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t THE SEA. P&.vn is dim on the dark soft water. ,'Soft and passionate, dark and sweet; Love's own self was the deep sea's daughter, ' Fair and flawless from faca to feat; flailed of all when the world was golden, Jjoved of lovers whose names beholden ^Thrill men's eyes as with light of olden &* Days more glad than their flight was fleet. Bo they sang; but for men that love her, Bonis that hear not ber word in vain. Earth baside her aad heaven above her ? Seem but shadows that wax and wane. Softer than sleep are the sea's caresses, tder than love that betrays and blesses, her than spring when her flow erful i tresses Shake forth sunlight with shine and rain. All the strength of the waves that perish < fircaiic twnMth me and lauzhsand sichs. Signs for love of the lifo they cherish, Laughs to know that it lives and dies; Dies for joy of its life and lives, Thrilled with joy that its brief death givos, Death whose laugh or whoso breath forgives I ChaDges that bids it subside and rise. ?Algernon Charles Swinburne. AME. Ten years ago the railroad running 6outh from Calhoun was five years in the future. A stage was run in its stead; but little Dorsey, two mile3 and a half southwest of Calhoun, being without means of mail transfer, sent and brought its mail by a daily pedestrian. For a year this servitor was Anne Davis. The employment of a woman was new, but Anne's sharp need of the slender salary gained her the appointment. A small privilege, most girls would have reckoned it, that of tramping five lonely miles a day in all weathers; but to Anne it was a boon. SVio walV-pd hnrnoTP.arrl on a r/iinv Oe tober morning. The mail had been late, and she was afraid Sammy and Polly might be home from school, and wanting their dinner. The road was ? beautiful in summer, but now there was mud to plod through, with rain dripping ! from the trees. Anne wore of necessity an attire of short skirt and boy's boots; i the mail-bag was slung over her shoul- 1 der, and her face glowed warm under her soaked hat." "Littlp late?" said the postmaster, : sm\ling over his railing. He looked af- ! ter her as she hurried away, and wel- J oomed the opportunity for speaking ! which the presence of an out-of-town farmer afforded. "That's the best girl I know," he said. , 'Don't know as you can call her a girl? ' she does as much as any woman. Way of it is, her mother had been a widow half a dozen years, and she died a year ago, and now Anne's head of the family. ( There's a boy a year or two older that aint at home. He's been wild, Jim Davis . has, and made his folks considerable trouble. He's in Ingleby now; got a job in the tool factory. There's two children, and nobody but Anne to do for ! 'em. And now she's took the mail- ] carrying: she neccb the money, but it's pretty hard on a girl. Well, she does as ' near what's right she know3 how, ! Anne Davis does." Anne reached home before tho children. They found her with her wet clothes changcd, the kitchen fire crack- 1 ling, and the table set. Sammy was nine j years old and Polly seven, and their realization of trouble was small. They loved and trusted their elder sister, and took no worry to their small selves. To-day they were fuil to the brim of a 1 fascinating subject. "We're going to the fair!" said Sammy. "Mrs. Baldwin's going to take us all in the two-seated 1 buggy to-morrow afternoon." It was the county fair, ten miles away. They had been once, and had magnified memories, and their good fortune overwhelmed them. Their happiness was Anne's, and their ?ood times were not many. She kissed lem as she bundled them up for school again. Polly's shoes were too large and Sammy's coat too small. They had been givon them by neighbors, and Anne had not the false pride to refuse the help she gravely needed. Sammy stopped in the door. "Anne, there's Uncle Elias," he faltered. A little old mau with a bundle was coming through the gate. Sammy and Polly, meeting him, hurried on. They could never rid them-~i ;/]? ??? Dvi > is ui iuu iiAca mao uuuic xjuto ?uoyi the bugaboo "codger"species; but Anne met him on the step and took his bundle. "Toler'ble, child," he responded to her querry as to his health, and they had no more conversation till he had dried himself, eaten his dinner and filled his pipe, and Anne had cleared the table and sat down with some work. The old man puffed away sleepily in his hot corner. lie wa3 nearing eighty, and had lived for some years on the charity of his sister, Anne's great-aunt, who helped Anno little and grudgingly. His visits to Dorsey were the bright spots in his life. "Jim, you l:now," said Anne?she had been barely able to wait before beginning the subject?"Jim is in Ingleby. He's got a good place in the tool factory; he's sent me some money once." "I'm glad on't," said the old man. "I guess he's a good boy." Anne dropped her work. All her soul was in her facc as she looked at him. It was not hard to see that here was touched her greatest love and her greatest hope, v. "He's a good boy, Uncle Elias," she said. "He would never have done any wrong if he hadn't been led into it." "Nor nobody," said the old man, solelmly. "But Jim?I wish you could know how "^rood-hearted he is, Uncle Elias!" a ffi?l r?rl UITa ttoo cr\ rrnnrl f n VUV ?}*** VilUUi i.lW ?T CVJ ij J 0uyu bC mother! lie never meant to hurt her. It was Iliram Sleeker and that bad set; he got to going up town with thorn evenings, and doing what they did. O Uncle Elias, I can't forget it?that worst night, vrhca they'd all been up to the saloon and came home late?1 can't forget!" "No. Your poor ma!" "It was that that stopped him; lie didn't want to hurt mother. He was better after that, and ever since." But a shadow on her facc found expression. "I'm afraid, Unclc Elias. They're a rough set in the factory; I've always heard so. It won't be Hiram Meeker, but it might be somebody else. Do you thiuk so?" she said, wistfully. "Nobody's going to make him do wrong if he wants to behave himself," Baid the old man. "He'll mean to," said Anne. "Ho promised mother." Uncle Elias, his withered face red with the comforting heat, blinked at her. "Ycur heart's sot oa him," he said. Somebody outride was calling her; it bad sto] ped rain ng. It was Mrs. Bald wia ia her buggy. Shs talked about the fair; she "knew the children would be tickled to go," and it would do Anne . good. Then, with an unwilling cough, ' she produced a newspaper. "I don't s'pose there's a thing to worry about," she said. "If you go to fret- < ting, I'll be sorry I spoke. It's an Ingle-, i by paper. There's a fuss at the factory; i the hands are on a strike, but I don't < s'pose Jim's mixed up in it." "A man shot!" Anne gasped. J "A foreman. Shot, but ain't dead. I >. shouldn't wonder if Jim had kep' out of i it; he wouldn't been likely to throw up < a good place the minute he got it." "No," said Anne, but her hand, hold* 1 ing the paper, trembled. < "If we hear any more we'll let you 1 know, but don't you go to fretting," 1 Mrs. Baldwin repeated. She drove away, 1 and Anne, remembering her fire as she - " ' ' J -t- - J turned back, went to tue woou-sueu. The clouds had broken over an autumnal yellow sky, and a cold wind was 1 spriuging up. She had piled her strong arms full, and was turning, when some- < thing crouched in a coiner rose. i "You needn't be seared," it said. "I '] ain't going to touch you." t It was a boy, under-sized and slight, i but a look at his face showed Anne that s he was older than herself. He looked i like a tramp, with his bundle done up in i a handkerchief and mud-drabbled clothes. 8 ' 'Do you want anything?something to S cat?" she said, gently, for she thought of Jim. "Come in and I'll give you some- i thing. You're cold." His teeth chat- s tered. 1 He followed her in, and she drew a 1 chair and brought him food. He pressed t forward to warm his chilled hands, but ate little. His eyes roved uneasily, and j at an abrupt movement of Uncle Elias in his sleep he started. 8 "Every woman so far's been afraid of t me," he said, in sullen tones. "They < needn't be. I ain't a tramp, nor a thief, c nor a murderer. That's what they say I t am," he ended, narrowly eyeing her. c Her first thought was tnac cms was i strange, foolish bravado, but the boy sat j bitterly smiling. His face was a weak p and yet a bad one; his eyes had a shal- t low yet a hardened look. i "I can prove it easy enough," he went t on. Desperation and a pitiful wistfulnes3 mingled in his face. "Do you know t how far I've tramped since yesterday?" \ be demanded. '-From Ingleby. Thirty 3 miles." r "Ingleby?" a "I've had a job in the tool-factory over there." Whatever his confession was, t he wavered on the verge of it, in dread s of its effect. "Did you know the other hands? Did you know Jim Davis?" Anae questioned, Eagerly. s The boy gaped at her, his face chang- t ing. "Do you?" he demanded. "I t heard he come from round here. You t know him?" "Yes." Something held Anne from t saying more, and the boy went on bur- a riedly: v "They think I shot McCormick 1 They 4 1 1 * L 1 ofnoirrVif DC116VC 1L, UUCJUbC 1 iiaiuu jvcpu oua^uv incc I been there. Well, there's others ^ beea bad as me, and worse, and Jim I Davis is one. I know Jim Davis. We s was thick enough one time. Now he c turns on mc; sneaks out of this, and lays j" it on to me. I'lllivctogct it back on 1 him 1" said the boy fiercely. a uThcy think 'twas meat the bottom of the strike," he went on. "It was Jim c Davis more'n anybody. He said we was 3 slaving for starvation waged, and he'd 5 put in for more and see it through, and he stuck to it. I'd backed out more'n s oncc if Jim Davis hadn't kep' us to it. It * was him heading us when it happened. r He wanted to go up to McCormick's and * get a fuss going; he thought 'twas Mc- 3 Cormick holding the bosses against us, ' and he was down on him. He wa'n't quite sober, you see. He was the one 1 that called McCormick out and went at 1 him about leaving town or getting hurt, * and then when McCormick talked back 1 and showed ho wa'n't afraid, Jim was < crazy. He took out his pistol and fired, 1 and it bit him in the side and he fell 1 over. Didn't I see him I I didn't have a pistol; any of the fellows knew that. * mrrL 1.1 1.^1- 1-! Zt mey coiuu provu a ij^uy " tucji na u ? a set of cowards! Well, he settled things s for me, Jim Davis did. He said I shot 1 him, and the whole town thinks so. I \ might's well done it, I wouldn't been no j worse. I was right up with Jim Davis ' all through, like a fool. Seeing I didn't," J said the boy, his voice hoarsened by his dreary monologue, "I hadn't ought to * pay for it. I shall, if they get hold of 1 me. Some of 'em said I better get out t the way and I did. They'll be after me ( fast enough, and then, Lord knows!" ) The poor girl who had heard him sat still, benumbed when he had done. The 1 fire's crackling and Uncle Elias's peace- * ful breathing were all that broke the t silence. t Jim, whom her love and hope had . been centred in! How much she had 1 loved him and hoped from him she had not realized till now; now that her ten- ! der trust was betrayed as she had never J dreamed it could be. Jim! kind-hearted ' Jim, with his honest eyes so like his j * mother's, the mother lie had promised J never a?ain to hurt. That he had for- J gotten! This, if she had been alive, 1 would have killed her. 1 What had led to it? It was strangely j s unlike Jim?this awful thing. He hud I * never becu riotous and bad: never a lead- ( % ' A cr in wrong-doing, only a follower. 1 Cutoff in that rough place alone, with ? bad companions and conrsc influences? ' it had, she felt, transformed him, and so I soon, into something different from the brother she had known. Yet she could not doubt the boy. lie was a poor little specimen of humanity ?a coward now, that had lately been ! a ruffian and bully. But one look into his miserable face assured her that he told the truth. "What are you going to do?'' she said at lust, in a voice which did not sound like hers. "I'm going to get caught and took back to Iugleby/' he answered, "and if McCormick dies"?lie stopped with n store, "I'm used up now; I can't get much further. They'll track mo easy " enough. Jim Davis '11 put out, and they'll have rac back to pay for what he's done." "lie may tell them," said Anne. But L the boy*3 reply was a sneering laugh. t IIow long she sat, looking down at the t floor, bright from her yesterday's scrub- r biug, she did not know. She hardly I knew the train of her thoughts. All s that seemed plain co her was the duty i which was forcing itself upon her. [ Was it a duty? If it was, had she t strength to do it? Sho had found s strength so far for all that had come to s her hand, aad it had not been little. Her j mother's words, almost her last, had never left her: "Do what you know is right, Anne. Be strong enough, and do it. There is no happiness for us but in doing Dur duty." But this was like nothing she had ever known. He was her brother, though he had sunk so far from her as to :lo this thing. Ho was Jim, and she :ould love him no less, nor ever would. What was this boy to her? He was innocent and Jim was guilty, and he would suffer and Jim would go free. She pitied the boy. But could she? O Jim! 0 Jim! Finally she went and stood before tho joy. "If they don't find you when they lome after you," she said, her voice trembling, "that will give you a chance, won't it? Then they might find out? .vho did it!" "They'll find me," he returned. "You don't as>k me to help you." "I didn't think you would," he said, jlankly. <<T will " Anns said, slowly. "You didn't do it, and you shouldn't suffer for t; it couldn't be right! I could hide jou here till they have come and gone, md then you can go home. You must lot pay for what he did. If I can tave you from it I will. There is a gar et room nobody goes into, and nobody ,vill know." Uncle Elias was stiiring wakefully and ihc could hear the children's voices. She opened the stair door hurriedly. The boy looked at her as he passed lp. She was feeling chilled and strange, io long had the tension been and so great ler effort, but the boy's face, with its lalf-abashed glow, sent a warm thrill ;hrough her. "I'll never forget you for this," he .aid. Her decision and her deed gave her itrength, of a kind. 8he went through he day as she would otherwise have lone. She got supper, attended to the ihildren's wants, and all the evening alked with Uncle Elias. When the :hildren were in bed and she had helped Jncle Elias up stairs, she made up a jlateful of food and took it up to the farrct room, 'me Doy was asicep, wica he hard lines smoothed out of his face, ts badness softened, She left the plate ?cside him and stole away. Early next morning, as she bent over ' he fire cooking the breakfast, she heard vheels, and saw Sammy run through the rard iu answer to the call of a man in a nud-splashed buggy. He drove away ifter a word, and Sammy ran in. "He wanted to know if we'd seen a >oy tramping through here yesterday, "he aid, round-eyed. "I told him no." His tlster looked away from him. Vhere was Jim? It was not till the children had gone to chool and Unclc Elias out for an airing hat she could go to the garret. She ook the remains of the breakfast, and old the boy of the man in the buggy. "I'll go, then," he said, with a long >reath. "I'll cut over to the north road nd keep on there, and he'll go back rithout me. Me! they'd better get after he right one." She stood in the door, a few minutc3 ater, and watched him go. Then sho >ut on her mail-carrying uniform of hort skirt and boots, and went on her lally journey. Yesterday it had been aining, but she had been happy; to-day t was fragrantly warm and sunny, but .11 the light was gone out of her life. Suddenly at a turn in the road she saw oming toward her rapidly a figure, the ight of which made her gasp and stand still. "Well, Anne! I thought I'd meet you oraewhere along," a hearty voice called o her. "I got into Calhoun on the norning freight and I started right lomc. I'll turn round and go back with ou, Anne. Here, let me have the mail)ag." Her brother kis3ed her. Without a vord or a question she knew, as she ft*. omiltnrt fmah faPO fVinf. ftll UUA.CU Uli UIO OUilUU^i iiviju <uvw v**m? hat had been cruelly weighing her down ,vas the nightmare it had seemed. Her jyes filled with tears as she looked at him, ;ears of thanksgiving so great that her leart seemed to stand still with it. "What have you come home for, Jim?" ?he whispered; they walked on together. "There's a strike at the factory," he laid. "There's been a rough time?one nan's been hurt. I wasn't in it, Anne, ibout twenty of us wasn't. "We didn't ioin in. The foreman and manager know t, and they've promised us work right ilong and first chance for more wages. There aint anything doing just now, :hings are so stirred up, and the. ones ;hat lived near enough have gone home ;ill to-morrow. I started the minute I :ould; I've been homesick enough for rou and the children, Anne." He turned to her, lifting his hat from lis warm forehead and eagerly smiling, she took his hand in hers tightly, and ;old him all her strange story in ono xembling breath. "0 Jim!" she said. "And I believed tall!" He paused for a little, blankly. "Anne, le wasn't lyiug," he said. "It was Jim "inviu clinf him nnrl nuprvhfldv knOWS it l w ""*w" J low. Anne, I wish you could see tho >ther Jim Davis. Its been a sort of u oke with the fellows, our name being ilike?it ain't so uncommon?and us >eing so different. lie's six feet, and the oughest-looking you ever saw. He ihot McCormick, and he laid it on Mat )emming; that was Mat Damming that :ame here. I know him, but I don't rain with him. But McCormick's better, tnd Jim Davis ain't so seared, and ic let out that he did the shooting. He's irrested, but he'll get off, that's what hey say. I'm sorry for little Mat Dcmning, it was rough on him. But it's the >ad compauy he's been in, and? "Anne," he broke off, "I don't havo mything to do with that crowd. I've cept straight, and twill! You needn't lave believed it. I know why; but you leedn't have, Anne. I'm done with it. )on't you think I've got a spark of man mess m me, to seo you wonting ucru iko this, doing things no girl ever (lid >efore, and not do iny part? "Didn't I promise mother? Anne, you leedn't be afraid. You won't ever have o worry about mc again?never!''? Youth's Companion. Riparian Accretions The rule that the owners of land )ounded by running streams arc entitled o the additions to their land formed by he current of the river is not changed or nodificd by the peculiar character of the Missouri Biver, which frequently causes udden and sometimes material changes n the adjoining land. The rule is ap>licable to lands adjoining that river aud o changes suddenly made the same as if uch changes were the result of slow md '"raporcoptible accretions.? PrairU Farmer* ... J, . | " 'IV- '* - ~. CUK10US FACTS. Envelopes were first used in 1839. Telescopes were invented in 15 90. A barrel of rice weighs 600 pounds. The first lucifer match was made in 1829. A Chicago Judge has discovered a law which forbids firemen to enter a burning building. Guttcnbcrg, the iuveutor of printing, is said to have had a lawsuit over his trade mark. The present national colors of the United States were not adopted by Congress until 1777. France has half as many people as the United States, but her national debt is twice as great as ours. Cannon cast for the British Government are now fitted with a devise by which the guns can be aimed at night. An odd freak of nature is exposed in some of the bananas lately received. Some are noticed where a part of the nnrofl in fnnt H U UULUU3 iO ^icgu auu uutb A vv. , *..* *. single banaua is sometimes divided in color. A giant named Catoni, who wa3 more than seven feet high and proportionately stout, has just died in Italy after having collected two thousand dollars from a museum in Rome for the right to his skeleton. The dog-house of Colonel North, the South American nitrate king, at London, is a perfect canine palace, filled with costly animals. The best dog co3t $5250. There is a dressing-room and a cloakroom filled with dogs' coats, and fresh shoulders of mutton make the dogs' daily dinner. The Piince of "Wales, Albert Edward, recently ordered an Axminster carpet made in one solid piece, with twentyseven irregular projections. The manufacturer who received the order was in despair, but succeeded so well that when it was laid it fitted like the traditional "paper on the wall." A curious fact is noticed in connection with the formation of barnacles on ships' bottoms. In the majority of casee there is a much heavier growth of grass and barnacles on one side than on the other, and in numerous instances one side will be almost free from marine growths, while the other is as foul as possible. The ancients placed an immense value on their gems. In looking up the subjects one finds the following quotations: The pearl given to Servillia by Julius Ccesar was valued at $24,000; the gems on the scabbard of Mithridates were valued at $37,SCO; the value of the pearl swallowed by Cleopatra is placed at $25,000; the gems worn by Lollia Paulina, wife of Caligula, wore valued at$l,600,000. Baldness and Its Causes. There are many different opinions as to the cause of baldness. Some of the eminent -medical authorities state that it is caused by a form of dandruff. This, it is claimed, has been verified by taking the hair which has fallen off in such nunj rnKKinrr if nn with Tiiwlinfi. find -r 1 I after applying the ointment so made to the fur of rabbits baldness has rapidly made it appearance on the part3 so treated. When vaseline alone was used this result did not follow. The same authority says that the disease is spr?ad by I hair dressers, who employ comb3 and brushes on their customers, one after another, without regard to the cleanliness of those articlc3. Women are less I liable to be effected by this form of baldness, for the reason that their hair is usually dressed at home. On the other hand some claim that too frequent cutting of the hair is detrimental. The hair in some respects resembles a tree. Suppose the gardener were to clip all the limbs from a tree, regardless of the season of the year, as soon as they were two or three feet in length. How long could the tree be expected to survive? There is a fluid substance in each hair from which the hair *1 A. i.1 IU* gCCS lis Dourisuaiuuu mi; sumi; aa lug hcc gets its life and growth from the sap which is conducted from its root3. Break the bark of a tree and you will aoon see the sap running down ?he trunk. The same thing is believed to take place when a hair is cut, only it is not visible to the naked eye. A number of the better class of barbers are endeavoring to overcome this evil by singeing the ends of the hair after cutting. This hermetically seals the ends and prevents the escape of any fluid. This operation is performed with the aid of a small wax taper. The hair i9 raised from the head with a comb and the lighted taper passed rapidly across the ends. The operation is neither tedious nor unpleasant. Those that practicc this style of treating the hair state ! that much good ha3 resulted from the i process,? Washington Star. < ? i riowing with Sticks. l l It would make an hone3t American i farmer smile out loud to sec the way the I land is plowed by Peruviana. From six to a dozen teams of oxen are put at t work in a field of twenty or thirty acres. ^ The oxen arc yoked by tying a heavy c beam across their forehead and in front I of the horns. To this beam the plow a is attached, nil the forcc being applied c by the head iustead of the shoulders. ^ The plow is a crooked stick or [ branch of a tree, the point faced with o iron. Peruviaus contend that they dc J not need to plow more than two or 0 three inches deep, simply enough to loosen the soil so as to enable the seed to J take root. The water used in irragatiug * is said to be rich in plant food, further a obviating the necessity of deep plow ing. ~ s Improved plows suitable for the a country are uow manufactured in Europe ii and the United States, but they arc very ii different from the plows used by an American farmer. They are light and ? small, haviHg a close resemblance to the I original crooked stick. s Every Peruvian plow has but one ? handle. The driver carries in one hand ii a huge goad twelve or fifteen feet in P length, with which to touch up his team, and he manages the plow with the v other hand. The irrigating ditches must d then be connected with the canal which 0 brings the water from the river and ^ which traverse the field at a distance of t three to four feet apart and are six to d eight inches deep. a They are so arranged that the whole ^ field can be instantly flooded by turning E on the water, aud every hill of corn or v potatoes or sugar cane will be thorough- " ly soaked. Of course, the fields must ? elope in the right direction, and if t nature has so made it the level is reduced I Bufficieuth before it is Dlowed. .. j REV. DR. TALMAUJi. THE BROOKLYN DIVINE'S SUN DAY SERMON. Subject: "Tlie Prodigal Son." Text: " Whcnhe was yet a great way off, his father saw him, and had compassion on him, and ran, and fell on his neck, and Iqssed him,"?Luke xv., 20. One of the deepest welJs that inspiration ver opened is this well of a parable whica wo can never exhaust. The parable, I suppose, wa3 founded on facts. 1 have described to you the goiug away of this prodigal son from his father's house, and I have snown you what a hard time he had down in the wilderness, and what a very great mistake it was for him to leave so beautiful a home for such a miserable desert. But he did not always stay in tho wilderness; ho came back after a while. We do not read that his mother came to greet bim. I suppose she was dead. Sho would have been the first to come out. The father would have given the second kiss to the returning prodigal; the mother tho first. It mav have been for the lack of her example and prayers that he became a prodigal Sometimes the father does not know how to manage the children of the hous3hold. The chief work cornea upon the mother. Indeed, no ono ever gets over the calamity of losing a mother in early life. Still this young man was not ungrooted when he came back. However well appareled wo may be in the morning when wa start out on a journey, before night, what with the dust and tucjostling, we have lost all cleanliness of appearance. But this prodigal, whan ha started from the swine trough^ was ragged and wretched, and his appearance, after ho had gone through days of journeying and exposure, you can more easily imagine than describe. As the people see this prodigal coming on homeward, they wonder who he is. They say: "I wonder what prison ho has broken out of. I wonder what lazaretto he has escaped from. I wonder with what plague he will smite jthe air." Although these people may have been well acquainted with the family, yet they do not imagine that this is the very young man who wentofT only a little while ago with quick step, and ruddy cheek, and beautiful apparel. The young man, I think, walks very fast. He looks as though ho were intent upon something very important. The peoplo stop. They look at him. Thoy wonder where he came from. They wonaer whero he is going to. You have heard of a son who went ofif to sea and never returned. All the peoplo in the neighborhood thought the son would never return, but the parents camo to no such conclusion. They would go by the nour ana uay ana sic upon iuo uuuuu, ??& ing off upon the water, expecting to see tho sail that would bring home the long absent boy. And so I think this father of my text sat upon the vino looking out toward tho road on which his son had departed; but the lather has changed very much since we saw him last. His hair has become white, his cheeks are furrowed, his heart is broken. What is all his bountiful table to him whon his son may be lackiug bread? What is all the splendor of the wardrobe of that homestead when the sou may not have a decent coat? What are all the sheep on that hillside to that father when his pet lamb is gone? Still be sits and watches, looking out on the road, and one day he beholds a foot traveler. He sees him rise above the hill; first the head and after awhile the entire body; aud as soon as he gets a, fair glance of him ho knows it is his recreant son. He forgets tho crutch, and the cane, and the stiffness of tho ioints. and bounds away. I think the people all around are amazad. They said: "It is ouly a footpad. It is only some old tramp of the road. Don't go out to meet him." The father knew better. The change in the son's appsarance could not hide the marks by which the father knew the boy. You know that persons of a great deal of independence of character are apt to indicate it in their walk. For that reason tho sailor always has a peculiar step, not only because tie stands much on shipboard amid the rocking of the sea, and he has to balance himself, but he has for the most uark an independent character, which would snow in his gait, even if he never went on the sea; and we know from what transpired afterward, and from what transpired before, that this prodigal son was of an independent and frank nature; and I suppose that the characteristics of his mind and heart were the characteristics of hi3 walk. And so the father know him. Ho puts out his witherod arms toward him; he brings his withered face against the pale cheek of his son; ho kisses the wan lips; he thanks God that the long agony is over. "When he was yet a great way off, his father saw him, aud had compassion, and rail, and fell on his neck, and kissed him." Oh, do you not recognize that Father? Who was it? It is God! I have no sympathy with that cast-iron theology which represents God as hard, severe and vindictive. God is a Father?kind, loving, lenient, gentle, long-suffering, patient, and He flies to our immortal rescue. Oh, that we might realize it. A wealthy lady in one of the eastern countries was going off for some time, and she asked her daughters for soma memento to carry with her. One of the daughters brought a marble tablet, beautifully inscribed, and another daughter brought a beautiful wreath of flowers. The third daughter came and said: "Mother, I brought neither flowers nor tablet, but here is my heart. I have inscribed itallover with your name, and wherever you go it will go with you." The mother recognized it as tii? hiwt nf nil lhf? mAimnntnes f)h. thatAur 30ula might go oat toward our Father; that our hearts might be written all over with the evidences of His loving kiadne*3, and that we might never again forsake Him. In the first place, I notice in this text the father's eyesight; in tha second place, I notice the father's haste; anl, in the third place, I notice tha father's kiss. To begin: The father's eyesight. "Whan ho was a great way off his father saw him." You have noticed how oil peoplo sometimes put a book off on the otaer side of the light. They can see at a distance a great deal easier than they can close by. I do not know Whether this father could see well that whicli was noar by, hut I do know ha could sea jreat way off.. "His father saw him." Porlaps he had baen looking for the return of lhat boy especially that day. 1 do not know jut that he hid been in prayer, and that Go J lad told him that that day the recreant boy ivould come home. "Tha father saw him a jreat way off." I wonder if God's eyesight can descry us vhen wo are coming back to Him? The ext pictures our condition?we are a great vuy off. That young man wa9 not farther iff from his father's housa, siu is not farther >ff from holiness, hall is not farther off from loaveu, than we have bean by our sin; away iff from our God, aye, so far off that we ?.1.1 ..~i tlic r.iioi HirviTh vslm-n^nfclir (JUIU HJJ 1-lO.Vl UM .w.vw, - .^v.0.. f I'j has called u-? year after year. I do not :now what bad habits you may have orined, or i? wlntovil pla333 you have beau, ir what false notions you may havo oatarained; but you are ready to acknowledge, f your heart ha3 not been changed by the jaeo of God, that you are a great way off -aye, so far that you cannot get back of 'ourselves. You would like to come back. iye, this moment you would start, if it were lot for this sin, and that habit, and tab dLsidvantage. But I am to tell you of the Fatlnr's eye* ight. "He saw him a great way o.T." He ias seen all your frailties, all your struggle, 11 your disadvantages. He has been lougig for your coming. Hj has not beju loo'cng at you with a critic's eye or a bailiffs eye, ut with a fathers eye; and if a parent ever itied a child, God pities you. You say: 'Oli, I had so many evil surrouadiugi when * * 1 " " -*r T7?- i.U SDal'Cea me." _ I our r?ma aotn 11/. .iuu ay: "I have so many bad surroundin g now, ad it is very difficult for me to break away rom evil associations." Your Father seo3 t, and if you should start lnavenward?as I iray you may?your Father would not sit llydown and allow you to struggle on up o ward Him. Oh.no! Seeing you a great ray off He would fly to the rescue. How long loos it tako a father to leap into the middle f the highway if his child bo there and a wift vehicle is coming aud may destroy iim? Five hundred times longer than it akos our heavenly Father to spring to the sliveranca of n lost child. "Whan ho was , great way off his father saw him." And this brings mo to notice the father's aste. The Bible says he ran. No wonder! Ie did not know but that the younjj man rould change his ruind aud go back. Ho did lot know but that he would drop down from xhaustion. Ho did not know but that somehiiig fatal might overtake him before he got ip to thedoorsill; and so the father ran. Tho Bible, for the most part, speaks of God as i talking. "In the fourth watch of the night," t says, "Jesus came uuto them walking oa 1 > ss? the sea." "He walketh upon the wings of the wind." Our first parents heard the voice of the Lord, walking in the garden in the cool of the day; but when a sinner starts out for God the father runs to meet him. Oh t If a man ever wants help it i3 when he tries to become a Christian. The world says to him: "Back with you. Have more spirit. Don't be hampered with religion. Time enough yet. Wait until you get sick. Wait uiftilyougetold." Satan jays: "Back with you; you aro so oad that viod will have nothing to do with you;" or, "You are good enough and need no Redeemer. Take thine ease, eat, drink and be merry." Ten thousand voices say: "Back with you. Goi is a hard master. The church is a collection of hypocrites. Back into your sins; back to vour evil indulgences; back to your prayerless pillow. The silliest thing that a young man ever does is to come home after he has been waudering." (JIi, how much help a man does want when ho tries to become a Christian ! Indeed, the prodigal cannot find hi3 way home to Ills father's house alone. Unless some one comes to meet him he had better have stayed by the swine troughs. When the tido comes in you might more easily with your broom sweep back tin surges than you could drive back the ocean of your unforgiven transgressions. What are we to do? Are we to fight the battlo alone, and trudge on with no ons to aid us, and no rock to shelter U3, and no word of encouragement to cheer U3? Glory be to God, we have in the text the announcement: "When he was yet a great way off his father ran." When the sinner starts for God, God starts for the sinner. God doe3 not como out with a slow and hesitating pace. The inGnite spaces slip beneath His feet and He takes worlds at a bound. "The father ran." Oh. wonderful meeting wheu GoJ and the soul coma together. ~ "The father ran." You start for Goi and God starts for yoo, and you maet; and while the angels rejoica over the masting your long injuroi Father falls upon your neck with attestations of compassion and pardon. Your poor, wandering, sinful, polluted soul and the loving, eternal Father nave met. I remark upon the father's kiss. "He fell on his neck," ray text says, "and kissed him." It is not every father that would have done that way. Some would have scolded him, and said: "Here, you went off with beautiful clothes, but now you are all in tatters. You went off healthy, and coma back sick and wasted with your dissipations." He did not say that. The son, all haggard and ragged and filthy and wretched, stood before his father. The father charged him with none of his wanderings. He just racaived him. He just kissed him. Hid wretchedness was a recommendation to that father's love. Oh, that father's kiss! How shall I describe tho love of God??the ardor with which He receives a sinnar back again? Give ma a plummet, with which I miy fathom this sea. Give raa a ladder with which I can scale this height. Give ma words with which I can dascriba this love. The apostl93 say in one placa, "unsaarohI able;" in another, "past finding out." I TT.J-.Lt L ~I1 u~:~u_ ELeigUb uvorujwnug on uaiguu, u^>u ing boneath all doptti; breadth co:npa33in? all immansity. Oh, this lore! God so loved tha world, He love3 you. Don't you believe it? Ha? He not done everything to make you think so? He has given you life, health, frienis, home?the use of your hand, the sight of your eye, the hearing of your ear. He has screven your path with mercies. He has fel you, clothed you, sheltered you, defended Sou, loved you, importuned you all your felong. Don't you believe He loves yoa? Why, if now you should start up from the wilderness of your sin Ha would throw both arms around you. To make you baliove that Ho love3 you He stoopad to mangw aui cross and sapulchre. With all the passions of Hi* holy nature roused He stands before you today, and would coax you to happiness au I heaven. Oh, this Fataar's kiss! There is so much meanlnz and love and comoas3ionin it: so muca pardon in It; so much heaven in it. I proclaim Him the Lord God, meroifal, gracious and long suffering, abundant in goodness and truth. Lest you would not bilieve Him He goes up Golgotha, and while the rocks are rending, and the graves aro opening, and the mobs are howling, and the sun is hiding, He dies for you. See Him! See Him on the Mount of Crucifixion, the sweat | on ms Drow nngea wita iaa oiooa exuauig from His lacerated temples I See His oyes swimming in death I Hear the loud breathing of the suffeoer as He pants with a world on His heart! Hark to tae fall of the blood from brow and hand and foot on the rocks beneath?drop I drop! drop! Look at the nails! How wide the wounds are I Wider do they gape as His body comes down upon them. Oh I this crucifixion agony! Tears melting into tears. Blood flowing into blood. Darkness dropping on darkness. Hands of men joined with bands of devils to tear apart the quivering heart of the Son of God! Oh. will Ho never speak again? Will that crimson face never light up again? He will speak again; while the blood is suffusing His brow, and reddening His cheek, and gathering on nostril and lip, and you think He is exhausted and cannot speak. He cries out until all the ages hear Him: ''Father, forgive thorn, they know not what they do!" Iv' there no emphasis in such a scene as that to make your dry eves weep ani your hard heart break? Will you turn your back upon it, and say by your actions what the Jews said by their words: "His blood be onus, and on our children?" What does it all mean, my brother, my sister? Why, it means that for our lost race there was a Father's kiss. Love brought Him down. Love opened the gate. Love led to the sacrifice. Love shattered the gra^e. Love lifte 1 Him up in rocurrAcrtrin Sovereign love? Omnipotent lore I Infinite love! Bleeding love! Everlasting love! Oil. for thU tore lot roiks and bUl] Their listing sileaco break; And all harmonloaa human tongues The Savioir'a praise; apsak. Now, will yon accept that Father's kiss? The Holy Spirit comes to you with His arousing, melting, alarming, Inviting, vivifying influence. Hearer, what creates in thee that unrest? It is the Holy Ghost. What influence now tells thee that it is time to fly, that to-morrow may be too late; that there is one door, one road, one cross, one sacrifice, one Jesus? It is the Holy Ghost. My most urgont word is to those who. like the young man of my text, are a great way off, and they will start for home, and they will get home. They will yet preach the Gospel, and on communion days carry around the consecrated bread, acceptable to everybody, because of their holy life and their consecrated behavior. The Lord is going to save you. Your homo has got to be rebuilt. Your physical health has got to bo restored. Your worldly business has got to be reconstructed. The Church of God is going to rejoice over your, discipleship. You are not Gospel hardeneJ. You nave not heard or read many sermons during the last few years. You do not weep, but the shower is not far off. You sigh, and you have noticed that there is always a sigh in the wind before the rain falls. | There are those who would give anything if they could find relief in tears. They say: "Oh, my wasted life! Oh, tho bitter past! Ob, the graves over which I have stumbled! Whither shall I fly? Alas for the future! Everything is dark?so dark, so dark. God help me! God pity ine!" Thank the Lord ! for that last utterance. You have begun to j pray,and when a man begins to petition, that ' sats all heaven flying this way, and GoJ step3 1 in and beats back th3 bounds of temptation to their kennel, and around about the poor wounded soul puts the cover of His pardoning mercy. Hark! I hear something fall. HTiat was that? It is the bars of the fence 1 around the sheepfold. The shepherd lets 1 them down, and the hunted sheep of the 1 mouutain bound in; some of them their fleece ' torn with the brambles, some of them their J feet lamo with the dogs; but bounding in. 1 Thank Qotil Saved for tuns, and saved for J eternity, J A member of tlie Stanley expedition ; was asked what was the first news they ; had froir Europe after their "wander- i ings i:i the wilderness." "It was con- ; taiaed," he replied, "in a letter from ( the English consul at Zanzibar, and I J well remember his words. 'The Emperor William of Germany,' he wrote, 'is dead; his soV Frederick, who succeeded him, is dead; his grandson, William, is now on the throne. But, thank God, Queen Victoria still lives, and is well, and reigus over dear old England.^ Senator Beck made his will D?arly thirty-five years ago, and most of those mentioned in it are dead. One feature! of it is that the husbands of his daughters should have no right to spend any ' part of the bequests Jo the daughters. I 1 . ? j RELIG10US_READINO. I CARED FOR. *!lS!( ""}. I know not where my path may lie Atoss life's trackless deep; , v I trust my way to One on high, Who promises to kceD. Wt "Where'er it be He taketh me, H 'Neath clouded skies or fair; Full well' 1 know I cannot drift .Beyond His love and care." -1 The dark'ning clouds, the rising wave, ?, For me can have.no dread; ; :j My Father's presence makes me brave, While by His wisdom led; _ He's close'at hand, at my command, Attentive to my prayer; Full w ell '*1 know I cannot drift Bcyoud His love and care." I know not when the stormy sea My fragile bark may toss; I know not what in store may be, Of suffering?or loss; "Whate'er befall, I shall through ait His constant goodness share; Full well "I know I cannot drift Beyond Ills love and care." WHAT IS WANTED. This is not an age of heroic Christianity. ^ : There is more pulp than pluck in the average Christian professor when self-denial to required. The men and women who not only rejoice in doing their duty for Christ, but even rejoice in overcoming uncomfort- : able obstacles in doing it, are quite too scarce. The piety that is most needed is ft m'olir mill .. ?l..t iuai mil oiauu a puiv.ii, a iuov would rather eat an lionest crust than fare H sumptuously 011 fraud; a piety that can work & up stream agaiust currents; a piety that sets J its face like a flint in the straight and narrow v road of righteousness. We "need more of the Christianity that steadfi?stly Si ts its face toward Christ's Word and holy will. An ungodly world will be compelled to look at such Christly living as at "the sun shining in < its strength." God loves to look at those who carry Jesus in their fices. Of such is X the kingdom of heaven.?[Dr. T. L. Cuyler. v ? ' WHAT IS BEAUTY. JH A young gentleman, describing a young girl to some of his friends, said that she irufl beautiful. They naturally expected to aee^B some radiaut creature with whom theyiSS would be instantly charmed. This, how- >f ever, was not the case, for they found tha . girl extremely plain, and a laugh was in-, dulged in at the young man's expense. *Bu* in a very short time his friends found that they had laughed too soon. The young lady aj was one of a large pleasure party which a went off on a week's outing; and wnen the party returned there was not one among. them who did not think her beautiful. It' was she who had responded most quickly to' the requests of her elders, rendering sweefc'vj service in a charming way which can be better understood by the delighted recipient than by any pen-picture, however vivid. It was she who had run with gentle helpfulness to the rescue of every troubled child, she who had given up her scat to an older ? and a more wearied Derson. with a tact not always shown even by kindly disposed persons* In fact, she had uno6tentatIou?ly done the countless loving little acts which ?r stamp the doer as a follower of the "One , altogether lovely."? [Presbyterian. "WIHI.E WE HAVE TIBIE." Once there was a man wbo had been made a minister, and he wanted to go as a missionary to some far-ort' country, that he ii might teach poet heathen people all about the Lord Jesus Christ. He was not very strong, and hia frienda j were afraid he might soon die in the heathen land, which was hot and unhealthy, so they ' tried to persuade him to stay at home. He asked his physician how loDg he thought he might live in India. "Perhaps," said the doctor, "you may lire seven years." ' Then I will go," said h??, "for in seven years, by God's nelp, I may do.much work for h-m!" So he went, and, ?s be knew that his time must be short, he tried to snend every moment cf it in serving God. Even before he sailed away for India hl8 friends used to call him "the man who nesew lo?t an hour," because he was so careful itot~ to waste any of his precious time; but now he felt it to "be still more precious. In those seven years he did a great work " for God indeed. . .'.yj lie preached to the poor heathen people.Vs and taught them about the Lord Jesus; and he wrote the prayer book and the New Testament in their language, so tbat they could read and understand it.?I Young ctir.scian h Soldier. B A GOOD CUSTOM DYIXC. OCT. H The excellent custom of having the cbil- Hj drcti and young people of our church com- flfl mit portions of script urc and hymns to mem- H ory aeems to have utterly died but. Jt is true H they are asked for the golden text at Sabbath H school, but even that Is rarely ever thor- H oughly committed. It is more often read 9 from the lesson paper. Some people dt* H courage the practice, claiming that the child I should not be filled with what it caDnot H understand and digest, etc. This is certainly H a mistake. We fuliy believe the former cob; h torn of having children commit portions of H the Bible, anij cnolcc hymns of the church, B to be wholesome menta'l discipline, as well as B spiritually profitable. The youthful mind, B stored with divine truth so tersely expressed B in the English Bible, has a storehouse of comfort to draw from in time of need. These verses are the weapons of the Holy Spirit to combat Satan. Should misfortune jfl or sickness overtake an individual whose mind is stored with this prccious truth, hovr |B comforting to have such to meditate upon, U when perhaps his strength will not allow a friend to read to him! A man is frequently in situations where he has no reading, no one to converse with, nothing but his own H| thoflfehts. How happy if, like David, be |B can have the truth of God to meditate upon in the watches of the night!?[New York Evangelist Mj "TAKE IT TO THE LOHD IX PBAYER." ' t.1H Worry hurts us more than work, and u Christiaus we have r.o right to he the vio^^H tims of worry, anxious care, dcpressIoi^H^B and forebodings. Instead of complaints. us try supplications; instead of brooding WM over aifficultios let us tell them to Jesus, and spread out our needs within "the prea- K ence chamber of the Almightv," where alone peace and strength abide. Some Christian people hold that we are invariably H| bound to be stoical, and express no sorrow HH or regret whatever, because God chooses K9 all; but He who was all human as well as all Divine knows th:it the floods overwhelm |H us sometimes, and that when we seem in the lowest depths. He who wept with the |H troubled hearts of Bethany docs not bid us remain stoics in the hour of tribulation. Let the tears have their course if need be? probe the troubles to their depths?but do not attempt to do so alone. Why stay away from the mercy-seat at the shadowLime? Whv not seek the onlv Heait that i?an comfort, and help, and guide? U| We remember once bearing a speaker tell how in his youth he and a young companion IK became lost in the maze at Hampton Court; they wandered about, tired, discouraged, but they felt sure tbey would lind their way out presently, and they thought it would seem foolish to nsk direction, though they saw an Did man working not far off*. All their efforts, however, proved unavailing, and at last tliev came with red faces to ask the old man if he could possibly tell them how to get jut of the maze. "Why," he answered, 'that's just what I ainhere for; whv did ..j ?. ...i t on not say you wanieu 10 fsii, uui unutvi mil lie put them nt once on tlie right track. riiose voting men learned that day not to rely so absolutely on their own wisdom and li.ility; tin-re is One who stands ready to be >nr Counsellor, our Guide, our Ligbtia^^fl ?very labyrinth: instead or yielding to^^l n-orrv, let us simply ask Him to take us by the hand and lead us through -[Quiver. HH| James Sparks, of Dahlonega, Ga.,^fl[ the ditch-walker on the lower section^^B of the hand-ditch, has been walking^M this line daily for eleven years, a tance of sixteen miles. At this rate has walked 416 miles per month, 4,992^^H miles per year, or a total of 54,912^^9 miles, or nearly two and one-half time^^H the distance aiound the world. Mr^^H Sparks is now some seventy-odd yeari^^H old, and is stiil apparently as acbiv6 a young man. ? 9H|