Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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iiV.v:. : 4 AJVIAT1 PE w w By Anna Katharine Green,] COPYRIGHT. 1 BOO* BY H< CHAPTER I. . 1 THE LETTER. An nlil rrnn^ Ktnnil on tho tOD floor Of cue of New York's' studio buildings. Iln her hand was a letter. Looking at 1t she studied the superscription carefully, and then, -with the same intentaiesp, read the name on one of the tioors before her. Hamilton Degraw !was on the one, Hamilton Degraw was on the other. Satisfied, she gave a ?juick glance around her, thrust the Jetter under the door, and quickly fled. ,Within, the young artist answering fto this name sat alone, gazing at a mearly completed picture on his easel. 2He was not painting, only musing, and at the sound of the departing step, iwhich had been too hurried to be noiseless, he looked around and saw the letter. Rising, he picked It up. gave it fi quick glance, and opened it. The ^contents were astonishing. "Will Mr. Degraw," so it read, "please accept the inclosed, and in repayment, bring paper and pencil to 891 East stTeet this evening at 8 o'clock? A simple sketch is all that is required of him at this time. Afterward a finished picture may be ordered. When he sees the subject of the sketch be "will realize why so pecu- i liar an hour has been chosen, and why jwe request promptness and exactitude. "If Mr. Degraw cannot come will he send an immediate message to that effect?" The inclosed was a banknote of no tnean value, and the name signed to lhe note was, as clearly as he could jnake out, "Andrea Montelli.". "Curious!" came from the young man's lips as be finished the epistle and unfolded tbe banknote. "Somewhat peremptory in its demand, but Interesting, perhaps for that very rcaCJKoll T nnrcMfi f V? A PUD. ?uaii JL puiouv. 1UV wwf vmvvav . The amount of this money surely makes it worth my while, and then?" He did not finish the sentence aloud, but his look showed that he was in one of those moods when the prospect of a new or unusual experience possessed a epecial attraction. "Eight o'eteck!" he repeated after a few minutes, "I wish the note had said 6." And signing lightly, he went back to the picture on the easel. As he tands surveying it let us survey him. Though a dissatisfied expression rests upon his countenance (he evidently is not pleased with his day's work), there is that in his face which irresistibly attracts the eye, and if you look long enough, the heart, so fine are his jtraits and so full of sympathy his glance and smile. Handsome without j^oubt, as a man and artist should he, J lie has that deeper charm which not i only awakens the interest but sways J the emotions, and which, when added *o such perfection of features as distinguishes bis face, makes a man a marked figure for good or evil according as the heart behind that charm is actuated by love of self or a generous consideration for others. By which is the heart of this man taoved? We will let his future actions tell, only premising that the bird which aings in one window of his studio and the flower which blows in another, argue that he at least possesses gentle tastes, while the array of swords and guns that gleam on a crimson background above the mantel-piece betray that the more masculine traits are not absent from bis charactcr. Strong, winsome and" enthusiastic he appears j to us, and such as we will take him to be, till events prove us short-sighted, or enlarge mere prepossession in bis lavor into actual and positive regard. He is tall, and his hair and mustache are bl3-"k, his eyes gray. The picture upon which he is gazing is that of a young girl. Though he does not like it, we do, and wonder if his j dissatisfaction arises from a failure to express his ideal or from some fault In the subject itself. It cannot be the latter, for never were sweeter features placed upon canvas or a more ideal head presented to the admiration of mankind. Shrined in a golden haze it smiles upon you with an innocent allurement that ought to repay any artist for no matter how many days of labor or nights of restless dreams. JtJUt iiamiiron uegraw is 1101 sausneu. I/Ot us see if we can discover the reason for this from the words just hovering on his lips. "It is beautiful, it is a dream, but where shall I find the face I seek? I would make it a companion piece to this, and I would call the one 'Dream' and the other 'Reality,* and men would muse upon the 'Dream,' but love the f,. 'Reality.' But where is there a reality to equal this dream? I shall never find it." At 7.30 (all this occurred In the month of May) Mr. Degraw left his studio and proceeded up town with his paper and pencils. CHAPTER II. A REMAT.KABLE ADVEXTUKE. The number which had been given him was 391 East street, and, though he lied never been in Just the locality indicated by this address, he thought he knew the region and what to expect there. Had lie not passed through many of these tip-town streets, even to the water's edge, and found them to vary only In the size and pretention of their long and monotonous rows of similarly fashioned brick or stone houses, unless It wer* by the intrusion of a brewery or a church? It was, therefore, an agreeable surprise to discover that the espccial block in which he was for the moment interested was not like other blocks, ?ven In this quarter, but was broken in hv n R'rpfph nf n?1i1-1nr>lrin<T hniisi?5. which, if somewhat worn and dilapidated, si ill preserved an air of picturjfgqueness s'adly lacking in most of our third-rate dwellings. There were four of them, nil of a *ire, all ?>' n grayish-brown color, all *r smith ca? . ed trips overhanging the< !vr\'. -'i - . . . , - ' . , . . JU11 | , LIONS. Ju I Author of "The Forsaken 1 I Inn," Etc. I - window tops, and all -with square wooden pillars in front. Though their general appearance suggested past "wealth, it also as certainly betokened present indigence, notwithstanding the fact that before one of them there stood at this moment a carriage of style, and elegance sufficient to prove it the private equipage of a person of means. Being in an artistic mooa ne was greatly attracted by these old-fashioned structures and felt quite an unreasoning desire to enter them. Long before he came near enough to be sure of the numbers they bore he had begun to reckon onward from the one he was passing to see whether 391 would be found on any of them. He soon came to the-conclusion that it would, and presently was quite sure of It, and, as he approached nearer he was pleased to see that it was upon the house before which the carriage was standing. Why he was pleased at this he would have found it hard to tell. Perhaps because the house looked a little sombre and oppressive as he came within full sight of its closely shuttered windows, and to one of his gay and careless temperament any hint of comDanionshio was always welcome. There was a bell at the entrance, but he did not ring It. For just as he stretched out his hand toward it tn<? door opened, and he saw before him a young servant' girl of a somewhat vacant countenance, who quickly beckoned him in. As his foot crossed the threshold the clock from a neighboring church pealed out the stroke of & "I am pr6mpt," he inwardly ejaculated. The hall into which he stepped was dark and seemingly unfurnished. There was no carpet on the floor, and if there were any doors in sight they were all closed. Feeling it a somewhat chilly welcome he looked helplessly at the girl, who immediately made another gesture in the direction of a staircase that rose in a spiral a few feet beyond him. "Dees Signor Montelli live upstairs?" he inquired. She gave no indication of hearing Dim, out continued to point to tne staircase. "Is she deaf?" was his mental Inquiry. It would seem so. Somewhat dashed in his spirits he went up the first flight and paused again. Darkness and solitude were before him. . "Well, well," thought he, "this will not do." And he was about to turn about in retreat when he remembered the bank-bill in his pocket. "That was not sent to me for nothing," he concluded, and, taking a closer look into silent space before him be perceived four doors. Making his way to one he knocked. There was a hurried sound from within, and presently the door was opened and the face of an old crone looked out. Her features lighted up as 6he saw him, but she did not speak. Pointing as the girl had done she Indicated the room he should enter, and then withdrew her face and shut the door. "This is an adventure," was his mental comment, but he had no further t A?t KAfMAftl iiuwuii ui. icucau Following the guidance of her finger he crossed the hall and pushed open the door toward -which she had pointed. An ordinary room of faded aspect met his eyes. Eut barely had he entered it when he was met by the old crone and led rather than escorted through another door into an apartment so brilliantly lighted that for a moment he found himself dazzled and unable to perceive more than the graceful figure of an elegant woman dressed in the richc^t of carriage attire, bending over wlu.i seemed to be a heavily draped couch. But in another instant his faculties became clear, and he perceived thai what he supposed to be a couch was in a reality a bed of death, and that the woman before him was engaged in strewing blossoms'of the richest beauty and most delicate fragrance over the body of a young girl whose face as yet ne couia not see. Some lilacs lay on the floor, half on, half off the eage of a snowy drapery of soft wool which fell from the couch, taking from it the character of a bed, and lending to the whole 6cene an aspect of poetic beauty which was in no wise diminished by the rows of wax candles that bnrned at the head and the feet of the dead. It was a picture, and for a moment he looked on It as such, but in another the lady, whose occupation he had interrupted, turned, and. seeing him, stood upright, meeting his gaze with astonishment and a half-veiled delight in her fine violet eyes, then, as he did not speak and hardly remembered to bow she colored slightly, and with a strange, swift movement that took him wholly by surprise, glided from the room. Then, indeed, he started and tried to fnllnw ])Oi* iRnf If T*?nc? Into Fro he had reached the threshold he heard the front door shut, and in an instant after the carriage drive away. Strange adventure! For though he did not know her name he knew her face, had seeu it once In a large crowd, and charmed by its perfect lineaments had brooded upon its memory till he had idealized it Into the picture which we have already described as the chief ornament of his studio. "Am 1 dreaming?" he asked btmself, p.nd he cast a sudden look about him for the old crone who lir.il ushered him into the room in tlie hopes of learning from her the name of the lady who had just left theru. but by this movement bringing himself nearer to the pulseless figure on the couch, he found himself so enthralled by the exquisite loveliness of the marble-like countenance he now. for the first time, had an opportunity of seeing, that he forgot the impulse that had moved him. and stood petrified in aslonishment ami delighl. j For If wbat L?e saw before him f ' formed the picture he was expected to paint, how beautiful it was! Never in his fancy, prolific as it was with lovely forms and faces, had he beheld a countenance like this! It was angelic in its purity and yet human in its quiet look of grief and resignation. It had lines as exquisite as those we see in the ideal heads of the most famous masters, and yet one scarcely saw those lines or the delicate carves of cheek and chin for the expression which steeped the whole in heavcnliest sweetness. If dead then no living woman was fair, for she seemed to hold all beauty within the scope of her perished personality and to compress into the narrow space shone upon by those two rows of candles all the loveliness and the mystery which bad hitherto enshrined the world of womankind in his eyes. Her head reposed upon a white silken pillow, across which streamed a mass of midnight hair in a tangle of great lustrous curls. One lay in motionless beauty on her breast, and so unlike death was the W IJUiy Y^DIUU liiUL lie 1UUWU - iiijuova* watching this curl in eager anticipation of seeing it move with the rising and falling of her breath. But it lay quiescent, as did the'waxen lids above the closely shut eyes, and at this discovery, -which proved of a surety that she^was dead, he felt such a pang of despair that he knew that whereas he had hitherto looked at a woman with his eyes he was surveying this one with his heart; that a feeling akin to love had awakened in his breast, and that this feeling was for a dead image?a soulless, pulseless morsel of clay. The consciousness of his folly made him blu6h, and drawing back he again looked about him for the old crone. She was not far away. Seated at one end of the apartment, in a low chair, with her figure bent forward and her head burled in her hands she was rocking slowly to and fro In what seemed like 6ilent anguish. But when he approached her and she looked up there were no tears in her eyes nor signs of trouble aoout ner soram anu almost sinister moutb. "Where is Signor Montelli?" asked the artist. "Is he not present? I allude to the gentleman who wrote me a note this morning requesting me to come here and draw him a picture." But she made no reply?that is, no intelligible reply. She murmured some words, but they were in a language he did not recognize, and the mystery seemed to be deepened rather than cleared by her presence. "Can you not speak English?" be inquired. She smiled, but evidently did not understand what be said. "Nor French ?' She smiled again and muttered a few TTmra nf hay fnroicm wmvlfi thlC tilTlP with a deprecating air and an entreating gesture. He knew a smattering of Spanish and tried her with that, but with no better result. Discouraged, h? repeated the one word they both knew. "Montelli? Montelli?" he cried, and looked about him with peering eyes. This time she had the appearance of understanding his meaning. She made a gesture toward the street, then pointed to herself and courtesied. Finally she laid a finger on the portfolio under his arm, smiled and led him up to the young girl. There was no misunderstanding this pantomime; he was to draw a picture of the dead. Satisfied and yet vaguely uneasy he bowed and opened his portfolio. The old crone brought forward a chair, then a small table, and courtesying again disappeared once more in the background. H<? took the chair, opened his portfolio and began to con template the picture before him. It was perfect, even from an artistic standpoint. Had he arranged the couch, the drapery, the flowers and the lights he could not have made a more harmonious whole. He could not even find an excuse for readjusting the locks of the loosely curling hair; all was as it should be, and be had only to put pcncil to paper. To be continued. Deceitful Appearances. Once again the fact tbat appearances are ofttimes deceitful has been proved true. The interest of a number of those in the audience at a local theatre one evening was evenly divided between 1 he action on the stage and the conduct of a couple seated in the second row of orchestra chairs. During the intermissions between acts, as well as a goodly portion of the time, while the curtain was up, the two folks referred to gave evidence of being more concerned about themselves than in the play. Each gazed lovingly into the eyes of the other as a whispered conversation was carried on to the extent that the people sitting near-by felt warranted in making mental comparisons with turtle doves. All the romance was ruthlessly dashed from the situation, however, when those lu the row of seats directly in the rear of the couple chanced to overhear a portion of what was under discussion. The man was describing to hlo fair companion, iu a most matter-of-fact uauner and with mnch earnestness the missed condition in which one of his shirts had that day reached borae frou the laundry.?Washington Star. Itecollcrtioiih of Youth. Standing on the stern of an outgoing Staten Island ferryboat at South Ferry the other day was a gray haired old man who appeared to be greatly interested in the proceedings. "This Is interesting," lie said, as he turned to me, for he evidently wanted to talk to some one. "This primitive method of fasteuiug and loosening a ferryboat carries me back to the days of my childhood. It is.the same winding of noisy <-ou wheels, aud the same straining and pulling oi' heavy gangplanks by four meu hardly equal to the task. '"Back in JS.M. when T lived in Camden and went lu school iu rhiladelphia, I used to see I hat same sort of a pro j? m.aihI.ipAiI Hmiv if thorfl CL'CUlIJfJ, ami lluiiuiim mni ... wasn't a belter, quicker, easier and more quiet method of fastening a ferryboat in Us slip. II appears that there is not, for aftei* forty-seven years I see exactly tlie same method used ini all its primitive simplicity. Strange, isn't it?"?New York Herald. . I Basel has the only zoological garden/ ' in Switzerland. A SERMON FOE SUNDAY AN ELOQUENT DISCOURSE BY THI REV. DONALD D. MacLAURIN, Subject: The Greatest Thing in tho Worl< ?The Distinguished Divine Deliver* i Sermon Which In an Scholarly an< Readable as Any of Recent Years. New York City.?Dr. Donald D. Mac Laurin, of Rochester, preached Sunda; morning in St. John's M. E. Church to i large audience. His sermon was the firs in a series on "The Greatest Thing in th World." Dr. Mucliaurin said: I have most earnestly sought to brini -- *--- O 1 U/v.1 you on successive ouuuu.vn wc uai. unu istrv I have yet been able to give you that your lives may be broadened an< deepened andlifted up into higher realm of spiritual achievement; and I could fini no tneme of greater value, as I saw it, thai that which is suggested by the chapte which I read to you, the thirteenth chap ter of Paul's first epistle of the church a Corinth. And so for eight weeks, we shal have our texts from this chapter; and thi morning you will find our text in the firs verse of the first chapter of First Corin thians: "h 1 speak with the tongues o men and angels, but have not love, I an become soundiDg brass or a clangini cymbal." Nor must we not think that we shall be I come tired of this wonderful theme. Di< you ever know any one to become weary o a diamond V Among the gems of the Lott God is found this chapter, and though 1 ! do not profess to be a skillful lapidary t< bring out its flashing facets, I think, wit! the aid of the divine spirit, we shall fin< ; in each service something fresh and helpfu | and new. i This chapter has been in all ages of thi ! church especially admired; would that ii had received in all the ages of Christiai history that more practical and valuabli j appreciation which would have been ex perienced by a practice of its principle) S and an acceptance of its precepts. Ter j tullian said: "It is uttered with all th< I force of the spirit," and the great thinkei is right. As I have pondered it for severa years with ever growing interest. I hav< , :ome to feel that, indeed, mortal facultj :ould never have written it. It nevei could have Sprung from the brain or hear . of even so great a man as Paul, unless hea ren had given him the inspiration. It is ' dear friends, an utterance of heaven It is a glorious hymn or pean in honoi of Christian love, sung, as we have inti mated, by the Apostle Paul when soarini up. on the wings of inspiration into th< very heights of Christian eloquence. Lik< the Forty-fifth Psalm, it may be fitting!] called the "Psalm of Love: and not in I frequently your Speaker will so designati ! it in these Sunday morning services. I has the form of poetry; it has the inspira tion of Doetry; it has the coloring of th( finest poetry. And if you could read it ii the Greek you would catch the fullness o its imagery, as it is impossible for you t< | do in the best English version. It seemi a profanation to attempt its exposition It seems like analyzing a rose or dissect ing a nightingale to take these principlei apart one from another for the necessary analysis in the progress of our work. Bu it is so full of the very heart of the gospe message that we would be cowardly wer< i we not to attempt the exposition. I The position of the psalm in the boo! | in which it is found heightens its effect I You find it in the midst of lengthy argu 1 ment. It reminds us very much of aj oasis' of towering palm trees and spring ing flowers and running brooks in th< midst of a desert of sand. On either ?id< is argument, is tumult; and right in thi midst of all bursts forth his-sublime song ; It is very much like the song of the sweet i voiced school children in the midst o i ?Vioir VinrH wnrV nrii the bfth^l of thoil games. Or. better, like the very sound o the song of heaven's choir in the pit o , Wall Street on a panicky day. We car , easily imagine the deepening hush tha 1 must have fallen on t he Corinthian churcl as they read this chapter, and we cai . imagine, too, the consternation produce< in the minaa of those Christians as tbei discovered one after another their favorite gifts or favorite possessions swept awai by the great teacher. For Paul her* shows that leve is the one essential o Christian life. Love did you say? Love that soft sentiment that hard-headed mei Bay belongs to women and children. 13< you mean to sav that this is the spirit o his language? That is precisely what th< apostle formulated. He affirms most ex plicitly the absolute worthlefsness of lifi without love. Love at the beginning of it love at the end of it; love filling the wholi space between. Love at the end is no the same as love at the beginning. It^ ii richer, grander, nobler, diviner. iJu without the first love the other could neve; be. The blossom and the fruitage be sneak the rootage, and the seed and thi flower and the tree. And unless you hav< the first love?love for God?in your heart the love that shall engage our attention 01 Suuday moraines will be a stranger to youi experience. "If I speak with the tonguei of men and angels, but have not love, j am become soundinc brass or a clanginj ovmbal." Jt would seem as if all th( Corinthian church were eloquent speakers or at least were eloquent hearers; and le me say that eloquent hearers arp as essen tial as eloquent speech. The Corinthiai Christians were distinguished for their gifti , in this direction; and so the apostle, know ing it, knowing them right well, for hi ! was their father in the gospel, he suppose | them capable of speaking in every tongm ! that rose from the lips of men or angels That were thev t.o have all and were des titute of love they were nothing but sound inc brass or clanging cymbals. How han this must have been on those people wb< cherislied eloquence as more easy to im agine than to describe, for they place< great store by their gift of tongues an( their eloquence of speech. And do yoi know we are often placing the emphasi at their wrong place. are often miilt; of that characteristic folly. These Corin Kionp wr> ffj nflnn nnf+inir tlio where the cmphais should not be. SVha Paul affirms and what the Gospel affirm over and over again is that it is not speech that it is not doing but being, that God re gards. Being is finer than doing; fine than saving; finer thun any expressioi which it is possible for St to make of itself Xow, let us considei, if you please, ii the first place, wherein love is superior ti the most eloquent speech. "If I speal with the tongues of men and angels, bu I have not love, I am bccome sounding brasi 1 or a clanging cymbal." What is Chris tian love? It is more easily described thai defined. That is precisely what thi apostle has done in this great psalm o love. He nowhere defines it. He simpl; describes it, giving some fifteen character istics of it. Indeed, I do not know when love is defined in the entire P.ible, nor di I know a definition for it. You have heari , the storv of the teacher of psychology, whi upon receiving a new c'nss at the begin ning of the term, instead of giving them i .lecture, he asked one of the members o ! the class to define the human soul; am the young man rose and said: "The humai soul is that faculty that thinks and fee! and determine;" another member of th class added that the soul is immaterial ] And then he said, will you tell me. wha ! the soul is not; and the young man hai the sense to say, "I do not know;" am ! the erpat professor, whose familiarity witl the subject is felt throughout the contin I ent. replied. "Nor more do I." And j fancy that the first theologian in the world were lie asked to delinc love, and if he wa i honest and candid as the tcacher of psv ! choiogy lie would say, "No more do J.' j That which comes nearest to being a de finition of love is Hie summary of the di vine law of the Old Testament and th New. Thou shalt iove the Lord thy Goi with all thy heart and with nil thy mini ! and with all thy strength, and thy neigh ! bor as thyself. But ti.is is not a defini ! tion of love; nor would it apply, especi j ally the former part of it to thp love unde consideration now. It is not the reveren leve of the heart to Cod. but it is tha mysterious bond that unites men, the on to the other. A love that exists betweei peonle of a common spiritual exnerience : It is as Dr. Dodds well says: "The liga i ment by which the bouy cf Jesus Chris . is bound together. It is the cement b: j which the stones in the temple are unitei ' into one. That is as near a definition a ! you will be abli to pet from any knowi ! writing. It has Christianity in it. Am so we sing, and we sing it heartily: "Blessed be the tie thaf binds our heart in Christian love. The fellowship of kindred minds is like ti that above." But though we ma/ uU be able to de ^ fine this'Christian love, we know it -when we see it, when we hear it, and we know how it appears in the earth. We know - that love seeks with total sclf-forgetful ness the happiness of the object loved, and so long as we know what it does ana how it behaves itself in the social laDnc, we ought to be quite content. And I want 1 you to notice at this point wherein love a is superior to the most eloquent speech, j Eloquent speech may mean self advertise* ment. Love always means self efiacement, "The gift in question," says the brilliant Druinmond. in his book entitled "The ? Greatest Thing in the World," and which J I commend to you to read, "was once 1 splendid and dazzling. It was a brilliant e faculty drawing all eyes to the speaket and all ears to His voice." It is the gift ol B eloquence by which a man -sways the mind and thrills the hearts of his hearers, ; Now you can see how a man without love. 1 possessing ?uch a power, gives to himseli J advertisement, ana the fact is that some 1 of the most brilliant orators of fame, and 1 among them occupants of pulpits, are so r fond of themselves and glory so much in thpir elnniienee. that thev forcret the other elements that go to make up a manly Christian character. And I want to say to you that the man possessing that eloquence is in constant danger. The attraction which he has for the people always tends to centre his mind upon himself: and by and by he gets to be greater if he is not aware, than the Master Himself whom he professes to serve and represent. Love, on the other hand, is self-effacement. Love goes forth in beneficent ministry, alleviating the wounds of broken lives all around. In perfect harmony with this thought is the teaching of the Master Himself. You remember that marvelous sermon in the mountain, in which He says: "Even so, let your light shine before men that they shall see your good works and may glorify your Father in heaven." The wora "so is to be emphasized as indicating the manner of the shining. Light may be held so close to the eyes as to dazzle the eyes; light may be held so close before the eyes of the world as to dazzle the eyes of the world. You are not to see the shining one, but you are to see the fruits, the results of the shining. This is the way with the old sun itself. You look out upon the lawns in the parks and the country side, and I r have never seen the parks more beautiful wlmn T viaitoH t.hpm noon after mv arrival in this city a few days ago. You look out upon the grass and the growing ' grains and the vegetation and the flowers ? and you feast your eyes on the beauty and the wealth of the earth's surface; and you . begin to say, whence came all this; who is [ the worker;' who produced all this;, and ' you undertake to look up at the eun.flhin" mg yonder in the zenith of the heavens. . And the old sup, for your termerity, will ,, dart his red hot fire into your eyes and r will leave a mark upon you that you.wijl' not forget for many a day. Do not: look * at me; look at the grass; look at the growJ ing grain; look at the trees?look at the t work, not at the worker. So with God j Himself. No man has seen God at any , time; we Bee Him only in Jesus Christ. A woman over here in New York City, . some years ago, came to the City Mission g Society and sought the eeeretary. "I ! would like to do something for God. I am t not eloquent in speech, but I think I 1 could distribute tracts among the poor 5 and needy, uive me a suitaoie supj>iy <u>u I will render this scrvice to my Lord." c She was supplied abundantly. On going . down the street she saw a policeman tak. ing a poor woman to the station; she t went to the station house and there learned the facts in the woman's case and i when the woman was to be discharged. ? When she came out she was met by this t good woman, who threw her arms around . her neck and kissed her; and the woman , said: "My God! Why did you do that? f No one has kissed me sintec my mother r died: why did you do that?" And the f humble Christian woman said: "I do not f know, unless it was Jesus sent me to do i it." Without going into further detail, t let me say that that life was redeemed by i the kiss of that Christian woman, whose j heart was full of love for her kind. This i is the kind I mean. No eloquent preachf ing from the most brilliant preacher that > yoa have ever had in the city could have r reached that life as did that kiss. That i reminded her of her departed mother. A f poor young girl was dying in the city of ! Paris and on seeing a Christian woman ? - i? ?:J 1 wno was a stranger iu net, miu ?*.?. j "You know I hate you Christians. You f have nothing to give but good advice. i You build fine institutions for us when we - have fallen, but you do nothing; for ua i to keep us from being thrown into the ; path of temptation."^ And no one but e that good woman, acting with Miss Hunt t in her beneficent work in the gay city of s Paris, understood the dying energy with t whicn she uttered those words. By and r bv this woman won her into the kingdom - or God, and just before she died 6aid to ? the Christian woman, who represented for ? the first time Christianity unto her: "Let ( me die on something that is yours. Won't i you let me put my head on your pillow? c I would like to die with my head on such a * pillow as your pure head has rested on." It t was granted. That is what I mean. That is ? the ministrv that is open to love. Over b yonder in tne city of Detroit, a reporter , called a little bootblack in the street to t polish his boots. The little fellow came, . but as he got out his brush and was i about to begin a big, brusk fellow came - nlrmtr n?iH "Ymi co awav. >7immy; . you go away. I will do this." And the a reporter becamc indignant and 6aid: s "What do you mean by this?" "O, that e is all right, boss. Do you know that Jimi, my has Deen sick in the hospital for mora i- than a month and he is not very ctrong and we boys when we are not doing anyJ thing turn in and help him. Is that right, 3 Jimmy?" "Yes, that's right." Aud to . he said: "All right, go ahead;" and as the ] boy was plving his brush and his cloth, } and while lie was so doing the reporter j plied him with questions: "What per cent. s of what you earn do you give to Jimmy?" v "Eh?" "What per cent, of what you e:trn . do you give to Jimmy?" "I don't know s what you mean." "How much of the money that you receive do you keep and s how much do you give to Jimmy?" "Do i you think I am a sneak? I give all of it to him, and so do all the boys; we don't r keep any of it." So when he finished the , reporter said: "You are a.pretty good fellow; here is a quarter, and you keep ten j cents and give fifteen cents to Jimmy." 3 "No. you don't," and he gave the quarter t to Jimmy. That was diviner, that was t nobler far than the grandest eloquence s that Brooklyn ever heard. Now notice in the second place, and I i will make this point brief, the comparison ? by which Paul sets forth the superiority f of love to eloquence. He says, If I speak f with the tongues of men and angels, but .have not love, I am become as sounding e brass as a clanging cymbal. The gift with"> out the grace is likened to the sounding 1 of brass, to the clashing of cymbals of o bronze. A great many preachers boast - themselves of their soundness, sound in a their theology?and I am not saying anyf thing: against soundness in theology. And 3 one is sometimes tempted to say, Sound, n yes, that is what it is, but it is without a s ministry and without meaning for a bun0 gry world. A clanging cymbal?noise, con fusion, but no ministry, never helpful t for a weary, hungry world. Let us 3 be something more than jangiing 1 voices, clanging noises. Let us have reality, genuineness of heart, genu ineness of love, genuineness of reliI gion; that is what tells. That is what I? the world wants. That is what it is looks' ing for. That is what God is begging ' for. I read a story some months ago in one of your newspapers: Two men who ' had met to talk on the corner of a street, i- While they were talking a hand organ bec gan to grind out its dismal music. One of 1 the men said, let us go on and get away "I from that wretched stuff. And the other j- said, now, I will not Jet you talk like that J- about that music. Why, do you know i- that that was "See the Conquering Hero r Comes," composed by the great Handel, t And his friend said: "I want you to come t with me to a Handel festival. So a month e later, he invited his friend to the concert, "Kwarn oimrr ' and the great symphony went on, this * friend of his became enraptured. And he t said: "Isn't that glorious, isn't that beau* tiful?" "Yes," said hie friend, "do you i know what it is? It ia 'See the Conquers ing Hero Comes.' It is what you beard on i the organ." Let love conquer your hearts 3 and the world will make way for your coming, and we shall startle the world by the s originality of our unselfishness. If I speak with the tongues of men and angels, o but have not love, I am become as sounding brass or a clanging cymbal." Let u* - have l#re. > THE RELIGIOUS LIFE ' tm I READING FOR THE QUIET HOUR > WHEN THE SOUL INVITES ITSELF. A ucui. jLuicrni^auiriCB n c A UIU VUI ? Pleasures Into Fain and Often In Middle life Have Stripped Our Spiritual Wood* and Fields All Bare. 0 Christian, doth God's bending car, Always at rise and set of sun, J In prayer thy trembling accents hear? fi (I. Tim. 2:8; Luke 18:1). c *4 ! Hath meek-eyed patience no retreat In thy poor heart, with stumblings sore?' Then help beseech at Jesus' feet!. i (II. Thcssalonians 1:4). j! The widow and the fatherless, I The poor, the rick who sigh for heaven, a Dost tnou assist in their distress? (II. Corinthians 9:7). f h Art thou revengeful? Stay thy hand! Thy brethren love, on God's word lean; I Joy comes from heeding His command: c * (Leviticus 19:18). c Doth charity, that peerless gem Which gleams afar to heaven's gate, Glow in thy Christian diadem? (I. Peter, general 4.8). Dost thy good w"l and love en all Benignly rest in warmth serene, Or like a benediction fall? (I. John 4: 7, 8, 16). . ? If thou art contrite, humble, true, Submissive to the holy will, _ 1 Thou shalt, as fades-earth from thy view, Find rest in th' land ineffable! ?Vnnrnp CI ParMon. Flower* Forever Freeh. . There's a tender memory-laden fragrance S in the air as spring turns her face toward I summer. Along the road you may have to i pick your way about the pudales, but, v irom the edge of the grass, the "day's eye" f peeps out, and if you will cross over into n the field the bright jewels of nature spar* t kle on her mantle of green. Then, brush* j ing these from the grass and the black- e berry bushes?redolent with prophecies of autumn's riches, step into the woods, and t lo! the dead leaves are hidden by masses of J color, purple, white, pink and blood. e I sit on a stump, where a symphony of c sunlight streams through, and there comes t back to memory my first day in the woods 2 and the country. The happv crowd of city J children, let loose from the imprisoning C streets into the early summer woods, fall- a ing fiercely on the flowers that lav like a ? flood before them. They stooped to pluck 9 the fair, delicate things by the handful. pulling up roots and all, plucking and ? plucking till the back ached, the hand* were weary and the a ran ready to break ? with their burden. And then, thus laden, * back to the train, to the city's close streets. e Net one flower hed I enjoyed, and now ? they all drooped and withered in the heat. 11 Scarce could I tell the color and certainly 8 not the odor of any. In spite of their nov? 0 elty the woods were not as Bweet to me n that day as now they are, as I sit hero v thinking of the many times I have repeated ? the error of that first day in the woods. \ God fills the woods ana fields of life with J flowers of pleasure and fruits ofvjoy, not to f be grasped by the rude handful, not to be 1 carried by the armful as trophies of our r strength or our selfishness, but to be 8 plucked one by one and quietly enjoyed f till the whole soul taetes their essence. In our rushing life we take our pleasures as " we do our' luncheon, without digestion. r We would pluck all the blossoms ofknowl* . edge and honor and love in a day. We i scurry from one fair coppice of ioy to another, like a globe trotter who has sched? ^ uled ten seconds for Cologne Cathedral. I So we turn on? nlr>jumrej? mfn naln. nil* .. blessing* into burdens, and often come to middle life feeling we have stripped our j woods and fields all bare. One flower a " day and that in its season would fill a whole life with fragrance. v His leaf shall not wither who walks by n I God's river of life, who waits for God's j. j flowers to bloom in the time He has set; j. to bim the charm of his last joys shall be as fresh ana sweet as the novelty and * bmuty of the first and every blossom shall <; i reflect and epeak of. the unfading glory and I goodness of his Lord.?Henry F. Cope, in the Ram's Horn. J i Spear Points. t Moral sincerity is the'salt of life. Nothing is ever settled until settled right. 11 . Great works are but small ones greatly a done. ? j God may break our plans, but not His b ; promises. a j A genuine revival means a trimming of e pergonal lamps. r I If Christ i9 the power of a life He will v also be its product. 11 j God gives no man a contract to enlarge ? the narrow road. < ? i Often the hesfc view of heaven is that oh- ' tained from the knees. It is always easy to confound our opin- I ions with the divine purposes. * i .All God's providences are but his touches j. of the strings of the great instrument of the world. ! Set no standard for others?they may 6 live nearer to the light they have received t , than you do. I God is the spring of our best activity and j fullest enerfjy: God is the haven of deep ! " . and untroubled rest.?Ram's Horn. Church of the Tntnre. j The Eev. 0. P. Gifford says of the church J of the future: "There will be a church in j the future. Christ is calling, men are heed- i n ing the call, men are answering the call, j B The church of the future will be called-out j ] ones of Jesus Christ. What the form of | t organization will be no man can tell.1 The | t church of the future will do what it can to t make the kingdoms oi our Lord and of His j; Christ, and the pierecd hand of the Son of p God shall c;uidc the ship of state on every t water, and you need not wait for the sec- }; ond coming for that, for He has come t<r a you." n | Simplicity of Life. C; I Tn ha v?%avwi/?+ ^aoo fViA nf lifA .T : suffer more deadly harm than from the fi multifariousness of our activities. Too J many irons in the fire! And the worst t effcct is not that some of these are burnt j and spoiled, hut that the living man?much P I oftener than the living woman?wasting b , his strength or hers upon a multitude of exacting obligations* breaks down both " , body and mind and ruins utterly the -b capacity for doing anv good thing?The f* ! Rev. Dr. Chadwick, Unitarian, Brooklvn, Bl . N. Y. IT Valne of Unaelflshnest. Real crowth in character comes as so n j many of the best gifts of God come?by , the way. In doing what we believe to be God's will for us, many things lie in the straight line of that fidelity. Every unsel. fish act makes unselfishness more possible, tM I ?H. W. Foote. 01 KTer-Vresent Light. | A consciousness of God's love can give S( . light in the heart even in our hours of t( Srcatest gloom. There are no shadows so cnsc that the noonday sun cannot give ?0 j lieht above and around them. j '"Saw you e'er clouds however dark the sun I Could not gild with his light?" I The Sun of Righteousness is ever above Cl I .i. -11 i: v (us, io give Jigut ai, ?UJ uiuco. aj b The World Needs Christ. a( j The world needs a divine, a supernatural m i Christ. The first century bad one and g< j crucified Him, but He rose again and be| longs to every century.?The Rev. H. E. Foss, Methodist. Philadelphia, Pa. A luuiro?(l III Aiusll*. A railroad is to be built in Alaslci up |('J the ijustina Valley to the Tanana l*?vr?r, l.TO miles above its junction with tli" V?t- j Iron. The total length of the road will he . about 4J3 miles. It is estimated llui it ' wiil increase the gold output of the tv>;i >:> from Torty millions a year to 2()0 millionK, but even if the increase falls sli-jr'. oi tiuiie lieures, it is certain that tli.* i ?a.i ?r will m.ilce mining less difiicuit and ?l.uiif?r- ,s ous, and will bring the mines three wvk.i lv nearer to civilization. 870 Signals o> One Route. An engine driver working from Crewe to I" j J/ondon and back has to notice no fewer than r?70 signals. *L I fHE SUNDAY SCHOOL M INTERNATIONAL LESSON COMMENTS m FOR AUGUST 23, r'% iabject: David and Jonathan, 1 gam. XX* ?? 12-23?Golden Text* Fror. x-rill.. 84? ; 3 Memory Verse*. 14-17?Study Vertet# ' ? 1-43?Commentary on tl?e Day's LeiHS 'Xj IT mL. J. /?? 10.99t ii. me cuveuauv, rcucncu \?o. 2. "Jonathan said." The Revised Ver- J ion gives the meaning here. Jonathan alls God to witness that he would assist David by letting him know exactly what Saul's purpose was concerning him. 'Sounded my'father." That is, when he s.ti iad questioned his father. "If there be * A ;ood, etc. 'The private dialogue which is lere detailed at full length presents a most J| leautiful exhibition of these two amiable ~.rt\ jid noble-minded friends. Jonathan wa? ed, in the circumstances, to be the chief ' -J* peaker. The strength of his attachment, us pure disinterestedness, nis warm prciy, . , w -his invocation to God consisting of Hi irayer and a solemn oath combined?tb? aim and full expression he 'ave to his \ onviction that his own family were by\ he divine will to be disinherited and )avid elevated to the possession of the hrone; the covenant entered into with' , "Li )avid on behalf of his descendants, and he imprecation (v. 16) denounced on any- ^ f them who should violate his part of the onditions; the reiteration of this covenant . in both sides (v. 17) to make it indif- . -38 oluble; all this indicates such a power of outual affection- such magnetic attract- ,' ;SE veness in the character of David: sucH usceptibility and elevation of feeling ia.' he heart of Jonathan, that this interview or dramatic interest and. moral beauty ia inrivaled in the records of human friend* ti hip. J 13. "The Lord be with thee," etc. These rords show that Jonathan expected David o occupy the throne of Israel. No doubt iaul had now fully made up his mind that , )avid was his rival for the throne; that te was the man after God's own heart o$ chom Saul had told him; and perhaps the . ? act that Samuel had anointed him waa1 4m iow generally known. Jonathan had all hese facts before him and yet he had no ealousy, but loved his rival as his own 1 || 14, 15. "That I die not," etc. Convinced hat David will succeed to the kingdom,; onathan exacts a promise from him to- ' how kindness to his posterity after h?- ' leath as well as to himself during his life- .\i lme. His words, like Raul's in chapter . . ^ 4:21. are prompted by a fear lest evenr . v$ >avid should conform to the barbaroa# )riental coptpm by which the first Ung of , new dvn<Uty often tried to seenre' himelf on the'throne by murdering hi* prelecessor'* family. David fulfilled nia promse by showing kindness to Mephibosheth. .'-M iee 2 Sam. 9:1-13; 21:7. J 18, 17. "Made a covenant." Namely, by . i btaininir from David a promise to show 1 ;indness to himself and to hie family for- -A ver. "Shall require it," etc. There is ' Vv* iach difference of opinion as to the meanag of the second part of thia verse. It is enerally understood to be a continuation "t f the historian's words, and that this is a , nere statement of the fact that the Lord v'ould require the fulfilment of the eoveiant even at the hand of David's enemies. > >enson explains it as followa: If either onathan or any of his house shall prove " nemies to David or to his house, let the ... J vord. the witness of the covenant, severely V-/S iunish the violators of it. "To swear ,rS? gain." By this is meant that he again ..'3 ntered into a solemn covenant. "Becatwe jz ie loved him." Hii- great love to David - .gH iade him anxious to maintain friendly, ''a elations between their posterity. . 18, 19. "8eat?empty.". It seems "that '2 here was one table for Saul, .Jonathan. ;] )avid and Abner; Saul having the chief 4 eat, that next to the wall. "Stayed three,, ,-HS ova " TfStHpp with vour familv in Bethle- * 'IJS iem, or wherever vou find it convenient. 'C-M Go down quickiy. "A quick movement rould be necessary in order to avoid being . i&jj etected. "The business," etc. Literally,On the day of the business,"'referring ither to the incident recorded in chapter 9:1-7, or to some unknown matter. "Eeei." ?#* .'he name of a stone near Gibeah, well, ' 3? mown to Jonathan and David, but vor, .Vjs nown to us. 20-23. "And I will shoot," etc. Jona- .jl han thus provides for informing David of aul's designs without making a peMonti. r.*| uterview between them necessary, as it 31 light be hazardous to attempt to meet gain. Though David was the anointed ? :ing to reign after Saul, he bad eveflrtbinr0 fear from Saul, and therefore concluded t better to secure himself than to'get , ito danger. He might have rallied a*. rmv in his defense, but he had not ought the kingdom, or public notice, and . viT>. ie chose to trust God to bring about hi* ' v. ffairs in his own time and way. He wm, ven in God's way, runs before he is sent. , "5$ uns at random; runs without light, and j rithout divine strength. God's children . _ say suffer wrong, but while they keep rue at heart, God will surely attend to aving them delivered without fail, though s' hey are permitted to suffer some priva ions before reaching the place where God rill honor them. Read 2 Cor. 4:17, 18; 1 '''i ?-< O.IO TUn nrnmioM nf fJnH fftjinofc Ct. O lO. JLUC Ul\r liiiuvo V* C.t-MM ail. Faith and obedience secure their ful- / ? ilraent. "As touching the matter." Thia * 0 efers to the covenant just made and the ixn agreed upon. . III. Saul's,intentions tested (vs. 24-34). \~onathan soon discovered that his father : r~ i as very angry against David and had 7 letermined upon "his death. Saul also beomes enraged against Jonathan and casts lis javelin at him to smite him. Before his time Jonathan had not believed that . v? lis father really intended to kill David, iufc now he knows the truth. ' a IV. The parting (vs. 35-42). In thenorning, which would be the third day ince Jonathan left David. Jonathan took X. , id and went into the field to carry out '; he plan aiTanged between them. After i' .I*4; he warning signal had been given David, he lad was sent back to Gibeah, and find- > lg no one near Jonathan seized the op- ortunity for one more interview with ; he one he loved as his own life. And they issed one another, and wept one with <?\ nother, until David exceeded. The-sepration of two such faithful friends wa? oually grievous to them both, but David's i ase was the more deplorable, for when . ? ' wofTir-nlnrr (ri Ilia f?milv and ULiai/lJUJi ncKj i vvu?uiMg vw ? ?^ >? riends, David was leaving all his com- 1 irte, even those of God's sanctuary, and herefore his grief exceeded Jonathan's. it last Jonathan said to David, "'Go in ' eace." It was kindness in Jonathan to J id David depart, since his life was in % uoh danger. They referred to the cove- . ' : ant they had made with each other,.to V e faithful and kind to each other from cneration to generation. They found %m :>mc comfort in this way in the mournful jparation. 'Nothing can be conceived ^9 tore pathetic than this parting; and we I o not find that they miet more than once 1 '.ore in this world. Increased K.i?? of Books. A total 6um of more than $10,000,000 was ven in the United ;S?hU.m during the year iding May 31, for founding libraries and fl llarging those already established. It iclit be thought that the e<tcn?ioa of li- fi rary facilities would cause a falling off in ie sale of books <.? > uidividu.ils, but the de, on the contrary, Im* tiirTCMsed. Book :ide statistics sli-nv tlui no-.'cr before iu , ir history have ^mvessfitl b.?->l:s reached jJ i Iar;je a eaJe as ditrt.t.4 ilu? jus.1 iou yearn.. Glut Hoiimo4 Cuil' Nntr. Glass houses of a wry substantial kind in now be built. hIdw maker* re turning out glass ln-i<*k<i f.?r all .sorts cl irilding purposes, claiinin< ?"? tlwm such ivantages as variety of r>lu|ic, free translission of light. slreugtb, cluMimeas and :neral adaptability Artlfirinl Sua U'.tlPf. Experiments m.irle l.?v yc.tr seemed to if'ioatc that sea wtl.-r cm H ii-?t be imii(ed. but in r laU-r iri d i?mv watcr mixed i correct proportion v'.li lie Kix chief ilts of the. ocean. supported; M'rjsrUveiBa- jj lie animals, ami .i|ipturcd t ? In v.e tbe :iysio!ogical effect* or n.mujl .>?.i water. It Will Gaugo 4?i?l,iuco?. Professor Cercl'oiil<tni, of Munich, has instructed an instrument, vviLli which it t possible to gautti; oK.?etly Hie distance bt- ) vccu. movable objects. ? -i ^ Ancient Landmarks VnuiMiIng;. Long Wharf, in ISokImii, nlinosi as cele* a ated as Faneuil Mall lUelf, tin* ever-n?v? hie cradle of liberty, ban been partly deroyed by fire. ? ? ~ ?