Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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it 1^.; MAKE THE BEST OF IT. [Be gay! What is the use of repining? i Merry mirth can keep tears at bay; !A1I sorrows have a joy for their lining, Heaven's hope can chase fear away. Be gay! You are to blame if life's dreary, See how nature smiles thro' her fears; Heavy hearts make the footsteps grov K" g i weary, But happiness lengthens th^ years. Be gay! Earth wasn't mac'.e for you solely. It'll last aftor you go away, It's the soul, not the bo:Jy, that's holy; Why grieve for a poor lump of clay? ?Pittsburg Dispatch. EIS NEW CLOTKES. fe ? BY HOSE TECHY COOKE. Dear me I what more could I do? It -was just impossible to buy new ones -and I bad done all I could to these; it i: so hard to mend up a man's outsidi clothes. I can?I did?patch flannel till they arc a real crazy quilt. I an -quite proud of my patching, and Fred"; flannels were all over tiny squares ant triangles; in fact, all sorts of shapes put on with such fine cat-stitching, h< said it was a real work of art; and a for his stockings, they were as good a; new, with those beautiful German darn: that dear Mrs. Watson taught me t< make; but when you come to patching pantaloons, and then darning down th< -outside, it will show; and the button; fairly pull out of the fabric before th< ?- . thread gives way, so there aro mori patchcs; and the lining all rags, and th< pockets worn through?oh! The coa .gets so shiny, too, and I'd like to knov what will help that? I did put on a lit tie shoe-blacking in one spot, but itonlj made a smudge; so I was glad it waspu on the under part of the sleeve, where i would never show. Then those coat but "tons! I hate to put them on, for yoi must either rip thje coat to pieccs or sew Jhrough where it shows so. I was afraid to rip his, lest the stuff should fall to pieces if once it came off the sti3eninc and the lining. The vest was all rag! behind, but I put a new back in some ion-, nobody could sec how, and I w& glad of that, for I had no machine tc stitch the seams. I did not know what to do. "We ar< so poor; yet Fred was clerk in a banl< and must look decent, and it was be cause of ray long illness we were behind "hand. Doctor and nurse and medicini do cost so! But Fred did not care i: he only had rue back, he said, and itwaj just a chance?no, a good Providence? that he did. And I suppose I shouk" '/.. have felt just so about him. Still yoi Br: can see how we have to be so vcrj economical now. j|i.v ' Well, I went over one day to Mr3. Arkwright's to cut out some work for the Gocd-will Society. We work altogethei for home missions, and there's always clothing of all kinds wanted. Just noxv we were going to fill a barrel for a missionary out in Oregon, who had sis children and the rheumatism. His wife had sciatica, and had to stay in bed most oi the time. Poor things 1 the/ must be kept warm, and we were going tc cut ovei frw oil fTin r?Vn lrlrpn , '.A' JMiiugtd Av/4 uii i.uv While I was cuttiDg and contriving, 'Jtr3. Arkwright, who had gone out ol the room a few minutes before, cam( back with a large bundle in her arms. "I want to consult you about somemy dear," she said, in her kindesl Pway. "You know wc wc-re going tc end Mr. Peters a suit of clothes; now Ixerc is a suit of the Colonel's that ii jaearly new. He sent to his New Yorfc bailor to make him a good thick suit oJ mixed goods as quick as possible, for h< was going on Mr. Alexander's yacht foi a week's sail, and he trusted Jacobs tc to choose the cloth, for there was sucl laste. When it came you ought to hav< ?een the Colonel's face 1 He had to weai .it. but he never will a^ain. He ha! .made-it ove? to me to give away. Non hptv do you think it would do for oui parrel? It is very good cloth." / So it was. Colonel Arkwright was s< w pch he did not need to weai cominot or cheap things. But goodness! thi ground of the stuff was dark gray, anc . it was closely plaidcd with a hair-lim :Btripe, bright scarlet one way and whiti the other. No wonder the Colone .never put it on in Foxcroft! "But, Mrs. Arkwright," I said, "yoi -were not at the last Good-will meeting -and so you did not hear Mrs. Pciers' letter. Miss Black wrote out for meas +V./* miriotop'o rlnhlinQ nnd it if -well she did, for it seems he's a largi man?tall and stout. Now Colonel Ark wright is just about my husband's size. As I said that, an idea came into m Lead just as quick as a flash. 'That is too bad," euid Mrs. Ark Wright, thoughtfully. * 'I put my idea aside for a minute an -laid, "I should think they would sell c . a second-hand store/' Mrs. Arkwright laughed. "Tli * Colonel would not hear of that. Nc I must wait till somebody needs them." Then my idea got the better of m< <cWhv." I said, very slowly, "if yc don't know of any one, I think I kno of a poor man who would be very gla of them." f:.. 4'Who is he?" she said. "Well, I don't think I can tell yoi / because he is a very respectable persei -Vnd it would shock him to wear clothi iven him in charity. But I know h ife, and I think she could get him t wear them if I gave them to her. The could be dyed, you know." "Was that a lie? Of course you kno I meant Fred, but she never thought c it. Ob, how I did wlfh afterward I ha told her all about it! - "I'ts no matter at all," she said; 1 < teally ought not to have asked you. ] was only a passing impulse. Do tali them, dear Mrs. Parker, to the poc fellow's wife. I am so sorry for peopl who are poor cud proud. I'll send thei round to your house this evening. I d ? - I il A ,1 nope snc u iuivc tueui u_)?.-u, mi tu^-u iu Colonel will never see them again. :te!l liini ho is just like a turkey?the re'I exasperates him so.'' By this time I was breathless. "\Vkat ha I done? Could I ever make Fread wen -them if they were dyed? Woolen good arc so apt to scringe all up in the lie dye and be of no good. Dut I r >ul not say now tlmt I wanted them fc Fred, and I knew lie would never jn them on il he knew where the o;uu from. I just said, "Thank you," ar when I got through I went stiaigl honie. I must be at home when ti. bundle came, and when Fred told me 1 iad got two extra hours' work at tl hank that evening I was realiy glad, fc he would not see that bundle and as ibout it. It came just after he went, an -ij^iut it into the spare-room closct,and s; down to think. At last I seemed to see a way out of part of my trouble. I lockcd myself into my room after breakfast next day, when all my other work was done, and, getting out my watercolor box, I sat down to renovate those clothes. I took out the cake of Indian ink, and with my finest brush I began to p. the make that scarlet stripe black. It was most unending piece of '.vork. I began to think the clothes were not worth it; but I had begun, I must finish. I worked three days over them, carefully blackening even the wide seams i&side, lest a thread of the scarlet might show, and really do one would have known them for the same clothes. Then I thought - ' * r. 1,1 !t about ttiat wmtc stripe, jlc wouiu bun so soon, ami Fred must wear tbem every day. Could I go over all that labor? But I did! and there I had a handsome dark suit, soft gray, with hair-line plaid ' of black. But, oh! how mean and ua true I felt about it! * I told Fred the next day that I was [ going into town to the dentist's. Tnat 5 was true on the face of it. I meant to ffo sometime soon, but not so soon. I had ' another errand. Nothing gets one into a tangle so fast as a lie, you have to act ? or tell so many more to keep it up. Next : day, before Fred got up, I said: 3 "Fred, you know I went down to the 3 city yesterday, and going by a second5 hand shop, I saw such a nice suit hang5 ing in the window." (This was all true; I did.) "I know you'll turn up your nose at the idea, but really rhe suit I have brought home was so good and so clean and so cheap, and yours is so shabby, that?" I "You can jusi send it back, Nan," . roared the indignant fellow. "Theidea! _ Do you want me to wear other men's , clothes, even if I would?" t I stopd by the glass brushing my hair, t and I couldn't help the tears iu my eyes, but I was glad he could not aeo them, j "But just look at them, dear Fred," I , said, with a quiver in my voice, and I put the suit on the bed bc3ide him. It was just tho style he liked?quiet, and , yet not all one dark color. I Fred eyed them doubtfully. "It does look clean, that's a fact," al, lowed Fred. "And, George, there's j Jacobs's label on it, and his buttons?the best tailor in New York! Nan, it must ; have been stolen." "No, I don't think so. I think it | was a misGt, perhaps, or maybe tho man didn't want to wear anything but ! ; black." _ ... ..I j| "Nonsense I wnoever inai suit was 5 i made for could afford to have a dozen. Why, I tell you it is Jacobs's work! I And what a cloth! It docs tempt mc, I l must say. And coming from New York, . nobody here would know it. How much was it, Nan?" "I sha'n't tell you, sir. You go and , scorn my poor tricks to make you look nice. I can send the suit back to-mor. row." Oh, how my heart bounded at that . idea! There would be no more lying to . do if I could take it back to Mrs. Ark[ Wright's. f "NO, you sha'n't, young woman. I'll i sink my pride, considering how low my f pocket is; and I do need some decent clothes, I kuow. Tell me, Nan, what did they cost?" I "No more than I have laid up out of . the house money, my lord," I said with a look of all the mischief I could put on. "Fudge! Will you sell them to me?" t "Yes, for ten dollars." , "Whewl" he whistled; then reached r; for his own clothes and extracted thercj j from a new bill. "There! I meant to : ] make a deposit of that in your savings[ i bank on the shelf, but that must wait a > little. r Then he got up, dressed, and put on ) tho new suit. It fitted him fairly well. i He was a bit thinner than Colonel Ark; wright; and they were somewhat loose, r but he liked an easy fit, and Jie did look 3 so nice in them! Poor fellow! he did 7 not like to go shabby, and he had been f so patient. "I do feel more respectable now," he ) admitted, as he put on his last necktie, t and surveyed himself in the glass. ; But this was not the end of my affair. 1 Grandma Brooks used to say, "The' ain't i nothing bears such full crops as a lieu tree." I think so too. About a fort1 night after, Fred came home looking very wretched. He said nothing, but after i tea I sat down on his knee and coaxed it out of him. s "Well, Nan, if you must know, it is . all this plaguy suit. You remember that 3 ! Keith, our teller, had a splendid offer to b go out to a bank in Montana as cashier. . He made up his mind yesterday to accept ? it, and, of course, as I am next under y him, the place would naturally fall to me. I was so pleased, for then, dear, you . could have a girl, aad not work yourself to a skeleton auy more." d "I'm not a skeleton," I said, fiercely. it "Just see my arms!" ne smiled such a dreary little smile. lC "Well, you won't have the girl Nan, not --< ? ? ?...If fTK?c ) o[/ait juuio&u an wu v-au. -?.*-?ao morning I was in the vault sorting some j. papers, and Colonel Ark wright came in. ,u I got out in order to cash his check, and k- 1 observed he looked at mc very hard, d clothes and all: then Carter came in and told me I could go home to dinner. I went into the lavatory to wash my hands, the window was open, and the door "blew 3) to, so I was shut in. Now there is a js water-pipe runs through into the diis rectors' room into the sink, but this o morning it had been removed to be rey newed, and left a hole through th2 wall. I did not mean to listen, but I heard my tv own name, and I could not help it very >f well. Colonel Arkwright had g'?ne in d to see the President, and was saving: u'Ycs; I should have promoted Par>1 ker, of course when Keith leaves; but [t I'm not quite sure of him. He seems to ,c be g little extravagant, and that is the ,r beginning of all evils in a bank clerk. I c know he has had sickness in the family, n but for all that he is wearing a suit of o 1 Jacobs's best make. Uy George, sir i lC that's us good a suit as I wear myself. I j 1 can't be mistaken in Jacobs's cut nor his t? buttons. Now that won't do; it won't I ?!o!' (1 " 'Perhaps you had 1 etter make some .r further inquiries to-morrow,' said Presi1s dent Ilolt, iu his calm voice. 'The dirt j reciors do not meet till Thursday, i d ; think it is well to be absolutely certain >r about such things.' itj ? 'I will! I will! But?' ie j "I stole out of the door softly then, d | tcok down my hat, and went out. I was it | mighty glad I had told you I would not :e : come home to dinner, little woman. I tc i felt quite upset. I did uot get my lunch, ie 11 just walked till I. had to go bock. You ir | see, I can't tell him I overboard him, so - ' - 1 i-L - -1-4.1 T k I I cau t cxpiaiu auoui iae inutucs. i u\\ u (1 ! I am dreadfully disappointed, but I supit j pose it caat be helped. I only hope he - I : < ? > -r-Stj will not distrust me any more; but I shall be watched now all the time. That won't be pleasant." I cannot find any words to say how I felt; the "lie tree" was putting out its crop surely. I just put my head on Fred's shoulder and sobbed. "Poor little girll You shouldn't have made me confess, Nanny. Yet, after all, it is best you should know. Mother always said that secrcts between j man and wife were practical divorces, and I think so too." . Oh, how my heart sank I "But take courage, little wife," ho ] on. "I have done nothing wrong, and ' tho thing is bound to come right in due ' time." , If I could have said as much for myself I But I tried to seem brave, and laughed a little at some poor joke ho made; and then I had to go into the kitchen and set some raised buscuit for breakfast. I thought and thought all the while I mixed and kneaded them of anything but what I was doing. I knew well what I ought to do, but I did not want to do it. It was no use. I knew I must; but what with anger at myself, and cowardice, and absolute terror of telling her, I had little sleep, and the biscuit were kneaded down very early that next morning, and were lighter than usual in consequence. I remember every little thing so well that happened then. I thought Fred never ate his breakfast so fast, and the dishes seemed to get themselves washed in no time. It was eleven o'clock before I knew it, and new I must go. I put on my things and went. Mrs. Arkwright was at home, and just as pleasant as ever. I said, in a very trembling voice, "Can I see you alone for a j few minutes, Mrs ArKwrigntf" "Certainly, my dear. Come up into thelibrary; the Colonel is not in, and no one will interrupt us." So we went up stairs and sat down on the lounge, and I began. Oh, how I choked at first, and pulled at my bonnet, and looked everywhere! but at last I did it. I had to say a little prayer in my heart before I could. Then I told her everything?about how ill I was, and how baby died, and how wc got behindhand, though I did do my own work and mended up Fred's clothes as long as they would bear meuding, and did my own sewing too; and I could hear her hold her breath, as if she tried not to speak; and then I told her what I did to tho clothes, and what Fred said, and then what he heard Colonel Arkwright say. "And oh, dear Mrs. Arkwright, won't you, won't you please tell the Colonel they were not new clothes, and Fred is all right, and?" Then, I could not help it, I had to cry. But she was crying too, Tritti both ner arms rouaci me. i ( "You dear, brave little woman, you ' i make my heart ache," she said. "I will ' make it right for you, of course; but, , dear, I shall have to tell the Colonel all ] about it to explain." "Oh, ye9,1 want you to. I don't want ] any more lies or decoivings. I've had 1 too much. I should have told Fred all i about it this morning, only I knew he'd ] feel so sorry for me and think about it all day." ] Bo Mrs. Arkwright kissed me and 1 comforted me and didn't give me any J advice. I suppose she saw I had got my < lesson by heart. "Well, I did tell Fred; i it was easier to tell him, for it was be- 1 tween daylight aud dark, and he couldn't , sec me cry, and he had both his arms j round mo? But he did choko when ho J tried to say something, and only got out, "My precious little wife!" Next day there was a directors' meet- < ing, and Fred was made teller. Colonel 1 Arkwright was the first to tell him and , shake hands. Then Fred said he looked ! at him with such a funny wink of his ( eye, and said: * j "By Jupiter, Parker, your tailor is almost up to Jacobs, and your wife i9 a IUMa firirlr. Ynn're a luekv fellow." I don't think it was at all nice for him ] to sfty that, but he isn't as refined as Mrs. ' Arkwright. I hope, I think?yes, I believe?that I never chall lie any more, even to help Fred. I don't know, though.?Harper'a Bazar. i " "1 i Cost of Famishing I'ood for Caunoii. J According to the estimate of French and \ German statisticians there hare perished 1 in the wars of the last thirty years 2,500,- < 000 men, while there has been expended to ' carry them on no less than the inconceivable sum of $13,000,000,000. Of this amount France has paid nearly $3,500,000,000 as the cost of the war with Prussia, while her loss in men is placed at 155,000. Of these 80,000 were killed on the field of battle, 36,000 died of sickness, accidents or suicide and 20,000 in German prisons, while there died from other causes enough to briug the number up to the given aggregate. The sick and w-rmnrlrxl nmmmtprl to 477.424. the lives of many thousands of whom were doubtless shortened by their illoess or injuries. According to Dr. IVjth, a German authority, the Germans lost during the war 60,000 men killed and rendered invalid and $600,000,000 in money, this being the excess of expenditure or of material losses over the $1,250,000,000 paid by France by way of indemnity. Dr. Eogel, another German statistician, gives the following as the approximate cost of tho principal wars of the last thirty years: Crimean war, $2,000,000,000; Italian war of 1859, $300,000,000; PrussoDanish war of 1864, ?35,000,000; Civil War in the United States (North), $5,100,000,000 (South), $2,3OO,OOO,O0O; Piusso-Austrian war of 1866, $330,000,000; Russo-Turkish war, $125,000,000; South African wars $S,770,000; African war, $13,250,000; Servo-Bulgarian war, $176,000,000.? New Orleans Times-Democrat. Bride Eleven, Groom Sixteen. On the steamship Amsterdam, from Amsterdam, which arrived at this port | the other day, was Malaken Gosn, but | eleven years old and a seveu months' old j bride. Her husband, Yuself Simwan, . sixteen years of age, and her o.vn mother j accompanied her. Tlie britlc and groom arc Arabs from Mount Lebannon, and were married seven mouths ago. For two years the groom had spent his time in this country and by his industry succeeded in accumulating a little money, lie then returned to Arabia and married j his wite. inc onac is ccrtiuaiy u must beautiful person. She lias black eyes, j with heavy, dark eyelashes, rosy cheeks, ! black hair and the most symmetrical ! features possible. She stands about four ! feet two inches in height and weighs one I hundred and twenty pounds. The entire . party passe I through the Barge Officc and were driven rapidly away in a cab ; to join friend3 of the groom who reside ] in the. city.?New York Mercury. < ' ;T " v. ' REV. M. TALMAGE. THE BROOKLYN DIVINE'S SUNDAY SERMON. Subject: " Wonders of Babylon." Text: " In that night was Belshazzar. the king of the Chaldeans, slain."?Daniel r., 30. After the sight of Babylon had been selected, two million of men were employed for the construction of the wall and principal works. The walls of the city were sixty miles in circumference. They were surrounded by a trench, out of which had been 3ug the material for the construction of the ;ity. There wera twenty-five gates of solid brass on each side of the square city. Between every two gates a great towei sprang up into the heavens. From each of the twenty-five pates on either side a street ran straight through to the gate on the other side, 50 that there were fifty streets, each fifteen miles long, which gave to the city an appearance of wonderful regularity. The houses did not join each other on the ground, and between them were gardens and shrubbery. From housetop to housetop bridges swung, over which tue inhabitants were accustomed to pass. A branch of the Euphrates went through the city, over which i bridge of marvelous structure was thrown, rod under which a tunnel ran. To keep the river from overflowing the city in time of Freshet, a great lake was arranged to catch the surplus, in which the water was kept as in a reservoir until times of drought, when !t was sent streaming down over the thirsty land. A palace stood at each end of the Euphrates bridge; one palace a mile and three-quarters iu compass, and the other palace seven and a halt mile3 in circumference. The wife of Nebuchadnezzar, having been brought up among the mountains of Media, could not stand it in this flat country Df Babylon, and so to please her Nebuchadnezzar had a mouutaiu four hundred feet bigh built in the midst of the city. This mountain was surrounaea Dy terraces, for tha support of which great arches were lifted. On the top of these arches flat stones were laid; then a layer of reeds and bitumen; then two rows of bricks, closely cemented; then thick sheets of lead, upon which the soil was placed. The earth here deposited was so deep that the largest trees bad room to anchor their roots. All the glory of the flowery tropics was spread out at that tremendous height, until it must hava seemed to one below as though the clouds were all in blossom, and the. very sky leaned 3n the shoulder of the cedar. At the top an engine was constructed which drew the water from the Euphrates, far below, and made it spout up amid this garden of the skies. All tnis to please his wife! I think she must have been pleased. In the midst of this city stood also the temple of Belus. One of its towers was oneeighth of a mile high, and on the top of it an observatory, which gave the astronomers great advantage, as, being at so great a freight, one could easily talk with the stars. This temple was full of cups and statues and jensers, all of gold. One image weighed a thousand Babylonish talents, which would be equal to fifty-two million dollars. All this by day; but now night was about to come iown on Babylon. Tbe shadows of her two hundred and fifty towers began to leugthen. The Euphrates rolled on, touched by the 3ery splendors of the setting suu, and gates Df trass burnished and glittering, opened and shut like doors of flame. The hanging gardens of Babylon, wet with the heavy iew, began to pour from starlit flowers and Jripping leaf a fragrance for many mile? iround. The streets and squares were lighted for dance and frolic an1 promenade, rhe theatres and galleries of art invited the wealth and pomp and grandeur of the city to rare entertainments. Scenes of riot and wassail were miugled in every street; godless mirth, and outrages excess*, and splendid trickedness came to the king's palace to do their mightiest deeds or aarKness. A royal fea?t to-night at the king's palace! Rushing up to the gates are chariot?, upholstered with precious cloths from Dedan ind drawn by fire eyed horses from Togarmab, that rear and neigh in the grasp of the :harioteers, while a thousand lords dismount, and women dressed in all the splendors of Syrian emerald, ami the color blending of agate, and the chasteness of coral, and the somber glory of Syrian purple, and tho princely embroideries brought from afar by camels across the desert, and by ships from Tarshish across the sea. Open wide the gates and let the guests coma In. The chamberlains and cup bearers are all ready. Hark to the rustle of the robes, and to the carol of the music! See the blaze Df the jewels! Lift the banners. Fill the :ups. Clap the cymbals. Blow the trumpets. Let the night go by with song and dance and Dvation; and let the Babylonish tongue be palsied that will not say, "'Oh, King Bel:hazzar, live forever!" Ah! my friends, it was not any common banquet to which these great people came. All parts of the earth had sent their richest viands to that table. Brackets and chandeliers flashed their light upon tankards of burnished gold. Fruits, ripe and luscious, in baskets of silver, entwined with leaver plucked from royal conservatories. Vasea, inleid with emerald and ridged with exquisite traceries, filled with nuts that were thrashed from forests of distant lands. Wine brought from the royal vats, foaming in the decanters and bubbling in the chalices. Tufts of cassia and frankincense rafting their sweetness from wall and table. Sorgeous banners unfolding in the breeze that came through the opened window, bewitched with the perfume of hanging garlens. Fountains rising up {rom Inciosures of ivory in jets of crystal, to fall in clatteringrain of diamonds and pearls. Statues of mighty men looking down from niches in the wall upon crowns and shields brought from subdued empires. Idols of wonderful work, standing on pedestals of precious stones. Embroideries drooping about the windows and wrapping pillars of cedar, and drifting on floor inlaid with ivory and agate. Music, mingling the thrum of harps, and the clash of cymbals, and the blast of trumpets in one wave of transport that went rippling along the wall, and breathing among the garlands, and pouring down the corridors, yid thrilling the souls of a thousand banquewrs. The signal is given, and the lords and ladies, the mighty men and women of the land, come around the table. Pour out the wine. Let foam and bubble kiss the rim. Hoist every one his cup, and drink to the sentiment; "Oh, King Belshazzar, live forever!" Bestan ed headband andcarcanet of royal beauty gleam to the uplifted chalices, as again and again and again they are emptied. Away with care from the palace! Tear royal dignity to tatters! Pour out more wine! Give us more light, wilder music, sweeter perfume. Lor J shouts to lord, captain ogles to captain. Goblets clash, decanters rattle. There comes in the vilesong, and the drunken hiccough, and the slavering lip, and the guffaw of idiotic laughter, bursting from tho lips of priuces, flushed, reeling, bloodshot; while minelinz with it all I hear: "Huzza! huzza! for great Belshazzar What is that on the plastering of the wall? Is it a spirit? Is it a phantom? Is it God? Out of the black sleeve of the darkness a finger of fiery terror trembles through the tankards, and the blood of murdered women, and the kicked and tumbled carcass of a dead king. For "in that night was Belshazzar, the king of the Chaldeans, slain." I go on to learn that when God writes anything on the wall, a man had better read it as it is. Daniel did not misinterpret or modify the handwriting on the wall. It is all foolishness to expect a minister of the Gospel to preach always things that the people like or the people choose. Young men, what shall I preach to you to-night? Shall I tell air and comas to the wall, circling about as though it would write, and then, with sharp tpof flame, engraves on the plastering the doom of the king. The music stops. The goblet falls from the nerveless grasp. There is a thrill. There is a start. There is a thousand voiced shrie'e of horror. Let Daniel bo brought iu to read that writing. He comes in. He reads it, "Weighed in the balance and found wanting." Meanwhile the Assyrians, who for two years had been laying siege to that city, took advantago of that carousal and came in. I hear the feet of the conquerors on the palace stairs. Massacre rushed in with o HmnonTi.l trluiminrr l-nir.15 Dflat.h hlirsfc* upon the scene. ond^ shut tin door of that banqueting hall, for I do not want to look. There is nothing there but torn banners, and broken wreaths, and the slush of upset you of the dignity of human nature? Shall I tell you of the wonders that our race has accomplished? "Oh, no!" you say; "tell mo the message that came from God." I will. If there is any Handwriting on tne.wan, it in this lesson, "Accept of Christ and be saved?" I might talk of a great many other things, but that is the message, and so I declare it. .. v : > ) ".: .. ' - fe* jesua never nattered those to whom Ha preached. He said to those who did wrong and who were offensive in His sight, "Ye generation of vipers I ye whited sepulchers! Sow can ye escape the damnation of hellP' Paul the apostle preached before a man who was not ready to hear him preach. "What subject did he take? Did he say, "Oh! you ire a good man, a very fine man, a very "noble man?' No; he preached of righteousness to a man wno was unrignreom; or temperance to a man who was the victim of bad appetites; of the judgment to come to a man who was unfit for it. So wo must always j declare the message that happens to come to ; as. Daniel must read it as it is. A minister preached before James L of England, who was Jame3 VI. of Scotland. What subject did he take? The king was noted all over the world for his being unsettled and wavering in his ideas, tvnat did the minister preach about to this man who was James I. of England and James VI. of Scotland? He took for his text James i., 0: "He that wavereth I is like a wave of the sea, driven with the I wind and tossed." ! Hugh Latimer offened the king by a ser| mon he preached, and the king saicL "Hugh Latimer, come and apologize." *'I will," said Hugh Latimer. So the day was appointed, and the king's chapel was full of lords and dukes, and the mighty men and women of the country, for Hugh Latimer was to apoligize. He began his sermon by saying: "Hugh Latimer, bethink thee I Thou art in the presence of thine earthly king, who can destroy thy body. But bethink thee, Hugh Latimer, that thou art in presence of the King of heaven and earth, who can destroy both body and soul in hell fire." Then he preached with appalling [ oireccness ac tan siu^o tnuira. | Another lessoa that comes to us. There is a great difference between the opening of the banquet of sin and its close. Young man, if I jou bad looked in upon the banquet in the I first few hours, you would have wished you I had been invited there, and could sit at the I feast. "Oh! the grandeur of Belshazzar's | feast 1" you would nave said; but you look in I at th9 close of tha banquet, and your blood | curdles with horror. The King of Terrors j has there a ghastlier banquet; human blood I is the wine, and dying groans are the music. Sin has made itself a king in the earth. It has crowned itself. It has spread a banquet. It! invites all the world to come to it. It has hung in its banqueting hall the spoils of all kingdoms and the banners of all nations. It has gathered from all music. It has strewn i from its wealth, the tables and the floors ani 1 arches. And yot how often is that banquel ; broken up, and how horrible is its eadi i Ever and anon there is a handwriting on the wall. A king falls. A great culprit is an : rested. The knees of wickedness knocked to I gether. God's judgment, like an armed host, j breaks in upon the banquet, and that niglil | is Belshazzar, the king of tho Chaldeans, ! slain. Here is a young man who says: "I cannot j see why they make such a fuss about the intoxicating cup. Why, it is exhilarating! It I makes me feel well. I can talk better, think | better, feel better. I cannot see why people ! have such a prejudice against it." A few i years pass on, and he wakea up and finds ' - " - 4 ? - II L.Ui i himself in the ciutcnes 01 an evu uuwu j which he tries to break, but cannot; and ha ' cries out: "Ob, Lord God, help me!" It I seems as though God would not bear his ' prayer, and in an agony of body and soul he ! cries out: ' It bitetn like a serpent, and it stingeth like an adder." How bright it was at tbe start! How black it was at the last! Here is c man who begins to read con upt J novels. "They are so charming," says he, I "1 will go out and see for myself whether all I these things are so." He opens the gate of I a sinful life. He goes in. A sinful sprite ' meets him with her wand. She waves her | wand, and it is all enchantment. Why, it i seems as if the angels of God had poured out j phials of perfume in the atmosphere. As he I walks on he finds the hills becoming more ! radiant with foliage and the ravines more j resonant with the falling water. Oh! what a charming landscape he sees! But that I sinful sprite with her wand meets bim'azain; I but now she reverses the wand, and all tho | enchantment is gone. The cup is full of poison. The fruit turns to ashes. j All the leaves of the bower are forked j tongues of hissing serpents. The flowine j fountains fall back in a dead pool, stenchful with corruption. The luring songs become laughter. Lost spirits gather about him and feel for his heart, and beckon him on with "Hail, brother! Hail, blasted spirit, hail!" He tries toget out. He comes to the front door where he entered, and tries to push it back, j but the door turns against him, and in the ; jar of that shutting door he hears the words, ' This uigtat is Belshazzar, me rang in ^utuj deans, slain." Sin may open bright as th3 morning. It ends dark as the nignt! I learn further from this subject that Death sometimes breaks in upon a banquet. Why did-he not go down to the prisons in Babylon? ( There were people there that would lite to I have died. I suppose there were men and | women in torture in that city who would have welcomed Death. But he comes to tho palace; and just at the time whc-n the mirth is dashing to the tip-top pitch Death breaks in at the banquet. Wo have often seen the same thing illustrated. Here is a youngman just come from college. He is kiud. He is loving. He is enthusiastic. He is eloquent. By one spring he may bounl to heights toward which many men have been struggling for years. A profession opens before nim. He is established in the law. His friends cheer him. Eminent men encourage him. After a while you may see him standing In the United States senate, or moving a popular assemblage by his eloquence as trees are moved in a whirlwind. Some night he retires early. A fever isonihim. Delirium, like a reckless charioteer, seizes the reins of his intellect. Father and mother stand by and see the tiles of his life going out to tha great ocean. The banquat is coming to an end. The lights of thought and mirth and eloqusnca are being extinguished. The garlands are snatched from the brow. The vision is gone. Death at the banquat! We saw the same thing on a larger scale illustrated at the last war in this country. Our whole nation had been sitting at a nat.innAl hannuet?north, south. east and west. What grain was there but we grew it on onr hills. What invention was there but our rivers must turn the new wheel aud rattle the strange shuttle. What warm furs but our traders must bring them from the Arctic. What fish but our nets must sweep them for the markets. What music but it must sing in our halls. What eloquence but it must speak in our senates. Ho 1 to the national banquet reaching from mountain to mountain, and from sea to sea! To prepare that banquet the sheepfolds and the aviaries of the country sent their best treasures. The orchards fuled up on the table their sweetest fruits. The presses buret out with new wines. To sit at that table came the yeomanry of New Hampshb'e, and the lumberman of Maine, ana the Caroliuinn from the rice fields, and the western emigrant from the pines of Oregon, and we were all brothers? brothers at a banquet. Suddenly the feast ended. What meant those mounds thrown up at Chickamauga, Shiloh. Atlanta, Gettysburg, South Mountain? What meant those golden grain fields turned into a pasturing ground for cavalrv horses? What meant the corn I fields gullied with the wheels of the heavy supply train? Why those rivers of tears? those lakes of blood? God was angry I Ju? tice must come. A handwriting on the wall! The nation had been weighed and found wanting. Darkness! Darkness! Woe to the north I Woe to the south! Woe to the eastf Wo? to the west! Death at the banquet! I have also to learn from the subject that the destruction of the vicious, and of those who despise God, will be very sudden. The wave of mirth had dashed to the highest point when that Assyrian army broke through. It was unexpected. Suddenly, almost always, comes the doom of those who despise God and defy the laws of men. How was it at the deluge? Do you suppose it came through a long northeast storm, so that people for days before were sure it was coming? No; I suppose the morning was bright, that calmness brooded 011 the waters; I that beauty sat euthroned on the Dills, when suddenly the heavens burst, and the rnounfc ui? ???,i,nnc intn thi? sea that ains souk m?o am-uv.^ ? ? dashed clear over thj Andes and tho Himalayas. The Red Sea was divided. The Egyptians tried to cross it. Therj could be no daug-sr. The Israelites had j'lst gone through. Where they had gone, why not the Egyptians? Oh! it was sucu a beautiful walking place! A pavement of tinged shells and pearls; an 1 ou either side two great walls of water?solid. There can be no danger. Forward, groat hosts of ths Egyptians? Clap the cjvnbals. and blow tho trumpets of victory! After them! We will catch them yet, and they shall be destroyed. But tho "walis begin to tremble. Thev rock! They fall!? The rushing waters! The shriek of drowning men! ' The swimming of the war horses in vain foi ' the shore I The strewing of the great host on the bottom of the sea, or pitched by the angry ware on the beach?a battered, bruised ana loathsome wreck! Suddenly destruction came. One-half hour before they could not have believed it. Destroyed* and without remedy. I am just setting forth a fact, which you have noticed as well as I. Ananias comes to the apostle. The apostle says, 4'Did you sell the land for so much?" He says, "Ye3." It was a lie. Dead I as quick as that! Sapphiraj his wife, comes in. "Did you sell the land for so much?" "Yea." It was a lie; and quick as that she was dead. God's judgments are upon those who despise Him ana defy Him. They come suddenly. The destroying angel went tnrougn r-gypi. Do you suppose that any of the people knew that he was coming? Did they hear the flap of his great wing? Not nol 'Suddenly, unexpectedly, became. Skilled sportsmen do not like to shoot a bird standing on a sprig near by. If they are skilled they pride themselves on taking it on the wing, and they wait till It' starts. Death is an old sportsman, and he loves to take men flying under tee very sun. He loves to take them on the wing. . Are there any here who are unprepared for the eternal world? Are there any here who have been living without God and without hope? Let me say to you that you had better accept of the Lord- Jesus Christ, lest suddenly your last chance be gone. The lungs will cease to breathe, the heart will stop. The time will como when you shall go no more to tbe office, or to the store, or to the rfhop. Nothing will be left but Death and Juagment ana Eternity. Oh I flee to God this hourl If there be one in this presence who has wandered far away from Christ, though be may not have heard tbe call of the Gospel for many a year, I invite him now to come and be saved. Flee from thy sin I Flee to the stronghold of the Gospel I fTow is the accepted time, now is the day of salvation. Good night, my youn^ friends I May you have rosy sieep, guarded by Him who never slumbers I May yotf awake in the morning strong and well I But oh 1 art thou a despiser of God? Is this thy last night on earth? * -J Ktr Sfcouldst tnou oe awaKeneu 111 DUO uikuv Kfj j something, thou knowest not what, and there be shadows floating intbe room, and a handwriting on the wall, and you feel that your last hour is come, and there be a fainting at the heart, and a tremor in the limb, and a catching of the breath?then thy doom would be but an echo of the words of the text, "In that night tras Belshazzar, the king of the Chaldeans, slain." Hear the invitation of the Gospel! There may be some one in this house to whom I shall never spsak again, and therefore let it I be in the words of tne Gospel, and not in my own, with which I close: "So, every one that thirsteth I Come ye to the waters. And let him that hath no money come, buy wine and milk without money, ana without price." "Come unto me, all ye who are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest" Ohl that my Lord Jesus would now make Himself so attractive to your souls i that you cannot resist Him; and that, if you I have never prayed before, or have not i prayed since those days when you knelt 1 down at your mother's knea, t&ea that to| night you might pray, saying: -Tn?t an I am. without one plea But that the'b'.ood waa shed for me, Acd that Thoa bld'st me come to Thee, O Lamb of God, I come! But if jou cannot think or so long a prayer ! as that, x will give you a shorter prayer that | you can say, '"God, be merciful to me a sini aerl" Or, if you cannot think of so long a j prayer as that, I will give you a still shorter j one that you may utter, "Lor J, save me, or I I perish P Or if that be too long a prayer. you need not utter a word. Just look and ! Live! WOBDS OF WISDOM. A mean man is never happy. Nothing is eternal that can be seen. I The wheels of time only turn one way. I The man who believes nothing is I nothing. Love is free, but it takes money to : keep house. The easiest thing to believe is a pleas* in? lie about ourselves. Fame is a shining garment, but it soon i wears out at the elbows. People who try to be funny do exactly j what they try to do. They try. Diamonds please the eye, but nobody j ever gets fat by looking at them. No man can oppress the weak without | killing something good in himself. The right kind of success is the kind | that blesses every thing it touches. People who never have anything to j overcome never amount to very much. The spider and the honey bee can not agree as to what flowers were made for. You can do more good with a kind j word than vou can with a silver dollar. Those who have never suffered for love ; do not know very much about the meanj ing of the word. The father did not fall upon the prodi igal son's back, as the boy thought he i deserved, but upon his ncck. If we could only get up high enough to look into the hearts of our enemies compassion would take the place of enmity.?Indianapolis (lnd.) Rami's Horn* Intelligence in Plants. Mr. T. D. Ingersoll, of Erie, Penn., j describes, in Garden and Forest, a Maj deira vine which seemed to exhibit inj telligence in its growth. When it bei ?innhpj fiicrh it hwiin. from iwauic ? .. ? -0 , top-heaviness, to fall away from the pot, , which stood upon a table, toward the ; floor. "This was done gradually, and ; apparently with conscious care. It ! seemed to feel at times that it was let; ting itself down too fast, when it would ' stop with a jerk, like a nodding child half asleep." When near the floor it began describing ellipses about three inche3 in diameter with its upturned extremity. When twenty-seven inches long it would describe a crescent-shaped loop seventeen inches long by six inchcs broad in about. two hours. As it grew longer, its revolutions were accomplished with less regularity, "and at times it drooped as if I Tr-no^T. nv <licf>niirnrvpr1 in trvincr to find | ? C(U J V41WVVW. ?-- - o something upon which it might entwino itself." On one day the track of the tip i of the vine was traced and measured, and j found to be six feet nine inches in length. Finally a support was provided for the ! plant, and it shortly afterward "began i growing again as if it had recovered from what had been for sis days a condition near the point of death." Another vine, during several days ol cloudy weather, uncoiled itself from the stick and reached away toward the>light at an angle with the horizon of some forty-five degrees. It was brought back to its support several times and coiled about the stick, but invariably left it during the continuance of the cloudy weather. Then bright weather came on, and it showed no disposition to escape from the stick or stop its twining giowth. Attempts to make plants twine in a direction contrary to their natural one were tlrmlv resisted. "All the experiments seemed to sho\v how much like an animal was the plant in its sensitiveness, not only to changes of light and temperature, but to harsh treatment. Whenever restrained or forced, no matter how tenderly, out of its natural method of I growth, all progress was retarded and 1 the- health of the vine disturbed to a ' marked degree. Plants seem to be creatures of feeling, and the similarity of movement and of apparent purpose between them and tho lower animals are used to strengthen their theory by thoso J who hold to the doctrine of the identity ot life in the two kingdoms." _ RELIGIOUSTEfoifi ' ?:? - ' \-?xj now. % If you have a kind word, say it; / Throbbing hearts soon sink to rest. If you owe a kindness, pay it; Life's sun hurries to the west. Can you do a kind deed? Do It, From despair a soul to save; Bkss each Jay as you pass through it, Marching onward to the grave. If some grand thing for tomorrow You are dreaming do it now; x. For the future do not borrow; Frost soon gathers on the brow. Speak thy word, perform thy duty;.,..?' - .,s Night is comini,' deep with rest; . ,r Stars will gleam in fadeless beauty, " - Grasses whisper o'er thy breast. Days for det-ds are few, my brother; ' 7 Then today fulfil thy vow. If you mean* to IfClp another, Do not dream it?do it now. god's fp.om;sb9. They are sure. God is not a man that lie should lie; nor the son of man that he should repent: hath he said an<l shall he not do it? or hath J10 spoken and shall he not make it good ? A mother's babe was dead. For strength and comfort she foil back upon the promises ot'Ood. And wnen asked by her pastor If she found support from them she replied, "What are the promises for, If not for such v. a season as this?* A poor boy when asked what he did when in sore 'rouble, answered. *'I fall flat on the promises." ABE Tor I.V EA1NXST? When at first you felt the load of your sins pressing heavily upon you and saw yourself in a ruinous condition,"without tbe pardoning mercy of God through Christ, mill finally yielded to be saved by grace and gave yonr heart to God, were you then in earnest! I)id you then count the cost of living a life of self-denial, of faith and prayer, and ot suffering hardships, bear crosses, and eudurt all the ridlcu'e and contempt of friends,?tc say nothing of the world? Wen all these taken into the account? Or did yon only look upon the sunny side of a religious life! If you were then in earnest about your soul'* salvation, why lias the world, so often since, found a' paramount place in your affections? And whv has Satan found it tc be such an e.i9y matter to overcome you? But to come'lo the more important question: Are you now in earnest about th? salvation of'your soul? Is your secret closet a place of daily delight, where you and youi 1 God are enjoying holy intercourse with each other? Is your faith on the allert for highei attainments in the Christian life? Is it tb? earnest desire of your soul that througt faith and prayer you may become more and more conformed to the holy will and blessed image of God? Do you search the Scriptures daily and make them the man of youi counsel? * Is your voice regularly heard af the prayer-meeting? Is it a pleasure for you to support the cause of Christ by giving of your worldly possessions for charftabli purposes without begrudging the gift? No* to those that can auswer these pialn ques tlons in the affirmative I would say, Lei your motto be onward. Or is the reverse true of you? Is youi ' secret closet a place you seldom visit, an<} then more to quiet nn> accusing conscfenci than for the real enjoyment you find ther?i While in your secret ihamber do you hurrj over a few formal words and then haster from the "holy ground" out Into the care? and business attsiirs o; lite? i>o nigncr at w tainments appear a* so >rreat a distance, theft ' value so uncertain, and the few that attain to them so singular. tb:it you think it wtodon to be content with as little religion as mcrsi professors enjoy? If your conscience re sponds yes to these pointt d questions, ther you may know that your joy and delight ar< centred in some croated object, ana no? to vour Creator. Neither are you anxious tc have your will conformed to the will of God because you have already set up your will ic opposition to His. The Bible, if read by JT)U is not your couDsdlor and guide. And yoi find many excuses for non-attendance upoc the public moans of g:oce. Without particularizing further, if I havt descril cd your case, iet mc say beware! You yourself, "und your fellowmen also know that you are not in earnest. Saints and ongcl.s look down from above and witnew your indifference and your insincerity. Satan also is looking on and triumphantly anticipating the probable ruin of your soul. If vou value your soul and think heaven to be worth obtaining, I oeseech you bestir yourself and for once be in earnest to secure for yourself an "inheritance among there that are sanctified." Be in earnest; do at' that you can while it is day, for the nighl cometh when no man can work.?[Congregationa! Messenger. in the scsshine. In a recent notice of the death of a colored man who bud lived a good life, it is said o 1 him, "He was a checrful man; a Christian who loved the bright side, who walked in the light and loved the sunshine." The bright side of life is the Christian side. The good father wants his children to "walk in the light ns he is in the light." A man may be very devout.but if he shuts himself up in a cell his devotion may become superstition. It would be better for him to go about doing good. In the economy of grace there Is no place for selfishness. I have been reading about an army officer who was killed in battle many years ago, leaving a wife and several children. Shortly after his death a fearful scourge carried off all his children. The widow was left desolate, and alone, but ahe said, "1 must not stay indoors and weep, I + will go into the sunshine." By going into the sunshine and mingling with friends and neighbors, she carried brightness into other hearts and homes. ' * Bright homes make happy families. A 4 father who is always st3rn and gloomy cannot have a happy hom<>, howsoever regular 2 he may be in his family devotions. It has been well said that "wherein our devotion is higher than our living, it counts for nothing." There Is a German proverb which says, "keep your eyes tixed on the stars, but do not forget to light the household candles by the way." Joyful Christians ought to let their fellowmen be partakers of flieirj'oy. -'4 Jerry McAuley, who had found Jesus a S great Saviour, told his story "that others might be led to adore and seek the blessed Friend who had saved and kept him by his grace.*' Occasional experence meetings In the churches, if properly conducted, might do much good. The troubled heart of the friond who sits near you in the chapel might be great I v comforted by the knowledge ot the way in which you found peace in a time of sorrow like unto his own. The wise man said: Heaviness iu the heart of a man maketh it stoop, but a good word maketh it glad." In the epitaph of a distinguished bishop it is said of him "He won all hearts by opening to them his own." "The love shed abroad in his own heart shone forth in his work and words, and won souls to Christ. "Wisdom's ways are ways of pleasantness." Light and gladness are linked together in the Scriptures. "Light is sown for the righteous and gladness for the upright in heart." A good Jady said to an . Infidel: "The Christian religion has saved my husb .ml from a drurkard's grave and made me a happy woman. What has your belief done for you The light which fills the soul of the believer with gladness here is a foretaste of the fulness of joy which will Ic his in the presence of God forever. A physician who was dving looked up just as the dawn was breaking into his room, and exclaimed, ' There is a irreat light. I feel so s>franice. A great glare of Ihrbt. Wliat is H?" a menu ana brother physician, who was at his bedside, replied, "It is peace of God!'' When Christ's glory shall be revealed, it will bo the blessed privilege of believers to be partakers; thereof, and to *'be glad also with exceeding joy.''?[X. Y. Observer. j London* to day is five times a9 large as it was at the opening of the present century. From 900,000 at that time the population of London grew to 1,500,000 in 1830, and by lS35ithad increased to 2,500,000. Since 1855 it has more than doubled. Fon five years Japan has had postal savings banks, aDd the depositors have increased from ton thousand the first year to nearly four hundred thousand 3 at present, and the deposits from lesa than sixteen thousand dollars to more than twenty millions. ... j*