TWO LITTLE GIRLS.
TV»8 little girl is very poor.
She has trouble*, she tind*. she can scarce en
dure
And yet, my dear, she h i* playthings plenty—
Dolls as many as two and-twenty,
Douses and arks and picture-books.
Somethin / pretty 'wherever she looks.
Hut half the time she’s puzzled to know
What to do with the wonderful show,
Tired of dollies two-and twenty,
And bored with her various toys aplenty.
That little clrl is very rich.
With an old doll like a perfect witch,
A broken chair and a bit of delf.
And a wee cracked cup on the closet shelf.
S.io can play with only a row of pins;
Douses and gardens, arks and inns.
She makes with h<*r «hubby lingers small,
An 1 she never asks for a toy at all.
Unseen around her the fair! a stray.
Uivinj her bright thoughts every day.
Poor little cirl and rich little clrl
Dow nice it would bo if in time’s swift whirl
You coulu—perilip.s not change your places,
B it catch a climpoj of oach other’s faces:
For each t > the other could somethin r give,
Which would make tne child life sweeter to
live,
For both could eive and both could share
Something the other had to spare
—Mar aret E Sang.stor in Harper’* Young
Pooplo
THE MERCHANT’S CRIME.
BY HOUATIO ALGER, JR.
CHAPTER XIX—Continued.
“It will be inconvenient,” said
Cromwell, “and probably a pecuniary
loss, but I feel it to be my duty, and
mouey is a secondary consideration.”
“Perhaps Mr. Raymond may ap
pear in the courso of the forenoon,”
suggested the landlady. “It may be
only a boy’s adventure.”
“I hope you may be right,” said
Cromwell, ‘-but I hardly think it
will prove so.”
He did not eat much breakfast.
. The thought of Robert Raymond ly
ing at the bottom of the pond kept
continually recurring to him. Ho
wondered whether ho would be found
and when. He would like to have
set out for blew York at once; hut if
immediately after his departure the
body should be found, it would look
bad, and possibly excite suspicion.
He thought it would be better for
him to wait two or three days, and
then he would feel at liberty to start
ou his journey.
If during that time he attended to
his business as usual, there would bo
no chance for suspecting him of hav
ing had anything to do with Robert’s
disappearance. This course, then,
he r solved to adopt, but in spite of
all he could do, he was tormented by
a constant, nervous anxiety. Every
moment he thought of the liability
that Robert’s body might be discov
ered, and he braced himself to stand
the shock. lie thought it best, how
ever. to write a letter at once to
Paul Morton announcing the mys
terious disappearance of Robert.
His letter ran thus:
• PAl’i. Morton. Esq :
' Dour Sir—It i3 with ere it regret that 1
t the my pen. having onl y had news to commu
nicate. \our ward, Robert Raymond, whom
you placed in my char. e. has mysteriously
disappeared I have seen nothing of him
sin e yesterday at supper He went out after
that and d d not return to pass the night at
btsboirdin house. I do not know what to
think, whether he has met with any accident,
perhaps of a fatal nature, or has only run
away If the litter, I suppose he would make
his way to New York and present himself be
fi re you I shall take every means of ascer
ta nin : which of tlmse is the true explanation
of ht; mysterious disappearance I think of
st irting for New York in a couale of days, ia
oru.’r to see you personally, and let yoa know
all mat I .an learn about this unfortunate af
fair. as I know that you will be deeply infer
os. ed in alt that concerns your ward.
"Your obedient servant.
‘James Cromwell ”
“J think that will do,” said Crom
well, after reading his letter over
when finished. “It telis nothing to
an ordinary reader, but Mr. Morton
will understand it well enough, es
pecially when he reads the words
which 1 have underlined. On the
whole, I don’t know but it will be
well that the body should bo found
before I go, as he may need absolute
proof of the boy’s death before he is
willing to pay me the promised $10, -
ii m. 1 wish it were well over, and
the boy was buried. I can’t bear to
look at him; I am afraid I should get
nervous, aul so excite suspicion,
.‘-'till it might be attributed to my
sorrow for his loss.”
Leaving Cromwell, for a time, we
will follow the course of Robert Ray
mond, who after Receiving directions
from Cato, had shaped his course for
the Ohio river. Madison, as has
a ready been stated, was situated in
the southern part of Indiana. The
distance between it and the Ohio
river, which separates that state
from Kentucky, was about fifty miles.
It wits Robert’s intention to reach
the river and then get on board a
boat, and proceed as far east as his
limited funds would admit. The ex
tent of these was bat $10, and $10
would not go a great way, unless ex
treme economy was practiced. Rob- j
ert was willing to be economical,
and when he learned that the river
was but fifty miles distant, he de
termined to walk the whole way.
On the first day Robert walked
ab ut twenty miles, resting in the
middle of the day. He was unac
customed to walking and it made
him footsore and weary. At 4 o’clock
in the afternoon, he desisted and
went up to a farm-house, for he was I
at the time passing through a
sparsely settled town; he asked for
accommodations for the night. For
tunately the occupant of the farm
house was a hospitable and kind
hearted farmer, who did not, as
some might have done, viow him
with suspicion.
“So you want to be took care of
the night, youngster,” he said.
“Yes. sir,” said Robert.
“Well, I guess the old woman can
accommodate you. Our house is big
enough, and you won’t take up much
room. Are you a travelin’ far?”
•■Yes, I am going to New York.”
“To York? That’s a pretty long
journey for a lad like you. It’s over
a thousaud miles.”
••Yes. it’s a good ways, but I guess
I can get there.”
••Where are you travelin’ from?”
was the next question.
••I came from the North,1' said
Robert, evading a direct answer.
“I understand," said the farmor,
shrewdly, “you don’t wunt to tell.
Well, maybe you’ve a good reason,
and maybe not. That’s not my busi
ness, only if you’re running away
from your father or mother, I advise
you to go back again. It isn't a
good tiling to run away from home.”
“If I had a father or mother.” said
Robert, earnestly, “I should be the
last ono to run away from thorn. I
have neither father nor mother
living.”
“Haveyou no sisters nor brothers?”
“No.”
“And you’ve got to mako your
own way in tho world?” said the
sympathizing farmor. “Well I’m
sorry for you.”
“If you mean that I am poor, that
is not the case,” Robert answered.
“I have been unfortunate in other
ways, but my father left mo a for
tune. and I am going to my guardian
who is in New York.”
“Then how comes it that you aro
out here all alone?”
“I would rather not tell yon just
now,” said Robert, frankly. “The
time may come when I shall return
this way, and shall feel at liberty to
tell you all.” •
“Well, well, my lad, I won’t pry
into your secrets. I shall be glad to
have you stay with me to-night and
to morrow you can go on your
way, and no questions asked.”
“Thank you,” said Robert.
“Now we’ll bo goin’ into tho house,
and see if supper isn’t most ready.
If you’ve been travelin’ it’s likely
you’re hungry, and I reckon the olcl
woman will give us something wo
can relish.”
CHAPTER XX.
Major Woodley and His Daughter.
On the third day Robert reached
the Ohio river, and was fortunate
enough to intercept a steamer bound
East. He went to the office and
found that his money would about
suffice to pay his fare to Wheeling,
but would leave him nothing. This
did not trouble him much. He had
the sanguine and elastic temperament
of youth, and he did not doubt that
something would turn up.
“If I can’t do any better,” ho re
solved, I will obtain work of some
kind till I have laid by enough
money to pay my passage for the re
mainder of the way. Or I can
write to my guardian, and ask him
to send me money enough to bring
mo to New York.”
Among the passengers his atten
tion was drawn to a tall gentleman
of bronzed complexion, who had as
a companion a young girl of about
thirteen, whom ho addrossed as
Edith. The young lady had a very
sweet fare, and Robert cr.ught him
self more than once wishing ho had
such a sister. Had he been older
that is perhaps the last thing ho
would have desired. Rut he was
only a boy of fourteen, and was of
course too young to experience the
sensation of being in love. The
gentleman’s name he learned was
Major Woodley, and the young lady’s
Edith Woodley.
Robert wished that he might have
an opportunity of making the ac
quaintance of Major Woodley and his
daughter, but while on their trip up
the river chance did not favor him.
The opportunity, however, was only
deferred. It came at the end of the
voyage. At length they reached
Wheeling, and the passengers gener
ally disembarked. Major Woodley
and his daughter were among these.
Arrived on the pier, while Major
Woodley was looking out for his bag
I gage, a horse maddened by a blow
from his brutal driver, started sud
denly forward, and in an instant
would have trampled Edith Woodley
under his feet had not Robert sprung
forward, and clasping her round the i
waist, drawn her quickly out of dan- j
ger.
Her father was at some distance.
He happened to look up just in time
to see his child’s danger, but not in
time to rescue her. To his great re
lief ne saw Robert’s prompt action,
and he realized that but for this his
daughter would probably have lost
her life. Filled with gratitude he
hurriedly advanced, and seized Rob
ert by the hand.
•‘Well done, my brave boy! You
have probably saved my daughter’s
life. From my heart, I thank you.” 1
•‘1 am glad it was in my power to
do her a service,” said Robert, mod
estly.
“You exposed your own life to dan
ger,” said the major.
“I am very glad, indeed, that I
was standing by,” said Robert, “but
I think anyone would have done the
same. ”
Major Woodley shook his head.
“I know men better than you, my
lad.” he said, “and I know that cool
ness and self-possession in the hour
of danger are not so common as they
might be. Let me know the name of
my daughter’s preserver.”
“Robert Raymoud. ”
“Are you going further east?”
“Yes, sir, as soon as I can. I am
bound for New York.”
“So am I. But I shall stop at the
hotel till to-morrow. Why won’t you
stop over also and go on with us?”
This was an embarrassing ques
tion for Robert. The fact is, that
his entire worldly wealth, so far as
he carried it with him, consisted of
twenty-five cents, and this, so far
from enabling him from going on to
New York, would not even pay for
his breakfast, unless he confined
himself to a very frugal one. He
felt a little shame at confessing this
to Major Woodley, who had the air
| of a man of large means, yet he
| could not help confessing to himself
[ that it would be very agreeable for
| him to pursue his journey in com
; pany with the major and his daugh
ter to New York. Of course he
would become very well acquainted
] with the daughter, and this he
thought he should like very much.
1 He had never had a sister, and he
f
felt that she would be one to him.
So bo hesitated, and did not immedi
ately answer the question asked.
“If this would interfere with any
of your arrangements, or if you have
other friends to travel with,” pro
ceeded Major Woodley, observing
his hesitation, “don’t hesitate to
say so.”
“It is not that,” said Robert, “I
am traveling alone.”
“So I supposed, as I saw no one
with you on tho boat. Why then
will you not join us?”
“I will tell you,” said Robert,
making up his mind to teil the
truth. “I find myself out of money,
and I shall be obliged to wait hero
until I can receive money enough
from my guardian to pay my fare to
New York.”
“Does your guardian, then, live in
New York?” asked the major.
“Yes, sir.”
“May 1 ask his name? I have
some considerable acquaintance in
Now York, and perhaps I may know
him?”
“His name is Paul Morton. He
is a merchant, I believe.”
“Paul Morton!” repeated Major
Woodley, in surprise. “Is he the
guardian?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How long has ho been so?”
“Only a few weeks. My father
was an early friend of his and died
in his house. He left mo to tho
charge of Mr. Morton.”
“What was your father's name?”
asked Major Woodley quickly.
“Ralph Raymond.”
“Was lie an Indian merchant?”
“Yes, sir. Did you know him?”
asked Robert, eagerly.
••intimately. I passed some time
in India, and there I made your
father’s acquaintance. I valued him
for his high honor and excellent
qualities, and I am truly glad to have
met his son. I did not know of his
death. But of that and other things
you must inform me at the hotel.
You need not trouble yourself about
want of money. Go with me and I
will see you safely in New York.”
Major Woodley ordered a carriage,
and the party at once proceeded to
the best hotel in the place. Break
fast was ordered, for the boat had
arrived in tho morning. After this
meal was over. Major Woodley said:
“Now, my young friend, tell me
about your father’s death.”
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
He’d Got Him Sure.
Who has seen the Washington mon
ument in Baltimore, with the crouch
ing bronze lion of Bay re near its
base, will appreciate the story they
tell about the rustic huntsman on
his first visit to town. He was shown
all the objects of interest in Balti
more one by one, but gave each only
a passing glance and not even so
much as a word of comment. When
he came in sight of the Washington
monument, however, a new light
shot from his eye. At last it was
obvious that something had been
found to interest him. Ho scanned
the shaft for some minutes, running
his eye from the base to the point on
which the statue stood and back
again, then fastened his gaze on the
crouching lion as if fascinated. Ilis :
lips parted, and his city friends j
drew near to hear his criticisms of :
the sculptor’s art. At last out came i
the words:
‘•B’gad, he’s got the old man I
treed, ain't he!”
—
Would Make u Good Combination.
“I saw an item in a morning paper
about a plain soda geyser in Ken
tucky,” said Hollis Anderson, of An- i
aeonda yesterday. “We have a little !
spring out in Montana that throws j
out a chemical compound that smells
and tastes like a good grade of bran
dy. When I heard of the Kentucky
spring of plain soda I wondered if it
would pay to pipe the two into the
great hotels of the country. All a
guest w’ould need to do would bo to
turn on the brandy-and-soda faucet
at 10 a. m. arid then he would not be :
compelled to listen for ‘the clink of
ice in the pitcher as the boy comes j
up the hall.’ In the boom days, I
four or five years ago, such a plan j
would have received encouragement. 1
but now the American people are j
getting sick of booming. All they j
need is good rest.”—St. Louis lie- i
public.
A Matter of Cost.
Business-like Young Man—Is this
where you issue licenses?
Official—It is.
“How much will I have to pay for
a peddler’s license?”
“Five dollars.”
“Seems to me that is pretty steep.
What does a marriage license cost?”
"Two dollars.”
“That’s more like it. Give me a j
marriage license.”
Under Them Circumstances.
The tramp got away from the dog.
but the dog got half of his wearing
apparel as he cleared the gate.
“Why didn’t you run when you
seen him cornin’?” inquired his part
ner. when they had reached a safe
place.
“Run nothin’,” he said indignantly.
“Under them circumstances what a
man needs is wings. ”—Detroit Free :
Press.
Nothing: But the Truth.
“Were you discharged from you»
last place?”
“Yes. sir.”
“What for?”
“Good behavior.”
“How’s that?”
“Well, sir. it took two years and
six months off my term.”
Impossible.
Spatts—I’m very sorry for that
boy. Your scolding cut him to the
quick.
Bloobumper — That’s impossibla
He has no quick. He’s a messenger
boy.—Truth.
TABERNACLE PULPIT.
"HOLY COMPULSION” AS A SER
MON TEXT.
Dr. Talmagc Relates Seme cf His Per
sonal Experiences—Lights and Shadows
of a Christian's Life—Luxuries of the
Plain People of To-Day.
BnooKi.VN. f*ept. 10.—Rev. Dr. Tel
mage, who is still absent on his round
the-world tour, has selected for liis
sermon through the press for to-day:
“Holy Compulsion,” the text being
Lvke It : : “And compel them to
come in. ”
The plainest people in our day have
luxuries which the kings and queens
of olden times never imagined. I
walked up and down the stairs of
Holy rood palace—a palace that was
considered one of the wonders of the
world—and I said, 'Can it be possible
that this is all there was of this re
puted wonderful place?” And this is
the case in many other instances.
There are fruits in Westchester
county and on Long Island farms
far better than the pomegranates and
apricots of Bible times. Through all
the ages there have been scenes of fes
tivity, and the wealthy man of my
text plans a great entertainment, and
invites his friends. If one builds a
a beautiful home, he wants his ac
quaintances to come and enjoy it. If
one buys an exquisite picture, he
wants his friends to come and appre
ciate it; and it was a laudable thing
when the wealthy man of my text,
happy himself, wanted to make other
people happy. And so the invitations
went out; but something went very
much wrong. You can imagine the
embarrassment of any one who has
provided a grand feast when he finds
out that tlie guests invited do not in
tend to come. There is nothing that
so provokes the master of the feast
as that.
Well, these people invited to this
great banquet of the text made most
frivolous excuses. The fact was, I
suppose, that some of them were of
fended that this man had succeeded so
much better in the world than they
had. There are people in all occupa
tions and professions who consider it
a wrong to them that anybody else is
advanced. I suppose these people in
vited to the feast said among them
selves, ‘‘We are not going to adminis
ter to that man’s vanity, he is proud
enough now; we won’t go; beside
that, we could all give parties if we
made our money the way that man
makes his.”
So when the messengers went out
with the invitations there was a unani
mous refusal. One man said, “Oh, I
have bought a farir.and I must goand
look at it!” He was a land speculator,
and had no business to buy land until
he knew about it. A frivolous ex
cuse. Another man said, “I have
bought five yoke of oxen.” The prob
ability is he was a speculator in live
stock. He ought to have known about
the cxen before he bought them. Be
side that, if he had been very anxious
to get to the feast, he could have
hooked them up and driven them on
the road there. Another frivolous ex
cuse. Another man said, “Oh, I have
married a wife, and I can’t come;-’
when if he had said to his wife, “I
have an invitation to a splendid din
ner; it is highly complimentary to me:
1 should very much like to go; will
you go along with me?” she would
have said, “To be sure I will go.”
Another frivolous excuse. The fact
was that they did not want to go.
“Now,” said the great man of the
feast, “I will not be defeated in this
matter; I have with an honest pur
pose provided a banquet, and there
are scores of people who would like to
come if they were only invited. Here,
my man, here, you go out, and when
you find a blind man, give him your arm
and fetch him in; and when you find
a lame man, give him a crutch and
fetch him in; and when you find a
poor man, 1ell him that there is a
plate for him in my mansion; and
when you find some one who is so
ragged and wretched that he has
never been invited any where, then, by
by the kindest tenderness and the
most loving invitation any one ever
had, compel him to come in.”
Oil. my friends, it requires do acute
ness on my part, or on your part, to
see in all this affair that religion is a
banquet. The table was set in Pales
tine a good many years ago, and the
disciples gathered around it, and they
thought they would have a good time
all by themselves, but while they tat
by the table the leaves began togrow
and spread, End one leaf went to the
east and another leaf went to the
west, until the whole earth was cov
ered up with them, and the clusters
from the heavenly vineyard were
piled up on the board, and the trum
pets and harps of eternity made up
the orchestra, and as this wine of God
is pressed to the lips of a sinning,
bleeding, suffering, dying, groaning
world, a voice breaks from the
heavens, saying, “Erink, O friends;
yea, drink, O beloved!” O blessed
Lord Jesus, the best friend I ever had,
the best friend any man ever had,
was there ever such a table? Was
there ever such a banquet?
From the cross uplifted high,
Where the Saviour designs to die,
What melodious sounds I hear
Bursting on the ravished ear!
Heaven's redeeming work is done,
Come, and welcome; sinner, come.
Religion is a joyous thing, I do not
want to hear anybody talk about re
ligion as though it were a funeral. I
do not want anybody to whine in the
prayer meeting about the kingdom of
God 1 do not want any man to roll
up his eyes, giving in that way evi
dence of his sanctity. The men and
women of God whom I happen to
know, for the most part, find religion
a great joy. It is exhilaration to the
body. It is invigoration to the mind.
It is rapture to the souL It is balm
w————...
for nil wounds. If, is light for nil
darkness. It is a harbor from all
storms, and though Cod knows that
some of them have trouble enough
now, they rejoice because they are on
the way to the congratulations
eternal.
I stepped one nightfall, years ago,
at Freyburg, Switzerland, to hear the
organ of world-wide celebrity in that
place. I went into the cathedral at
nightfall. All the accessories were
favorable. There was only one light
in all tire cathedral, and that a faint
taper on the altar. 1 looked up into
the venerable arches and saw the
shadows of centuries, and when the
organ awoke, the cathedral awoke,
and all the arches seemed to lift and
quiver as the music came under them.
That instrument did not seem to be
made out of wood and metal, but out
of human hearts, so wonderfully did
it pulsate W'ith every motion; now
laughing like a child, now sobbing
like a tempest. At one moment the
music would die away until you
could bear the cricket chirp out
side the wall, and then it would roll
up until it seemed as if the surge of
the sea and the crash of an avalanche
had struck the organ pipes at the
same moment. At one time that night
it seemed as if a squadron of spirits
weeping up from earth had met a
squadron of descending aDgels whose
glory beat back the woe. Standing
there and looking at the dim tancr on
the altar of the cathedral, I said:
“How much like many a Christian’s
life! Shadows hover, and sometimes
his hope is dim, and faint, and flicker
ing, like a taper on the altar, lint, at
what time God wills, tlie heavens
break forth with music upon his soul,
| and the air becomes resonant as the
angels of God beat it with their shin
ing sceptres.”
Oh, the Lord God 1 as many fair and
beautiful daughters; but the fairest
of them all is she whose ways are
pleasantness and whose paths are
peace! Now, my brothers and sisters
—for I have a right to call you also—
I know some people look back on their
ancestral line, and they see they are
descended from the Puritans or Hu
guenots, and they rejoice in that; but
1 look back on my uncestral line, and
I see therein such a mingling and mix
ture of the blood of all nationalities
that I feel akin to all the world, and
by the blood of the Son of God, who
died for all people, I address you in
the bonds of universal brotherhood.
I come out as only a servant, bring
ing an invitation to a party, and 1 put
it into your hand, saying, “Come, for
all things are now ready,” and I urge
it upon you and continue to urge it,
and, before I get through, I hope, by
the blessing of God, to compel you to
come in.
We must take care how we give the
invitation. My Christian friends, I
think some times we have just gone
opposite to Christ’s command, and we
have compelled people to stay out
Some times our elaborated instruc
tions have been the hindrance. We
graduate from our theological semina
ries on stilts, and it takes five or
six years before we can come down
and stand right beside the great
masses of the people. learning
their' joys, sorrows, victories, defeats.
We got our heads so brimful of theo
logical wisdom that we have to stand
very straight lest they spill over. Now,
what do the great masses of the peo
ple care about the technicalities
of religion? What do they care
about the hypostatic union or the dif
ference between sub-lapsarian and
supra-lapsarian? What do they care
for your profound explanations, clear
as a London fog? When a man is
drowning he does not want you to
stand by the dock and describe the
nature of the water into which he has
fallen, and tell him there are two
parts hydrogen gas and one of oxygen
gas, within common density of thirty
nine Fahrenheit, turning to steam
under a common atmospheric pressure
of two hundred and twelve, lie does
not want a chemical lecture on water;
he wants a rope.
Oh my friends, the curse of God on
the church, it seems to me, in this
day, is metaphysics. We speak in an
unknown tongue in our Sabbath
schools, and in our religious assem
blages, and in our pulpits, and how
can people be saved unless they under
stand us? We put on our official
gowns, and we think the two silk
balloons flapping at the elobws of a i
preacher give him great sanctity. The
river of God’s truth flows dowu before
us pure and clear as crystal; but we
take our theological stick and stir it
up, and stir it up, until we can not fee
the bottom. Oh. for the simplicity of
Christ in all our instructions—the
simplicity he practiced when standing
among the people, he took a lily, and
said, “There is a lesson of the way I
will clothe you;” and, pointing to a
raven, said, “There is a lesson of the
way I will feed you; consider the
lilies—behold the fowls.”
I think often in our religious
instructions we compel people
to stay out by our church ar
chitecture. People come in and they
find things angular, and cold, and
stiff, and they go away never again
to come; when the church ought to be
a great home circle, everybody having
a hymn book, giving half of it to the
one next to him, every one who has a
hand to shake hands, shaking hands—
the church architecture and the church
surroundings saying to the people,
“Come in and be at home.” Instead
of that, I think all these surround
ings often compel the people to stay
out. Now, let us all repent of our
sins and begin on the other track, and
by our heartiness < f affection, and j
warmth of manner, and imploration 1
of the Spirit of God, compel the peo
ple to come in. How shall we lead
sinners to accept the Lord’s invita
tion? I think we must certainly
begin by a holy life. We must be
better men, better women, before we
can compel the people to come into
the kingdom of Jesus Christ There
are fine essays being written in this
day about science nnd religion I t"ll
vou the best argument in behalf of
our holy Christianity: it is a good
man, a good woman, a life all con
secrated to Christ. No infidel can an
swer it. Oh, let us by n holy example
compel the people to come in.
I read of a minister of the gospel
who was very fond of climbing among
the Swiss mountains. One day he was
climbing among very dangerous
places, and thought himself all alone,
when ho heard a voice beneath him
sav, “Father, look out for the safe
path, 1 am following.’’ and he looked
back and he saw that he was climbing
not only for himself, but climbing for
his boy. O, let vs be sure and take
the safe path! Our children are fol
lowing, our partners in business are
following, our neighbors are follow
ing, a great multitude stepping right
on in our steps. O, be suro and take
the right path! Exhibit a Christian
example, and so by your godly walk
compel the peeple to n=n>«» >«v
I think there is also work in the
way of kindly admonition. I do not
believe there is a person in this house
who, if approached in a kindly and
brotherly manner, would refuse to
listen. If you are rebuffed, it is be
cause you lack in tnct and common
sense. Ilut oh, how much effective
work there is in the way of kindly
adomnition! There are thousands of
men all round about you who have
never had one personal invitation to
the cross. (live that one invitation,
and you would be surprised at the
alacrity with which they would ac
cept it.
I tell you to-day, my friends, of a
great salvation. Do you understand
what it is to have a Saviour? He took
your place. He bore your sins. He
wept your sorrows. He is here now to
save your souL A soldier, worn out
in his country’s service, took to the
violin as a inode of earning his living.
11c was found in the streets of Vienna,
playing his violin, but after a while
his baud became feeble and tremulous,
and lie could no mere make music.
One day, while lie sat there weeping,
a man passed along and said, “My
friend, you are too old and too feeble;
give me your violin;” and he took the
man’s violin, and began to discourse
most exquisite music, and the
people gathered around in larger and
larger multitudes, and the aged man
held his hat, and the coin poured in
and poured in until the iiat was full.
“Now,” said the man who played the
violin, “put that coin in your pock
ets.” The coin was put in tnc old
man’s pockets. Then lie held his hat
again, and the violinist played more
sweetly than ever, and played until
some of the people wept and some
shouted. And again the hat was
filled with coin. Then the violinist
dropped the instrument and passed
off, and the whisper went, “Who is
it? who is it?” and some one
just entering the crowd said,
“Why, that is Kucher, the great vio
linist, known all through the realm;
yes, that is the great violinist.” The
fact was, he had just taken that man's
place and assumed his poverty, and
borne his burden, and played his
music, and earned liis livelihood, and
made sacrifice for the poor old man.
So the Lord Jesus Christ comes down,
and lie finds us in our spiritual penury,
and across the strings of his own
broken heart he strikes a strain of
infinite music, which wins the atten
tion of earth and heaven. He takes
our poverty. He plays our music. He
weeps our sorrow. He dies our death.
A sacrifice for you. A sacrifice for
me.
Oh, will you accept this sacrifice
now? 1 do not single out this and
that man, and this and that woman.
Kut I say all may come. The sacri
fice is so great, all may be saved.
Does it not seem to you as if heaven
was very near? I can feel its breath
on my cheek. God is near, Christ is
near. The Holy Spirit is near. Min
istering angels are near. Your glori
fied kindred in heaven near. Your
glorified mother near. Your departed
children near. Your redemption is
near.
Bringing Up Children.
Few mothers know just how to govern
their children. If a neighbor calls in to
have a chat, she don’t like to be inter
rupted every few moments bv the noise
of half a dozen children. “ Give me
some bread and butter, mother.” “ Jane
lias broken my doll, mother.” “Jim
has snatched my bread and molasses,
mother.” “ Say, mother, can't T go out
and play a little while ? ” These, and
other such questions, mingled with cries
and boisterous laughter, are not very
entertaining to company. Some moth
ers allow their little ones to draw their
chairs up to the table as soon as they
begin to spread it for a meal, and they
■will spat the plates with their hands,
claw the biscuits, finger the sugar-bowl,
make landscapes on the butter-ball, put
the knives and forks in their mouths,
etc. If they are allowed to do so when
no one beside the family is present, rec
ollect you will have an unpleasant job to
keep them from doing so when company
is at hand. And, if you succeed in ac
complishing the task, the feat is about
as thin as to drop in suddenly npon a
lady at 10 o’clock in the forenoon, and
find her rushing about the room with a
broom in her hand. It is a sorry thing
to hear children calling out at the table :
“Give me some more meat; I won’t
have that! give me a piece like Tom’s ;
I want some bread ; not that old piece
of crust! why in thunder didn’t you give
me some tea!” etc., etc. Who is to
blame for such unmannerly procedure?
Of course it is not for me to say ; but
any one can guess right the first time,
without stopping to think a great while!
Some children will be sure to run into
the house if a visitor calls, in order to
hear what is said ; and frequently wo
meet with children that take the lead in
conversation. What a shame, to bring
children up in such a manner, when it
would be just as easy to make little la
dies and gentlemen of them.
Moderation is the silken string running
through the pearl chain of all virtues. °
In Japanese saws the teeth point toward
the handle.
There s not one wise man among twenty
will praise himself. J
