch a pupil. Take the money and buy youraelf a keepaake to remind you of me." But Marjorie ahook her little head firmly and anawered. "Pleaae do not aak me, Moneleur l,con. My guardian would be very angry, and he aent me the money t< pay you." The Frenchman ahrugged hi* about dera. "Well, aa you pleaae, only I would not have you think that 1 teach you for the money’* aake- ah, no. You have brought light and aunablne to my heart in my exile; when you come I forget my aorrowa. and when you go away I am full of gloom. Ah, you amlle, but It la true." "Good-bye, now, Monaleur Leon,” aald Marjorie, moving toward the door, for ahe fell etnharraaaed and almoat frightened hy the ardent look* of her teacher. "Good-bye. You will come again on Monday, will you not?” "Yea, Monaleur Leon." And Marjorie left the room and paaaed out into the aunny afreet. (TO HR OONTINCRO.) "No nth.” Fine aa are the aalraon of New Foundland, they are without honor In their own country, aa the following In cident from Dr. H. T. Davla’a "Cari bou-Shooting In Newfoundland" will ahow: Our way Into the interior waa over a lovely pond. We had made an early atari, and left the foot of the pond Juat aa day waa breaking. We had not proceeded far when the writer thought he could occaalonally aee the water break with a aplaah In cloae proximity to the canoe. Healed aa he waa in the how. he turned to the native who waa handling the paddle in the hi>-ni aim inquire!! wuemer mere were any Hah in It)* pond. "Klah? No, air. no Hah, air.” Preaenlly, when about half-way up the pond, anil Juat aa the aun waa peep ing over the euatern horlaon, he aaw, not ala feet from the bow of the canoe, a magnificent aalmon rtae to the eur face, ami with a awlah of hla tall, dta uppcar, Again the writer turned to hla friend with the remark, "Paddy, did I underataiid you to **y that there were nu Hah In thla pond?" "No Hah, air. no Hall.” Yea, but 1 beg your pardon 1 a moment ago aaw what I took to be a twelve or flfteen pound aalmon brenfi the water uoi ala feet from the bow of the canoe,” Oh. that waa a aalmon There are plenty of trout and aalmon In all theee waters, hut no Hah, air, Nothing count* aa Hah In iheec parra but roditah, air,' IM t'Ufcl. "Horn* MM. aaid I'mle Koea "la ao t itchy dnt when dey cornea a* met er man dal a hhu nud huneei J« y g«ia aktahi an any a he mua be playin’ a pow'lul deep game" Waahingtop dtar Hum chewing le nut a modern ha tot Way bach In the rime of the t e4.ce the Hindoo maldttte chewed gum Hot then, they were unci edited and hnww HU tottff In Kngland hit huge and tan git la tg >he norma* pfogui item of btrtha g gegf > to etert igoueand of pope la Mon. TALMAGE’S' SERMON. "MUSIC IN THE CHURCHES” SUNDAY'S SUBJECT. From th* Taxi, II. < hruii. A : I :t l ol lowxi "It Cam* Ki.a to Pax* Iha singer* War* a* On* to Make <la* Moo ml la Ik* Praia* of Ik* 1IK temple wax done. It was the very < horn* of all magnificence and pomp. Hplendor crowded against splendor. It wai the diamond neck lace of the earth. Krom the huge pil lars crowned wllll » . leavea and flowera and rows of pomegranate wrought out In burnished metal, down even to the tong* and snuffer* made out of pure gold, everything was a* complete as the God-directed architect could make It. It seemed as If a vision from heaven had alighted on the mountain*. The day for dedication came. Tradi tion aaya that there were In and around about the temple on that day two hun dred thousand sliver trumpets, forty thousand harps, forty thousand tim brels, and two hundred thousand sing ers; so that all modern demonstrations st Dusseldorf or Boflon seem nothing compared with that. Aa this great sound surged up amid the precious stones of the temple. It muet have seemed like the River of l.lfe dashing against the amethyst of the wall of heaven. The found aroae, and God, us If to show that he was well pleased with the music which his children make In all ages, dropped lnto4be midst of the temple a cloud of glory so overpower ing that the officiating priests were obliged to etop In the midst of the aer There ha* been much discussion a* to where mualc waa born. 1 think that at the beginning; “when the morning atara aang together and all the aona of Qod ahouted for joy,” that, the earth heard the echo. The cloud on which the angel etood lo celebrate the crea tion waa the birthplace of aong. The atara that glitter at night are only ao many keys of celeatlal pearl, on which God’a flngera play tho mualc of the apherea. Inanimate nature I* full of Uod'a atrlnged and wind Inalrumenta. Silence Itself perfect silence Ip only a musical /eat in God’a great anthem of worablp. Wind among the leaves, Insect bumming 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 whittling up from the graas, are music. While visiting Blackwell’s Island, I heard, coming from a window of the lunatic asylum, a very sweet song. It waa aung by one who hud loat 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 hud acute ness enough to listen. I suppose that even the sounds in nature that are dis cordant and repulsive make harmony In God'a car. 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 aland so near devastating storm and frightful whirl wind, we cannot hear that which makes to God's ear and the eur of the spirits above us a music as complete us 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. I draw tho 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 Ills duty to pray. Indeed, I think there are more commands in tho 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 tl>« l*uni not An/1 I aimnnao (hat In the last (lay* of the church the harp, the lute, the trumpet, and all the In strument* of music that have given their chief aid to the theater und bac ( banal, will be brought by their mas ter* 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 Cord!" Praise him with your voices. Praise him with stringed Instruments and wilt organs. I draw another argument for the lm ■tort a act of this exercise from the tm treralveness of the exercise. You snow something of what secular mu sic ha* schleved. You know It has made It* Impression upon governments, It pit It Isws. upon literature, upou whole Reiterations. On* Inspiring national sir Is worth thirty thousand men aa a Mantling army. There comes a time In the battle when one bugle Is worth a thousand musksta. la ike earlier part of*our civil war the government pro l«MM>d to economtM la bands of music, ■ltd many of them were sent borne, but Ike general* la the army teal word to Washington "You are making a very great mistake. We are falling bach tad falling back We have nut enough ' etutir." I have to tell you that au 1 ration or church can afford to severely j •enkomtse la music W hy should ** tub the programme* of worldly gaiety wbeg us kav* so many appropriate ■stage and tune* nmpoeed i* eur own day. ae well ae that msgstffeeal inheritance of church geeimwdy ehtch has turn does fra genal with the devutluue of other gea ; iratiuae tuaea au store worn out than shea our great grandfather* climbed if *a them hum the church pea tu j glory? Dear old souls, how they used to slug! 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, we ought not to bs tempted out of tbe sphere of Christian harmony, and try to seek unconsecrsted sounds. It Is absurd for a millionaire to steal. Many of you are illustrations of wbnt 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 argumeut of the pulpit, but when, In the sweet words of Charles W'sslsy or John Newton or Toplady, the love of Jesus was suug to your soul, then you surrendered, as an armed cas tle that could not lie 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 has been Impressed Into the service of Satan I am far from believ ing that music ought always to be post lively religious. Refilled.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 sod the Improve ment of talent, have become very forces In the advancement of our civil isation. Music has as much right to laugh in Surrey Gardens as it has to pray In St. I'aui's. In the kingdom of nature we have tbe glad fifing of the wind as well as the long-meter psalm of the thunder. But while all this is so. every observer bas noticed that this art, which God Intended for the Improvement of the ear, and the voice, and the head unit the heart, has often been Impressed Into the service of error. Tartlnl, the musical com poser, dreamed one night that Satan snatched from nls hand an Instrument and played upon It something very sweet—a dream that has often been fulfilled In our dsy, tbe 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. Kverybody Is waiting for some body else to dr> his duty. If we all sang th^o the Inaccuracies that are evident when only a few sang would be drowned out. rjod asks you to do as well as you can, and then If you get tbe wrong pitch or keep wrong time be will forgive any deficiency of tbe car and Imperfection of the voices. Angela will not. laugh If you should lose your place fu the musical scale or come In at the close a bar behind. There ure three schools of singing, ! am told—the German school, the Ital fan school, and the French school of singing. Now, I would like to add a fourth school, and that la the school of Christ. The voice of a contrite, broken heart, although It may not be able to atand human criticism, makes better music In God's ear than the most artistic performance when tbe heart Is wanting. God calls on the beasts, on the cattle, on the dragons, to praise him, and we ought n:>t to be behind tbe cattle und the dragons. * Another obstacle In the advancement of this art has been t je erroneous no tion that this part of the service could be conducted by delegation. Churches have said, "O, what an easy time we shell-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 at I that there are a great multitude of churches all through this land where the people are not expected to sing. The whole work ‘s done by delegation of four or six or ten persons, and the audience are silent. In such a church In Syra cuse, an old elder persisted In sing ing, and so the choir appointed a com mittee to go and ask tbe elder If he would not stop. You know that In many churches the choir are expected to do all the singing, and tbe great mass of the people are expected to be silent, and if you utter your voice you are interfering. In that chugeb they stand, the four, with opera-glasses ilaua’lnj: at their side, singing "itock of Ages, Cleft for Me,” with the same ipirit mac, me ingot uerore on me itage. they took tbeir part In the Uruiul Ducheaa or Don Olovannl. My Cbrlatlan friend*, have we a right to delegate to others the discharge of this duty which (toil 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 foreat. Let all other voice* keep silent. Ilow beautifully the four warble! It la really Una music, ilut bow long will you keep the forest atlll? Why, Christ won't curne Into that for rat and look up, as he looked through Ibe olives, aud h* would wave bla baud ind say, "!«•( everything that bath breath praise Ibe Lord," and. keeptug lime with the stroke of Innumerable wings, there wuukl be • »# thousand bird voices leaping Into the harmony, (oppose thta delegation of musical per formers were tried In heaven, suppose ihat fuur choir* spirits should try to do ibe singing of the upper Tmpie lluah non' thrones and duiulutun* and yrineipnlitiee, David, be atlll, though |uo were Ike "sweet stager of far eel I'aul beep *|Ute«. though you have com* la that rrowa of repilelsg Mtcbard Itaater. heap atlll, though this la the Saint* Kvsrtaating Ntii," tout spir it* now do all the si aging tin how j tong would heaven he go let' Hon wag' ' Hallelujah 1" would try some lioriged Methodist from under the at ar “IN sue the Lord' would amg the wartyra fvom among the throne* • Thants ha unto Uud a ho giieth na he tutor >' a great multitude of It- t -- • ] deemed sp.iits would cry—myriads of A voices coming Into 'he barnmny and ■ the one hundred nnd lofty "nd four ■ thousand breaking forth Into on? nc- ■ clamatlon. Stop that loud singing! U Slop! Oh, no; they cannot hear me. A You might as well try to drown tl^ ^ thunder of the sky, or beat back the . roar of the sea, for every soul In heav- ‘ eu has resolved to do its own singing. 1 Alas! that we should hive tried on JA earth that which they tunned do In ^n| heaven, and. Instead of joining all our M voices In the praise of the Most High V God, delegating perhaps to uneonss- 1 'rated men and women this most sol* ' cmn and most delightful service. Music ought to rush from the au dience like tho water from a rock - clear, bright, sparkling. If all the oth er part of the church rervlce Is dull, do not have the music dull, With so many thrilling things to sing about, away wlib all drawling and stupidity) Theie Is nothing makes me so nervous , as fo alt In a pulpit and look olT on au^| audience with their eyes three-fourths closed and their lips almost shut, mum- ^A bllng the praises of God. During my recent absence I preached to a large audience, and all tho music they made together did not equal one skylark. People do not sleep at a coronation. Do not let us sleep when we come to a Saviour's crowning. In order to a prop er discharge of this duty, let us stand A up, save as age or weakness or fatigue M excuses us. Heated In an easy po«U,we cannot do this duty half so wsll as when, upright, wo throw our whole body Into It. I-et our song be like an acclamation of victory. You have a right, to sing. Do not surrender your prerogative. We want lo rouse all our families upon this subject. We want each fam ily of our congregation to be a singing school. Childish petulance, obduracy and Intractability would be soothed If we had more singing In the household, and then our little ones would he sire pared for the great congregation-!* on Habbsth day. their voices uniting with our voices In the praises of tbe Lord. After a »bow*r there are scores ol Streams that come down the mountain side with voices rippling Hnd silvery, pouring Into one river, and then roll ing In united strength to the sea. Sc I would have all the families In out church send forth the voice of prayei and praise, pouring It Into the great tide of public worship that rolls on and on to empty Into tbe great wide heart of God. Never can wc have our church sing as it ought until our families sing as they -ought. There will he a great revolution on this subject In all our churches. GoC will come down by his Spirit and roust up the old hymns and tunes that have not been more than half awake sines the time o( our grandfathers. The si lent pews Ui the church will break forth Into music, and when tbe con ductor takes his place on tbe Sabbatic Day there will be a great host of voice* rushing Into the harmony. My Chris- i tlan friends, if we have no taste for * this service on earth, what will we do In heaven, where they all sing, amt slug forever? 1 would that our sing ing today might be like tbe Saturday night rehearsal for tho Sabbath morn ing In tbe skies, and 've might begin now, by the strength and by he help of God, to discharge a duty which nonB of us has fully performed. And nov? what more appropriate thing can I <l<| than to give out tbe Doxology of the heavens, "Unto him who hath loverl us, and washed us from our sins In hit own blood, to him be glory forever!" QUEER FABRICS. There Is a firm in Venice which Il luming out glass bonnets by the thou sand and several other European fac tories are showing remarkable result* In this particular Industry. The In fanta Mercedes, sister of the little king of Spain, recently received from tho Venetian factory a white hall dress of spun glass as pliable as silk. Many society women with a whim for th« curious have similar gowns. Queen Victoria owns a more marvel ous robe. In 1877 the empress of Bru, zll sent her a gown woven from a cer tain spider's web which for fineness o| tezture and beauty surpasses the love Best silk. A drachm of web reaches 3W! miles and Is proportionately strongci $ than a bar of tempered steel. A welt * " of equul thickness would support sev- ( enty-four tons, while steel would break at fifty tons. These spiders whep at work eat seventy-eight times their own weight every day and produce on ly half a grain of silk. 1 Louis'XIV. has a coat made of spi ders' web which was a great curiosity In those days. I<a Bon, u great bean of Languedoc, had, some 2<K) years ago web* woven Into gloves and stocking In one of Ullbert's funny "Hah Bal lads" there Is a story of two noted dukes, one of whom wore silver un den loth mg and the other pswter. Tbs Japanese make underclothing of a much cheaper commodity paper - Bur ly crisped and grained This la cuf, ■•fled together as doth would be. and • hare buttonholes are necessary lloei. Is used fur strengthening the paper. The material la strung and Btgiblt and light, weighing auout ninety grain I t taa Mtuare foot Tha Japaneaa also make umhreliaa of papar which even after It haa broom* wet Is hard ha t*ar. t» Wat MM •<» lilts Pope glephrn It. I* (Ml drove as ,1 a ptagur of lutwsia hy aprlabllng the ••Ida eUl holy aaler, while gt Itrr aar-t deetroyed aw Innumerable Matt! i Mr of Bias thkb tiled hie church* and tateriupted his aernwMi hy si at pip pronouncing tha «otda •»•*».* »u ■!•■>» ear t T earommunicate them i * t'eta blU Mtgaaiac