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
