Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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, ?LIFE IS ALL RIGHT. f summer winds is sniffin' round the bloom in' locus' trees, And the clover in the pastur' is a big day for the bees, And they been a-srsriggin' honey, aboveI board and on the sly, tBlltlrey stutter in their buzzin' and stagger as the fly. Thej's been a heap of rain, but the sun's out to-day. jAndthe clouds of the wet spell is ail cleared away, 'Anri the woods is all the greener, and the ! grass is greener still; Sk may rain again to-morry, but I don't think it wilL I'Some say the crops is ruined, and the corn's drownded out, Awl propha-sy the wheat will be a failure, without doubt; Bet the kind Providence that has never failed us yet, Will be on hand onc't more at the 'leventh hour, I bet! Does the meddcr-lark complain, as he swims high and dry, [Through the waves of the wind and the blue of the sky? Uoos the quail set up and whistle in a disappinted way, ' Er hang liis head in silence and sorrow all the day? wis the chipmuck's health a failure? Does he walk, or does he run? Don't the buzzards ooze around up thare, just like they've alius done? Is there anything the matter with the rooster's lungs or voice? Crt a mortal becomplainin' when dumb animals rejoice? Then let us, one and all, be contented with our lot; The June is hare this morning and the sun is shining hot. Oh, let us fill our hearts with the glory of the day, And banish ev'ry doubt and care and sorrow far awayT YTuauevcr uo uur smwiuu, witu jrruviuenuo for guide, Such fine circumstances ort to make us satisfied; Pot tho world is full of roses, and the roses fnll of dew, And the dew is full of heavenly love that drips for me and you. ?James Witcomb Riley. GRANDFATHER'S CLOCK BY CORNELIA 2TEP0S. I was coming up the street to-day, hurrying home to dinner, when a brass band struck up "My Grandtather's Clock." I was in haste, but I stopped to hear it, not because I particularly admire the air, but because there came before my mental vision a most distinct memory of a childish adventure of my own, connected with my grandfather's clock. In recalling it, I am well aware tliat miv>k fVio ofnmr rriiiof VifiTrn Vtoon told mc by older people, but my own Bhare will never leave my memory. I was six years old when my father died, and my grandfather offered a home to ray widowed mother and myself. I know now that poverty alone would not have driven my mother to accept this offer, but she knew that she had an incurable internal disease that might spare her life for years, but would make it difficult for her to earn a living. She could take charge of my grandfather's housekeeping, but was often compelled to remain for several days together in her own room. To say that my grandfather was an illtampered tyrant gives but a faint idea of his utterly unreasonable demands and love of power. Sometimes he would not apeak to any member of the whole household for a week; he would refuse to come to the table wheu meals were served, and give way to furious rage when, two hours later, the food was set before him utterly ruined by delay. Only the extreme gentleness of my mother's disposition made h?r life endurable, and she was happy only when alone with me, directing me to sew and knit, and allowing me to help her when she was able to make delicacies for the table. Onr sitting-room was on the first floor, and was a combination of study, library, 6cwing-room, and school-room, for in the com weamer it was me omy piace m me house, excepting the kitchen, where we were allowed to have a fire. The diningroom between sitting-room and kitchen shared the warmth of each. In one corner of this sitting-room, where every article was of the fashion of a century before, was the clock that governed the household movements. It was ten feet high, and four wide, with a mahogany case and . two partitions as the sides where the weights hung. The pendulum swung by itself in the central division, and Dove was the big white face with the dial. There was no mechanism about it, excepting the clock-work to record the time and strike the hour, but it was a reliable time-keeper and the especial object of pride to my grandfather. I think my childish awe of it was so great that I should have expected to be hanged or otherwise put to death if I touched it. Every Saturday night my mother held the candle while my grandfather wound |t up, and I stood and watched the twx> heavy weights slorly rise from the floor to the top, making the ascent in a few moments that it would take them a whole , week to re-travel. My grandfather always spoke of it as a precious legacy that would one day be mine, thereby filling me with horror, as if he were going to to leave me a skull or a skeleton. I was a timid child, and my greatest terror was that clock. The whirr of its wheels be4/wa oltnlriM/v 4-Vi ft P1 attt 1 All /I efnAlrno 4-Kft AVIO OLllIULUg bug ?>l\J ?T y XUUU Obi VXigOj DUC solemn tick, all inspired me with a fright as great as it was entirely unreasonable. Our household consisted of two women servants and one man besides the family, and our days were passed in a dreary monotony. My grandfather was proprietor of a large calico factory that was managed entirely by a trusted clerk, excepting the payment of the hands. Every Friday he went to Stockton, the nearest town, to draw from a bank the money for this purpose. And every Saturday afternoon he drove to the factory and paid the wages for the week. It was a custom of such long standing that no one associated any idea of danger with it, and no sickting or weather had ever, to my knowledge, prevented the weekly journeys. 1 must explain here my own state of mind when I had been three years with my grandfather. I feared him with the most intense fear, having felt the weight of his heavy hand for every trifling offence that came to his knowledge. I hated him as only a child can hate, having no active sense of the duty of sup pressing that emotion. I hated him for I;. always speaking unkindly to ray mother, for his mean, saving spirit that kept us all half clothed and half-starved, when I knew he was a rich man. I hated him for denying me every childish pleasure, and trying to make my mother bring me up by his own iron rules. And with this hatred was the knowledge that when he died I would have all his money. He had a superstitious horror of making his will, believing that it would be followed by his death, and I was his only heir-at-law. He made no secret of this himself, but delighted to taunt me with his robust nn/1 mxr airtlv wpnlrnpRS. and tell me I would never live to spend his money, much as I might desire it. He had been particularly savage on that point one Friday evening in December, when he had returned from Stockton to i find me lying on a sofa with nervous headache. He shook the tin box in which he had his money in my face, | and told me that I would never spend it, as his life was worth ten of mine. | "Lying there with your pasty, white I face!" he growled, "and eyes likegoose! berries. A nice substitute you are for my son! You are not worth your iuneral expenses!" Something had made him more illtempered than usual even, and he kept up a running fire all the evening of trying speeches, scolding my mother for waste and extravagance, threatening to cut down the meagre housekeeping -allowance still lower; swearing at me for a wretched, sickly mite, not worth my salt. It was a miserable three hours, and at ten o'clock, when he went to bed, mother and I cuddled into each other's arms and had a good cry. It was a bitter cold night, and I was I curled up in a nest of shawls in a warm room, and gave a little shudder at the prospect of the icy-cold chamber and sheets above us. Mother noticed it. "Suppose you stay here," she said. "I will come down in the morning before your grandfather is awake and call you; and you are so comfortable you | will soon fall asleep." Stay there! Stay alone, with that horrible clock in the room, all night I I, who had never slept alone in all my life! And yet, it was 60 cold up stairs, and my nest so deliciously comfortable. The physical sense conquered, and I saw my mother depart with the candle, for we dared not have a light left burning. I tried to sleep in vain. The clock ticked as if every stroke was made with a hammer on my brain; the darkness was intense, and suddenly I heard stealthy steps in the hall. The climax was too much for my strained nerves, and I sprang to the door of the dining room, forgetting that it was always locked at night, and the key in my grandfather^ room. No chanoe of a stolen crust in that house. A hand on the hall door drove me nearly frantic, and with the instinct of concealment only, I opened the clock case and curled down the door, holding the pendulum fast in my shaking hands. The dcor opened, and the steps came into the room. Darkness all around us, and my terror of burglars almost an insanity, my situation may be ima "ned. "He's not asleep yet,"avoice said, and I knew the speaker was our man-servant, Robert. He always 6its up o' Friday night to count the money and sort it out." "Sure he's got it?" said a strange voice. "Sure? Of course I'm sure. Don't I drive him over every Friday of his blessed life to draw it out o' bank?" "We can get it now, then. If we knock him on the head, there's only a lot o' women in the'house." "No," said Robert. "We'll get the money, but I'm not hankerin' for a rope round mv throat yet. We'll wait awhile." "Let's go outside and see if the light is burning in his room yet." Creeping softly, slowly they crossed the hall to the kitchen, and I lay almost unconscious, too much terrified to move. It was some minutes later when a light came across the room, striking the glass of the clockface, and I heard my grandfather say: "H'm! I was mistaken! I thought only one of 'em went to bed. That brat is coddled to death 1 Sleeping down here next!" He poked about aphfc, stirred up the shawls on the sofa and went off, having passed the entire time in mutfering abuse of my mother and myself. ' 'Let them steal his money!" I thought, in guilty delight. "Let them knock him on the head. Serves him right!" Then in the darkness I seemed to see him with a great gaping wound in his gray hair, and the blood streaming down his face. . Would I be hung, too, if the men killed him? I would have all his money 1 It was terrible?was it not??for a child to hesitate, but I did; and when I crept out of the clock-case and went softly up the stairs, I lingered, half resolved to go to my mother and let the robbers do their worst. My timid knock was answered by a snarling permission to enter. Before the torrent of abuse I saw preparing was uttered, I said: "Grandfather, Robert and another man are down stairs, waiting for you to go 10 Sleep W> steal your muuey ?uu. mu you!" A grim look came into his face. "That's a nice lie!" he said. "It is true! They came into the sitting room, and I was getting warm. They did not see me, and they said they would wait till you were asleeps, because Robert don't want to kill you." "Highly considerate of Robert!" "You don't believe me," I said, "but it is true! They are watching your window now, to come in when your light is out." "I do believe you. Will you help me to save my life and my money?" "Yes," I answered, afraid to refuse. "They cannot jump from these windows, and there is only one door. I'm going for the police, to Stockton. I can slip down to the barn and saddle Jupiter while they are at the front watching my light. Will you stand close to the door, and as they creep in, will you shut it on them, and lock it? Wait until you hear me bark like a dog, then blew out the candle, stand close to the door, and trap them. Can I trust you?" "Yes! I will do it!" Cold as ice, my heart beating like a hammer, I saw my grandfather wrap up for his cold ride, take the cash box out of the room, and go softly down the stairs. In one hand he held a pistol. "In case I meet them," he said. But he did not. I could hear his stealthy steps cross the hall, creep through the kitchen, and, after a time that seemed hours to me, I heard the bark like a dog. I blew out the candle and pressed myself against the wall close to the door. Colder and colder I grew, my heart seemed chok ing me, my head ached frightfully, but I never stirred. After what seemed hours of time, the creeping steps came up the stairs, and two shadowy forms passed me into the j room. I caught at the door, 6hut it, and I turned the key. One shout I heard inside and then fell in a dead faint in the hall. My grandfather came a<j last with policemen and found me on my mother's bed, murmuring deliriously, but with tho key of the door clasped tightly in my hand. . I was ill for weeks, but came back, not only to health, but to happiness. My grandfather never again spoke harshly to me, but would tell friends and neighbors | of his "plucky little girl, who was worth two boys." He forgave me for stopping his clock for the first time in his memory, and was gradually won to a sort of surly good nature to my mother, and more liberal expenditure in housekeeping. Indeed, it was soon remarked that I "could do anything with the old gentleman," and I was his favorite until he breathed his last in my arms, leaving me his fortune, including his clock.?-New York Ledger. A Donkey Kills a Stallion. A remarkable and fatal fight between a stallion and a donkey occurred on Philip Hendricks's farm, near Deckertowc, in Sussex County, N. J. Both animals were powerful and had been enemies for weeks. The donkey was very dark and strong and was called the "Knight of Malta." The stallion was a vatuaDie Jiorse ana was being trained for the race course. One day the stallion and donkey were left in adjoining fields. The stallion soon saw the opportunity afforded for a fight and j tore down the field to a broken piece of fence. The donkey happened to be di- j rectly on the other side and close to the fence. The stallion jumped straight on his back, landing with his fore feet across the donkey's back and his hind feet on the ground toward the fence. The stallion fastened his teeth in his enemy's neck, and at the same time struck the donkey's side with his fore feet with a good deal of force. j The donkey ducked its head and at | the same time elevated its heels. The stallion was thrown to the ground, and quick as a flash the donkey turned around and began a fusillade with its heels on its prostrate enemy. It kicked hard and with lightning rapidity. The hard heels of the donkey were driven again and again into the stallion's body and " blood was soon flowing freely. The horse kept up a constant whining and the donkey brayed loud and long. In five minutes the tide of battle turned completely. A few more of those terrific kicks and the Btallion was rendered helpless. The farm hands began to fear the stallion would be killed, so they took rails from the fence and bepan beatinc the donkev. The in o~~ o furiated animal then started for them, when the nearly dead horse made an effort to rise. The donkey saw it, and before the men could intercept him, he rushed up to hi3 fallen foe and turning, gave the stallion one tremendous kick, breaking his jaw, and then following it with another kick in the stomach, tearing the flesh open and exposing the intestines. The stallion gave a piteous moan and then a gasp, and rolled over dead. The donkey will survive.?New York World. The Speed of Fishes. The speed of fishes is almost an unknown quantity, being, as Professor G. Brown Goodesays, very difficult to measure. "If you could get a fish," said Professor Goode to a Post reporter, "and put him in a trough of water 1000 feet long and start him at one end and make him swim to the other without stopping, the information could be easily obtained, but fish are unintelligent and they won't do this. Estimates of the speed of fish ' consequently are only approximated, and more or less founded on guessing. You i /"in toll hntirovpr of. ft crlnnre TvllfitVlPr ft I fish is built for speed or not. 'A fast fish looks trim and pointed, like a yacht. ' Its head is conical shaped, and its fins fit down close to its body, like a knife blade into its handle. Fish with large heads, bigger than their bodies, and with short, stubby fins, are built for slow motion." "What are the fastest fishes?" "The predatory fish, those which live on prey, are the fastest swimmers. The food fish are generally among the slowest, and are consequently, easily captured. Their los3 is recompensed, however,-by the natural law which makes them veiy prolific in reproduction. Dolphins have been known to swim around an ocean steamer, and it is quite safe to say that their speed is twenty mile3 an hour, but it may be twice as much. The bonito is ; a fast-swimming fish. Just what its j speed is I do not know. The head of j the goose fish is very large?twenty times as big as its body. It moves about very little, and swims at the bottom of the ocean. The- Spanish mackerel is one of the fastest of the food fishes. Its body is cone-shaped and as smooth as burnished metal. Its speed is as matchless as the dolphin, and in motion it cuts the water like a yacht."?Washington Post. Primitive Venezuelan Laundries. Most of the laundry work in Venezuela is done by women on the banks of the streams. They carry the clothes in baskets on the top of their heads to and fro, wash it in the cold, running streams, pound it upon the rocks, to the destruction of buttons, and spread it upon the grass to dry. Sometimes hot water and tubs are used when the washing is done , in the houses, but there is not such a , thing as a clothes-line or a washboard in j all Venezuela. In the rear patios of most : of the houses is a tank for water made of stones and cement. In this the clothes are washed, and there is a pile of large bowlders as big as cannon-balls or pumpkins upon which the garments are spread to dry. People from the United States have repeatedly attempted to introduce washing-machines, clothes-bars, and clothes-lines, but the native women cannot be induced to use them, preferring their own awkward way.?Chicago Newt. Students Who Rise at 2:30 A. M. How happy are the Mussulman students at the University of Pez. True, they have to rise at 2:30 a. m. in summer and at 5 a. m. in winter and their labors are not over until 9:30 p. m. ; they have but one holiday in the week, and on that they are expected to practice total abstinence both from studies and from food. But in revenge they have no examinations. Each professor knows how to distinguish those of his hearers whose qualities render them worthy of a diploma, which diploma is highly valued, and gives those who possess it a veritable prestige in the Mussulman world.?Rcvuc Francaitc, w;._- i;?} * ' ? - . REV. DR. TALMAGE. THE BROOILLYN DIVINE'S SUNDAY SERMON. Subject: "Outwitted by the World." (Preached at Livingston, Montana.) Text : "The children of this world are in their ffeneration tciser than the children of J light."?St. Luko xvi., 8. That is another tray of Baying that Chris- i tians are not go skillful in the manipulation of : spiritual affairs as worldlings are skillful in I the management of temporalities. I see all j around me people who are alert, earnest, concentrated and skillful in monetary matters, who, in the affairs of the soul, are laggards, inane, inert. The great want of this world is more common sense in matters of religion. If one-half I of the skill and forcefulnes3 employed in : i financial affairs were employed in disseminat- j ing the truths of Christ, and trying to make | the world better, within ten years the last ' juggernaut would fall, the last throne of oppression upset, the laft iniquity tumble, and i the anthem that was chanted over Bethlehem on Christmas night would be echoed and reechoed from all nations and kindred and people: "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will to men." Some years ago, on a train going toward the southwest, as the porter of the sleeping car was making np the> berths at the evening ! tide, I saw a man kneel down to pray. I Worldly people in the car looked on, as much as to say: "what does this mean?" I supI pose the most of the people in the car thought that man was either insane or that he was a ; fanatic; but he disturbed no one when he knelt, and he disturbed no one when he arose. In after conversation with him I found out that he was a member of a church in my own city, that ho was a seafoaring man, and that he was on his way to New Orleans to take commend of a vessel. I thought then, as I think now, that ten such men?men with such courage for God as that man had?would bring the whole city to Christ a thousand such men would bring this whole land to God; ten thousand such men, in a short time, would bring the whole earth into the kingdom of Jesus. That he was successful in worldly affaire, I found out. That he was skillful m spiritual affairs, you are well persuaded. If men had the courage,the pluck, the alertness, the acumen, the industry, the common sense in matters of the soul that they have in earthly matters, this would be a very different kind of world to live in. In the first plase wb want more common sense in the building and conduct of churches. The idea of the adaptivones".* is always paramount in any other kind of structure. If bankers meet together and they resolve ujjon putting up a bank, the bank is especially adapted- to banking purposes: if a manufacturing company put up a building, it is to be adapted to manufacturing purposes; but adaptiveneas is not always tne question in the rearing of churches. In many of our churches we want more light, more room, more ventilation, more comfort, Vast sums of money are expended on ecclesiastical structures, and men sit down in them, and you ask a man how he likes the church; he says: "I like it very well, but I can't hear." As though a shawl factory were good for everything but making shawls. The voice of the preacher dashes against the pillars. Men sit down under the shadows of the Gothic arches and shiver, and feel they must getting religion, or something else, they feel so uncomfortable. 0 my friends, we want more common sense, in the rearing of churches. There is no excuse for lack of light when the heavens aro full of it, no excuse for lack of fresh air when the world swims in it. It ought to bo an expression not only of our spiritual hap- , pincss, but of our physical comfort, when wo say: "How amiable are Thy tabernacles, O Lord God of Hosts! A day in Thy courts is better than a thousand." Again I remark: We want more common sense in the obtaining of religious hope. All men understand that in order to succecd in worldly directions they must concentrate. They think on that one subject until their mind takes fire with the velocity of their own thoughts. All their acumen, all their strategy, all their wisdom, all their common sense, they put in that one direction and they succeed. But how seldom it is true in the matter of seeking after God. "Whilo no man expects to Accomplish anything for this world without concentration and enthusiasm, how many there arc expecting after awhile to get into rhe kingdom of God without the use of any such means. A miller in California, many years ago, held up a sparklo of gold until it bewitched nations. Tens of thousands of people left their homes. Thoy took their blankets and their pickaxes and their pistols and, went to tho wilds of California. Cities sprang up sudrtnnlv nn t.hn Pamfln rnant,. Merchants ntifc aside their elegant apparel and put on tho miner's garb. All the land was full of tho talk about gold. Gold in tho ?yes, gold in the ears, gold in tho wake of ships, gold in tho streets?gold, gold, gold. Word comes to us that the mountain of God's lovo is full of bright treasure; that men have been digging there, and have brought up gold, and amethyst, and carbuncle, and jasper, and sardonyx, and chrysoprasus, and all the precious stones out of which tho walls of heaven werebuilded. Word comes of a man who, digging in that mine for one hour, haa brought up treasures worth moro than j all tno stars that keep vigil over our j sick and dying world. Is it a bogus j company that is formed? Is it undo- [ veloped territory? Oh no, the story is true, j There are thousands of people in this audience . who would be williug to rise and testify that | they have discovered that gold, and havo it j in their possession. Notwithstanding all this, what is the circumstance? Ono would suppose that the announcement would sond peo- [ pie in great excitement up and down our streets. That at midnight men would j knock at your door, asking how | they may get those treasures. In- j stead of that, many of us put our hands be- I hind our back and walk up and down in front of the mino of eternal riches, and say: "Well, if I am to b# saved, I will be saved; and if I am to be damed,I will be damned, and there is nothing to do about it." Why, my brother, do you not do that way in business matters? Why do you not to-morrow go to your store and sit down and fold your arm; and say: "If these goods are to be sold, they will be sold, and if Uiey aro not to be sold, they will not bo sold* there is nothing for mo to do about it." No, you dispatch your agents, you print your advertisements, you adorn your show windows, you jjusb loose goods, you use me liibwiLLaiiiiuujijr. Oh that men were as wise in the matter ol! the soul as they are wise in the matter ol dollars and cents! This doctrine ol! God's sovereignty, how it is misquoted. j and spoken of as though it were as. 1 iron chain which bound us hand and. foot for time and for eternity, when, j so far from that, in every fiber of youx body, in every faculty of your mind, in every passion of your soul, you aro a ! free man and it is no more a matter of free < choice whether you will to-morrcw go j abroad or stay at home, than it is tms i moment a matter of free choice whether j you will accept Christ or reject Him. ( In all the army of banners there is not one conscript. Men are not to be dragooned into heaven. Among all the tens of thousands of the Lord's soldiery there is not ono man but will tell you: "1 chose Christ. I wanted Him; I desired to be in His service: I am not a conscript?I am a volunteer." Oh, that men had the same common sense in the matters of religion that they have in the matters of the world?the same concentration, the same I push, the same enthusiasm I In the ! one case a secular enthusiasm; in i the other, a consecrated enthusiasm, j Again I remark: We want more common ' sense in the building up and enlarging of our Christian character. There are men hero who have for forty years been running the Christian laoe, and they have not run a quarter of a mile 1 No business man would be willinsr to have his investments unaccumulativo. If you invest a dollar you expect that dollar to como home bringing another dollar on its back. What would you think of a man who should , invest ten thousand dollars in a monetary : institution, then go off for five years, j make no inquiry in regard to j the investment, then oome back, step up to (he cashier of the institution ! and say: "Have you kept those ten thousand ' dollars safely that I lodged with jrouF but ' nnlnng no question about interest or about | dividend. Why, yoa say, "That is not com- | mon sense," Neither is it, but that is the i way we act in matters of the souL We ; make a far more important investment than ten thousand dollars. We invest our souL Is it accumulative? Are we growing in grace ? Are wo getting better? Are we getting worse? God declares many dividends, but wo do not collcct them, we do not ask about them, we do not ' A " --- Ami want them. Oh that in ttils matter of accumulation wo are as wise in the matters of the soul as we. aro in the matters of the world t How little common senso in tfce reading of the Scriptures I We get any other book and we open it and we say: "Now, what does this j book mean to teach me? It is a book on astronomy; it will teach mo astronomy. It is a book on political economy; it will teach me political economy." Taking iip the Bible, do we ask ourselves what it means to teach? It means to do just one thine; get the world converted and get us all to heaven. That is what it proposes to do. But instead of that we go into the Bible as botanists to pick flowers, or we go as pugilists to get something to fight other Christians with, or we go as logicians trying to sharpen our mental faculties for a better argument, and wo do not like this about the Bible, and we do not like that, and we do not like the other thing. What would you think of a man lost on the mountains? Night has come down; ho cannot find his way home and he sees a light in a mountain cabin; he goes to it, he knocks at the door; the mountaineer comes out and finds the traveler and says: "Well, hero I have a lantern; you can take it and it will guido you on the way homo;" and suppose that man should say: "I don't like that lantern, I don't like tho handle of it, there aro ten or fifteen things about it I don't liko: if you can't give me a better lantern than that I won't nave any." Now, God says this Biblo is to be a lamp to our feet and a lantern to our path, to guide us through the midnight of this world to the gates of tho celestial city. We take hold of it in sharp criticism, and deprecate this, and deprecate that. Oh, how much wiser w< would be if by its holy light we found our way to our everlasting home! Then we do not read the Bible as wo read other books. We read it perhaps four or fiv? minutes just before we retire at night. W? are weary and sleepy, so somnolent we hardlj know which end of the book is up. We drop our eye, perhaps on the story of Sampson and the foxes, or upon some genealogical tabl a important in its place, but stirring no more religious emotion than the announcement j that somebody begat somebody else, and he begat somebody else, instead U/\a1? an/1 oawinrf 'lT\TrtW 1 I U1 vpomil^ WU UUVIk nuu OUJUlgi *W.? ? must read for ray immortal life. My eternal destiny iB involved in this book;" How little we uso common senso in prayerl "We say: -'Oh, Lord, give nit this," and "Oh Lord, give me that," and "Oh, Lord, give mo something else," and we do not expect to get it, or getting it, wo do not know we have it. We nave no anxiety about it. We do not watcl and wait for its coming. As a merchant you telegraph or you write to some other city for a bill of goods. You say: "Send me by such express, or by such a steameror by such a rail train." The day arrives. You send your wagon to the depot or to the wharf. The goods do not come. You immediately telegraph: "What is the matter with those goods? We havent received them. Send them right away. Wo want them now, or we don't want them at all" And you keep writing and you keep telographing, and you keep seeding your wagon to the aepot^ or to the express office, or to the wharf, untd you get the goods. In matters of religion we are not so wise as that. We ask certain things to be sent from heaven. We do not know whether they come or not. Wo have not any special anxiety as to whether they come or not Wc may get them and may not get them. Instead of at 7 o'clock in the morning saying: "Have I got that blessing ?' at 12 o'clock noonday, asking: "Have I got that blessing?* at 7 o'clock in the evening saving: "Havo I received that bhssmgP and not getting it pleading, pleading?begging, bogging?asking, asking until you get Mow, my brethren, is not that common sense? If we ask a thing from God, who has sworn by His eternal throne that He will do that which we ask,, is it not common sense that we should watch and wait until we get it? Jtsut 1 remark again: We want more common sense in doing good. How many people there are who want to do good and yet are dead failures! Why is it? They do not exercise the samo tact, tho same ingenuity, the same SEraiageni, inc same common seuau m the work of Christ (hat they do in worldly things. Otherwise they would succeed in this direction as well as they succeed in tbo other. There are many men who havo t an arrogant way with ; them, although they may not feel arrogant. { Or they have a patronizing way. They talk | to a man of the world in a maimer which I seems to say: "Don't you wish you were as | good as I am? Why,! have to look clear | down before I can see yon, you are so far j beneath me." That manner always dis- i gusts, always drives men away from the j kingdom of Jesus Christ instead of j bringing ;hem in. When I was a j lad I was one day in c. village store, and there was a large group of young men there ! full of rollicking and firm, and a Christian man came in, and without any introduction of the subject, and while there were in great hilarity said to one of them: "George,what is the first step of wisdom?" George looked up and said: "Every man to mind his own i business." Well,it was a veiy rough answer, j but It was provoked. Religion nad been j hurled in there as though it wero a bomb- I shell. We must be adroit in the presenta- I tion of religion to the world. uo yon suppose mac mary ya ner convex- | sation with Christ lost her simplicity? or j that Paul, thuudcrine from Mors Hill, took , tho pulpit tone? Why is it people cannot talk as naturally in prayer meeting end on religions imbjects as they do in -worldly ciracs? For no one ever succeeds in any land of Christian work unless he worka naturally. "Wo want to imitate tho Lord Jesus Christ, who plucked a poem from the grass of the field. We all want to imitato t Him who talked with farmers about tho man who went forth to sow, and talked with the fishermen about the drawn net thab brought in fish of all sorts, and talked with the vino dresser about the idler in the vineyard, and talked with those newly affianced about tho marriage supper, and talked with the man cramped in monoy matters about the two debtors, and talked with the woman about tho yeast that leavened the whole lump, and t talked with the shepherd about tho lost sheep, j Oh, we might gather even the stars of the ' sky and twist tnom like forget-me-nots in the garland of Jesus. We must bring everything to Him?the wealth of language, the tenderness of sentiment, the delicacy of morning dew, the saffron uf floating cloud,the tangled surf of the tossing sea, the bursting thunder guns of the storm's bombardment. Yes, every star must point down to Him, overy heliotrope must breathe His praise, every drop in the summer shower must flash His glory, all the tree branches of the forest must thrum their music in tho grand march which shall celebrate a world redeemed. Now, all this being so, what is tho common sense thing for you and for me to do ? What we do I think will depend npon three great facts. The first fact that sin has ruined us. It has blasted body, mind and souL We want no Bible to prove that we are sinners. Any man who is not willing to acknowledge himself an imperfect nnH n sinful beiner is simnlv a fool and not to be argued with. Wo all* feel that sin has disorganized our entire nature. That is one fact. Another fact is that Christ came to reconstruct, to restore, to revise, to correct, to redeem. That is a second fact. The third fact is that the only time we are sure Christ will pardon us is the present. Now, what is the common senso thing for us to do in view of these three facts? You will all agree with mo to quit sin, take Christ and take Him now. Suppose some business man in whose skill you had perfect confidence should tall you that to-morrow (Monday) morning between 11 and 12 o'clock you could by a certain financial transaction make five thousand dollars, but that on Tuesday perhaps yon might mako it, but there would not be any positiveness about it, and on Wednesday there would not bo so much, and Thursday less, Friday less, and so on, less and less?when would you attend to the matter? Why, your common sense wonld dictate: "Immediately; I will attend to that matter between 11 and 12 o'clock to-morrow (Monday) morning, for then I can surely acaccomplish it, but on Tuesday I may not, and on Wednesday there is less prospect. I will attend to it to-morrow." Now let us bring our common sense in this matter of religion. Hero are the hopes of the Gospel, We may get thern now. Tomorrow me may get them and wo may not. Next day wo may and we may not. The i prospect loss and less and less and less. i The only sure time now?now. I would not talk to yon in this way if I did not know that Christ was able to save all the people, and save thousands as easily as savo one. I wonld not go into a hospital and tear off the bandages from the wounds li I had no bahn to apply. I would not have the face to tell a man he is a sinner unless I had at the same time tho authority of saying he may bo saved. Suppose in Venice there is a Raphael, s faded pic tare, . \ . >'* " *' . V I' ' X > \ II ^vll ???I great in its time, bearing some -^aarta of Its greatness. History describes that picture. It is nearly faded away. Yon say: "Oh, "Wa^t a pity that so wonderful a picture by Raphael should bo nearly defaced r After swhBa a man comes up, very unskillf al in art, and he proposes to retouch it Too say: "Stand off! I would rather have it just as it is; voa trill only make it worse." After a while there comes an artist who was the equal of Raphael. He /ays: "I will retouch that picture and bring out all itB original power." You have full confidence in bis ability. He touches it here and there. Feature after feature comes forth, and when he is done with the picture it is complete in all its original power. How God impressed His image on our race, but that image has been defaced for hundreds and for thousands of years, getting fainter and fainter. Hero comes up a divine Raphael. He says: "I can restore that picture." He has all power in heaven and on earth. He is the equal of the One who made the picture, the image of tihe One who drew the image of God in our soul. He touches this sin ana it is gone, that transgression and it disappears, and all the datacemont vanishes, ana ilwhere sin abounded grace doth much more abound." Will you have the defacamsm!; or wjjli yuu iii* vo liio rwwrauunr I am well perauaded that if I could bj a touch of heavenly pathos in two minutes pat before you what has been dont to save your souL there would be an emotional tide overwhelming. "Mamma," said a littlo to her mother when she was being put to bod at night, "minima, what wmVwi your hand bo scarred and twisted and nnlita other people's hands?" "Well," said the mother, "my child, when you wore younger than you are taw, years ago, one night after I had put you to bed I heard a cry, a shriek upstairs. I came up and found the bed was on Are, and you ware on fira, and I took hold of you and I tore off the burning garments and while I was tearing them off and trying to get you away I burned my hand, and it has been burned and scarred ever since, and hardly looks any more like a hand; but I got that, my child, in trying to Baveyou." Oman! 0 woman! I wish to-day I could show you the burned hand of Christ?burned in plucking you out of the fire, burned in snatchingyou away from the flame. Aye, also the burned foot, and the burned brow, and the burned hearl'/?burned for you. By His stripes ye are healed. TEMPMAJWE. Jk- *r HiitiPmAJTujtf C A MP'hiSii'i'iJG fl K K'I'Oll. The white mists from the wood arise, Like tho thin smotte of sacrifice^ From Indian altars in the shade Where once the red mai bowed and prayed. The soft green mass invites the knees / To bend in worship, and the trees Lift their stout arms in list'ning air, And leafy lips seem whispering prayer. Beneath this roof of braided boughs We may renew our sacred vows; For hero we seo, like firo divine, The burning bush and tlie flaming vine, x This is the temple of tho Lord, Here nature sings in sweet accord TTav* lionnw nf m*afaPnl fftanlra jyj ujfiuu vi gimwiui nuaufto| From shady groves and grassy banks. As vapors rise toward Jhe sun, As brooklets to the ocean run, As plants spring upward from the sod Our thoughts hero turn to heaven and God. The rocks are altars by the brook, And psalms are writ in nature's book; The towering pine, a tapering spire, The radiant birds our ringing choir. Red blossoms ore tho fragrant urns And censer cups, where incense burns; God is our trust, and He will bless Our worship in the wilderness. ?George W.Bungay, in National Advocate, THE TRAFFIC 15 STRONG- DRINK. I bavo a loathing. I have a thorough disgust for the gew-gaws of rum-bought wealth. When I get into the horse-cars and smell tho foul stench of liquor; when I go into the streets and find the same, I see behind me that brownstono mansion on our nock, built of rum, and behind that again I see the pallid faces, shivering forms, and fluttering rags of a numberless host. And I would have had one of the daughters of the owner of that mansion stand by at the door and watch her father's victims as they march into the dorks of the police court every day. I would take another child, and the police should lead her through all the dark alleys and passages where broken-hearted mothers, and children without parents or food, attest to the manner in which her parent made his money. The rum-seller is the root of the evil, and until it is maae a crime to seu mi/o:?iuu>uig uovoiages intemperance will continue to exist.? Wendell Phillwa. ; ADVANCE OF TOTAL ABSTINENCE PRINCIPLES. A total abstinence journal called La Feuille de Temjicrcince has been established in France. In a recent issue Professor G. Buage, who is considered an authority upon alcoholic subjects, referring to the advance of total abstinence principles, says that when once established thoy suffer no arrest by obstacles, but are continually progressant. He reviews the prohibition movement in America, and says that in England there aro 5,000,000 total" abstainers; in Norway, 100,000; in Sweden; (50,000; in Denmark 30,000. Ho continues: "The society of the Blue Cross, at ten years of ago, counts 5000 members, and the movement gains from day to day. They have established the fact that where the principle of tctal abstinence is once accepted the movement stops for no obstacles; it continually progresses, until at last it secures a strong majority in tho Government and attains its end?tha provention by law of the sale of alcoholic beverages." TEMPERANCE NEWS AND NOTES. The beer garden'fa the primary school of Intemperance. In Chicago, says a leading brewer, eightysix per cent, of the saloons are controled by the breweries. The beer bill of Chicago last year was $28,800,000. No wonder that in Chicago there are complaints of poverty. In Kansas there is but one pauper to every 1358 of the population. This shows thatprohibition prohibits pauperism. Of the setenty-flve criminals in the prison at Stockton, CaL, all but ono acknowledged strong drink as the cause of the) * sinning. The membership of the West Washington Territory W. C. T. U. has increased more than forty per cent, during the last season. A leading worker has said: "Great issues make great men; but when the sea of political issues gets shallow, little fishes only can swim." . What you want is not to shut your ports, but to shut the doors of the saloon; and then you may open your ports as wide as you please. jlc was switea in sae nouao ui lwiuj icv^jui/]y that the merchants of England ship every year to the west coast of Africa 20,000 tons of rum and gin. The Salvation Army recently caused to be presented, in the House of Commons, a petition in favor of Sunday closing, signed by about 450,000 persons. Dr. V. D. Wallace, one of the most active TV. C. T. U. workers in Massachusetts, shares with her husband a large medical practice in Ncedliam and Boston. It is better to walk through mud to church' tbstn that our pavements, every brick of which represents some loyal wife's or orphan's tears, sacrifices, and agonies, be made by saloon money. A prominent physician states that out of 023 moderate and immoderate drinkers with whom he has conversed, 161 acquired the desire for wino and other alcoholic poisons by their use in articles of diet. There are 150,000 publio houses in Belgium, or ono for every forty of the population, and the annual consumption of spirits is about nine litres per head. The Government proposes a heavy duty on all additional public houses. The new Earl of Carlisle is a strong teetotaller, and so is Lady Carlisle. Since he has had the management of tho estates as one of the trustees he has closed all the publio-houses an the property. The cellar at Castle Howard contained some of the best home-brewed ale in England, and the brew-houses were famous everywhere; but they have been entirely destroyed and the vats emptied. During the famine in Ireland, in 1879, British aDd foreign charity, public and private, contributed $6,305,000 for the relief of the starving population. The very same year there went into the tills of the saloon keepers in Ireland 146,875,000, paid in mainly by the poor working people. Is it any wonder that there was starvation? If there had been no liquor saloons there would probably have been no suffering for bread. RELIGIOUS HEADIM I *?* * ^Bl "PEACSK, jUOTyU"^- **';KflH Dirk was the night?the foaming deep Raged madly round; He rose fr in sleep? The Uan; the Ood; the tempest's Lord. He spake, obedient, trembling, awed, BBB Low rank tbe proud wave's create! head; Far the affrighted storm flecd fled. We sail on life's tempestuous sea! O Thou whose voice wild Gali ee H Heard 'bove the storm-blast, speak the wc^H| Which ott since then the saiits have hear^^B May we, when temp?sts baffle skill, Hear the commanding, "Peaca, be still. Speak! and the skv of sorrow's night jHfl Is radiant with celestial light; BBfl Speak! and the wildest waves obey, HDj And gently bear us on our way; ^ peak! and temp ation's fiercest blast Is harmless, all its fury past. Sneak! and the very wind - of death ^Hb Shall wa#?a mnre than welcome breath? To fairer realms than hoirt conceives, H Or thread of happiest fancy weaves; BM To worlds where evil never trod; BR Blight as the diadem of God. % ?Arthur Vine BHQHT AT OlfCX. Begin at once to do whatever year Hast^H commands. Begin to practice religion, child never woulu learn to walk by a hcndr^H talks about the law of gravitation; it mi^Hfl use its own feat even at the risk of maxtf^^K tumble. War; not for more feeling, or m<o^B| pungent convictions, or for anything th^Bj you read of in other people's experteno^^B These are all aaaies and hindrances, i f th* keep you from doing at once the very act that will plesse Christ Ha-? you never opened vour lips an unconverted friend, cithar _ H avow your ovm feo'inqs or to do that frlei^H some good* Then try it; you will strengUi^H yourself, and may bring an unexpect^H blessing to him or her. In short, you mofl begin to obey a new Master; to serve a ueH Saviour; to strike out a new line of livinHH and rely on GmTs almizhty help to da When you give y urself to Christ in whole-bearte i ana practical fashion. He wi^H give you a thousandfold richer gift in rS tu' n. Yea, He will give you. Hinuael^H When you possess Christ you have evwg^H - A SUBSTITUTIONARY SACRIFICE. B The sacrifice of our Lord was, in the higJ^H est sense, substitutionary. The penalty (^H sin is death; and Jesus died. All throm^D the old law there is no atonement except the death of a victim. Indeed,, this is-wbj^H God hath said from the beginning, even iH the garden. Still is this' the sentence of law, "The soul that sinnoth it shall dieJB Sin necessitates death. The Lord Jen^H Christ did not come ' to earth to make a rflj conciliation by the holiness of. his life, or the eamestnes* of his teaching, but by b^H death. The text saith, "By his own bloc?B| he entered in." He must die in the rooti^D and place, and stead of guilty men. befot^H be could enter heaven on their behalf. cTumm asthe calves and the bullocks in the tyr^H were slain, and their blood poured out bfl fore God, so must Jesus be slain in the slJB ner's place. Oh, beloved, let us cling to tfcB| great truth of the vicarious sacrifice^. whic^H is the chief teaching of this Barred BoolH Take this away, and I do not see anything left in the Bible at all which can be caDo^H good news. The very soul of the doctrine <^B Christ is atonement by his' death.?C. GEKBRAL GHAUT'S SOTTDAm,, The more the private lire of Gen. Grant revealed and studied tbe more jxoofs arH found of a sturdy, sensible purpose to keeflH his obligations to man and God. The matto^H of smolun? was a defect, and tadly- did h^H pay for this one lapse irom hispo&ition as example for our manhood. He refused t^H allow unchaste stories, abstained from and liquors, at least in his maturer. yearsfl and he was a regular attondjnt, upon divin^H worship, and lent the influence of his greaS name to those things Wnich make for ngbfc^H ecusness. [H On one occasion, when ho was presidenwB his pastor called on him tosay that, an a disH tingui.-hed troacher was to occupy his pulS pit on Sunday evening, he hoped the dent would attend that evening rather in the morning, as was his custom; far hJH atten'led church only once on Bunday. TdH this Gen Grant replied: "lam glad ofaiM opportunity to explain this matter to yoct^B Secretary Fish and some others-have an ab^H ?? ? ? T 4-a Ttmllr SlU'U liUlIUli vliUU X uuguu UUU vv T) - mnfn, th streets of Washington at nighty arid, con. sequently I never go to tbo qven ing service, though I thould be glad to do so." Seeing thit tho pastor was surprised by this statem-.-nt, he said: ''Perhaps you think I might have the carriage and ride to service; but, Doctor, wh?ro I was a poor, man, long before I ever thought that 1 hbould have a servant, I made up my mind that if I ever did have one he should have his hours of Sunday for worship; and no servant or horse are ever called into use upon that day for my own personal convenience." THE ANSWER DELAYED. There are certain experiences common *e all saints. One of these is the temptation that comes because prayer for right things does notammediatelv "inherit the promise?' There are seasons when the reason for delay seems to us very plain; there are other times when wo are constrained to say: '*0 Lord, bast Thou forgotton to be gracious?" But in all prayer we are to remember that we are suppliants only through graoe; that to approach God and ask of Him Is in any 6ense a *:reat privilege. A just view of prayer, tbat act by which we fall in helpfulness be^ fore God, will prove to us. that we are not ai liberty to make any demands upon Him. "Tno* no Thrtii wiltL G l<ird." is the DroDOT attitude of the suppliant bending low at HisH feet E itire submission to His way issH mark of prevailing taith. And such a faith H is not so much concerned whether God choose H to delay or not. H Andrew Hurray has said: "When onceH faith has taken its stand upon GoJ's word, B and tho name of Jesus, and has yielded itself H to the leading of the Spirit to seek God's H will and honor alone in its prayer, it need H not be discouraged by delay. It knows from H Scripture that t e power of believing prayer H is simply irresistible; real faith can never ba H disappointed. It kaows that just as water,, I to exercise the irresis.ii le power it can hava. I must be gathered up and accumulated until M tue stream can come down in full force, H there must be often a heap.ng up of prayer H until God sees t iat tha measure is full aiyl H the answer com It knows that iust as H soon as the pl?>wma 1 has to take nis tern H thousand steps and sow his ten thousand H seeds, each one a part of the preparation H for the fii al harvest, there is a need-be IB for oft-repeated, persevering prayer, all II working cut rome desired blessing. O II Lord, do t.-ach me how real the labor of || Frayer is. I know how here on e irth. when Ml have failed in an undertaking I can often H succeed by renewed and more continuous II effort by giving more time and thought, H Show me how, by giving myself more en- M tirely to prayer, to live in prayer, I may ob- II tain what I osk. And, above all, 0 my blessed Teacher, author and perfector of H faith, let my whole life by Thy grace be one H of faith in Thee, in whom my prayer gains H acceptance, in whom I have the itssurancs H of the answer, in whom the answer will be H mine."?N. Y. Christian Advocate. ? It is very sweet sometimes when sorrow fa intense and darkness, just to pillow our head upon the "Saviour's bosom in subdued, silent trust. There is comfort ever in imply resting in tho "everlasting arms." But the richest of God's comfort comes from his word. To neglect the Bible, when seeking Divine comfo ting, is really closing our ea:s to the consolation he sends DON'T DBUflt. The first effect of alcohol on the system fa to accelerate the taction of the heart and rais^ the temperature of the body about one degree and a half. It is this effect which makes fk valuable in cases of fainting or collapse. The secondary effect is, however, to lowep the temperature, which sometimes falls two or three degrees below the normal point of ninety-eight degrees, and the warmth of thfe body cannot be restored as quickly as it ft tost. For this reason drunkards are more likely to stiff?r from exposure to cold tfcaft temperate people, and the stupor of eloohol is apt to pass into the sleep of death ?Thq Hospital. ,