SHP A ROMANCE\
^ J J£ 4 M JH
Wilden.
CHAPTER XIL—(Continued.)
Shell's life has been bo very un
eventful during (he absence that tt
does not take long to recount the few
email incidents which have broken Us
monotony.
“Jt was so stupid of you to rotne,”
remarks Ruby, during h brief pause
In the dialogue going on between Mtb.
Wllden and Shell. “I don’t suppose
we shall any of iw he stopping here
more than a few days longer."
Mrs. Wllden looks surprised.
"How so? I have no Intention of
going heme Just yet. Ruby," sho says
a llt'le tartly. "The cottage Is taken
for two months, and since the rent
must I** paid, we may as well make the
best of our bargain.”
"There Is no ban! about It." grum
bles Violet.
"No. Indeed—It Is e. downright snare
nnd delusion." agrees Ruby. "Since
even the Champley brothers couldn’t
stand It there can be no wonder If wc
run away."
"I don't think they grew tired of the
moor," says Shell honestly.
* If not, why did they leave It?” de
mands her slsler defiantly.
"Can’t say," respond/* Shell; th°n,
after a pause, she continues—'"I sup
pose you know that (hey are going
abroad In a few days."
"Going abroad!" repeats Ruby, In a
tone of positive ronsternallon. "No,
1 had no idea of It; I understood that
they were merely going back to
Champley House.”
"They are starting for Switzerland
In two or three days,” says Shtll quiet
ly; "and 1 ralher fancy they won’t be
back till autumn."
"In that case we may ao well stop
where we are," observes Ruby, without
her ususal caution.
"My dear Ruby, their movements
cannot In any way affect ours." says
Mrs. Wllden, looking puzzled and a
trifle shocked.
“No, of course not/* eta minora ivii
by, with a momentary flush; “only I
promised Robert Champley in a way
to look after the children! and, since
he Is going abroad, I ahould not like
to leave them alone on the moor.
That nurse Is a very Illiterate person
—i doubt If she ran write—and of
courts he will want to hear how they
eie getting on."
‘ Ahem!" ejaculates Violet suggest
ively, and then indulges in an amused
laugh.
Shell does not laugh, hut turns with
impatient step from the room.
CHARTER XIII,
"Where are you going, Shell?" asks
Ruby, glancing up from an elaborate
hand of crewel-work, destined to trim
a morning-gown.
"I am going over to Meadowrroft to
superintend Boll's donkey-ride. 1 prom
ised him yesterday I would come.”
"What folly! You know ho Is never
allowed a donkey-ride unless he has
I pen particularly good; and when I ask
Riper If he has been good enough to
have cne, she Invariably answers
‘No.’"
Shell gives one of those low rippling
laughs of hers, which Ins iu it a mock
ing ling.
"Riper does not care for running
after donkeys—doubtless she considers
it Infra dig. As she knows that I al
ways do the running business aud leave
her free. I Invariably hear that the
children are deserving of a ride."
wen, nil k nure nuy way, grum
bles Ruby. "I wanted you to rut out
my collar and cutis, hs l foot inclined
tor a good day's work.”
‘‘That won’t take five minutes,"
laughs Shell, stripping oil her wash
leather gloves and good temperedly
setting to the task.
When, some twenty minutes later,
whs arrives at Mendowrrot, Karin, she
finds the children isteldtshed In a hay
tleld near the house, end Piper no
whet e visible.
• Where Is Piper?” esks Shell, sink
ing down In (he fragrant hay.
■ftu»i," answers, lint*, laronlrally.
' lla\e >an bien good hildren good
enough tor a d utkry ride?" pursues
Miell, smiling.
• Don't kltiv/' respond* Hot*, with
placid Indifference "s’lmse uut. Piper
boxed my ear* t'*ls morning.”
• Well, never mind," laughs Shell ~
• *tnce Piper Isn't here we can't aek
her—you shall bare your lonki-y-rlde
today, and then yen'll he a good U.y
tomorrow."
"Don't want » donkey'rid#." re
spuud* Hot* sttdMiy, ‘ tell us g story
Instead."
• Not waul s donkey rW«? Why.
what sort of a b >y do you call your
a*lft" den.alula Shell, turning the
child round It* I t uh bun out of what
• he imsglMs I • l>e n n* id the sulks,
then she be*omes rest* that hih's
(twrtllf rt>'> tare Is | ,«l** and languid
Icoklftg Ibst his bright M >rry eyes
ar* dim and misty
*|*o you fee! HI?" s»k* ■‘ dl think
ing that the thlld a»u*t bst» te***u at*
laared to Nl s>m*ihius 1
• No r.o," faiiei« H»*b. with ail a 1h>*
relucuncs to |ln in lo physical suf
fer. na; "only my bead arbes rather,"
With a tlrsnae Ihull at her heart
II he It lntM to Meg, lire little girl la
WNisd asleep *»»* a soli bed ,4 hay, her
attitude betoken na IhMiutgb lassitude
vtte fat lltUa sits ski aids her ey •*
1 from the light. Removing It gently,
Shell notes that poor Meg Is wan as a
white may-blossom—even the slight
movement sends a convulsive shiver
through her little frame.
Shell lu not one to waste time over
speculations. Stooping down, she rais
es the sleeping child In her arms, and,
telling Bob to follow, proceeds to the
farm. At the door she is met by the
farmer’s wife, a kind, motherly crea
ture. who takes In at a glance Shell'll
sign to be silent.
Mounting to the children's room,
which Is deserted, she undresses Meg
and lays her In her little cot. A few
minutes' persuasion and the promlso
of a fairy tale soon Induce Boh to fol
low his slater's example. But Shell
has no need to cudgel her brains for
the promised legend. No sooner does
Bob’s head touch the pillow than he,
too, sinks into a troubled sleep.
Descending to the big flagged kitch
en, Shell holds a hurried consultation
with the farmer's wife, the result of
which Is that a boy Is despatched for
the nearest doctor.
Whilst she Is waiting his arrival, Pi
per turns up explaining that who has
only Just been down to the village for
a few stamps; she looks much taken
aback when she hears of the children’s
Illness and finds that she cannot pooh
pooh it.
After two hours’ waiting the doctor
comes. He is an elderly man, genial,
reliable and fatherly. Shell and the
mistress of the house accompany him
to the sick-room. When the three
return to the big kitchen there Is a
scared look on two at lea.-t of the
faces.
"All connection with that part of
the houae must he cut off. Mrs. Pom
fret, and a sheet with Condy’s fluid
hung at the end of the passage. 1 will
telegraph at once to Mr. Champley, if
you can furnish me with his address.”
Piper, looking scared and pale, pro
duces the address, and the doctor takea
his departure.
'“The doctor is not certain," answers
Shell in her low sweet voice “but he
fears small-pox; it seems there are
some ca ses In the neighborhood.”
“Small-pox!” shrieks Piper. “And
am I expected to stop here and lose
my life through nursing children with
small-pox? I won’t do it no, not for
Queen Victoria herself!”
“Shame upon you, woman!” cries
Mrs. Pomfret wrathfully. “Do you
mean to tell me you would have the
heart to go away and leave them poor
little babies, with their lather away
goodness knows where, and their poor
mother lying buried? I’d nurse ’em
myself, and welcome, only I've got rny
own children to think of, and I eart’t
be running to and fro to the sick-room
with small-pox hanging about my
clothes."
"Let who will uurre 'em—I won’t,”
remarks Piper doggedly.
“Do you think I would allow you?"
flashes Shell, her bosom heaving with
suppressed scorn and anger. “Do you
imagine for one moment that you arc
fit to he trusted to nurse them?"
"You arc right there, miss,” agrees
Mrs. Pomfret; “for she neglects them
poor dears, ahameftil. Am for nursing.
I wouldn't trust her with a alck cat;"
then, turning to the nurse, she con
tinues loftily—“Take your precious per
son out of this as soon as may be —
though who's to attend to then; chil
dren I don't know.’’
“Don’t trouble yourself about that,
Mrs. Pomfret. 1 will take care of them
till a proper nurse is found," says Shell
gently.
“You mustn't mles—it's catching—
dreadful catching," remonstrates Mrs.
Pomfret.
"Only when people are afraid,”
laughs Shell. “1 don't feel in the least
nervous about Illness."
“’Cause you haven’t seen much,"
opined Mrs. Pomfret, with a sage head
shake.
There is general consternation at
(loree Cottage when Shell arrives with
her news.
“Hmall-jox! Are you quite sure he
said small-pox?" cries Kutty, with a
shudder. "How terrible! Hut surely
it can't he small-pox - the rhitdreu
must have been vaccinated,"
"That Is the strange point,” an
swers Hhell. "There is no mark what
ever on Megs arm a very faint one
on Hob *. The doctor oa>* he can't
be sure for another twenty-four hours.
They ought to have l*ecn in tied twit
i days ago they do nothing but shiver
and shiver und shiver .’’
"What is to tie done*'' ask* Itnby
blankly; and Hun. a bright bleu sug
gesting Itself VVe must telegraph at
nne« tu luindun for an sspnleuc si
ours*."
"And who l» to nurse them till she
; arrlvwrf"
"Hiper, of fourt*,"
“Htper has it«*» by th • lime I left
, her packing her l*i\ "
“llow di**ra- etui of h*r* II weser.
| Mr*. Homfrel niu*l get goas - one to »<■<■
' to them "
'Hubert Chantpley toll me that you
had promts* 4 to h» to them during his
abwenee
“Mow utterly ahaurd aud unpractical
yott are tthell* tH nwiw I am y#r>
sorry fur the darling children but I
, an t puaathly risk au* h a rntaatruphr
as small pox—no one could expect It
Had it been anything else”— grandilo
quently—"anything less repulsive, I
would have gone to them myself."
"And they are to be left entirely to
strangers, with no familiar face be
side them?” queries Shell in her even
voice.
“I don't see any other possible ar
rangement, since you have been foolish
enough to let Piper forsake her post,”
answers Huby, with a sigh.
“But I see thnt seme other arrange
ment Is Imperative,” says Shell decid
edly. "It would be too cruel and cow
ardly to leave them to strangers. If
you won't go and remain with them tfll
the nurse arrives I shall.”
(To be Continued.)
WON'T EAT WOMEN.
I’rriivlitii Cannibal* Itegaril 111* He* aa
t'nrlcan Animal*.
Down in the darkest Peru, over an
outlying ear.tein ridge of the Andes,
toward the very unsettled boundary
lines of Brazil and Bolivia, a flourish
ing race of cannibalistic Indians can
be found. They are so fierce and un
approachable tk t few missionaries or
explorers have over felt courage enough
to guarantee anything like a close
i study of their eccentricities. It wan
I an Englishwoman who recently
brought home a photograph cf one of
the women of a cannibal tribe, and
though full of eagerness to know more
i of these people, she was persuaded to
forego Investigation. The civilized In
dians regard them with a horror that
only cannibalism ran Inspire, and only
at long Intervals have the white rcsl
; denta of Peru seen or captured any of
the Cascibos, who range the forests
where the precious Peruvian bark Is
found, and who fight each other in the
hope of securing prisoners for a can
nibalistic orgie. But there Is a queer
code In their savage law. They make
no effort to seize women for their
feasts. The very degradation of the sex
Is In a way Us preservation. The male
ante* or Caodbo regards a woman as an
impure being. She Is a necessary tor
ment. but by no means a comfort,
though she accepts her share of duty,
and a cannibal brave would well-nigh
perish of starvation before he would
pollute his lips with female flesh. Not
only is a woman thus despised, but
her blood is feared as a poison, from
the tante of which no man could recov
er. The cannibal women profess no
such distaste for man's flesh, but are
said to eat It with relish, while tn their
own turn they have evidently taken no
active steps to convince the men
against their andent error and preju
dice.—Washington Times.
A PEASANT WEDDING.
Mrs. Alec Tweedie, in her Journey
lugs through Finland, appears to have
displayed a happy aptitude for forming
friendly relations with all sorts and
conditions of people. At one peasant
cottage of the poorest sort, where she
stopped to buy a bowl of milk, she fell
into conversation with Its mistress, a
very clean and apparently very aged
woman, clad In a short serge skirt, a
loose white chemise and a striped
apron of many tolors—these simple
garments being ail of her own weav
ing. Over her head she wore a black
( cashmere kerchief. Her face might
have belonged to a woman of a hun
dred or a witch of ancient times, it
was so wrinkled and tanned; her
hands were hard and horny; and yet,
after half an hour'a conversation, we
discovered she was only about (lfty
five. Hard work, poor food and life
in dark, ill-ventilated, smoky cottages
age ths peasants fast; at seventeen
many a girl begins to look like an old
woman. The old, or middle-aged,
woman was a cheerful and friendly
soul, and was soon beguiled, by the
i visitor’s comments on a woven land
i hanging in sight, into narrating an
episode of family history. It had been
one of the presents given by her son
nn hlH marriage, to his groomsman.
He hail married a girl of another vil
| lage— asking her hand in aceortinr.ee
with immemorial Finnish custom,
through a puhemies, or spokesman, a
Kind of preliminary best man, who
must do all the talking while the suit*
; or himself sits dumb, lleing accepted,
he exchaugcd rings with his betrothed
and gave her father the usual klhlarat.
I "What is that?” the visitor asked.
J "Why, it Is a sort of a deposit given to
the girl's father to show he really
means to marry the girl—a cow or
something of that sort." A two
j years' engagement, during which the
; young people were earning their house
j hold equipment, was followed by a
grand wedding, celebrated, as usual in
l Finland, at the bridegroom's house,
j "H Is a very expensive thing to get
married.” said the mother, "and my
j son had to she many presents to the
father-in-law, mother-in-law, brides
maid* and groomsmen. To all the
brides maids he gave stockings, that
■wing the fashion of our country; to
the groomsmen he gave shirts, to his
mother-in-law u drets. to the father*
in-law a belt, and to other friends head
handkerchief* In tb rt, she r •nfc ud
I that the otnaa on was a very serious
drain upon the family resiure«s. ‘‘Hut,
oh, ii was a lovely time," ehe added.
"A wedding la a sylru it I tb'ng We
had • feast all one day and the next, j
and then the prte.t t ime and they ,
were married. yjvety one we knew
ram* from mites around Hume
b ought a >an of ntili.iRj a m ■ f them j
bri.tulu rum loandy. and o’h*r*
brought poire gt>, end Johansen had
lwen to tuts so he NiKgtd tia k With
' him some while htesd Aye, it was a
grand feast' At dawnd and ate and
. ' ii I n i • i> • < ' i • ; i% • and
(hew we all walked with my a.m and
hia bride to that little rvttage oa the
other aide of tha wood and left ih*iu
there, where they have lived ever
| etwee '
TALMAGE’S SERMON.
“MAKE HOME HAPPY," LAST
SUNDAY’S SUBJECT.
Prom the Text, John, Cliapt. 30, Verse
JO, aa follow*: "The OUrlple* Went
Awaf Again I'alo Tlielr Own Home*”
—Mo,lorn Marriage.
A church within a church, a republic
within a republic, a world within a
world, 1m spelled by four letters—
Home! If things go right there, they
go right everywhere. The doorMlll of
the dwelllnghouse Is the foundation of
church nnd state. A man never gets
higher than his own garret or lower
than his own cellar. Domestic life
overarches and undergirdles all other
life. The highest house of congress
the domestic circle; the rocking chair
in the nursery Is higher than a throne.
George Washington commanded the
forees of the United States, but Mary
Washington commanded George.
Chrysostom’s mother made his pen for
him. if a man should start out and
run seventy years in a straight line, ho
could not get out from under the sha
dow of his own mantelpiece, i there
fore talk to you about a matter of In
finite and eternal moment when I
speak of your home.
As Individuals we are fragment*.
God makes the race In parts, and then
he gradually puts us together. What
I lack, you make up; what you lack, 1
make up; our deficits and surpluses
of character being the cog wheels In
the great social mechanism. One per
son has the patience, another has the
courage, another has the placidity, an
other has the enthusiasm; that which
is lacking In one Is made up by an
other, or made up by all. Buffaloes In
herds, grouse In broods, quails in
flocks, the human race in circles, wi
has most beautifully arranged this. It
Is In this way that he balances society;
this conservative and that radical
keeping things even. Kvery ship
must have Its mast, cut-water, taffrall,
ballast. Thank God, then, for Prince
ton and Andover, for the opposites. I
have no more right to blame a man
for being different from me than a
driving wheel has a right to blame the
Iron shaft that holds It to the center.
John Wesley balances Calvin’s Insti
tutes. A cold thinker gives to Scot
land the strong bones of theology; Dr.
Guthrie clothes them with a throb
bing heart and warm flesh. The dif
ficulty Is that we are not satisfied with
Just the work that God has given us
to do. The water wheel wants to come
Inside the mill and grind the grist, nnd
the hopper wants to go out and dabble
In the water. Our usefulness and the
welfare of society depend upon our
staying In Just the place that God has
put us, or Intended we should occupy.
• * •
The institution of marriage has been
defamed In our day. Socialism and
polygamy, and the most damnable of
all things, free-lovlsm, has been try
ing to turn this earth Into a Turkish
harem. While the pulpits have been
comparatively silent, novels—their
cheapness only equaled by their nasti
ness—are trying to educate this nation
In regard to holy marriage, which
makes or breaks for time and eternity.
Oh, this Is not a mere question of resi
dence or wardrobe! It is a question
charged with gigantic Joy or sorrow,
with heaven or hell. Alas for (his
new dispensation of George. Sands!
Alas for this mingling of the night
shade with the marriage garlands!
Alas for the venom of adders spit Into
the tankards! Alas for the white
frosts of eternal death that kill the
orange blossoms! The gospel of Jesus
Christ is to assert what is right and
to assail what Is wrong. Attempt has
been made to take tae marriage insti
tution, which waa Intended for the
happiness and elevation of the race,
and make It a mere commercial enter
prise; an exchange of houses and lands
and equipage; a business partnership
of two stuffed up with the stories of
romance and knight-errantry, and un
faithfulness and feminine angelhood.
The two after a while have roused up I
to find that, instead of the paradise \
they dreamed of, they have got noth
ing but a Van Ainburgh's menagerie.
Ailed with tigers and wild cats. Eigh
ty thousand divorces m Paris in one
year preceded the worst revolution
that France ever saw. And I tell you
what you know as well as I do, that
wrong notions on the subject of Chris
tian marriage are the cause nt this day
of more moral outrage before God and
man than any other cause.
There are some things thut I want to
bring before you. I know there are
those of you who have had homes set
up for a great muny years; and. then,
there are those here who have just
established their home. They have
only been In that home a few months
or a few years. Thun, there are those
who will, after a while, set up for
themselves a home, and it is right that
I sboulu speak out upoo these themes
My first counsel to you Is, have God
In your new home, If It be a new home;
and let him who was a guest at Beth*
any t>« In your household; let the di
vine bieasitig dtop upon your every
hope and plau and expectation. Those
toting people who begin with God end
with hcaten. Ilate on your right
hand the eugagtiuent rings of the di
vine illt .aion. If one of you lie n
Christian, let that one take the liible
ui>,I trad u tew verses In ths evening
time, and then knt«| down and com
Wend yourselves to him oho svtteth
the solitary In families. | want to
tell you that the destroying angel
passes by without touching or entering
the doorpost sprinkled with blood of
the everlasting covenant Why Is ‘I
that In sums families they never get
along, and in others they always get
along wall* I huvt wat I. *4 such cases
and have come to a conclusion. In the
first instance, nothing seemed to go
pleasantly, and after a while there
came a devastation, domestic disaster,
or estrangement. Why? They start
ed wrong. In the other case, although
there were hardships and trials and
some things that had to be explained,
still things went on pleasantly until
the very last. Why? They started
right.
My second advice to you in your
home is. to exercise to the very laat
possibility of your nature the law of
forbearance. Prayers In the house
hold will not make up for everything.
Home of the best people In the world
ure the hardest to get along with
There are people who stand tip In
prayer meetings and pray like angels,
who at borne are uncompromising and
cranky. You may not have everything
Just ns you wunt It. Sometimes it
will he the duly of the husband and
sometimes of the wife to yield; but
both stand punctiliously on your rights
and you will have a Waterloo, with no
Hlueber coming up at nightfall to de
cide the conflict.
Never be ashamed to apologize when
you have done wrong in domestic af
fairs. I^et that be a law of your
household. The best thing I ever
heard of my grandfather, whom I nev
er saw, was this, that once having
unrighteously rebuked one of Ills chil
dren, lie himself having lost his P<**
tlenre, and, perhaps, having been mis
informed of the child's doings, found
out his mistake, and In the evening ot
the same day gathered alt his family
together and said, "Now, I have otic
explanation to make, and one thing
to say. Thomas, this morning I re
buked you very unfairly, I am very
sorry for It. I rebuked you In the
presence of the whole family, and now
x ask your forgiveness in their pres
ence." It must have taken some
courage to do that. It was light, was
it not? Never be ashamed to apolo
gize for domestic inaccuracy. Find out
the points; what are the weak points,
if I may call them so, of your com
panion, and then starfd aloof from
them. Do not carry the lire of your
temper too near the gunpowder, if
the wife be easily fretted by disorder
in the household, let the husband be
careful where he throws his slippers.
If the husband come home from the
store with his patience exhausted, do
not let the wife unnecessarily cross his
temper, but both stand up for your
rights, and I will promise the ever
lasting sound of the war-whoop. Your
life will be spent in making-up and
marriage will be to you an unmitigated
curse. Cowper said:
"The kindest and the happiest pair
Will find occasion to forbear;
And something, every day they live,
To pity, and perhaps forgive.”
I advise, also, that you make your
chief pleasure circle around about that
home. It is unfortunate when it is
otherwise. If the husband spent the
most of his nights away from home, of
choice, and not of necessity, he is not
the head of the household; ho is only
the cashier. If the wife throw the
cares of the household into the ser
vant's lap, and then spend five nights
of the week at the opera or theater,
she may clothe her children with satin
and laces and riboons that would con
found a French milliner, but they are
orphans. It is sad when a child has
no one to say ltB prayers to because
mother has gone off to the evening
entertainment! In India they bring
children and throw them to the croco
diles. and It seems very cruel; but
the Jaws of social dissipation are swal
lowing down more little children to
day than all the monster* that over
crawled upon the banks of the Gan
ges!
I have seen the sorrow of a godless
mother on the death of a child she
had neglected. It was not so much
grief that she felt from the fact that
the child was dead as the fact that she
had neglected it. She said, "If *1 had
only watched over and cared for the
child, I know God would not have
taken it." The tears came not: It was
a dry, blistering tempest—a scorching
simoon of the desert. When she wrung
her hands it seemed as if she would
twist her lingers from their sockets;
when she seized her hair. It seemed as
if she had. In wild terror, grasped a
colling serpent with her right hand.
No tears! Comrades of the little one
came in and wept over the coffin;
neighbors came in and the moment
they saw the still face of the child
the shower broke. No tears for her.
God gives teats as the summer rain
to the parched soul; but in all the
universe the driest and hottest, the
most scorching and consuming thing
Is a mother's heart if she has neglect
ed her child, when once it is dead.
God may forgive her, hut she will
never forgive herself. The memory
will sink the eyes deeper Into the
sockets, and pinch the face, and whiten
the hair, and eat up the heart with
vultures that will not lie sat tutted, for
ever plunging deeper their iron beaks.
Oh, you wsndeters from your home,
go back to your duty! The brightest
flowers In all the earth are those which
grow In the garden of a Christian
household, < lumbering over the porch I
of a Christian home.
I advise you also to cult it it * ay in ,
patby of occupation Sir Jautea Mi- '
Intueh. one of the most eminent and
elegant men that ever lived, while
standing at the very uelght of his em
inence, said to a great company of |
scholar*, "My Wife mads me" The
wife ought to he the advising ptriner
In evert Arm She ought to be inter
ested la all the tnesee and galas ol
■ bop and store. She ought to hove a
right she ha« a right to know every
thing If a man ««**’• lain a bosiaees
iroaaarthm that he dare not tell btr
wife of, you may depend that he la on
the way ailher to bankruptcy or mural
ruin. Thera may be soma things
which he does not wish to trouble hi*
wife with; but if he dare not tell her,
he is on the road to discomfiture. On
the other hand, the husband ought to
be sympathetic with the wife’s occu
pation. It is not easy thing to Keep
house. Many a woman who could
have endured martyrdom as well as
Marguret, the Scotch girl, has actually
been worn out by house management.
There are a thousand martyrs of tha
kitchen. It u very annoying, after the
vexations of the day around the stove
or tiie register or the tabic, or in the
nursery or parlor, to have the hus
band say, “You know nothing about
trouble; you ought to be In the store
half an hour.” Sympathy of occupa
tion? If the husband’s work cover him
with the soot of the furnace, or the
odors of leather or soap factories, let
not the wife be easily disgusted at the
begrimed hands of unsavory aroma.
Your gains are one, your interests aro
one, your losses are one; lay hold of
the work of life with both hands. Four
hands to fight the battles; four eyes to
watch for the danger; four shoulders
on which to carry the trials. It Is a
very sad thing when the painter has
a wife who does not like pictures. It
Is a very sad thing for a pianist when
she lias a husband who does not like
music. H i« a very sad thing when a
wife is not suited unless her husband
bas what is railed a ‘ genteel busi
ness.” 80 far as I understand a "gen
teel business,” It Is something to which
a man goes at ten o’clock In the morn
ing, and from which he comes home
at two or three o’clock in the after
noon, and gets a large amount of
money for doing nothing. That is. I
believe, a "genteel business;” and there
has been many a wife who has made
me mistake of not being satlsfled ontll
the husband has given tip the tanning
of the hides, or the turning of the
banisters, or the building of the walls,
and put himself In circles where he
has nothing to do but smoke cigars
and drink wine, and get himself Into
habits that upset him, going down In
the maelstrom, taking his wife and
children with him. Thera are a good
many trains running from earth to
destruction. They start all hours of
the day. and all hours of the night.
There arc the freight trains; they go
very slowly and very heavily; and
there are the accommodation trains go
ing on toward destruction, and they
stoy very often and let a man get out
when he wants to. Hut genteel idle
ness Is an express train; Satan is the
stoker, and death Is the engineer; and
though one may come out In front of
it, and swing the red flag of "danger,"
or the lantern of God's Word, It makes
Just one shot Into perdition, coining
down the embankment with a shout
and a wall and a shriek-crash, crash!
There are two classes of people sure of
destruction; first, those who have
nothing to do; secondly, those who
have something to do, hut who are too
lazy or too preud to do It.
I have one more wonl of advice to
give to those who would have a happy
home, and that Is, let love preside In
It. When your behavior In the do
mestic circle becomes a mere matter
of calculation; when the caress you
give is merely the result of deliberate
study cf the position you occupy, hap
piness lies stark dead on the hearth
stone. When the husband's position
as head of the household Is maintained
by loudness of voice, by strength of
arm, by lire of temper, the republic of
domestic bliss has become a despotism
that neither God nor man will abide.
Oh, ye who promised to love each
other at the altar! how dare yon com
mit perjury? Get no shadow of aus
picion come on your affection. It is
easier to kill that flower than it is
to make It live again. The blast from
hell that puts out that light, leaves
you In the blackness of darkness for
ever.
DON’T TINKER THE CLOCK
If You Do You Will Probnhly Itulu th#
Tluitploco.
“Watch repairers have a horror ot
touching a clock that has been tin
kered by amateurs," explained a watch
repairer, "and they would rather get
out of such a job if they can do so, for
the loss of one of the smallest parts
means considerable work to reproduce
It, and much more work than the gen
eral customer expect* or wants to pay
for. They try to pet out of such a Job
when they mil, for in nine cases out
of ten the result Is not entirely sat
isfactory. People who have* a good
clock, unless they know something
about the way (locks are made and
how they should he taken apart, will
do the wise thing to l**t It alone when
It gets out of order. Experimenting
with It often means the ruin of the
clock. It Is absolutely dangerous to
try to unwind a mainspring, us men
have discovered for themselves, me
less the proper tools are at hand. Now,
a clock repairer has a conttlvanco
known as a spring controller, which
grasps the spring and holds It whllo
beta*, takeu out or put Into the clock,
no that there Is no danger. The spring
for an eight hour doth Is ofteu two
yards loug. and when suddenly let frno
It HI#* out with nearly the fore# of
a charge of shot front a gun Hutu#
tint* san a friend of mine ttonight h#
would tinker with til* clock II# did
tinker M, and In taking out ths main
spring It got away from him in itg
rttghi it took off a 11 lamp from g par
lor table and e tushol In the glass of
a *.m mantel mirror, besides doing ot v
er damage the 11 elurk to#t him in
da to are * tartly 931, besides cutting hl«
hand seriously **
Wttsat st • Slants Ttw.
A Hlngl# banyan ire# has b##g hn»««
to shell#? I,«M m«n at‘on# Has.