LOVE IS BEST .
3*y Florence llodgkjn-son
CHAPTER XII
It was springtime at EasthiH-on
Sea, and things were settling down
again. Mrs. Dynevor. with her son
and daughter, still lived at the Up
lands, but with no fear now of the
mortgage foreclosing. It was gener
ally believed—and specially so by Har
old—that the interest was paid to the
young mistress of the Manor; really
it went Into the local bank account of
“Kitty Dynevor,” for Lillian I new
that Alick Craven's wooing would soon
end successfully, and wanted Kitty to
have a nice little sum in hand for her
trouseau.
Woodlands was a school no longer.
Mrs. Tanner lived at the Manor as
chaperon to Miss Dynevor; and Lil
lian, thoughtful in all things, had in
sisted on purchasing an annuity of two
hundred a year for her friend, so that,
as she put it, if she did not live long
Mrs. Tanner need not op«n a school
again.
Mrs. Dynevor and Kitty were often
at the Manor, and loved Lillian even
better than they had loved Miss Len
don; but Harold never went there,
and when he met his cousin at Up
lands treated her with a cold reserve
that almost broke her heart.
“Your brother was kinder to me
when I was a poor little governess,”
she said to Kitty. And that damsel,
then on the eve of her wedding, lec
tured Harold pretty sharply on his
manner to her favorite.
“You don’t understand,” he said
coldly. “Lillian is rich, we are poor,
and that makes a gulf between us.”
“But it need not,” Kitty persisted.
Lillian and the twins were her
bridesmaids when the June day came
that made her Mrs. Alick Craven;
and somehow, when the happy pair
had driven ofT, Harold found himself
alone In the garden with the chief
bridesmaid.
“It went off very well." he remarked,
“I never saw Kitty look better.”
“No. I think they will he very
happy,” she said quietly.
“I suppose yours will be the next
wedding in the family, Lillian? It is
high time you chose a prince consort
for the Manor.”
“Only that I am not going to do
anything of the sort,” she answered.
“I thought I heard Mrs. Tanner say
something about changes at the Ma
nor.”
“Y'es; but they need not mean mat
rimony.” She hesitated. “You were
so kind to me in the old days, when
first I came to Easthill, that I would
like to tell you my plans. I am quite
sure I am not fit to be a great lady,
and I should like to feel that my life
was of use to some one, so I am going ,
to London to be trained as a hospital
nurse.”
•Lillian!”
‘‘Anil as my life will be spent among
sick folk, you see, I shall never want
the Manor; and—you are the last of
the Dynevors—you would make me
very happy, Harold, if you would go
back to the old home which was to
have been yours, which would have
been yours if I had never been born.”
‘‘Lillian, you know it is impossible!”
‘‘I know you have shunned the Ma
nor lately; but if it was your own?”
“I have only shunned it because
something it contained was growing
all too dear to me. Lillian, did you
ever guess my secret—that 1 loved you
with all my heart, and but for the
gulf between our fortunes I should
have asked you to be my wife?”
‘‘And I thought you hated me be
cause I was my mother's daughter.”
“I love you dearly; I have loved
you ever since the old days, when I
thought you were only a penniless lit
tle teacher.”
“I wish I had been,'' she answered
wistfully. ‘‘I don't think money has
brought me much happiness. But
Harold, when I go to the hospital you
must take the Manor; the dear old
place can’t be left desolate.”
And then Harold Dynevor’s love
conquered his pride. He took Lillian
in his arms, and whispered that he
would only take the gift with the
giver.
And now Dynevor Manor is a happy
home, and children who bear the old
name make merry in the nursery Mrs.
Craven had been afraid to use.
The End.
Lesson In Astronomy
It was the third week of our trip
across the plains. We were now just
seventy-five miles from Fremont, and
expected to make it very shortly; but
on rising f was disgusted to find that
one of the horses—we had only two—
was dead lame. He had cast himself
In the night. I was rubbing the strain
ed tendons when the professor came
\d stood beside me.
“How long before he will be ready
tor work again?”
“I don't know.” I said shortly.
“Hand me that oil.”
"What is a near estimate?” he in
quired, with a touch of mild irritation.
“Surely in these days of scientific ex
actitude so slight a matter as the
length of a horse’s lameness may be
computed with reasonable accuracy.”
“I Just wish you'd try it, then,” I
said, sulkily. “He may be ready to
morrow—we may have to wait two
weeks—unless you want to ride the
mare in. I don't mind walking.”
“An/ leave my specimens to the
mercy of any Yahoo that happens
along? My dear Curtis, I could not
think of it! Since there’s only you
and I we can make ourselves very
comfortable. But I do hope the crea
ture will be all right in a short time.
I uni anxious to be in Fremont to
study the collision of the comet with
nij colleague there.”
"Collision of the comet!” I repeated
straightening up. There's nothing so
tirssonie as rubbing a sprain.”
“Certainly! That brilliant comet
to which I have called your attention
for several nights, will surely collide
with the earth, in a few days at far
thest. The phenomenon will prove a
rare and wonderful one, though as
tronomers have often expected such an
occurrence. Unfortunately, something
always seemed to interfere.”
“May the interference continue," I
said, laughing. "I don’t believe this
old world will be smashed up yet
awhile.”
‘‘I did not say it would be smash
ed,” returned the professor with some
dignity. ' The most advanced theorists
agree in saying that the comet itself is
now only in a gaseous form, and that
now only in a gaseous form, and
that-”
"Ilallowell,” I interrupted, "go and
make the coffee. We can discuss gase
ous comets while we eat.”
Three days passed, and the black
was no better. As miseries never
come single, his mate, a pretty mare,
having the undue curiosity of her sex,
experimented with a tempting weed,
and wa3 in a very serious condition
when I found her. I dosed her with
several remedies, getting little he p
from the professor. He was so busy
watching a cloud that lay along the
horizon that I was tempted to smash
his telescope in order to bring him
down to mundane affairs. Having
done what I could for the poor mare,
I came back to the wagon.
“I don't believe she’ll pull through,”
I said savagely.
The professor squinted one eye up
a little tighter.
“Amazing!” he murmured. "It trav
els with scarcely the sped of a locomo
tive. 1 marvel the velocity is no
greater-—doubtless the earth's gravity
exercises a controlling influence at
present.” Then, in a different tone,
“Curtis, there's a buffalo calf coming
toward us. I suppose you would not
be interested if I told you of the ar
rival of something really important.”
I took the glass out of his hand.
"It's not a calf, Hallowell. It’s a
man-riding like the deuce. What do
you reckon is the matter?”
Hallowell was frprn the east and was
not used to southern localisms.
“It is impossible to reckon anything
on so slight a basis,” he answered se
riously—then made a wild dive at
something that floated by. When he
turned to me there was a shining bub
ble in his hand.
"The comet!” he shouted. “The col
lision has occurred.”
“Do you call that thing a comet?”
I asked contemptuously. “I might
say to you with Festus—‘Much learn
ing hath made the mad.’ ”
“It is a detached fragment from the
main body of the gas,” he replied,
dancing triumphantly around. “The
comet as a whole is that faint cloud
you see yonder.”
“The deuce it is,” I said anxiously. :
"We shall smother or be blown away.
I remember you said something about
its traveling like a train.”
“Not blown away,” corrected the
professor. “We can take refuge in
the hole by that hemlock yonder. As
to our chance of smothering, I wonder
you can mention such a trifle in the
face of material of such overwhelming
scientific interest. I think—”
We were interrupted by a cry from
the advancing horseman. I saw that
he was using whip and spur on his
mount, and that the latter instead of
responding was evidently played out.
Indeed, as he reached us, the poor
brute went down. His rider staggered
up before I could lend my assistance.
"For God’s sake let me have a
horse!” he exclaimed entreatingly. “I
am on my way from X—, to Fremont,
with a pardon for my brother. If I
do not reach the town before 12 to
morrow, the best man that ever buck
led will die for no worse fault than
putting a 'wullet through that hound.
Pistol Pete. It is nearly 5 now!”
"You shall have the horse and wel
come,” I replied, for the young fellow’s
manly face wsro haggard with an awful
grief, “but one is dead lame, and the
other is too ilk to stand.”
He made a rush for the horses to
satisfy himself, and came back with
a gesture of despair that went to my
heart.
“Look!” he cried wildly, drawing
out an envelope. “There’s a life in
that paper—and 1 have ridden—ridden
—and met with one hindrance after
another 1”
The professor looked at him pity
ingly.
“How limited are the capabilities of
the body compared with the desires
of the spirit,” he murmured.
"I cannot bear it!” cried the strang
er, frantically. “They told me that was
a good horse—the liars!”
He flung himself on the ground and
hard, dry sobs shook his chest,
The professor picked up the glass.
"In less than an hour it will be
here,” he said thoughtfully.
"Thank God I am not a scientist,” I
said rudely. "You fellows have about
as much feeliug as the dry bones you
study.”
The professor Ignored me, and
shook the prostrate man.
"Get up.” he said, commandingly, a
new note in his voice. “Do as I tell
you, and your brother may be saved
yet.”
The man rose. We both stared at
Halloweil. 1 wondered if he had really
gone crazy.
“Take the tongue off the wagon,”
he said curtly, "and spread the covey
and all the cloth you can find on the
ground near me.”
For a moment I hesitated; then it
dimly occurred to me that even a.
bookworm might have original ideas,
and I said sotto voce to the newcom
er—
"Do as he says; he's by no means as
big a fool as he looks.”
I rather think Halloweil overheard
me, for ho shot a distinctly ungrateful
glance in my direction, but he could
say nothing, as wo were both now zeal
ously obeying him.
He made us cut the great cloth cov
er in two large sails, and these wo fas
tened on the wagon under his orders.
"Surely—surely,” I gasped, "you
don’t think that you can make that
cloud of gas help us? Why, it’s fad
ing away!”
"It is not fading,” said the profes
sor, brusquely. "It seems much faint
er because you are so near it and be
cause of the action of the sun on it.
Do as I tell you—there’s no time to
lose.”
Wiien lie was satisfied he made us
scramble into the wagon and we sat
there, waiting for—what? Three ap
parently sane men in a horseless wag
on, waiting for a sky motor which mo
mentarily grew fainter! When ten
minutes passed by outraged dignity as
sorted itself.
"I won't be made a fool of.” I said,
angrily, and started to leave the wag
on.
Halloweil pushed me back on my
scat. Then I became awrare of a sick
ening odor—a fresh breeze on my
back— a pale mist around us shot with
brilliant hues, and lo! we were run
ning over the plain at a rate that
threatened to wreck the wagon—our
sails swelled out like two great wings.
My hair was rapidly assuming a ver
tical position, but the two faces near
me showed utter unconsciousness of
danger. That of the stranger wTas
burning with joy and reverent thank
fulness. To him it was a God-sent
miracle for a good man’s rescue. The
professor was radiant over this new
factor in his knowledge and he mut
tered his observations aloud. Neither
seemed disturbed by the fact that
from the speed and the smell,breathing
was no easy matter. As to me—my
one hope was that 1 might touch o'.d
earth again safely.
On, on we flow. Again and again I
expected an immediate smashup, but
our wagon was of fine and strong
make, the plain was level, and we bade
fair to reach the town shortly. In
less than two hours we were not three
miles from Fremont!
Then a terrible idea flashed on me
which I had been too hurried to think
of before. We should pass the town!
Like the brook, we might go on for
ever— or at least far enough to wreck
us on the broken lands beyond. As to
the stranger, the trip would have been
of no earthly use to him.
“I shall jump," he said simply, as if
in answer to an outspoken inquiry.
The professor was looking anxious but
he said nothing.
llut we had forgotten the little river
lying near the town. We struck it like
a cyclone, and its four feet of water
was whipped into wild spray around
us, while the wagon spun like a frantic
top, then stopped with a lurch that
nearly sent us flying. Either the force
of our motor was lessening or perhaps,
even at its best, it would not have had
time or strength to loosen the wagon
from the heavy snag driven between
the spokes, for the pale gas rushed on.
leaving three dripping men and some
ruined specimens in the river, with
Fremont not 500 yards away.
TEUTONS IN FRANCE,
Parts of the Republic Are as Much
Herman as the Fatherland.
The northern third of France and
half of Belgium are today more Teu
tonic than the south of Germany. This
should not occasion surprise when wo
remember the incessant downpour of
Teutonic tribes during the whole his
toric period. It was a constant pro
cession of Goths—from all points ol
the compass—Franks, Burgundians,
and others. France was entirely over
run by the Franks, with the exception
of Brittany, by the middle of the sixth
century, says the London Express. All
through the middle ages this part of
France was German in language and
customs as well. The very name of
the country is Teutonic. It has the
same origin as Franconia in Southern
Germany. In 812 the council of Tours,
away down south, ordained that every
bishop should preach both in tho Ro
mance and the Teutonic languages.
The Franks preserved their German
speech 400 years after the conquest.
Charlemagne was a German. His cour
tiers were all Germans. He lived and
governed from outside the limits of
modern France. The Abbe Sieyos ut
tered an ethnological truism when, in
the course of the French revolution,
he cried out against the French aris
tocracy: “Let us send them back to
their German marshes whence they
came.’’
Removal from County .IaII*.
One of the measures before the legis
lature of North Carolina provides that
all criminals condemned to capital
punishment shall be removed from the
county jails immediately upon convic
tion, to the state penitentiary tc await
the execution of their sentence.
TALM AGE'S SERMON.
marks of THE LORD JESUS
CHRIST.
On ( liri.tlnn Heroism- The Groat
ward That ConiM to the Faithful
Soldier of the troM Heroes hikI .lUr*
tjn of K»erydajr Life.
(Copyright, 1901, by I.ouis Klopsch.)
Washington, Feb. 24.—In this dis
course Dr. Talmage praises Christian
heroism and tells of great rewards. The
text Is Galatians vi., 17, “1 bear in ray
body the marks of the Lord Jesus.”
We hear much about crowns,thrones,
victories, but 1 now tell the more quiet
story of scars, honorable and dishonor
able. There are In all parts of the
world people bearing dishonorable
scars. They went into Die battle of
sin and were worsted and to their dy
ing day they will have a sacriflcation
of body or mind or soul. It cannot bo
hidden. There are tens of thousands
of men and women now consecrated
to God and living holy lives who were
once corrupt; but they have been re
generated, and they are no more what
they once were than rubescenee i3 ema
ciation, than balm is vitrol. than noon
day is midnight. But in their de
pleted physical health or mental twist
or style of temptation they are ever
and anon reminded of the obnoxious
past. They have a memory that is de
plorable. In some twinge of pain or
some tendency to surrender to the
wrong which they must perpetually re
sist they have an unwholesome remin
iscence. They carry scars, deep scars,
ignoble scars.
But Paul in my text shows us a scar
ification which Is a badge of honorable
and self-sacrificing service. He had in
his weak eyes the result of too much
study and in his body, bent and worn,
the signature of scourgings and ship
wrecks and maltreatment by mobs. In
my text he shows those scars as he de
clares, "I bear in my body the marks of
the Lord Jesus." Notice that It is not
wounds, but scars, and a scar Is a heal
ed wound. Before the scar is well de
fined upon the flesh the inflammation
must have depnrted and right circula
tion must have been restored and new
tissue must have been formed. It is a
permanent indentation of the flesh—a
efcatrix. Paul did well to show those
scars. They were positive and indispu
table proof that with all his body,mind
and soul he believed what he said.
They were his diploma, showing that
he had graduated from the school of
hardship for Christ. They were cre
dentials proving bis right to lead in the
world's evangelization.
Not Ashnmoit of Scan.
Men are not ashamed of scars got in
battle for their country. No American
is embarrassed when you ask him.
“Where did you get that gash across
your forehead?’’ and he can answer,
“That was from a saber cut at San
Juan." When you ask some German,
“Where did you lose your right arm?"
he is not ashamed to say, “I lost It at
Sedan.” When you ask an Italian,
“Where did you lose your eye?” he is
not annoyed when he can answer, "1
suffered that in the last battle uuder
our glorious General Garibaldi.” But I
remind you of the fact that there are
scars not got in war which are just as
illustrious. We had in this country
yeai'3 ago an eminent advocate who
was called into the presidential cabi
net at attorney general. In mid-life
he was in a Philadelphia courtroom en
gaged in an important trial. The at
torney on the opposite side of the case
got Irritated and angry and in a most
brutal manner referred to the distin
guished attorney’s disfigured face, a
face more deeply scarred than any face
1 ever saw. The legal hero of whom I
am speaking in his elosing argument
said: “Gentlemen of the jury, when I
was a little child I was playing with
my sister in the nursery, and her
clothes caught fire, and I ran to her
to put out the fire. I succeeded, but 1
myself took fire, and before it was ex
tinguished my lace was awfully burn
ed and as black as the heart of the
scoundrelly counsel who on the other
side of the case has referred to my
misfortune.” The eminent attorney of
whom I speak carried all his life the
honorable scar of his sister's rescue.
Ktaiiug a Fnmlljr.
But why do we go so far for illustra
tion, when I could take right out of the
memories of some whom I address in
stances just as appropriate? To rear
aright for God and heaven a large fam
ily of children in that country home
was a mighty undertaking. Far away
from the village doctor,the garret must
contain the herbs for the cure of all
kinds of disorders. Through all infan
tile complaints the children of that
family went. They missed nothing In
the way of childish disorders. Busy
all day was the mother in every form
of housework and twenty times a night
called up by the children all down at
the same time with the same conta
gion. Her hair is white a long while
before it is time for snow. Her shoul
ders are bent long before the appropri
ate time for stooping. Spectacles are
adjusted, some for dose by and some
for far off, years before you would
have supiKised hc-T eyes would need re
enforcement. Here and there Is a short
grave In her pathway, this headstone
bearing the name of this child and an
other headstone bearing the name of
another child. Hardly one bereavement
lifts its shadow than another bereave
ment. drops one. After thirty years of
wifehood and motherhood the paths
turns toward the setting sun. She
cannot walk so far as she used to.
Colds caught hang on longer than for
merly. Some of the children are in
the heavenly world, for which they
were well prepared through maternal
fidelity, and others are out in this
world doing honor to a Christian an
cestry. • • •
Mnrtjr* All Around l'«.
I People think they must look for mar
I tyrs on battlefields or go through a his
tory to find burnings at the stake and
: tortures on racks when there are mar
j tyrs all about us. At this time In this
j capital city there are scores of men
wearing themselves out in the public
| service. In ten years they will not
have a healthy nerve left in their body.
In committee rooms, in consultations
that involve the welfare of the nation,
under the weight of great responsibili
ties, their vitality is being subtracted.
In almost every village of the country
you find some broken down state or na
tional official. After exhausting him
self in the public service, rough Ameri
can politics kicks him out of congress
or cabinet or legislative hall, and he
goes into comparative obscurity and
comparative want, for he has been
long enough away from home to lose
his professional opportunities. No
man that was ever put to death by
sword or instrument of torture was
more of a martyr than that man who
has been wrung to death by the de
mands of official position. The scars
may not be visible, for theBe are scars
on the brain and scars on the nerves
and scars on the heart, but neverthe
less are they scars, and God counts
them, and their reward will be abund
ant.
The Unseen Scars,
In all lands there are veterans of
war who may not have had their face
scraped with one bullet or their foot
lamed by one bursting shell and who
could not roll up their sleeve and show
you one mark suggestive of battle, yet
carry with them weaknesses got in ex
posures to disease along malarial
swamps or from many miles of march
ing, and ever and anon they feel a
twinge of pain, each recurrence of
which is sharper or more lasting, until
after awhile they will be captured for
tile tomb by disorders which started 20
or 30 or 40 years before. And their
scars are all unseen by human eyes.
But those people are as certainly the
victims of war as though they had been
blown up in an undermined fortress or
thrust through with a cavalryman’s
lance. What I want to make out is
that there are scars which are never
counted except as God counts them,
and I want to enlarge your sympathies.
There is a woman who has suffered
domestic injustice of which there is no
cognizance. She savs nothing about it.
An Inquisitor’s machine of torture
could not wring from her the story of
domestic woe. Ever since the day of
orange blossoms and long white veil
she has done her full duty and re
ceived for it harshness and blame and
neglect. The marriage ring, that was
supposed to be a sign of unending af
fection, has turned out to be one link
of a chain of horrible servitude. A
wreath of nettle and nightshade of
brightest form would have been a more
accurate prophecy. There are those
who find it hard to believe that there is
such a place as hell, but you could go
right out in any community and find
more than one hell of domestic tor
ment. There is no escape for that
woman but the grave, and that, com
pared with the life she now lives, will
be an arbor of Jasmine and of the hum
ming bird’s song poured into the car of
the honeysuckle. Scars! If there be
none on the brow showing where he
struck her arriving home from mid
night carousal, nevertheless there are
scars all up and down her injured and
immortal soul which will be remem
bered on the day when there shall leap
forth for her avengement the live
thunderbolts of an incensed God.
When we see a veteran in any land
who has lost a limb in battle, our sym
pathies are stirred. But, oh, how many
have in the domestic realm lost their
life and yet are denied a pillow of
dust on which to slumber? Better en
large your roll of martyrs. Better
adopt a new mode of counting human
sacriflcations. A broken bone is not
half as bad as a broken heart..
Marks of Christian Service.
There are many who can, in the
same sense that Paul uttered it, say,
“I bear in my body the marks of the
Lord Jesus”—that is, for the sake of
Christ and his cause they carry scars
which keep their indenture through all
time and all eternity. Do you think
that Paul was accurate when he said
that? If you have studied his career,
you have no doubt of it. In his youth
he learned how to fashion the hair of
the Clcllian goat into canvas, a quiet
trade, and then went to college, the
president of which was Gamaliel, an
institution which scholars say could not
have been very thorough because of
what they call Paul’s imperfect com
mand of Greek syntax. But his history
became exciting on the road to Damas
cus, where he was unhorsed and blind
ed. His conversion was a convulsion.
Whether that fall from the horse may
have left a mark upon him I know
not, but the mob soon took after him
and flogged and imprisoned and mal
treated him until he had scars more
than enough to assure the truthfulness
of his utterance, ‘‘I bear in my body
the marks of the Lord Jesus.”
All of Paul’s sufferings was for
Christ's sake. He had intellectual pow
ers which could have achieved for him
all worldly successes. You see what
he could do in a courtroom when with
extemporaneous speech he made the
Judicial bench tremble; when on Mars
hill he confounded the Athenian crit
ics; when he preached amid the ex
citement of a tumbling penitentiary;
when in a storm at sea he took com
mand of the ship, the only one on
board cool headed. With his inspired
logic, and his courage of utterance, and
his power of illustration, and his capa
city to move audiences, and his spirit
of defiance, there was no height of
worldly power he might not have
gained. * * *
Army of Chrlitlttii Sold Ip ri.
All ye who bear in your body the
marks of the Lord Jesus, have you
thought what use those marks will be
in the heavenly world? What source
of glorious reminiscence! In that world
you will sit together and talk over
earthly experiences. “Where did you
get that scar?” saint will say to saint,
and there will come back a story of
hardship and struggle and persecution
and wounds and victory through the
grace of the gospel. Another spirit will
say to listening spirit, “Where did you
get that hurt so plainly marked?” And
the answer will be: “Oh, that was one
of the worst hurts I ever had. That
wa3 a broken friendship. We were in
sweetest accord for years, together in
Joy and sorrow. What one thought
the other thought. We were David
and Jonathan. But our personal in
terests parted, and our friendship
broke, never to be renewed on earth.
But we have made it all up here, and
misunderstandings are gone, and wa
are in the same heaven, on neighboring
thrones, in neigh boring castles, on the
banks of the same river.”
Practical Application.
Now what is the practical use of this
subject? It is the cultivation of Chris
tian heroics. The most of us want to
say things and do things for God when
there is no danger of getting hurt. We
are all ready for easy work, for popu
lar work, for compensating work, but
we all greatly need more courage to
brave the world and brave satanic as
sault when there is something aggres
sive and bold and dangerous to be un
dertaken for God and righteousness.
And if we happen to get bit what an
ado we make about it! Wo all need
more of the stuff that martyrs ore
made out of. We want more sanctified
grit, more Christian pluck, more holy
recklessness as to what the world may
say and do in any crisis of our life.
Be right and do right, and all earth
and hell combined cannot put you
down.
The same little missionary who
wrote my text also uttered that piled
up magnificence to be found in those
words which ring like battle axes on
splitting helmets: "In all these things
we are more than conquerors through
him that loved us, for I am persuaded
that neither death, nor life, nor angels,
nor principalities, nor powers, nor
things present, nor things to como, nor
height, nor depth, nor any other crea
ture, shall be able to separate us from
the love of Ood. which is in Christ
Jesus our Lord.”
How do you like that, you cowards,
who shrink back from aggressive work
and if so much as a splinter pierce
your flesh cry out louder than many a
one torn in auto da fe? Many a sol
dier has gone through a long war,been
in twenty battles, led a regiment up a
hill mounted by cannon and swept by
musketry and yet came home without
having been once hit and without a
mark upon him. But It will not be so
among those who pass in the grand re
view of heaven. They have all in the
holy wars been wounded, and all bear
sears. And what would the newly ar
rived in heaven do with nothing to
show that he had ever been struck by
human or diabolic weaponry? How
embarrassed and eccentric such an one
in such a place! Surely he would want,
to be excused awhile from the heaven
ly ranks and be permitted to descend
to earth, crying "Give mo another
chanee to do something worthy of an
Immortal. Show me some post of dan
ger to be manned, some fortress to
bo stormed, some difficult charge to
make. Like Leonidas at Thermopylae,
like Miltriades at Marathon, like Marl
borough at Blenheim, like Godfrey at
Jerusalem, like Winkelrled at Sampach
gathering the spears of the Austrian
knights into his bosom, giving his life
for others, show me some place where
I can do a brave thing for God. I can
not go back to heaven until somewhere
I bear in my body the marks of the
Lord Jesus.” My hearer, my reader,
quit complaining about your misfor
tunes and disappointments and trou
bles and through all time and all eter
nity thank God for scars!
A HISTORIC HOME.
KoutHenu’R Famous "l.<» Cliaruiet (.«»'*
Heady for a l’urrliasor.
In all literature there Is hardly any
house more famous than Les Char
mettes, that modest dwelling In Cham
bery where Jean Jacques Rousseau, the
renowned French philosopher, spent
the happiest years of his life,and there
fore It is no wonder that the reading
public of Europe was considerably sur
prised and somewhat shocked when It
heard the other day that It had been
advertised for sale, says the St. Louis
Star. The advertisement read as fol
lows: “For Sale—Les Charmettes, the
historic home of Jean Jacques Rous
seau, together with furniture, fields,
and orchard.” In 1600 the house was
built, but it first became historic on
July 6, 1738, that being the day on
which Mme. de Warens, Rousseau’s
friend, purchased it, together with “a
barn, meadowland, orchard, plowland,
vineyard, two oxen, two cows, ten
sheep, seven hens, and a cock.” The
new owner occupied it at once and
Rousseau joined her there later in the
same year. Of his life there one of his
French biographers says: “To Mme. de
Warens the world is infinitely indebted
since it was she who provided this
man, the son of a Geneva watchmaker,
with a home in which he had ample
opportunity to improve himself and to
develop his many talents. Since 1782,
the year in which Rousseau’s “Confes
sions” were published, Les Charmettes
has been a Mecca for thousands of his
admirers from all parts of the world,
not a year since that time passing in
which hundreds have not visited it and
reverently taken away from the little
flower garden some buds or leaves in
memory of him.
Nature knows no pause in progress
and development, and attaches her
curse on all Inaction.—Goethe.
