tnnri r.ia.—(vahmijh-id.f
She ceased her tirade, and stood gaz
ing keenly at Marjorie, who sat still,
listening in wonder. Despite her sharp
tone and brusque manner, there was
a tenderness in her tone that could not
be mistaken. Then, all at once, with
the abruptness peculiar to her, sue
changed her tone again, and broke Into
a low, chuckling laugh.
"And now I hae preach’d my ser
mon," she said, with her grim smile,
"hae you had breakfast? Will you tak'
some tea?”
Hut Marjorie had breakfasted before
starting, and wanted nothing.
"Very well. Come and walk In the
garden."
She led the way from the room, and
Marjorie quietly followed.
Passing out by the rear of the house
cross a lonely court yard, they reached
a door In the high wall, and entered
the garden—a wilderness of fruit trees,
shrubs, und currant bushes, sadly In
need of the gardener's hand, dangled
creepers and weeds grew over the
grassy paths. Here und there were
seats, and In one corner was an arbor
almost burled in umbrage. It was a
desolate, neglected place, but the sun
was shining, and the air was bright
and warm.
Miss Hetherlngton took her compan
ion's arm und walked slowly from path
to path.
“The garden's like Its mistress," she
said presently, "lonesome and neglectlt.
Since Wattle Henderson died, I hae
never employed u regular gardener.
Hut ft's bonny in summer time, for a'
that, and I like It, wild as It is. 1
should like weel to be burled here,
right in the heart o' the auld placet"
She entered the neglected arbor and
sat down wearllv. Mariorle stood look
lug at her In timid sympathy, while
she pursued the dreary current of her
thought.
"Folk say I’m mean, and maybe I
am; but It’s no that! I'm the last o'
the Hetherlngtons, and it’s right and
fitting that the place should waste awa'
like mysel'. But I mind the time wee!
—It's no sae lang syne—when It was
gladsome and merry. Everything was
In grand order then, and my father
kept open bouge to the gentry. Now a’s
changed! Whiles I wonder what will
become o' the auld house when I’m
ta'en. Strangers will come, maybe, and
turn It upside doon. What would you
dae, Marjorie Annan. If you were a rich
teddy and mistress o' a place like
this?’’
The question came so abruptly at the
end of the long string of lamentations,
that Marjorie scarcely knew what to
reply. She smiled awkwardly, and re
peated the question.
“What would I (lo, Miss Hethcrlng
ton?"
"Ay. Come!"
"I eannot tell, but I don't ihlnk I
could bear to live here all alone."
"Ay,.Indeed? Would you sell the
Castle, and pooch the siller?"
"No, Miss Hetherlngton. I should like
to keep what my forebears had owned.”
The lady nodded her head approv
ingly.
"The lassie has sense after a’!” she
exclaimed. "Ay ay. Marjorie, you're
right! It’s something to belang to the
line o’ the Hetherlngtons.and the auld
lairds o’ the Moss would rise In their
graves if they kenned that strangers
were dwelling on the land.’’
CHAPTER X.
ARLY In the after
noon, after u dis
mal lunch, tete-a
tete with Miss
Hetherlngton, Mar
jorie returned home
across the fields.
The sun was just
beginning to sink
as she p as s ed
through the village
and approached the
■ualise. As she did so, she saw Mr.
Isjrruine standing Inside the church
- ••• i »at mu wiin
the French teacher.
She entered the churchyard and
Joined them, the Frenchman saluting
her with lifted hat as she approached.
• Ah. Marjorie, my bwtrn," said the
minister, "you are home early. Hid
you walk back? I thought you would
have stayed later, and that MU* lleth
Ington would have sent you home In
the carriage after gloaming "
klarjurle glanced at Causal Jt*re, and
met his eyes.
• She did not wlah me to stay," the
answered, "end I was glad to escape.
Hut I am you and Monsieur Cauaaidtere
have made friend* I met l.lm on the
Wty. and he said he wa* coming here.'*
' Mu he has tuld me,” mHu Mr la r
relne "I have Ju»i *«een allowing him
over Ike kirk and ftruugh Ike grave
yard, and now I kave invited hint to
Ink* put luck as ike KngiUh call It,
tkla evening “
“Hut It la so late, aumsieur * said
Marjorie "How will you get lank to
Dumfries r
• Ind you aut know*' relumed ike
Frenchman emiling 1 am taking a
lee lie huilday like yourself 1 kave
engaged a ked at Ike isa aud vkeii mu
return MU Ike beginning of Ike week
Tkev entered Ike atm logetker aad
fausaidWN Jo»a*d tkem «t then elm
pie eve*lag meal
Wing lag wee ever tkev ml round
Mm kagn* Tka gyUrtm*. ki m m
age kta guest a dgar flyer were that-|
• i iifS pirraBMUiiy lUKruii'r, «nni puiu
won Mutklebacklt, who had been t,p to
the village on some household errand,
quietly entered.
“Johnnie Sutherland's at the door.
Will you see him?”
Marjorie started, for she had an In
stinctive dread of a meeting between
the two young men; but the minister
at one* replied:
"Show him In, Solomon;" and ns the
sexton disappeared, he said to his guest,
"A young friend of ours, and a school
fellow of my foster-daughter."
The next moment Sutherland ap
peared. A look of surprise passed over
hl8 face aB he saw the stranger, who
rose politely, but, recovering himself,
he shook the minister warmly by the
band.
"Welcome. Johnnie,” said Mr. l/>r
ruine. "Tuke a seat. Do you know
Monsieur Caussldlere? Then let me
Introduce you."
Sutherland nodded to ‘he French
man, who bowed courteously. Their
eyes met, und then both looked at Mar
jorie.
"Monsieur Caussldlere Is my French
teacher," she said smiling.
Sutherland looked somewhat, puzzled,
und sat down in silence. After an awk
ward pause, the minister began ques
tioning him on his London experi
ences; he replied almost In monosyl
lables, and was altogether so bashful
and constrained that Marjorie could
not avoid drawing an unfavorable com
parison In her own mind between him
and the fluent Frenchman.
"An artist, monsieur?" said the lat
ter, presently, having gathered the fact
from some of Mr. Lorraine's questions.
"1 used to paint, when 1 wus a boy,
lint flnHimr I ronlfl not <*vcpI I uliunfl.
oned the attempt. To succeed In your
profession is the labor of a life, and,
alas! so many fail.”
“That’s true enough," returned Suth
erland, “and when 1 see the great pic
tures, I despair,”
“He paints beautifully, monsieur,”
cried Marjorie, eager to praise her
friend. "Does he not, Mr. Lorraine?”
The minister nodded benignly.
“Ah, Indeed,” said Caussldlere, with
a slight yawn. "The landscape, mon
sieur, or the human figure?”
"I have tried both,” replied Suther
land. “I think 1 like figure painting
best.”
• "Then you shall not go far to find a
subject,” exclaimed Caussldlere, wav
ing his hand toward Marjorie. "Ah, If
I were un artist, I would like t»i paint
mademoiselle. I have seen such a face,
such eyes, and hair. In some of the Ma
donnas of the greyt Raphael.”
•Marjorie cast down her eyes, then
raised them again, laughing.
He has painted me, and more than
once; but I'm thinking he flattered the
sitter. Miss Hethertngton has one of
the pictures up at the Castle.”
Caussldlere fixed bis eyes suspicious
ly upon Sutherland.
“Do you work for pleayre, mon
sieur, or for profit? I’er'/Tps you are
a man of fortune, and paint for amuse
ment only?”
The question tickled the minister,
who laughed merrily.
“1 am only a poor man,” answered
Sutherland, "and paint for my bread."
“It Is an honorable occupation." said
Caussidiere, emphatically, though not
without the suspicion of a covert sneer.
"At one time the artist was neglected
and despised; now he Is honored for
Ids occupation, and can make much
money."
The conversation continued by fits
and starts, hut Sutherland's appearance
seemed to have quite destroyed the gay
freedom of the little party. At last
Solomon reappeared and grimly an
nounced that It was nine o'clock.
"We keep early hours." explained
Mr. Lorraine, "and are all abed at ten
o'clock.”
"Then I will go." cried CanesUliere,
rising, "but 1 shall call again. It is not
often In Scotland, one finds such pleas
aut company."
C'aussldiere shook the ministers
; hand cordially, and favored Marjorie
I with a warm und lingering pressure,
which left her more disturbed than
ever. Then the twu men wulkcd out ol
the house together.
Cauaaidlere und Sutherland walked
up the Village side by side In the light
of the muuu. which wgg then at the
lull.
"You are a native of this place mon
sieur ?" said the Frenchman, aft*.
j long silence.
"Yes." was the quiet reply
"A charming place* gad the pet>(d« |
{ still more charming! You have known ,
! our old friend a long, tong time?" j
‘ ICvet etme I can mlad ’
‘ And kls daughter hie fueter-daugh.
ter. I should way* | have h«erd her
•lory It Is romantic. ticmteur. |i j
t tom-he* my heart th» you thins her i
j pretty f ’
Sutherland slatted at the question !
| which mad* with apparent pun- j
| thalamr hut In reality with wager sue
j pi . ton liw was •dent and Ike other
ctmtiauwd
dhw is net like one of common btrtk I
a be baa liw grace of a la-it | was
struck Uttk be* e legato e • hr a she
i drat came to we for lea man »\«or i
child! To have ueliker lathe. not .
tool bar to be e vsnttu* It le wry
end."
' Ms* le happy end wall-cared M,'
sturdily answered Umber land, who j
didn't like the turn the conversation
was taking; ‘‘and she has many true
friends.”
"Yourself among the number, I am
sure!” said Caussidiere quickly.
"You are right there, at any rate,” re
turned Sutherland; and he added cold
ly, “I’ll wish you good-night."
He stood before the gate of his fath
er's cottage and held out his hand, the
Frenchman, however, did not attempt
to take it, but kept his own hands In
his coat pockets as he returnee’. a polite
‘ Hood-night.”
CHAPTER XI.
HE next day was
Sunday, the solemn,
not to say sancti
monious Sabbath
day of that people
which, above all
others, reverences
the great work of
creation.
In the brightest
place In the church,
with her r.ureole
round her, sat Marjorie Annan; and
three pairs of eyes at least were con
stantly fixed upon her. The first pair
belonged to young Sutherland, tho sec
ond to the French visitor, the third lo
the eccentric mistress of Hetherlngton
Castle.
Of these three Individuals Caussidiere
was the most II! at ease. Tho sermon
bored him, and he yawned again and
again, finally going to sleep.
He was awakened by a loud noise
••nd looking round him, he saw the
congregation moving toward the door,
and Solomon Mucklebacklt, from the
precentor's desk, glaring down at him
In indignation. He rose languidly, and
joined the stream of people issuing
from the church.
Out In the churchyard tho sun was
shining golden on the graves. At the
gale several vehicles were waiting. In
cluding the brougham from Hetherlng
lun Castle.
As Caussidiere moved down the path,
he saw before him a small group of per
sons conversing—the blind weaver and
Ids wife, John Sutherland, Marjorie,
and the lady of the Castle. He passed
by them with lifted hat, and moved on
to the gate, where he waited.
"Who's yon?” asked Mias Ilether
lngton, following him with her dark
eyrs.
"That Is Monsieur Caussldlere,” an
swered Marjorie, "my French teacher."
"Humph!" said the lady. “Come awa'
and Introduce me.”
She walked slowly down the path,
while Marjorie followed in astonish
ment, and coming right up to the
Frenchman, she looked him deliberate
ly over from head to foot. Not at all
disconcerted, he took off his hat again,
and bowed politely.
"Monsieur C’aussidiere,” said Mar
jorie, "this Is Miss Hetherington, of the
Castle."
Caussldlere bowed again with great
respect.
"I am charmed to make made me'*
acquaintance.”
To his astonishment. Miss Hethering
ton addressed him In his own tongue,
which she spoke fluently, though with
an unmlstakat'le Scottish Inflection.
“You speak English well, monsieur,"
she said. "Have you been long absent
from your native land?"
“Ever since the crime of December,”
he returned, also in French. “But
madame Is almost a Frenchwoman—
she speaks the language to admiration.
Ah, it Is a pleasure to me, an exile, to
hear the beloved tongue of France so
perfectly spoken! You know France?
You have lived there, madame?”
“I know It, and know little good of
It,” cried the lady sharply. "Are you
like the rest of your countrymen, lignt
and treacherous, believing in nothing
that Is good, spending their lives in
vanity and sensual pleasure?"
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
Hi tter (.eft l uaalil.
Two giggling girls pushed their way
into the crowded car. The one was
pietty, and knew It; while tile other
wasn’t, and didn't seem to know it.
After a great deal of squeezing that
almost took their breath away, they
at last reached the front part of the
cnr. They kept up their giggling until
a man who was trying to read In the
corner *oat got up in disgust and went
out on the front platform. Although
they both wanted to sit down, neither
wished to deprive the other of the
seat.
"You take it, dear," said the pretty
ut,e.
"I wouldn't enjoy it at all if 1 knew
you were standing," replied the other.
Then they licgau giggling again.
At last, when u not her woman rush
ed up to take It, the pretty girl shoved
l.er friend Into the seat, saying; "The
Aral thing we know we'll lose it |ie
slde*. my dear, it's better for you to
take It, because I'm more likely to
have a seat offered me "
The homely girl stopped giggling .
and turned red In ihr fair, and when j
her friend got out about a mile he- I
yond she never as much as bade her |
good-bye.
ta I •iIumO.
Father In asking fur the hand of
my daughter, young man I trust that
vou fully realise the etaet value ef the
prise you seek* Prospective yhi«-tg
U* Well er I hadn't fgured It
untie mi ika« aa that, hut I guessed
It at atavut l- i’w ath> (tea Ftsu< i*wt
If Sa turner
Paps* UaSssts
Foreman Why dueent the mlltur
•Utah this editorial uat las a last U a
Itefy the World*" It's only halt duM
Asetetant IMS he got Mated a white
ago and raa vast at the hash Am, sad
haant hue* hash etavw A atad sub
nrrther war la
TALMAGE'S SERMON.
'SINS OF THE TONGUE,” SUN
DAY’S SUBJECT.
From tl»r Test; Art* V. 1 —10. a* Fol
lows; “A OrtAln Maii NwmmmI Aim
iiIai, With SuppliIrA Ills Wife. Sold a
Possession," Ktr.
WELL- MATCHED
pair, alike In umbl
tlon and In false
hood, Ananias and
Happhlra. They
wanted a reputa
tion fur great ben
eficence. and they
sold all their prop
erty, pretending to
put the entire pro
ceeds In the charity
fund, while they put much of It in their
own pocket. There watt no necessity
that they give all their property away,
but they wanted the reputation of so
doing. Ananias flrat lied about It and
dropped down dead. Then Sapphlra
lied about It. and ahe dropped down
dead. The two fatalities are a warn
ing to all ages of the danger of sacri
ficing the truth.
There are thousands of ways of tell
ing a Me. A man's whole life may be
a falsehood and yet never with his lips
may he falsify once There la a wav
of uttering falsehood by look, by man
ner, as well as by lip. There are persons
who are guilty of dishonesty of speech
and then afterward say "may be," call
ing It a white Me, when no Me Is that
color. The whitest Me ever told was
ns black as perdition. There are those
so given to dishonesty of speech
that they do not know when they are
lying. With some It 1b an acquired
sin, and with others It Is a natural In
firmity. There are those whom you
will recognise as horn Mars. Their
whole life, from crudle to grave. Is filled
up with vice of speech. Misrepresen
tation and prevarication are as natural
to them as the infantile diseases, and
are a sort of moral croup and spiritual
scarlatina. Then there are those who
In after life have opportunities of de
veloping this evil, and they go from de
ception to deception, and from class to
class, until they are regularly gradu
ated Mars. At times the air In our ci
ties Is filled with falsehood, and lies
cluster around the mechanic’s hammer,
blossom on the merchant’s yardstick,
and sometimes sit on the door of
churches. They are called by some
fabrication, and they are called by some
fiction. You might call them subter
fuge or deceit, or romance, or fable, or
misrepresentation, or delusion; but as
I know nothing to be gained by cover
ing up a God-defying sin with a lexi
cographer’s blanket, I shall call them
In plainest vernacular, lies. They may
be divided into agricultural, commer
cial, mechanical, social and ecclesiastl
al.
First of all, X speak of agricultural
falsehoods. There is something In the
presence of natural objects that has a
tendency to make one pure. The trees
never Issue false stock. The wheat
fields arc always honest. Bye and oats
never move out In the night, not paying
for the place they occupy. Corn
shocks never make false assignment.
Mountain brooks are always current.
The gold of the wheat fields is never
counterfeit. But while the tendency
of agricultural life is to make one hon
est, honesty Is not the characteristic
of all who come to the city markets
from the country districts. You hear
the creaking of the dishonest farm
wagon In almost every street of our
great cities—a farm wagon in
which there is not one honest
spoke. or one truthful rivet,
from tongue to tail-board. Again
and again has domestic economy
in our great cities foundered on the
farmer's firkin. When New York and
Washington sit down and weep over
their sins, let Westchester county and
the neighborhoods around this capital
sit down and weep over theirs.
The tendency in ail rural districts is
to suppose that sins and transgressions
cluster in our great cities; hut citizens
and merchants long ago learned that
it is not sate to calculate from the
character of the apples on the top of
the farmer’s btirel what Is the char
acter of the apples ell the wey down
toward the bottom. Many of our citi
zens and merchants have learned that
it is always safe to see the farmer
measure the barrel of beets. Milk cans
are not always honest. There are
those, who In country life, seem iu
think they have a right to overreach
grain dealers and merchants of all
styles. They think It is more honor
able to raise corn than to deal in corn.
The producer sometimes practically
says to the merchant, "You g,,f your |
money easily, anyhow." Doe* he get |
It easily? While the farmer sieeps.aud 1
he may go to sleep, conscious of the
fart that his corn and rye are ail the
time progressing and adding to hie-for
tune or bis livelihood, the merchant I
tries to sleep, while conscious of the 1
fset that at that moment the ship may f
he driving on the rot It. or a wave
•weeping aver the hurricane dreh spoil
ing his goods, or the spreulatura may
be plotting a monetary revolution, or I
the burglar* may be at that moment at !
his money sot*, nr the lire may Hava
kindled on the very block whsre his
•tore stand*
Ka»y, la It? Lei that who act their
living on the ante! farm and barn take
the plots of am of our clip met* haute .
sad see whether it *e eu *n*y It le herd I
enough to have the hands blistered j
with outdoor noth, hut (t la nafuer
with mental anatettew to hove the brain
< unturned llod help the as* reheat a
And do not let those who live Us
count> r Me tome to th- cun< luetea
that ail th* dishonest lee belong to dtp
Ufa.
I pass on to consider commercial
lies. There arc those who apologize
for deviations from the right and for
practical deception by sayin ? it Is com
mercial custom. In other words, a llo
by multiplication becomes a virtue.
There are large fortunes gathered in
which there Is not one drop of tho
sweat of unrequited toll, and not one
spark of had temper flashes from tho
bronze bracket, and there Is not one
drop of needlewoman's heart blood on
the crimson plush; while there are
other fortunes about which It may be
said that on every door knob and on
every figure of the carpet, and on ev
ery wall there Is the mark of dishonor.
What If the hand wrung by toll and
blistered until the skin comes off
should he placed on the ’xqulsllo wall
paper, leaving Its mark of blood—four
fingers and a thumb? or, If In tho night
the man should be aroused from hli
slumber again and again by
his own conscience, getting him
self up on elbow and cry
ing out Into the darkness, "Who U
there?”
There are large fortunes upon which
God's favor comes down, and It Is Just
as honest and Just as Christian to be af
fluent as It. in to tm noor. In many a
bouse there Is a blessing on every pic
tured wall and on every scroll, and on
every tracerled window, and the Joy
that fiasbea In the lights, and that
showers In the music and that dances
In the quick feet of the children put
tering through the hall has In It tho
favor of God and the approval of man.
And there are thousands and tens of
thousands ot merchants who, from the
first day th'\v sold a yard of cloth, V
firkin of butter, have maintained their
Integrity. They were born honest,
they will live honest, snd they will die
honest. But you und I know that there
are In commercial life those who ore
guilty of great dishonesties of speech.
A merchant says, “I am selling these
goods at less tr.an cost." Is he getting
for those goods a price inferior to that
which be paiu for then? Then he has
spoke.: the truth. Is he getting more?
Then lie lies. A mercbtnt says: "I
paid f25 for this article." Is dial the
price ho paid for It? All light. But
suppose ho paid for It $211 Instead of
$26? Then he Ilea.
But there are Just us many false
hoods btioic the counter as there are
behind the counter. A customer comes
In and asks: "How much Is this arti
cle?” “It Is five dollars." “I can get
that for four somewhere else.” Can
he get It for four somewhere else, or
did he say that Just for tho purpose of
getting It cheap by depredating the
value of the goods? If so, he lied.
There are Just as many falsehoods be
fore the counter as there are behind
the counter. • • •
Social life Is struck through with
Insincerity. They apologize for the fact
that the furnace Is out; they have not
had any fire In It all winter. They
apologize for the fare on their table;
they never live any better. They de
cry their most luxuriant entertainment
to win a shower of approval from you.
They point at a picture on the wall as
a work of one of the old masters. They
say It Is an heirloom In the family. It
hung on the wall of a castle. A duke
gave It to their grandfather. People
that will lie about nothing else will
lie about a picture. On small Income
we want the world to believe we are
affluent, and society today Is struck
tnrougn wun cneui gnu counterfeit and
Hliam. How few people are natural!
Frigidity sails around, Iceberg grind
ing against iceberg. You must not
laugh outright; thut is vulgar. You'
must smile. You must not dash quick
ly across the room; that is vulgar.
You must glide. Much of society is a
round of bows, and grins and grimaces
and oh’s and ah's and he, he’s and
slmperlngs and namby-pambylsm, a
whole world of which Is not worth one
good honest round of laughter. From
such a hollow sceno the tortured guest
retires at the Close of the evening, as
suring the host that he has enjoyed
himself. Society :s become so contorted
and deformed in this respect that a
mountain cabin where the rustics gath
er at a quilting or an apple-paring, has
in It more good cheer than all the
frescoed refrigerators of the metrop
olis.
I pass on to speak of ecclesiastical
lies, those which are told for the ad
vancement or retarding of a church or
sect. It Is hardly worth your while
to ask an extreme Calvinist what an
Armlnlan believes. He will tell you
that an Armlnlan believes that man
can save himself. An Armlnlan be
lieves no such thing. It Is hardly worth
your while to ask an extreme Armlnlan
whut a Calvinist believes. He will tell
you that a Calvinist believes that liod
made sonic men Just to duiun them. A
Calvinist believes no such thing. It Is
hardly worth your while to ask a IV- j
do-ltaptlat what a Ilaptlat believes He |
will tell you a Hapllst believes that !
Immersion Is necessary for salvation.
A (luptlst dues not believe any such
thing. It Is hsrdly worth your while
to aek a man, who very much hates
Presbyterians. what a Presbyterian he- .
Itevea, He will tell you that a Free- ,
byterlan believes that there are In- |
fante In hell a span lung, and that very ,
phraseology has come dowu from gen
nation to generation In ihe Chrletlan '
church There never was s Ptvebyie* j
rlaa who believed that. "Oh," you say.
"& heard some Presbyterian minister |
twenty years ago say te." Yus did wot i
There never was a tuea who believed
that, there never will he a sms who
will believe that. And yet, frotw boy
hood, I have heard that iwittculai eiaa- !
der against a Christian chimb going
down through the lommontty
Tbea. how often It I* that there are
mtarepreaoataituna on ihe gait of In
dividual i bur, hea la regard lo other i
fborwhoa eepet tally If a chart h a* arts ,
to great prosperity As long es a
rbnreh la la poverty, and Ihe staging
te poor, sad all the ewrvwwadiaga ere i
■———_1
decrepit, and the congregation are sc
hardly bestead In life that their pastor
goes with elbows out, then there will
always be Christian people In >. arches
who say, "VV.iat a pity! what a pity!’
But let the day of prosperity come to
a Christian church, and l^t the music
be triumphant, and let there he vast
assemblages, and then there will he
even ministers of the Gospel critical
and denunciatory and full of misrepre
sentation and falsification, giving the
impression to the outside world that
they do not like the corn because It Is
not ground In their mill. Oh, my
friends, let us In all departments of
life stand back from deception.
But some one says, "The deception
that I practice Is so small that it don’t
amount to anything." Ah, my friends,
It does amount to a great deal. You
say, “When 1 deceive, it Is only about
a case of needles, or a box of buttons,
or a row of pins.” But the article may
be so small you can put It In your vest
pocket, but the sin Is as big as the
pyramids, and the echo of your dis
honor will reverberato through the
mountains of eternity. There Is no
such thing as a small eln. They are
all vast and stupendous, because they
will all have to come under Inspection
In t.ho Day of Judgment. You may
boast yourself of having made a fine
bargain—a sharp bargain. You may
carry out what the Bible says in re
gard to that man who went Id to
make a purchase and depreciated the
value of the goods, and then after ho
had got away boasted of the splendid
bargain he had made. "It is naught.
It Is naught, salth the buyer; hut when
he Is gone his way, then he boasteth."
It may seem to the world a sharp bar
gain, but the recording ungel wrote
down In the ponderous tones of eter
nity, "Mr. So-and-so, doing business
on Pennsylvania Avenue, or Broadway,
or Chestnut Street, or State Street,
told one lie.
May God extirpate from iioele'.y all
the ecclesiastical lies, and all the social
lies, and all the mechanical lies, and
all the commercial lies, and all the ag
ricultural lies, and make every man to
speak the truth of Ills neighbor. My
friends, let ns make our life corre
spond to what we are. Let u»> banish
all deception from our behavior. Let
us remember that tho time comes when
God will demonstrate before en as
sembled universe just what wo are.
The secret will come out. Wo may
hide It while we live, but we cannot
bide It when we die. To many life Is
a masquerade hall. As at such enter
tainment gentlemen and ladies appear
In garb of kings or queens, or moun
tain bandits, or clown*, and then at
the close of the dance puf off their
disguise, so many ull through life are
In mask. Tho masquerade ball goes
on, and gemmed hand clasps gemmed
hand, and dancing feet respond to
dancing feet, and gleaming brow bends
to gleaming brow, and the masquerade
ball goes bravely on. Hut after a
while languor comes and blurs tho
sight. Lights lower. Floor hollow
with sepulchral echo. Music saddens
Into a wall. Lights lower. Now the
masquerade Is hardly seen. The fra
grance is exchanged for the sickening
odor of garlands that have lain a long
while in tho damp of sopulchres. Lights
lower. Mists fill the room. Tho scarf
drops from the shoulder of beauty, a
shroud. Llgnts lower. Torn leaves
and withered garlands now hardly cov
er up the ulcered feet. Stench of lamp
wleks almost quenched. Choking damp
ness. Chilliness. Feet hill!. Hands
folded. Byes shut. Voice* hushed.
Lights out.
growing old.
Our fr'rleitfl* it mi Our Knomirn Of In
trrcttt to tlie I’tiMUr at Laftfu.
Our enemies (when we arc old) and
who Is without them?—no longer an
noy us. Indeed, they have ceased
reviling; to them we are us dead men,
"out of mlrid,” to whum the proverb
de mortuls applies, says the Nineteenth
Century. And our friends are twice
our friends. No one who Is not "laid
by” can understand the depths of hu
man sympathy. Kveti our acquaint
ances become our friends, and the least
soft-hearted of visitors murmurs to
himself: "Poor soul!" or perhaps (with
equal commiseration) "Poor devil!"
What ifl curious I* thn intArnui if
we have in any way become known to
the public at large, complete strangers
take in our physical and mental condi
tion. If prescription!! could rure us wo
should be in rude health indeed. The
materials arc sometimes a little diffi
cult to procure. 1 have seen u letter
from New Zealand recommending an
old gentleman suffering from rheu
matic gout to bathe in whales. in
thut Island whales, it ceems. are oc
casionally thrown up on the seashore,
when rheumatic patterns hasten to lie
In them during thv progress of their
evisceration for purpos „ of commerce.
The estreme rarity of whales upon the
Thames embankment seems to have
been unknown to the writer Some
correspondents give most eseellont
sanitary advlee. but too U*e for Its
practical application An vgrd poet,
who had lost the use of hi* Itn.’ie, was
e» hurled by an adman til
dig, "even If it warn but in n s twick
garden, f *t an hour *r two every
morning before breakfast. all that waa
warned, he waa asattted, for ' ompiet*
recovery, was • pr ifuw pwrypuatton
folios *4 by a heat*hi glow “
Bbak.ep- « s'* UsKgaiee.
MhnhyapeAi * a vtvug'itsr, Judith, who
•as Jit whea he dUd, sur.lv«d him
tuny vis reels awd h-asm* « I'c u**,
bo rigid waa aka that she wauij aevag
go wear a playhouse and wg. t« <ieraa|
nf atari thing ikMiraii.
bhe 'lud you sec Anything in .Near
furh that reminded you of PV’sdnt
phia** H* "Van, the gr-ssangat
bora listi«w Ufa
