Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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i ' fIE WEEKLY 11101 TIMES. 1 ? 11 " ' * ' - > . . , I I^^t" I*i .f n I ? ' " 1 11 ... m fcootrt to JtgrirnUnrr, |ortiroltort, fomrotir coBOK^^^BftlMftil^|jlitif? onb tt>r Cnrrrnt V(?o of ttjf fat). i ~~ ^11 >T FB1HL *TTINO?. Somebody thinks the world oil wrong And r.efer lui a word in ite praise: Somebody sings the wholo day long. Uktt the world and nil Ha wars. Somebody any a it'a a quo or old place, Whoro none of the people do aa they should; Homebody thinks it full of grace And wouldn't change the folka If ho could. Homebody onlla it cruel and cold, Vail of etn and sorrow and pain. Where life la but a aoarch tor gold, And aoula are lost in aelQah gntu. Somebody merrily laughs, aud crlos: "Hurrah for such a dear old earth! Succees shall orown the man that tries To moke bis mark by bonoit worth. * Somebody groans and shakes his head, Calls his lot a wretched one; Somebody wishes that he wero doad. For somebody elso has all the fan. Bnt somehow I notice you generally find, In good or evil, pain or oare, To one thing sure, you may make up your mind: Somebody always gets his share. PUUH- LITTLE EMILY.; d The History of a Prudent u Marriage. ? ? ? BT MISS MULOCK. el It le CHAPTER I?Continued. t) "Well, the rest of the story lies in n nut- re hell; for I have never got to the bottom of it the matter yet, and I nevor shall now. m John nod Emily parted in the old father's m presence; he insisted upon that, nud in my iD presence, too, for Emily begged I would ri stay. And at the last, oh! how she clung ai round the young man's nook, and promised n( him faithfully that she would marry him, se and no one but him. And he promised her i0 as solemnly, nnd John Stenhouse is a man flj who never breaks his word, that if he were at alive on the day she came of age, he would |g claim her again, and marry her 'in spite of tij man or devil.' He said that, thoee very w words, for ho seemed half maddened by the ? cruelty shown to her, the tender, delicate 0e ,, cirl, made to be love 1 nnd taken enro of. th And then ho kissed her?o., Low he kissed hi her! It makes me cry to think of it." 01 "Poor f dlow! Hut, for nil that, it would n( have boon a very imprudent marriage," w aid Mis. Smiles, coldly. hi "Imprudent or not, it novor camo about, is you see, though what happened I have * never found oat. Most certainly, John hi Stenhouse formed no other attachment. _ IT- 1-- * - * iio wornea nara lu Uio office, and out of <J< office hours led a most solitary life. He ffi did not even ask about Emily Kendal; though sometiraos when, intentionally, Jc I used to mention her, ho listened d? M if he was drinking in every word. rn And I took care that during the ig two years he should hear about her all I p( heard myself. This was not a great deal, w< for heT father kept her separated from me m as much as he could, which was human i0 nature, 1 suppose. But 1 had news of her fa sometimes, and alwctys told them to John. ru The only thing I did not tell him was a bo rumor that reached mo, ho, ridiculous it m earned then, that my husband and I only laughed at it, of her intended marriage to ^remember It was I who fold you, and how indignant yon looked. Bnt yon see I ]y was right after all," said Mrs. Smiles, not to without a little air of solf-sotisfaction. U1 "Weli, no matter now. John never b< named Emily's name, nor do I know if ho st ever heard the report or not; bnt certainly th lust abont that time ho wentnp to London, hi Whether it was to claim Emily, whether at x he asked her again and sliJ refused him, or re whether he heard the report abuai her and tk John Bowerbank, and never did come forward and ask her, goodness only knows! iu All I know is that, within two months of st Emily's coming of ?ge, without my ever rc teeing him?for I was laid down with that n< una iwvur, you Know, ana z.uwarrt was too iu miserable about me to oare much for any- Li body outside?John Stenhouse had quit- fe ted Liverpool and sailed for India. And ? there he is now, for aught I know. He does gi not frfrget us, poor fellow; he writes to us w "v, at Christmas always, and last year he sent cl on Inuian shawl to roaoh mo on my birth- 01 day. liut he never names Emily, and ho tb never guvo the slightest explanation about B anything." "Perhaps," suggested Mrs. Smiles, w "there was nothing to explain. The young a; lady had ohanged her mind, that was all. nd no wonder. A marriage with the head n of the linn instead of one of the junior ^ clerks is so very much more suitable. But a] loofc! is not that the carriage driving up? ^ Mr. Bowerbank's, X presume. Oh, dear! if I oould but see one of my daughters driving B( away in her own carriage!" It Mrs. Knowle did not answer. She stood ^ half hidden behind the gronp9 of idle p, gazers which always gather to stare at.s n bride. There was a mingled expression in 0; ber frank, rosy face?half pity, half ten- p deruess, yet Hitting ever and anon across it ? a shadow of something else?a something ^ not unlike contempt*. Coarso-looking, uu- 0 cultured woman as she was, she possessed t that which makes <at once woman's utmost n softness and utmost strength?a loving e heart and a clear conviotion?though she w was no* clever enough to put ft Into thoughts, still less into words?of (he <11- n vineness of Love. Love, which, when mat- g ual, givos and exacts nothing loss than the n entire soul of man and woman, and en- j forces as an absolute duty the truth of y which marriage is but the outward sign, ?, seal, and ratification?" What God hath Bj joined together let not man out asunder." "I wonder what made her marry him?" M murmured the good matron of thirty years' a standing. "My patience! if I had given up ? Edward Knowle what would he have thought (. of me? What will John Bteuhonse think of her?" t "Nothing at all, probably. He may be ,, married by this time himself." n "I don't believe it?I'll never believe it. y Hen may be bad enongh. but they'te not so s bad as women. They'll not often sell p themselves, soul and body, out of mero ,, . cowardice, or break a solemn plighted gl I promise from sheer fear." a " "But her father?she was bontjd to obey f her father." t< "No, she wasn't," replied Mr. Knowle, ij sternly and strongly. "My dear, yon're p sot bonnd to obey any man living, not n even your own husband, who is a mighty i, . deal closer to yon than your father, when n .he tells yon to do a wrong tnlng. If Ed- p ward Knowle said to me. 'Emma. I'm I hnugry, and I want yon to chop yourself up into mincemeat for me,' well, perhaps I might do it, if he really wanted it and it harmed no one but myself' lint if he said, 'Emma, I'm hungrv, and I want you to Uf> auTtfttoaT (hatleg of mutton,' 1 should say, 'No, air* God's law is a higher law than obedience to you. Steal your leg of mut S5?5*^ ton for yourself.' But stop?they've Rg?&*r Opened the ball door?she's coming." She came, the little pale bride. Not even the excitement of the bridal gayoties, the breakfast, the champagne, and tho speeches, could make her anything but pale. She leant on the arm of her father, who wae an extremely handsome, gontlemanly, well-dressed and lew-voiced personage. He put her Into the carriage with 'vjfc the utmost .paternal care, with a kiss and a benediction, both of which she received passively. She seemed altogether a passive, frail, gentle creature, such a one as a brave, strong man would take and shelter 1 n liis inoi, and lore all the dearer (or her ery helplessnes. And John Bowerbank, hough elderly, almost old, did not look ike a weak man, or an un tender man. far stronger, far tenderer?the two qnalliea usually go together?than the bride's landsome and elegant father. "Poor thing 1" mattered Mrs. Knowle to lerself. "Well, in one ien>?, ifs en esape. He's an honeet man, John Bower>ank. Perhaps she may be happy?at oast, less unhappy than she looks now. lod bless her'." And with that cordial blessing, unheard, ml a few kindly tears, unseen by her for rhom they were shed, for in truth the iride did not seem muoh to hear and see nything, the oarriage drove away. Thus enninated the principal scene, and thus finished the principal acton in that grand how wedding, which had been quite satisactorv and successful in all its elements, rith the oxception of one trifling omission, ot unfrequently occurring in similar oerolonies?Love. CHAPTER II Before telling- the simple, sad story?il ocs not pretend to be anything bnt a saa :ory?of John Bowerbank's wife, I should ke to say a word for John Bowerbank. The most obvious description of him ad almost universal critioism upon im, was the common phrase, "He was thorough man or business;", a tinractor which, out of business circles, is n little the fashion to decrv, or, at ast, to mention with a condescending >ology. Hard to say why, since any acnte asouer may perceive that it takes some of le very finest qualites of real manhood U ake a " thorough man of business." A an exact. Dersoverincr- bVik?w?i ifir, with a strong perception of his own ghts, and an equally fair judgment, and 1 honest admission of the rights of his ?ighbor; who, from conscience, oommon inse, and prudence, takes oere ever to do > others as he would be done by; whQ has rmness enough to strike the clear bal* ico between justice and generosity; who honeBt before he is benevolent, and ghteous before he is compassionate; who ill defraud no man, nor, if ho can help it, rffer any man to defraud him; who is ireful in order to be liberal, and aoourate at he may compel accuracy in those about ,m; who, though annoyed by the waste ' misappropriation of a pound, would >t grudgo thousands spent in a lawful, ise, and creditable way; a man of whom s enemies may say, sarcastically, that he a "near" man, a "sharp" man, a man ho "can push his way in the world;" yet ilf the world's work?and good work, too is done by him, and the like of him; >ne for more successfully, far more nobly, an by your great geniuses, who aim at 'erytliing and effect little or nothing; >ur grand incompletenesses who only sad>n one by the hopelessness of their ilures. Better than to be a poet, whaee noble life lags haltingly behind his noble >etry; a statesman, who tries to mend the Drld and forgets that the first thing to be ended is himself; or a philanthropist, who ves ail mankind, but neglects his own mily?better far than all these in the long in is the thorough man of business, the cret of whose career is the one simple axim, "Anything worth doing at all is orth doing well. Wtmto vM^^^B^^^ght w^ot^obn sixty years?they always said of him lis: that he had never shuffled out of an nier inking, nor broken a promise; never igged, bonowed, nor stolen?cheating is aiding ? one shilling from any man; and tough his aims might not be lofty, and is daily life far removed from the heroic, ill he was a good, honest man, and (as I peat, with exceeding respect for the epiiet) u thorough man of business. Bat Urere was nothing the least interestg ubout him. His figure was short and umpy, and his gray hair bristled funnily ?und his smooth, bald head. He could it, by any force of imagination, be turned ito a romantio porsonago. That his life id had its romance was not improbable; iw lives ore without. It might have been -who knows??conneeted with a certain rave (which Mrs. Knowle once found hen visiting her own little grave in Hale lurchyard, and ever after looked kindlier 1 tho man for the sake of it), whioh bore te inscription, "Jane, wife of Mr. John owerbonk" (he was not Esquire then), *ho died in childbirth, was here interred ith her infant aon," nearly forty years jo. But so completely forgotten had been lis episode in his life, that most people lought John Bowerbank an old baohelor; ad when he grow in years and honors, so inch so that it was rumored that he had eclined being made Sir John Bowerbank >lely because knighthood was a small ling, and baronetcy, to a man without eirs, a blank sort of dignity, nobody susected he would marry; nor, when ne did larry, was do suspeciea 01 marrying in ay but a business-like way?to secure a leosant mistress for bis splendid house, a heerful companion for bis declining years: nd, let the truth be owned, he did many! nly for this. He was not one bit in love, lie solitary passion of his life had blazed p and burned itself out, or rather been itinguished by the hand of fate, and it as too late to light up any other. He did not marry Emily Kendal for love, or?which, perhaps, was the seoret of hei nally consenting to marry him?had ha mde any foolish pretense of doing so. ie respected her character, he llkea hei ell, in a tender, fatherly sort of way: but Jane, wife of Mr. John Bowerbank, now Leaping in her peaceful grave, need not ave had the slightest jealousy over, nay, rould hardly have recognized the middle* Bed gentleman who wsb the "happy bride* room" that sunshiny morning in St teorge's, Hanover Square. Perhaps this was a good thing foj Lmily. In her husband'B unexaoting nd undemonstrative regard, more pater, nl than lover-like, she found the rest rhioh was the only thing for which be craved; and m bia steady, sedate, oraistont character, which aimed at nothig higher than it accomplished, and ought from her no more than she was bio to give, she foond a little of the comort which she once thought was hopeless 3 hor in this world. She, who had begun ifo with a girl's dreams of perfection, and roved them all false, who, in her weakioss?weaker than most woman's?had saned on one stay after another, and found hem all pierce hor like broken reeds, ex. ericnced in hpr calm, Cold marriage with bis kincL good, practical man, a certain leaoe, wnicb after all the tempests of her outh, was not without its soothing charm, klso, to one of her weak, hesitating nature, he mere sense of her fate being irrevooa'ly.settled?of leaning on somebody, and invlnfr anmnhnrlv nn vhnm oka wsa hnnnrl t> loan?of passing oat of the flower; lelds and dark preoipices of her troubled Ife into the smooth, hard, iron tramway of Intv, conveyed a feeling of relief. For the first three months of her mariage everybody said how well Mrs. John towerbank was looking; better than anytody ever expected to see Emily Kendal ook in this world; for moat people bad set isr down as the doomed inheritor of hei not bar's disease?consumption, decline, trophy?whatever name be given to the tntward tokens of an inward grief which [ills the spring of youth, and makes life . weariness, and the grave the only rest. It oannot be said that marriage oanaed *j great change in John Bower bank; m \ ' w?? too old for that. Bat he loet eome of his crotchety, old beohelor ways; moved with a certain air of contentment and pride about his handsome house, and was oarefnlly mindful of bis delioate II and sweet*looking young wife, whom he took to state dinner parties, and in trod need among the blooming, florid, and a little too conspicuously dressed I* Liverpool adies, where she looked not unlike a lily of the valley in the midst of a bed of tulips and ranunculuses. 80 they lived their lives, those two. Not a domestic life by any means; Mr. Bower* bank had never been used to that, nor Mrs. Bowerbank neither. She had dreamed of H it onoe; of the honor and happiness of be* sa infj a poor man's wife; of mending bis *r shirts and stockings; of looking after his j>e dinners and making the best of everything; 'J* counting no economies mean that were to !*' lighten the toil of the bread-winner; no la- tl] bore hard that were to add to his comfort. jc Bnt this was not Etpily's lot. She was a tb rich woman, married to a rich man; noth- w< ing was expected of her but elegant idle- mi uvdv. vsuw iuu mignt nave been to bar 01 weariness intolerable; bat she had long boon passive and languid, glad to do noth- j~ ; ing, and to be just whatever she fanoied, ^ inoe nobody ever insisted upon her being ar anything?a life that some would have pr called happy, and, e spool a''y in its outside gp aspect, l!y3 envied exceedingly. fo "She's an old man's darling," ?aid one Je of the young Liverpool ladies, commenting on Mrs. Bowerbiuik to her P* neighbor and occasional, though not very intimate, visitor, Mrs. Knowle. P "It's better, anyhow, than being 'a young man's slave.'" an "I'm not sure of that," half-grimly, half- kii comically, replied the other. "I hope, my tb dear, you'll t>o pretty much of a slave to tn< your husband (as I am this day to Edward cb Knowle), or you'd best not marry at all." br But suoh love-servitude was not Emily's lot. She never trotted after John Bower- H bank with his big boots in the morning, or do brushed his coat, or found him his gloves; tbl she never ran to open the door of evenings c* or settled his cushions for his after-dinner u>l sleep. They had servants to do that, so be why should she? In truth, it never oo- in curred to her to do it. She dressed herself carefully and sat at bf the head of her husband's table; she drof e ' ! in her husband's carnage about the conn- , Q try?solitary, peaceful, meditative drives; jn or she paid a few courtesy calls after the th< ?ui?r?iuiimt)uw to wnion, arrayed In the i most perfect of oostumes, he eeemed ha pleasod to take her. He never was cross ha with her; never asked her if she was wc happy; tried, doubtless, in his own way, to make her so, for he was a kindly na- R.n tared man; but he was not observant, nor j?| sensitive, nor over sympathetic. Besides, ^ he was old, and all his youth, if he ever had any, had been buried long ago in Hale nu churchyard. pai Mrs. Knowle told, not at the time, but mc afterward, how, one Christmas Day, which bei was one of the rare holidays at the Ex- 1 change?and Mr. Bowerbank was a man m< who never took a holiday illegally?she saw him crossing tho long, frosted ^ Srass of this said ohprohyard, alone, ru, rough he bad not been married many 1*1 months, to stand by that grave, of which p|? the mossy headstone still remained, but tai the mound had long grown level with the to {turf. If his eves oould have peered be- of low, he would have found nothing^ of wife ^j^lef^helrth; possibly another^^*^ might be Xes, ibis was what they said of him, the yo ill-natured portion of his friends; how, wl f inoe the offer of the baronetoy, a oertaia flu dawning pride of race, tho truly English | wish to found a family, had come into the '' head of grave John Bowerbank; that ae- ? oordingly he had, in his grave and practi- ^ | cm wsj, conceived uie luea, nowever laie | in life, of marrying, and had accordingly looked round on all his eligible young lady Mi acquaintances, until, in his practical eye, ke he found one who, for her own sweet ee- to dateness, he thought would be a suitable to mate for an elderly man; and accordingly; bii ,without much inquiry as to her feelings, "b< and having, indeed, arranged the whole . matter in the most business-like fashion j"* with bis old acquaintance, her father, he ne married Emily Kendal. q, But when, after a year?the baronetoy th being again offered and accepted?there be appeared no heir to these honors, un- etc doubtedly Sir John was very much disappointed. Of course, he did not show it; he ra: was too good a man for that; but the *7 placid mien became colder and colder; and though they were not unhappy?it takes a certain amount of hope even to create dis- q appointment?still, day by day, the husband and wife went more their own ways; saw less and less of one another, as or is quite easy in the daily life of wealthy le people, who have, or think they have so, he many duties owed to their position and to society. And though Emily still smiled? her soft, languid, wistful smile?and nobody ever said an unkind word to her, and J she, dear soul, had never said au unkind word to anybody in her life, still her pr cheek grew paler and paler, her eyes grew w< larger and larger, with a sort of far-away th look, as if gazing forward into a not distant ee heaven for something on earth never found rt ?something lost or incomplete?some- K thing without which, though a man should give the whole substance of his house for, it would be utterly in vain. ~ Marriage must be heaven or hell. Not ?, at first, perhaps, for time softens and tc mends all things; bnt after time has had 01 its fair lioense and failed; and then hi eomes the dead blank, the hopeless en- w dnranoe, even if the sharper pangs do not intervene; the feeling that the last ohanoe j' in life has been taken, the last die thrown 1 ?and lost. ? Probably John Bowerbank did not feel {J thns; bis feelings were never remarkably j, keen: and he had his business, his days N occupied on 'Change, and his evenings de- 01 voted several times a week, to the long, splendid, intensely doll and entirely re- ui speotable Liverpool dinner parties. But 61 his wife, left all day at home, with no du- w ties to fill up the idle, aimless, weary ? hours, with no ohildren of her own, ana ^ too listless and inactive to adopt the sub- n Btitute of other childless matrons?Mrs. |, Knowle, for lnstanoe?and la*e everybody tl else's children, who needed it, nnder her " motherly wing?to enoh as poor Emily, a J', marriage like hers most resembles being c slowly fromen alive in the lake of gilded ff torment, whioh forms the horror of one of k. the oiroles of Dante's Hell. But nobody knew it. Her father, en- p gaged in the same dining-oat exist- n ence in London that her hcsband, in a u lesser and more harmless degree, enjoyed ? in Liverpool, never visited her, seldom tl wrote to her. When he did, his letters n; breathed the most enviable self-satisfac- ' tion that he had done the very best for ?! her; that she was perfectly happy; and it . was he, her affeottonate father, who had J" seen red, after his own pattern?whiob, of Jj coarse, was infallible?her ooniugal feiiolty. M And all the world, his World especially, ol went on as osnal, and the people who had * most discosaed die marriage, pro and con, ir till the heat of wordy war stretohed over a * I wide area between its two points of Liver- tl \ pool and London; even these subsided, as * all people so soon subside alter every mar- B , riage, into leaving the two oonoerned to * i bear their own eroee or enjoy their own v i content For, after all, it is their own b i business and nobody's else; whioh it was tl from the very tiret, if their affeotionate o I friends could have believed so. f | [TO BS OOKTXNUBD.J t SABBATil SCHOOL ITERNATIONAIA LESSON FOR MARCH tO. J esson Text : " Th\ Child -Like ^ Spirit." Marie lx\ 3?-42? I Golden Text: M\rk *, 6 lO^Commcntaiy. ^ 13. "And they brought young children to ^ tin, that He should touch tbeii" Matthew ? ys "that He should put His Ixaids on them j id. pray." Israel was taught ta givo great . ed to the children, and many \wervi thoir structions to teach them concerning the t onders which God had rmwi.l ?? * tiiers and the laws which 3e had given } em (Ex. xii., S8?>; Deqt. iv* 10., rl, 7; xi., 9; L h.:iv.. 21.23; Fs. Ixxvijl., 4-e), and now r at the fulfillment of the law and Um very x snder working <to<L-of Ureal, waa In th?& > Idst, was it not beautiful to bringtne chiton to Him.* f "His disciples rkbuked those that bronght em." The generation who speak thus have it died out: they are selfish and cannot be itbered with this eliildren; tbey are blind ?t id know not the spirit of Christ, though oi.. ofessing to be IBs people. Where the " irit of Christ is there will bo not only love Jr; r the children, but thoy will be brought to sua. 14. " Wlien Jesus saw it He was much die- 10 eased." . I think this is the only time that "P? is written that lie was displeased with the ? sciples, though they did often grieve Him r their unbelief and hardness of heart. "O? iufter the little children to come ucto Me, d forbid them sot, for of such is the s?1' ngdom of God." What a word this is for oee who teach the little ones, and for the cithers nt home; remember Jesus never ribi anges; He Is ever the same: therefore pou ing the little ones to Him, dedicate them to nea m, train them up for Him and count them doa is from their very childhood. the 15. "Whosoever 4>all not receive the kingm of God as a little child he shall not enter to s srein." A little child such as these (Luke lot i lis them infants) has nothing, needs every- ma; Ing, is entirely helpless and dependent, and of i lieves what it is told; and when we come aloi this spirit of utter helplessness, etnpti- his ? and simple faith, professing not to whl Ing anything with us, but ready to receive due ? salvation which God is ready to give as ly l ree and unmerited favor, then shall we be hsn rn again, a foretaste of tbo kingdom come our hearts, and in duo time wo shall enter ? kingdom. 10. "He took them up in His arms, put Hi* nds upon them and blessed thom.'' Ob, ppy children and happv parents! they " una never forgot that day. We do not the ow who they were, nor anything of the Aw or life of those children, but surely we tho? ill meet in the kingdom the children whom alui ius took in His arms and blessed. It is n.?t nitilo that this unchangeable Jesus can be now Afferent to the welfare of ony of the you iltitudea of infanta which are constantly wh< ssing out from this earth. Let every ]ool itlier who has lost a Labo find comfort not re, aud also read Carefully Duet i., lit*. gem 17. "Good Master, what shall I do that I you ly inherit eternal life." -Here is a young in, a ruler among the people, and very rich are att. six., 22; Luke xviiL, 18, 23); and acrding to this verse in our lesson, ho comes w{t uning and kneels right down in the street you tore Jesus, and in tue presence of the peo- has i, and utters these words. He does cernly seem in earnest, and he does not seem volI care what people may think or say ?or him; he wants eternal life and is ready to , ,j any good thingthatbsmay get it. He has :7l' >alth and inflnadceN|wd.no?manv\Bh?rches :Lf, riyTCTMMWtpasilsis' Ssisrf^s 'u?U 2^ ty woukl bSftAifet him in; be would L?" such a pow#, Volt know, and such a nice " / ung man. But As is dealing with One io seeks his soulknd not bis money or in- jjj lit ?"None good jwt one, that is God." As J to say, "God is fho only one who is good. "* * you acknowledge Me as God?" "He thnt meth to God must believe that He is, and urit He is a rewayder of them that diligently >k Him" (Heb. xJ., ?). 19. "Thou knowoet the commandments." itthew says: "If thou wilt enter into life 1 ep the commandments." 8o also In reply f"u the lawyer who asked a similar question ? o that of this young ruler, Jesus referred ver in to the law. saying: "This do and thou gro. all live" (Luko x). Now we know that by rocl a deeds of the law there shall no flesh be diir stifled in Hie sight, and that the law can- sled it rive life, but can onlv malre na mit tin. "I"' rs and abut oor mouths (Horn, ill., 10, 00; T il. ill., 21, 221; why, then, did Jesus direct are is man to the law t 8urely that he might litt > convinced of sin and thus led to receive sele arnal life na a free gitt from God. ai?<! iiO. "Master, all these have I observed from hos y youth." He was no s nner in his own use es, bat a righteous man. having always pia pt the law as he thought, and was now we4 ady to do something more if he could thus .. itala eternal 11 fa He was ignorant of ' od'a righteousness and going about to esblish his own. |Rom. x.. 1-4.) 21. "One thing^thou lackeit" But that 10 thing was everything. He was no holpss, dependent, empty-handed little child; i was full of wisdom and riches and right- I(U usnesa, and to receive eternal life he must BW< at be emptied of these, and led to see him- e,K If as only a sinner in the sight of Ood sUy deserving Hfs wrath. flu22. ' *He was sad at that saying and went I*11 ray grieved." He made his choice, and uic eferrod present things to things unseen, his 1 ealth rather than Christ, his ease rather nol an the croea How unlike Moses, who qui teemed the re poach of Christ greater ac) cbes than the treasures in Egypt, for he had in epect unto the recompense of the reward; na Paul, who suffered the loss of all things fo at be might win Christ and be found in oft im. (Heb. xt., 21; Phil. HI., H.) The practi- exi 11 question for us is: "What Is our choice, rid where is our treasure, and is Jesus more > us than all else;" For if any thing or any le occupies a superior place to Christ in our ?arta and lives, His own testimony is that e cannot bo His disciple*. (Lukexiv.,26-3.'D. R' '2M.9A "Hnn h.r^ i. it >1... ?? -? ?W" HMV? ?? IV iUl VUCUI VIJ lib vru^w tiki i riches to enter in to the kingdom of God." G< he heart can only have one supreme ruler, or nd if that one is wealth, or pleasure, or wi arning. or anything in this world, then the d nly rightful ruler?the Lord Jesus Christ? sei i dethroned and a usurper has His plaoe, "*] either of these are in themselves sinful, but es nly when they take the first plaoe in us. dr 2?>, 27. "They were astonished out of meai- tu re." God's thoughts and way* nre so differ- ^ it from ours that until we are wi.ling to lay fr tide ail onr thoughts and opinions and simly believe what He says, we will often be co iroly perplexed; and if any one prefers t, ieir own thoughts and ways to those of ,, od, they will continue in darkness and not ? ave felt that fellowship with the Father and 11 10 Hon which is their privilege. Let all 11 sasonings be cast down, and every thought ronghtinto captivity to the obedience of .. hrist (II Cor. x., IK "Wftb God all things re possible," an I all things are possible to T Im that believeth (chap, nr., 23) whether be *|r ? rich or poor. f? 2S-3I, "An hundred fold now, * * with srsecutions.and in tbe world to come eter- BJ at life." We have aeen the manner of en- ( iring the kingdom, and the hindrances to <* storing it, from these two object lessons of ni io children and the rich young ruler, and gi ow, in answer to Peter's question, we have a ?y inpro Bvnwnnniv wvu\ oi UiUf^ viic |f| fJB- dij tt and future prospect* of the follower of tn hrist. All -trq^ believers become blood re- CI tioni of ea^h solher?redeemed by Hie recioua blood; all are to Him as mother and iter and brother, and should be the same to of 10h other, one bouaobold of faith, members r on* family'. Persecutions must follow if e are Godly, for the world and God are not P1 I sympathy. Mod love* the world and seeks 10 > save it: the enmity is all on the side of ?' lie world and the natural man; but whonever will be a friend of the world that c< a tee God cannot be a friend of God. (II g< lm.iii.. 14; Jas.lv., 4) Then, as to eter- a al life, it Is true that we have it now (John ai .,24; vi.. 47), bat wo have it in mortal odiea; it is only In the age to oome, after he first resurrection, when we see and be- * ome like Jesds, that we can have it in Its uUness; we Have the earnest now, but then It he full renlityv^/^sson Helper. 1 S I RELIGIOUS READING. "On Great Waters." , rhe ship has crossed the harbor bar, Ai And leaving homo and friends afar, (alls forth beneath the evening star. ViUi prayer of watchers left behind, n t sails before the springing wind: Itrong is the bark, and Goa is kind. ), baby souls, sent forth from heaven, f3lirr 'o you the sea is also given? Ol I weary struggle to be striven I Te too have left the light of home 430,11 'or warring winds and waves?to roam ry lcross a dreary waste of foam; Ujd what shall be the end for ye? Thft >ark shipwreck in the midmost sea? r triumph to eternity? 'ear not; for if ye brave the blast ?. , ftth God's own crtonat toe mmt, Th* tie haven rHtl Do sure at last. ?Arthur L. Salmon in Good Word*. If tl Studies of Conscience. TJ "he studies of oonscienoo, furnished bj ikespoore in his Macbeth aud Richard III., Of I bvHugo in his "Lea Misornbles," are litfcantly supplemo .te<l from another Ai nt of view. Iuspector Barnes of N>-w rk is not a genius, but a detective, and in dicing of methods with a reporter tho The or day, he said: W The great lieutenant of every police ofr Is that mysterious thintr callei con- Is fr ince. Yet let a man try to deceive him- 1*3 ' and lie to hims.-lf about himself, and .. t something comes knocking up against 11 lB hell of his tody, and thumping 011 his ? 1 with everv heart-beat, and inding on his skull until his d aches and he wishes he were f d, and groans in agony for relief. It is same conscience that makes a criminal re himself away,' if one only knows how jn n iwaken it or star it into activity. I never a man know for what he is arrested. He \y y have committed a dozen or more crimes Till 1 vhich I know nothing. If I lock him up ne and leave him to the black walls and Th guilty conscience for three or four hours, ilo he pictures the possible punishment him for all his orimes, ho comes present- Vast uto my hands like the soft clay in the ds of the potter. Then he is likely to tell As much more than I hod ever suspected." The) Th Awake! Awake, thou that slecpest, and arise from oh I dead, and Christ shall give thee light I" alee before the archangel trump #iM on of 8 to awake. Shake off your spiritual nber boforo you bo called 011 to shako off Let 1 r mortal coil. Lift up your eyes, even r, to tho Saviour lifted up for you, that Ai may not have to lift them "up at last )re there is no Saviour to ?Hi t to. Hay not, "If I am asleep, I am respoasible." You are not in this ? asleep. You are responsible; for are au-agent rational, intelligent, mor- 'fh voluntary uufettered, and free. You cent respons.blo, lor God loves you; Jesus has two I for you; tho Holy Spirit is now striving dolli b you; a full and froo salvation lice at 111011 rhand;auda tide of saving influence six I all along been sett ng in upon yon, and sugu ling iugress into your mind and pom r heart. You are responsible; colt? if vou bellevo man, you can tone ovo God: you can give that atten- amp 1 to the Bible which you lavish oa the per* ou are reluctant to do so, this is not your Pat fortune, remember, but your damning 'ho ne. Awake, then, thou sleeper; live, ye ? 81 dl Hear tho life-giving voice of tho Hon xuu?near, ami your soui snail live, rioo "v v imo from the wrath to come. ''O earth, can th, earth, hear the word of the Lord P'? c,,n' Outhrie. "?, the I folk Silent Forces. was ho late Dr. Alexander Clark thus boautiy illustrates the efficacy of silent forces: rkmen in stone quarries sometimes find a < j y hard kind of rock. They pick little ' i oves for tho iron wedges into the flinty k. And yet, once in a while they fail to ?hat ide the solid mass. The iron wedges and t|10 Iges prove useless, and the workmen won- fnm at the stubborn rock. com hero is another way. The iron wedges R,,en removed from the narrow grooves. Then n?d le wooden wedges of a very hard fibre are \\ ctod. Now you begin to shako your heads mn,| I think: "well, if iron wedges will not do, po<;i v is it possible for wooden wedges to bo sion d successfully?" Just wait until we ex- day in. Tho sharp, well-made wooden edu< iges oro first put. into water. They are rati in inserted into tho grooves tightly, while fam t, and water is kept in ihe grooves, and mer sledge is needed to dr ve them. They gen uld break under the severe blows of the like inner. But the workmen just let the dges alone. They will do what the iron led to do. How so? The damp wood J? * bIIs. The particles must have room ?',e >ugh to enlarge. And the granite heart |J ,n the rock cannot resist this silent in- ltl" >noe. In a little while the solid rock mu is from top to bottom, and the work- *aTl n's will is accomplished, t is so, o'ten, in other things; what use and visible effort fail to do, some T1 let power when Applied will surely sive dove. Teachers may remember this fact Osw mechanics, and manage some stubt>orn of tl lures by the application of the silent foll< ces. The iron and tho sledge hammers vou en fail, but tears, prayers, and a patient spoi unple under God never fail. whi the his Our Public Schools. In the current number of tho Presbyterian wh iview is a clear, forcible and able article flrr on the question, "Are our Public Schools Mi] xlleasJ" The reply is, First, Not by their dep igi'i. The American school of our fathers aii( is in its aims, exercises and text-books a lan irtati&n school. Hue J in the historical ap] osa is the "American Public School." ten rhe motive which urged our fathers to the vei tablisnment of schools, was professedly th< awn from religion." For nearly two ceil- 1 ries. no one lisped the idea that a godless hool was the logical outcome of a Christian 8t" oe State. en Secondly. They aie not Godless by nny institutional or statutory requirement. tl,( jng after the constitution went into opera- ?n m the power of taxation for tho support of 1?ligion in the Protestant form was actually I.? ercised in some of the States. That power it 111 exisls and might be exeroised by any P.? ate to any extent and in favor of Chris- ~ inity or any other religious system. Ha, The author of the articl , Rev. H. D. thl -nkins, D. D.. thinks it is hign time to come WJ a halt in yielding to the demand for Godn public schools, and that tr e last parley is we ?w In progre-s. He closes with the remark, atr }ne thing is absolutely oertan, Curistianity or over increasing in power, and, in the long w| in, will never tolerate the absurd and ag- ble essive clams of modern infidelity. The stem of public schools must be held, in its here, true to the claims of Chris iantty, or ey must go, with all other enemies of lirist, to the wall." 1 Ar 'Tl. Kilt A fillArt iAIIPnAV lllA l.ll.mii. ^ v TCI now.?Bovee. c>{ If in the day of sorrow we own God's an -eeence in the cloud, we shall And Him a'so by the pillar of Are, brightening and cheering wl it way as the night comes on. cl< Those who retire from the world on ao- {*' >unt of its sin and peskiness must, not for>t that thsy hare yet to keep company with ' * person who wants just as much watching an i anybody else. uf Christian graces are like perfuinee; the th ore they are pressed the swoeter they smell. fH ike stars that shine brightest in the dark; Kr Ico troy that are shaken; the deeper root tn >ey take, the more fruit they bear. _ TEMPERANCE. The Publican's Till. ! to the click of the publican's till, i you pass by his glittering temple of in, r impressive tho sound, when you think of the ill tat is being entailed on his victims within. cunding his spirit bar crowds may bo seen, d and young of both sexes, all eager to swill, e smoking, some croaking, then bousing between, bile they help to replenish the publican's till. till gets the proceeds of vice and of crimes id the hard earned wages of labor and skill, pence ot the poor, tuousrh th*w *-?? ref?fi^nrgec?Til tnu ?w ot She publican's till. te coins in the till had but voices to speak, tey might tell tales of grief that would startle and thrill, hearts that were broken, of homes wrecked and bleak, id of children starved through the publican's till. seeds so sown at tho family board, bile the perilous drink cup false lessons instill, uitful of habits that lead to discord, r paving the way to tho publican's till. io young, who in kindness, are taught to sip wine, mid the future forsee it might make their hearts chill, thousands to ruin go down the incline, id become human wrecks round the publican's tili. le spring time of life, when all seems bright and fair, hat visions of happiness many minds fill, awakened by suffering and sorrow, and care, iev exiierience the fruits of the publican's till. . numbers drink daily, both women and men, i if duty compelled them a task to fulfil, r practice their "nipping" oblivious that then ey ure swallowing disease round the publican's till. bow long shall the people submit to the chain the dreadful drink-domon, who binds but to kill? ,hem strike off the yoke and true freedom obtain, id stop their supplies to the publican's till. chard Cameron, in Temperance Record. A Costly Habit. ie laborer who pays the saloonist twenty s per day, for four glasses of b>er, or glasses of whiskey, spends soventy-thr.io irs annually for the beverage. With this ey, as prices now are, he could purchase mrrels of Hour, two hundred pounds of r, twenty-five bushels of potatoes, ton ids of tea, anil twenty-five pounds of e. So far as these several articles are :erned, the above amount would be nu i?v&B&st rnal affection? Suppose he belongs to Knights of Labor, can ho plead for rike consistently so long as he worse i wastes seventy-three dollars? Must he strike agninst the saloon beforo he atHiba fon liirvlini* uinrroa if tin wmi'll lengo tho sympathies of thoughtful meni as this thought that completely changed life ami purpose of a bootmaker in NorCounty, Mass.. a few years ago. He a very moderate drinker?stepped from shop into a saloon near by only twice a and paid five eents each tor two glasses reer. "Over thirty dollars a year!" he within himself. "I could buy three barof flour, five pounds of tea, ten pounds of ?o and fifteen bushels of potatoes with money." He took his pencil and cnst figures on a piece of leather. "My ily need it, to,'1 he thought; and tho out e of his thinking was: "I will nevoi id another cent for beer as long as 1 live;' he never has. as he not wise? Is thoro any discount to le on his judgment.' None at all, es ally when tho reader learns that his do'-i became an era to his family. From thai , a laudable ambition, desire for bettei cation, love of books and journals, nspion for higher social life, grew in that ily; and at the end of ten years, the nl?>rs of it moved In the most intclli t and influential circles. There is nothing a good, commanding idea to lift a ler and his family into a nobler life. And is what is needed, and all that is needed, housands of families in our land to-day. i total alistinenco idea is but one idea, am! lay seem a small one to many men; but big enough and strong enough to save o Ititude of laborers whom nothing else can s.?National liecord. In a Demon's Power, le physiological secret of that progresness of all stimulant passions, says Dr. raid, in the I ot'er, is the gradual increase lie depressing reaction, which infallibly )ws every abnormal irritation of ttaener* s system. The jaded nerves fail to rend to tho spur of the wonted stimulus, le a more and more irksome depression of vital spirit prompts the patient to relieve torpor at any price?too often the price ifelong bondage, clinched by a more comt? nrrmwli.r to the nnwpr of the demon ose caressing embrace only secures s nor hold upon the throat of his victim Id stimulants soon become insipid, and by 'rees positively distasteful, to the more 1 more decided appetite for stronger stirnuts. The increasing exorbitance of that mm thus not only constitutes a constant nptat'.on to vrorsj excesses, but also pro its the toper from retracing his steps on i road to ruin. There is, in that respect, a curious analogy tween the influence of moral and physical mutants. The chief objection to mind slaving passions is, perhaps, not their di t temptation to acts of recklessness, but i circumstance that their influence tends to nul the attractiveness of less exciting em rments. Tbo historian Lecky, in bis re ctions upon the moral aberrations of pagan >me, traces the decline of art and harmless insures to the indirect influence of the idiatorial games. "To men who wero acstomed to witness the fierce vicissitudes of adly combat," he says, "any spectacle ?t did not elicit the strongest excitement is insipid. The idealized suffering of the ige became unimpressive to those who re habituated to tne intense realism of the iphithratra All the genius of a Siddons a Ristori would fail to move an audience to hod continually seen living men fall eding find mangled at their feet." Dismantled His Saloon. During a recent revival meeting at kansow Village, Pippin County, Wis , iliiam Manierea. a saloon-keeper, rose and th tears streaming down his cheeks de i red that tie had been made to see bis sins d would no longer sell liquor. Followed a curious crowd he went to his saloon, iere, with the assistance of a Methodist Mrgymao. DO tmnsnca up iu? unr mm lliard-tables and poured his whisky and or into tho streets. Mr. Manierea tber l ed tha crowd into the dismantled saloor id held a prayer-meeting. He then poaled ?the following notice: "To My Friends: Having been led to se< e error of my ways I havo cleared out mi Icon bus ness. 1 am determined by th< ace of God to leid an upright and Chris in lifeand have purchased a stock of flour.' Chicago Timsa. - . -ivfj SUMMARY OF CONGRESS. The Son ate. ixvth Day.?A menage from the President returning without bis approval a pension bill | for Edwin L. Warner, was presented, read, and referred to the Committee on Pensions ....Amonf; the lighthouse bills passed were those for lights at the western end of Coney Island, N. Y. (t'35,000), for a lightship at the wreck of the steamship Oregon in New York Harbor, and for a 1 ghthouse and fog t>eil on Oyster Red shoal, in Hudson River (?)5,000). The House amendments for a lighthouse and tog signal on Orchard Shoals, Princess Bay, New York, .were non-concurred in, and a conference wan asked....The request for a conference on the House amendments to the Senate bill granting a pension to Mrs. Sheridan (reducing it from ?1.'>00 to $?~;00) was withdrawn, and the amendments were concurred in... .Resolutions were agreed to authorizing the Belect Committee on Irrigation to take testimony at any plana in the United States, and authorizing the Committee OP sHip Investigation. .wrn Day.?Mr. Dolphroported back tho Senate bill (vetoed by tho President) for the . relief of William R. Wheaton and Charles H. Chamberlain of California, with a recommendation that the bill pass notwithstanding tuo uujwiiuhs oi nio 1'resiaont. Tile vote resulted: Yens .15, nays K. So the bill was i>ass?vl... .Tho House amendment to the Senate bill granting a pension of $100 a month to the widow of Major-General Kilpatrick was agreed to. The amendment reduces the rate to $75....The Senate at 12:15 resumed consideration of the Army Appropriation bill. An amendment to tho Appropriation bill providing $1.50,000 for the purchase of 225 acres of land directly south of the military reservation at West Point, was agreed to....Tho Senate passed tho Army Appropriation bill with amendments. 00th Day.?Tho Senate passed the bill which prohibits the erection of dams across the rivers in Alaska fcr the purpose of catching salmon.... Mr. Piatt reported two bills for tho formation and admission of tho States of Idaho and Wyoming....Mr. Hoar reported an amendment appioi riating $*.'5,000 for the dotcction and conviction of the persons who illegally carried away and dohtroyed the Imllot boxes of Plummervllle, Ark....On motion of Mr. Cullom, the Sennto proceeded to the consideration of tho Senate bill to amend the Interstate Commerce law. Tho House. 63o Day.?The Senate amendments to tho Agricultural Appropriation bill were nonconcurred in.... The last week of the Fiftieth Congress was ushered in by filibustering, sot in motion by Mr. Bland,? no raise I the point of no quorum upon the approval or the journal. After a delay of a few minutes Mr. Bland withdrew his point of order, in order to enable C. F. Booher to oualify as the successor of the late James N. Burncs, of Mis souri ...air. erisp then called up tlio contested election ca.se, and Mr. Snyers, tn the interest of the Deficiency Appropriation bill, raised the question of consideration. Tho llonso decided? yeas 115, nays 10'J?to consider tho election case, but Mr. McKennn, who had vote<l in tho affirm itive for this pur|K>se, moved a reconsideration. All efforts to get a quorum to vote failed. Wth Day.?The Speaker's tablo having been cleared of liiisinoss, the Speaker, acting in conformity with the special order, recognize I Mr. Abbott, who called up a bill for the erection of a public building at Fort Worth, Texas... .Mr. Itnndall asked unnniinous consent to report from the Committee of Appropriations tho Sundry Civil bill with . j Senate amendments The rccommenda-* JM fcto-ComTWfegqg X \ _ in the Chair) on the Deficiency Appropria- I -e j tionBilb After a brief concluding debate, \ the Deficiency bill was passed. 1 I 6T>thDat.?The conference report on the 1 District of Columbia Appropriation bill was I j debated.... flie Indian Appropriations bill I was passed Obstruction tactics were used 1 4_? to delay action on the Cowles bill, and this " ? consumed tho rest of tho day's session. PKOMINENT PEOPLE. Bismarck now weighs only 105 pounds. Li Hi is the name of the King of Core*. Thk active career of M. de Lesaeps is over. Mn& James O. Blaine has turned sixty. John Bright is in his seventy-seventh year. The Hon. Lambert Tree hds resigned as Minister to Kussia. Battenheho, husband of Princess Beatrice, is to Lo made a Duke. i P.iit avi?t tlm Vrnn<?1i nrf.lcf l?ff a fnrtnnft of more than >400,000. Jay Gould is said to ho completely under the thumb of his son George. The annual income of the young German Emperor is estimated at $4,000,0.X). Carl Schur-- seems to have regained his youth since his return from Europe. Congressman W. L. Scott, of Erie, Penn., is worth probably $15,000,000. Queen Victoria saves more than $5,500,000 por annum from tho civil list alone. Pit Gatlino, the inventor of tho famous gun by that name, is a North Carolinian. Mrs. Levi p. Morton spoaks and writes German, French and Spanish with ease anil correctness. The Duke of Sutherland has bought a firoperty in Florida, and renamed it Sutberana Mai or. Colonel Fred Grant is getting very much like his father in appearance, although he is taller and heavier. General Legitime, the Haytian President, is doscrit>ed ns looking like a '"Saratoga hotel Load waiter." Andrew Carnegie, the millionaire iron founder, began bis business career by sweeping out an olflce in Pittsburg. The growing influence in Germany of Count Waldersoe lias brought him into prominence as a rival of Bismarck. Stanley Brown, who married Miss Mollie Garfield, will soon take a position in the Geological Survey at Washington. Jay Goui.d, of Now York, has resigned as director of the Delaware, l^ckawanna and itr A n-ii i t \ i. . ??fHuu ii iMiuroun, owing 10 ill neaiwi. A white marble figure of the late Emperor William, sinnliar to the figures of his parents, has been placed in the Chnrlottenburg mausoleum. William Sunday, a well-known member of the Chicago Baseball Club, is conducting Sabbath revival meetings in the Western metropolis. Mr. If. H. Johnston, the African explorer, is now about forty-five yearn old: a sniah, wiry man, with bright eyes an 1 bronzed fa e. Sir Morkll Mackenzie has been offered $30,000, with $2300 additional for bis ran, to come to America for the purpose of selecting a spot for a sanitarium. This offer was declined. The widow of Professor Richard A. Proctor, residing in Florida, receives a pension of $300 a year, granted by the British Government upon the request of the leading Knglish scientists. John Meyeru, who took the chief part in the Passion Play at Ober-Ammergau in 18S0, is getting ready for its repetition this year. inn props ran on consists principally or lotting his hair grow. Poor King Otto's latest craze is a mania for kating. This would be harmless were it not [ for the fact that the Bavarian Monarch takes a lien dish delight in skimming over the moat 1 dangerous places, and compels his agonised ' attendants to accompany him. ! Rbv. Robert Coi,i.irr, the famous New York divine, has presented Cornell Univerglt.v trifh Art nlH faofoeu Kj?tl s?WiAt. - ? * !ii !T?I ?veT morning in hin younS days and fixed (be tlmo the day's toil ? ? ? oyer. The bell will be used at Corning summoning the atudenta to their Rlaaaus. "4JS