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jlHoldehhii J W Copjrifbt l?f. by Roi CHAPTER XVI. KIT UXCUT SAM. Truly, the ways of the parent are peculiar! If yon wanted your sou knocked on the bead, were there not enough people in London able and willing to execute your commission, but yor must needs send for blm to this place? Come, tell me bow it all happened." Thus spake tbe cheery voice of nncle Sam as be entered our drawing room tbe next morning after tbe events narrated in tbe last chapter. Though still depressed in spirit (now chiefly because of tbe horrible suspicion which I knew my father entertained), 1 was fairly well in health, and was dressed to receive our visitor. 3Iy father's mel ancboly was more apparent ttiao mine. And his serious demeanor contrasted trancelj with the buoyant gaiety of his brother. ' "Ernest had an awkward fall on tbe tone floor of the crypt late on Monday night or on Tuesday morning, and laj there unconscious for some time before he was discovered. That ia D," answered my father, "but he Is early, if not quite, well nqw." "On the floor of the crypt!" echoed tmcle 8am. in a tone of surprise. "What was be doing in the crypt at that unearthly hour? No. no; I beg your partoon. Don't tell me. I don't want to know?I remember my own ljttle escapades when I was about bis age. Really, the faculty of blushing in a young man will delude even the old and experienced more effectually than tbe moat skilful lying. 80, Ernest, you young dog, you are no better than iotber people, eb? But enough of this. Bow are Knight and Faulkner getting a with the renovations? I hope they an pushing the work vigorously. I would like to see tbe place completed and decent before I return to New York. I gave them carte blanche to do everything necessary to be done, iad particularly insisted on despatch." My father looked Intensely glum as be Listened to thia speech, and some moments elapsed before be spoke. As for myself, It was a considerable time ikfore I could resolve my uncle's words; and desiring not to commit myself, I remained silent "Tour judgment or motive is not so good as it might be In this case, Sam. My boy baa discovered perfectly reliable evidence tbat a quarter of a million Venetian sequins were concealed by old Roger Trueman in the Abbot's Cell here, and wishing to pleasantly surprise me decided to withhold his Information until he had verified it. Thia is why be visited the place on Monday night, when he found the place and ten chests aa indicated by Roger Trueman hlmaelf; but with this difference, that all the 'chests had been opened, and every sequin stolen." "Stolen!" exclaimed uncle Sam; "bow do you know that? And if co, bow can you tell whether they were stolen a year or a century ago?" "Very easily. By merely examining aaII atiil Ka nhonta snH nnnslilnp. tag the attendant circumstances, anyone endowed with common sense is bound to conclude that the robbery waa committed as recently as four or Ave days ago." "Positively you astound me. Have you examined your servants and Knlfht and Faulkner's men?" My father shrugged I / his shoulders and smiled grimly. "There would be so use in that," he said grimly. "I think there would be very great ose in It, and that it ought to have been done before. Really, you astound me. Tell me the whole of the circumstances as-briefly and clearly as you can. At present, 1 am not at all tutttafled with the matter." **Ahd I still less so. Ernest, tell your uncle all you know about it," and with these words my father rose from the couch on which we were all three ftSttliiff Anil wallr^wl thwinirh tho nnnn window to the veranda. With a flattering heart I begun my task, describing the manner in which I had found and appropriated Roger Trueman's Record (which 1 read to him In full, having provided myself with the volume for that purpose), and with my subsequent proceedings. My ode listened with deep attention, only occasionally diverting bis eyes from me to look at bis brother, ??bo was restlessly pacing up and down the veranda. In this way an hour or more passed, and 1 had completed my story. "Thank you," said uncle Sam, and pressed his hand upon hit forehead, a habit of hit when thinking. After a few moments ho started to his feet and walked to the window, 1 following him. "Robert," be cried, "come here; 1 have something to say to you." My father re-entered the room. "Your sou has read tbat Record to me and explained how be found It. and what be ban done and experienced in respect of It. 1 am not convinced that the sequins have been recently stolen or that they have been stolen at all, though I perceive nothing improbable ha either theory. Things quite as trange happen every day. But 1 have this to say to you. You have expressed yourself at leadst twice this morniug In a manner I am not disposed to tolerate from any man, even my own brother. You have plainly insinuated, here in the presence of your son. that I pretended not to know the business which called him to the crypt on Monday night, and tbat because of some motive?I think that was your word? of my own; and further, tbat 1 have better reason to be satisfied with this nutter than you bave. If bj the latter jou mean tbat a man vrho baa not lost a quarter of a million sequin* lias better reason for satisfaction than one wbo has, I am content tbe remark t sfcouJd pass. Bat tbe first observation ?f whicb I csmplain admits of no * V 9 >" tht?ryg?"*ppB5g *^r icst,'i*jHarfj trr, ALTER BLOOMFIELO KKT B?ml Bos*. sophistry. Tbe only motive that could animate me in feigning ignorance of your son's business in the crypt would be to conceal that I was concerned in some way in tbe stealing of those sequins. And besides, I do not like your manner towards me. All my successes have been due to a good memory and tbe power to read tbe tnougnts ana moous 01 uitu, auu iut* instincts which have earned me all I | have, would scarcely fail me in dealing l with a man of your mental calibre. I No; you must take my hand and assure me of your belief tbat I bave never done you or your son tbe slightest wrong, and in particular tbat you are satisfied I know nothing about tbe treasure you have failed to find further than what you and your son have told me. Do that, and I am still your friend and brother, and win aid you with all the means in my power to sol ve tills mystery. Decline my terms, and I will do my best to forget your I existence." Quite calmly but with terrible distinctness did uncle Sam thus challenge bis brother. He bad drawn Himself up j to bis full height, and hits head was set back a little further than was customary with him, yet one might reasonably bave supposed as be stood waiting for a reply that be was engaged in nothing of particular import In deed, the expression of bis face was not unlike that which be bore when uttering one of bis cynical doguias of wbicb be bad sucb a plentiful store, ant^ be actually smiled as be listened to my father's reply?words wbicb snapped my most cherished hope like a thread and plunged me to the lowest depth of despair I had as yet sunk to. "Indeed I will do no such thiug. Unasked and from my heart 1 assure you that the good will I have ever borne towards you survives this affair, serious as it Is; but 1 cannot and will not comply with the terms you dictate, come what may. Surely you might have known that anything here was yours for the asking?that 1 would have given you anything 1 had, so long as I retained a small competency for my son hereafter." Uncle Sara remained motionless and silent for a full minute or more after my father had finished speaking; then, drawing a deep breath, and uttering a hardly audible sigb, be rested bis bauds on a table, leaned forward, and fixing bis gaze upon bis brother, addressed him with intense earnestness. "My curse upon you for an unthinking and cowardly wretch! This is tbe second great injustice I have suffered at your hands. May that moment be my last when I put myself in a position for you to mete out such treat ment for a third time! Twenty yeurs ago, by grace of a miscalculating, selfseeking bind, you married tbe girl whose love 1 bad won?wbo bad isolemnly pledged berself to me. Yes, you married ber knowing tbat I was ber choice, and that ber father compelled ber to become your wife on account of your broad acres. I complained not then to you, but went forth into the world trusting not vainly to Nemesis to avenge the wrong 1 bed sustained. The sweetheart of my boyhood was not your wife for long; und as for your Suffolk acres, what of them now? They will scarce support the slave wbo plows them. Yes, Nemesis avenged your tlrst injustice to me, and she will avenge your second. 1 had outlived almost the memory 01 tnai great wrong, and returned to you after twenty years, rlcb and influential, prepared to benefit you and your son in any way I could, and now, forsooth, iu a half-hearted, cowardly manner, aod without any sort of evidence, you accuse me of having robbed you of a quarter of a million of sequins! By the ? ?- ho I inrntr I never KilW |A/lftlO liitti W| * a sequin iu my life, that I am not even sure 1 am eorrect in thinking it is a gold coin worth nine shillings and lourpence of British money; but my supposition being correct, can you think I would make myself a thief for live hundred and sixty thousand dollars??I who on many occasions have profited more in one deal, and made eight times as much out of the Wabash pool alone. No, I am not a thief; or if 1 was, 1 should not come to Suffolk to practice my profession. It is pos bible you may lire to be convinced 01 the cruel blunder you have made; but 1 care not bow that may be, for you are already dead to me. Good bye. Ernest, my boy. I am sorry for you. It Is a hard fate to be the son of such a man, but you sre not without hope. Tbe son of a wise man Is generally u fool, bo by natural balance you xbould be wise, for you are certainly the son of a fool." He turned to go, but I clutched bis arm and prevented him. crying out 'lofinn i r inert v viv?|^i.. ?BV "0 father, father, what have you done? Unsay your words, and believe with me that unclt Sum lia? done us much kindness and oo wrung." My passionate plea received no answer. Uncle 8am gently disengaged himself from my grusp aud moved towards the door. "If at any time you should need a friend." he said, address? wf Kara wam tv 111 It In If nf rmii> lUg LUC, X UV|IC ..... v. ,vw uncle. Stay; I had almost forgotten to give you this," and taking a letter from his pccket he tossed it to me; hut 1 was too dazed to catch It, and it fell on the carpet. Then, waving his baud In token of farewell, be hustily quitted the room and was gone. I looked at my father. He was sitting on a low seat, his elbows resting on his knees, and bit: bead buried j iu his hands. I spoke to him? I forget what it was that I said?but be took no notice of me. when through the open window I saw uncle Sum passing out of our gate. As soon as lie was off our premises he stood still and looked Intently at Iloldenhurst mPff> gWtPllJy.lig :-y .'.'J .'>. .y '> ^55575 Hall for a little while, then turned abruptly and walked at a great rate down the road which led towards Bury St. Edmund's. This spectacle, in itself pathetic, and symbolizing an it did. tb<> collapse of my fervent hope, enraged mo. B.eing weak from loss of blood and other consequences of my recent accident. I think my reason must have succumbed beneath my accumulated load of disappointments and anxieties, for in a sudden burst of artificial strength I rushed at my father, laid my band! upon his shoulders, and forced him into an upright position, while 1 screamed out? Mlt Is false! It is false! I will go to my uncle and beg him to pardon you.*1 My father started to his feet, and I grasping me by the wrists, held me at arms' length. "I would to Heaven It I were false," he exclaimed, "but it ia j true?too true. Shall I show you the j proofs?" "v? " T ohnntn/l' "mil hare I 1 uu lauuui, , J no proofs." Then for tbe first and last time in his life did ray father bnrst out lo anger against me. "Is everybody Id conspiracy to madden me?" be asked excitedly. "I tell you. your uncle bat stolen those sequins, and that recent ly. Still. I would not bave told bim so. or complained to anyone, if be bad not sought to extort a contrary declar a lion from mo. Do you think I would denounce my own brother on doubtful or slender evidence? If you can tbink so badly of me. where then shall 1 turn for sympathy in my trouble? Must I publish what I would fain conreal in order to induce you to be lieve your own father? Look at that," and be took from bis pocket a large tbin gold coin and placed it in inj band; "tbat is one of tbe sequins you went Into tbe crypt to fetch?one of tbe two hundred and fifty thousand j sequins you ought to have found there. > Where the others are I don'\ know; 1 bnt what I do know is tbat yotr uncle I found means to convey tbem away I from here about a week ago. I will , tell you tbe details. If you want to ! know tbem, when you come to your ' Reuses and remember tbat 1 am your j father." I sat do*n on a couch and burst into | an agony of tears. In a moment my j father was at toy situ*. Doming bands in bis. and earn?*etly endeavoring to comfort me. Presently I grew calmer and got up?that unnatural and piteous product of adverse circumstances, a youth without hope. The kindness of my father was such as none but the parent of an only child can understand. In endeavoring to al- j leviate my distress he appeared to forget his own. "Tbis is u great misfortune." he said, "the greatest which has befallen me since your dear mother died; but we must try to forget it I care nothing for the loss of the money i ?I would It bad been s: in in the tea \ or that the Turks bad it?but I j deplore my brother's co act. more psiwx?Iii!1v as he has won ur good ! will, and I bad hoped and believed thai good would come of it." After a space mj father resumed: "When you feel disposed to bear tbe story 1 will relate all the circumstances of your uncle's recent?" he paused, as if unable to find the precise word he wanted?"act, or Adams shall. If he recovers sufficiently to do so; he was sn eye-witness of tbe?tbe act. But I have grave fears the old man will die, and even Dr Thurlow admits such an event is not improbable; be is an old man, and these trou bles are more than he can bear It pained him keenly to show what he did against my brother, for be was much attached to Sam as a boy, and often Inquired of blm after be had gone away to America." M1 don't want to know any more about It now, and perhaps 1 never shall," I replied, as I rose from tbe fnueh. nicked ud my letter, and read \ It It was from Constance Marsh and ran as follows: No. ?, De Vere Gardens, Kensington, W., April 22, 18?. Dear Mr. Trueman:?Many thanks for your kind letter. Pray accept my apology for having allowed it to re* main unanswered for two days; but news of your having met with an accident followed so closely upon your departure that 1 have been in doubt: whether to write or not, for letters are troublesome things to any one wbe is ill. I am so glad to learu from your talannimn tlmt vnnr accident i a %V?V^t HM.W ?w ? ? ? was only Blight, and shall be pleased ! to see you back io London again?for, of course, you will return with your uncle. To be continued. Rut a Home of Your Owa. They are a wise young man anft woman who start out in their married life in a home of their own in some place where they will have green grass about their house even If it is only a few feet It makes no difference bow humble or modest the bouse may be. The smallest box of a honse with a plot of green is a temple of commonsense compared to the finest "flat" or "boarding-bouse" in tbe city. If tbere is anything appropriate in this life it is that young people pball lire somewhere where each day they can see their own unfolding lives reflected In the unfolding works of Nature. There is no beginning, in the home sense, to a young married life so true, so lasting and so satisfactory as that. No life in a city is comparable to that which is lived in a small house with green thiugs growing over and around it, where Hod's pure sunshine bathes nnd sweetens every side of the house dur'"* ?>>" ?!?* nml n-licru llio ?urr>Kf_ lifts giving odors that God gives to Ills children; the odors of soil and growiug things, are blown into the house while we sleep.?Edward Bok, in the Ladies' Home Journal. Falconry Krntwtd. Our craze for novelt;r Das caused us to revert to the antique, says M. A. P. of London. Falconry baa been taken up by several di-stingu'shed ladies. Owing to Its cost, it will never become a common amusement. A good and perfectly trained hawk cannot now be obtained under $500. and a falconer's wages are from $500 to $750. The Duchess of Marlborough is Interested in falconry; and one oi the advantages of this picturesque sport is that It can be followed, in some form or another, all the year around. New York City. ? Rough-finished cloths are ui>ed for promenade costumes this season, and are very appropriate for cold weather. A smart black ~*r~ ladies' street bcit. and gray homespun Ik shown here developed In strictly tailor-made style. The blouse Is shaped with shouldei ind underarm seams only. The back is plain and the garment smoothly idjusted under the arms. Two backward turning pleats on flu ihoulderd are stitched down a shorl Jistance, providing becoming fulness jver the bust that forms a blouse al the waist. The Jacket is completed with a narrow velvet belt that fastenJ with a cut steel buckle. The fronts close In doublc-breastet1 ftyle, with two rows of steel buttoni that are the only trimming used on tht suit. The neck is finished at the col lar line with machine stitching and tht collar is omitted. The sleeve is shaped with an lnsid< icnni. has sliirht fulness on the shoul ders and Is gathered at the wrist. Tbt leeve is arranged on a wristband, witt LADIES' O^Tl n? the back, where l' 1 UC ? * ? U\.( ./ droops stylishly. Tbe skirt is made with ton evenly proportioned gores fitted smoothlj round tbe waist. It closes Invisiiilj at the centre back seam in habit effect A narrow tuck is stitched at end side of the gores and flatly pressed producing what is culled the "slot' seam. To make the Eton in the mcdiun size will require one and one-half ynrdi of forty-four-inch material. To make the skirt in the mediun size will require five and one-half yard) forty-four-inch material. A Smart Costnm*. Very light shades of jrruy, tan am *" 't>0 fnll Trill green are i*? i* ?u velvet trimmingB to give them a beavj apppenrance. A smart costume ii shown in the large drawing, developet in Eau de Nil wool canvas. Iiavin; white lace and dark green velvet foi trimming. The waist is made over a clove-fltfc< featherboncd lining that closes in !h< ceutre front. The back is plain arrow J '* "** " /ilnui the sliouiuer* uuu uru?u u??u to the belt. where the fulness Js ar ranged in tiny pleats. Tbe plastron and full vest are perma ncntly attached to the right linin; front and close invisibly on tbe left A band of lace is applied nt tbe top o: tbe vest to cover the joiuiug. A tiny rever and shoulder trimmln; of velvet finish the edges of the fron above tbe vest, the latter extendlti; over the shoulder to the back. A trans parent lace collar completes the neck and Is edged top and bottom with vel vet ribbon. The sleeve* nre shaped with the regit lotion inside feaiiis, ami also havt seams on the top. They fit the uppvi arm closely. Material added at eaol side of the top seam Ik gathered am fastened at the elbow, falling in a loos< puff to the wrist, where it is finisbci with a velvet band. Itihbon coven tfie seam from shoulder to ell?ow. The 6kirt is made with Are well-pro portioned gores, nnrrow front, am sides with wide hacks, fitted smoothlj around the waist and hips withoul darts. The fulness in the centre had s 1BB93IB 1 I Is arranged in an underlying pleat at 1 each ?ide of the closing. These pleats are flatly pressed and present a per* : fe<ily plain appearance. The skirt is sheath fitting from waist to knee. The flounces are narrow in 1 front and graduate in depth toward ' the hark. They are of circular shap- i ing and flare stylishly at tbe lower i wipe, where the hems are finished with < machine stitching. , To make the waist in the medium ] sizi* will require one and three-quarter i yards of forty-four-inch material, with ! one-half yard of all-over lace and three- , quarter yard* of velvet. To make the skirt in the medium size will require seven yards of forty-fourinch material. KlalTy mil Ktnlfbt Hair. To make the hair simply fluffy without curling it. moisten it with a preparation of alcohol or rectified spirits of wine, two ounces: cologne, one ounce; bicarbonate of soda, one-half ounce and rosewater. four ounces. For tlK' maid whose hair will curl, and she dou't want it to. there is a remedy, loniiiiainy. n rmm iui i??u ounces of l>ny mm. one-half ounce of sweet oil and a few drop* of essence of violet, rut this on the hair and . brush thoroughly. 'f The Melon Sleeve. The latest sleeve is shaped exactly , like n watermelon, although in certain . i>oses it looks like an egg. since it is | (Minted at one end. It is made out of t a melon-shaped piece of material. [ which is gathered at the elbow and , fastened on to an elbow sleeve. At the wrist it is laid In little side pleats I and fastened to a deep cuff of lace. , The sleeve is called the "Newport." Becoralns to Youthful Wearer*. ; Effective combinations of black and white are seen in children's garments > as well as those intended for grown folks this season, and it must he adi mitted that they are very becoming to i youthful wearers. lIlL 1 DOOR COSTUME. t The coat shown here is made of white* satin-faced cloth with black satin - trimmings. The front shield is braided ! r in black ribltons. It is narrow at the J f neck, broadens considerably toward | . the lower edge anii is completed with a i l.l.u.lr nolln* lintli xliiuino nt f h<? WDtfe . back. ' The coat is shaped with shoulder and underarm senuis. tils well on the shoul) tiers and flares in box effect at tbe s lower edge. fnllinj; in soft graceful folds. Triple shoulder capes of black i satin are edged with bauds of wbite. s The.v give a becoming breadtb to the figure. Tbe coat Is, fastened invisibly from the neck to the point of the capes. Be1 low that the closing is made with black 1 satin buttous and buttonholes worked r in the edges of the fronts. n J lit* an* n'^uuiuuu w?? i ' sleeve?, slipped with upper and under i portions. They have slight fulness on j r the shoulders nnd arc finished with ! flaring ruffs of satin. 1 To make the coat for a child of two f . XT j COAT FOR A C HILD. ' years will require three yards of twent ty-two-inch material, with one yard of t velvet trimmlug. i SERMON FOR SUNDAY ; i kN ELOQUENT DISCOURSE ENTITLED j "A NARROW ESCAPE." 1 IToad?rfal Indeed U tb? Plan of Salvs- i tlon For tbo Hlnner, T?t tice?dlmly 1 Simple?To Ha*? Christ Mavo V* Wo 1 Mill Btlitf* la Him. 1 New York Citt.?The following read*- i ble and helpful aermon is by the Rev. Dr. J. Wilbur Chapman, the best known evan- i jelist in the country and one of the most I popular pulpit orator* of New York. It ^ is entitled "A Narrow Escane," and was i preached from the text, "How nhall we < Mcape, if we neglect ao great aalvation?" 1 Hebrews 2: 3. ' The wonder of wondera in this world is i the plan of salvation lor toe sinner through Jesus Christ. It is so wonderful that toe man with the greatest mind the world has ever known has never yet been able to think his way through it, and at the same tine it is so simple that the smallest child in your home can appreciate enough of it to be saved. The first chapter of Hebrews presents to us the dignity of Christ. He is at the right hand of God; He is better than the angels; when the elements have melted with a fervent heat. He still exists; when the heavens have been rolled together as a scroll, He shall still be the very power of God. With sach a description as this in the first chapter we come naturally to the first part of the second chaptcr. Therefore we ought to give the more earnest heed to the things which we have heard I?A -1 1J l-? .L ,t;? IC9V Ab any VIUIC **c euuuiu in iucui olip. 4 A Canard steamer was making her way i across the Atlantic Ocean when the passengers were startled with a cry of "man ) overboard." Immediately every one was i filled with excitement. On* man *prans i to the edge of the vessel and shouted, "1 l will give a thousand pounds to any one i who will save the man that is sinking, for 1 he is my brother." Evciy sailor wtui ready 1 to throw himself into the sea if only he 1 could win the reward and save the man. The captain manned the lifeboat, and soon a cheer went up because thev had laid i hands upon the sinking one. The lifeboat | came near the great steamer, ropes were fastened arouna the man and the signal was given to lift him up. Just a* they ] were reaching out their hands to make his < salvation sure the ropes slipped, and falling he struck his head upon the lifeboat, bounded into the sea and was gone for- i ever. The writer of the Epistle to the Hebrew* must have had some such picture as this in his mind when he said, ">Ve ought to give the more earnest heed lest at any < time wc should let them slip." 1 have known of people coming nearer to the i i- J? -i r>~j it. <!..? ftlllKUUUl UI UUU I (ion kllttb, juob uuv owp ana they would have been saved, but they lipped away, and then gave up none. Tnere are three words around which my thoughts would centre, Great, Escape and i Neglect. I. It is a great salvation because it discloses to us a great Saviour, shows us how we may be saved from gremt sin. and also reveals how we may be restored to great holiness and happiness. 1 First, it is great in its author. The name ' of an author will frequently sell a book, and the name of the author of the plan of salvation ought to commend it to every , one. If He is the author two things are true. First that we need not be afraid of Him, "For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son." t .-if. ... ?k? i;??u uufcuci i?U0 un vt viix. KI?I, ??V of the man who printed his first Bible. He was a member of the Church of Rome, and the child had been taught that Goa could only be approached by means of penance and sacrifice. One day in the printer's office she found a little crumpled piece of paper which contained a part of this vene, which Luther called the "Gospel in i a nutshell;" all she found was, "God so loved the world that He gave " It produced a great impression upon her. One i day her mother heard her singing and asked the secret of her happiness. Sne answered by showing her tne little piece of paper, and her mother said. "What does it mean?" for, she said, "it does not tell us ? ?!??* Ua ittiPA " Tli* ronlv u*a?. "If He loved us weil enough to sire us anything, we need not be afraid of Him." Again, if God in the author, Hia in the only war of salvation. Men decide to come to God by the way of reformation, or i by the power of resolation, but this profit* nothing, for reformation may touch the preaen^, and may poaaiblv avail for the future, but it cannot toucn the past. If a man ia in your debt $1500 ana cornea to tell you that he haa decided never to go into debt again, you may tell him that ne ia making a fine resolution, but you will not tell him that hia good resolution pay* hia indebtedness to you. for that is a transaction of the paat. The wonderful thing { about the plan of salvation ia that it provides an atonement touching the ains of the present, makes provision for the future, and blotting out the transgressions of the past. It is great also in its sacrificc. The way back to God haa always been sprinkled with blood. Study the Old Testament and you will find this is true. Hut when the sins of men bccame so great that the blood of bulla and goats would not suffice then Christ died ior our Bins, according to the Scriptures. It was my privilege some time ago to preach to the convicta in the State rcnitentiary of Tennessee. I said to them I can give you the secret of getting almost any amount of money, and their laces instantly were a study, for the most of thein were in prison for trying to get money in their own way. But this is the secret I gave them. Take a piece of paper and write down upon it the amount of money | you want, the length of time you want it, sign your name to it and carry it to the ( bank. But this will profit you nothing, because you have not found the secret. It is thus fremientlv that men stand before God and oak to be saved. If you will lake that piece of paper to some one who?e ' name stand* for monev, then have him ' write hiM name upon tnc back of it and < carrj' it to the hank, you will be surprised to see what a different position you have, and you will receive the money, not because of what you are, hut because of what your security is. It is thus we have our I standing before God; our security is perfect, and simple faith unites us to Him. < It is great also in its pardon and forgivcncss. Pardon means more with God i than with men. With men a pardon may open the priscr. doors and send the guilty < one back to his home, but if he is a mur- ] derer the chances are he will have a few peaceful nights, and then in his dreams as < well as in his waking moments his sin will < be before him. This is because he is pardoned and not justified. When God par- ( dons us He justifies freely and forever. 1 And forgiveness means more with God than with man. When we forgive we con- I tantly remember the one who has sinned 3 against us, but tioa lorgives ana remember* against us our traftsgres?ion? no more forerer. A distinguished minister, in preaching i to men specially, told the story of his own a life, how he had almost broken his moth- . er's heart, made her hair gray before the * time, and made her blush to think th.it he ^ was her son. Then told how Uo<l had forgiven him, and when he mi'ie hi* ap;>eal J the effect was profound. His officer* gathercd pround him to say kind words .iliout his sernu?n. but when thry left there came { an old woman with gray hair and tn-nt form. Slie threw her arms alxjiit hi* n?*ck J, ind said. "My son, why did vou tell it; you ^ never was bad in all this world?" and this j was his mother. He had almost broken her heart, and yet for her mother's love ?he Lad forgotten it all. This wa? a pieture of (Jod remembering our trar.sgresnons no more forever. The Scriptures say when we come to Him our sin* are passed into the depths of the sea. This ruii*t be where th?v never can be found. They <1 l - - .1 J irv c:u?t iR-lnn<l uou s rain, so ?ua? nu? He is between the sinner and his mm. ' They art* taken from him a* far as the r ?a*t in from the west, a distance which 11 cannot be measured. When preaching one day in Philadelphia, * in the Young Men's Christian Association, the Secretary told me of a man sitting in the rear of the room, i mom awiui kikm to behold. He had l>e?:n sleeping in the <j itreets, but the net-vice# had touched him t ir.d he came to Chriat. He bccamc an 1 tionored member of my own church. He t r'am a jirofeMor of mathematic*. and had i| l>een ulain by the power of fttrong drink. 1 It wa* my custom to hold a service every Sunday morning for men in that church, ind one morning 1 told them that God had o :a*t their aina aa far from theoi aa the u Mat from the went. Then I turned to tkfl Did professor and asked him if he cool* tell me how far that was. He instinct* ivelv reached for his pencil and his not* book, then suddenly burst into tears, say injr, "It can't be measured. For if TOfl put your Make here with the east befort you and the west behind you, you can ?? around the world and come back again W the stake, and the east is atill before yen ?nd the west behind you." "Thank God,*: aid he, "that is where rar sins have gone.4 It has become somewhat unpopular is these days to preach concerning the loat world, but it is not what I think I moat preach, rather what the fiible state*. "I lave an argument with you." said a mas irho had listened to the minister preach* ng. "What is it?" said the minister. "I io not believe what you said about tb# oat world." "Oh." (aid the miniatcr, 'you have an argument with God, not with nyseJf." Ana since 11 is true, mciriun, hat God apeak* continually and warms constant Ix, is it not right that I should ) resent the claims of the great salration. II. Neglect. It is possible for one to to constantly neglect God'* appeals that after * whil* lis heart will become like a stone. It is taid that the little birds that build their neat in the Trroitv steeple scarcely lift their beadc when the chimes ring out, be* cause they have become so accustomed to the ringing of the bells. An one may be* come so accustomed to Christ and His ?tory that be may hear it with perfect in* difference. I am on the river in a boat ind the rapids are before me. I need only neglect the oars to be lost. I am in S burning building, and in order that I may be lost I need only neglect the tire escape. I am a sinner, and if I am to be loat inally it is only necessary that I should jeglect Him who died that I might live. in tne cuy 01 ,innnN[Kiii> t >wiu iwn* rears ago looking at the ruin* of the Minicapoiis Tribune building, and heard tho itory of those men who |>eri#hed becauao thev were on the upper floor gathering to* tether important papers and waited too long to descend by the elevator, and even too long to come down bv the fire escape. Rut at last they started._ nine of then. The last man could not hoid on to the hot iron of the fire escape, and in falHiif truck those beneath nim. and the niao perished, all because they neglected. III. Escape. How shall wc escape? This ia the im* portant question, and the answer is writ* :en in large letters throughout God'a word. First, stop trying to be a Christian and trust Him, trust Him who promises to save you. When Mr. Moody was going through an after meeting in Scotland he saw two girl* crying. Stopping to assist them if b? could one of tnem said she wanted to be Christian, and taking out his Bible ho asked her if she could receive God'a prom* ise in John 5: 24. Verily, verily, I say unto you, he that heareth Mv word ana bciieveth on Him that sent Me bath ever* lasting life and shall not come into condemnation, but is passed from death unto life. She told him she could. The next night he found them in the same place and was curious to know if thev were still ia the darkneaa. He heard the girl of tbo night before aaying. "I say, laasie, do juat as I did, grasp a promise and hold on to it, and He will save you." And this ia trao for us all. Again, if wc would have Christ save us * % f iL. T 1 T Wt millt Mlieve on w1c uuru ooin viuim> To believe in Him is not enough; to believe on Him is to throw ourselves at His feet, by faith lav hold of Him. And baring done this. He will he true to Hi* wora, and y >ur name shall be written in tb* Lamb's Book of Life. / Happiness. Happiness! Ob, how we want it. Thcr? is not a man. woman or ehild that is not seeking for it, and asking the questito "Where can it be found? In the pursuit of happiness men are running hither and thither indulging in every form of amusement and more often of vice, to satiny the cravings for it. True, happiness is not to ke found among the fleeting things of earth, for God never put it into them, and nothing is of mora value than He intended. The will of God is the only thing in the universe. Earth, air, and water alike are controlled by it. Every law of body, mind, and spirit is bat an expression of that will. All creation but man obeys that will, which causes the only discordant note in creation. Hence, out of harmony with the Divine will cause* the only unhappiness, and makes man the only unhappy creature. God wants all of us to be happy to enjoy this beautiful old earth made for His creatures. And the only way to do it is to put yourself in harmony with that will. Then will come the oeace and joy that pasaeth all understand' ioff to your Heart and mind, and the earth will seem fairer than ever before. This is no phantaama, but a^ reality attested to ia every generation.?W. H. Morehouse. Motive* In flervlc*. One is not truly religious unless thcr* motives be of the highest character, and not merely to escape future retribution, to be popular, or because they like the rliurch. These arc cot essential whatever, for but ope of them is any reason in service whatever. For many arc enlisted under the banner of Prince Emmanuel whose devotion is as empty at a bubble of air. These may have afl the outward sign* necensary, but lack of the deep feeling of the heart. The motto "Be good, do good for Christ's sake." is the only true motive in service. Not only do good to those who appreciate it, but to every one berauxe it i* our duty. This in often very hard to <lo. to />? buffeted about, to be misunderstood and he criticised when we are trying to do good. But that wan the experience of the greatest teachcr and philanthropist the world ever knew, Jesus fhrint. Are wo above the Master? The world love* it* own. but we are to love not only those who love us. but every one in whom we come in contact. When the motive is of love and from love alone, nothing will be able to separate us from Hiui that denerve* our highest service.? W. II. Morehouse. !>prar Points. Pravrr in the abiding background in tb* life of the Christian. l'rayer i> a holy art. in which the best }/ UN are hut beginner*. When God plun? our way. He will nol uedect to provide for our wants. God never mulcex us feel our weakneM xreht to lead us to seek strength from Him. When we make all the cent."* of life, iiod becomes a mere point on a far-off ircumterence. Tk? LTdunil of the Christian's hope is word and God's oath, sealed by Hi* ove. If God put* you in a dark place it may >e a compliment to tbe light that ia in rou.?Rani's Horn. Prayed For a Revival. It is said that in a certain town in Neir fork a good many years ago there occurred i ^jrrcat revival of religion, the work betinning without anv known cause. Tbe nquirv was made. "Who is praying? This vork must bo in answer to somebody'a wavers." It wa* afterward* learned that wo old church members, who lived one :u!e apart, had mad'; arrangements to neet half way between them in a piece of hick bu?hes every evening at sundown to >ray God to revive liis work. Their prayr* were answered, and on?? hundred and iftv were added, during tbe months of Inly. August and Septeml>er. to tbe hurch The Pentecostal reMval dnl not begin kith preaching, but with prayer. Her* lee. The old idea of service was that it wak legraditig. With Christ came the change, ^nd h:?? announcement that the perfect ife is one of service for others has Wen ontirmed by nature. Not a molecule exist* for its own sake only, but for other Tlip idral is one of service.?The lev. Jarue* Urant, Watertown, Ma?a. To-I>ay'* Hipplnrw. Let nti lay hold of the happines* of to* lay. U? we not go through life blindly, hulking that notnc fair to-morrow will >ririfr U" the Rift we mix* to-day7 Know hou, inv heart, if thou art not happy toay. thou chalt rtver be happy.?Anna Srown. Oniy six pounua out of every 100 pounds f paper mauufacturcd are u?cu for mskig books.