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- f f triit ^BHMMMM - ? ??? ? 1 * ? -' ~*?'*'?^gBHl^fi^K-^^^^^^^^^B8K!frfc*feftlifrV'* " '' jJ I I I ,l>l*fr^??fr3l r^flSfcgftfc:?j: ff!5iLflL^a-,x3^ XX?NEW SEHtFS TTNTON ' '-' r ***"-^"rV M ' ir"*tir friiTi - ' '^f ' Vi>'V'f^J^rVQ|i' ? - ?m OV Uai?F. VK MW? CttANDLBg , | tti* ikn atreamed from her lovoly, aoftbliiq ; TN, 1 Floe bed were her cheek a and bowod bor ?)en- ; der framo , Aa a great goat of bitter anguish cargo . And bold bor In Its grasp; it slowly dioa. Hut only a* the wind a do, aoon to rtaa 1 With greater fury, fanning all the flap Of her wild Borrow, til aho could not tauie . The Cro that raged within hor. I. grown wlaa ) And old and weary, board bor Robbing aoro, * And wptobed hor with compaaalou, whore aha Tbon came a andden cry aa thla trnth Flaahod through my heart that pitlgd her nc ' mora? < Only the Tory young oan grlore liko that? ? Ana I would take her eorruw with her youth I j PBBB UTTLE EMILY, j ........ i ' The History of a Prudent , Marriage. , ? UHAPTOK Y1L X "What John Rteuhonse said to his wife ? When he got Mrs. Knowle's letter?a very * brief, simple letter dictatod by Lady Bow- 1 erbank at her bedside, and merely stating T that sho wished to see her old friend again, u m she did not think she w s long for ibis world?what bo said, or what he felt, this b history cannot telL Ho was not a man b likely to have confided much of his own * Srovions history to h s wife, nor, when 0 Irs. Knowle afterward saw the lody, did that acnte matron think Ler a person likoly k to havo eviuood much interest concerning ? her husband's early fortunes or lost love? a nice, protty-faced, gentle creature, lan- r Gid, and a little uninteresting, besides p ing a little lazy, as Indian ladieB are apt b to be. Doubtless the marrirge bad grown, o as so many marriages do grow, out of mere d oireumstonoes, ana after it the husband fc had gone back very mnoh to his own old a life?the life of action, or business, or, at ? best, of generally kindly benevolence?a i life in vh-oli hi* aire tv-otr IHtlo part, or, d indeed, was capable of taking it. "Whon John Btenhouse visited Liverpool u ?for, after showing the letter to Mrs. a Slenuouso, in whom it did not excite the h least curiosity, he started north at once, a every ono of his old aoqnaintanoes. es- ? peoially tbo Knowlee, noticed a visible n change in him?a oorlain hardness, reti- h eonce and self-containednoss, deeper than li evon the reservo of his baobolor days?as ri If the man had withdrawn into himself, si went his own ways, and carried oat his own U life with a grave and sad independence. f( He spoke of his home and of his wife with * a caroful tenderness, but his eyo d-d not tl moisten nor his face kindle when naming s< either, and there was nothing of that total o change from frosty coldness to sunshiny h warmth which is often seen in tbo lrw>V? end manner of a man who marries ever so _ late In life, if he marries with all his [ . heart in the union In ihi? mnn'a fcnr.-i. ! . good and true as it was, and would always a , . remain faithful till death, for honor's and rj oonsoicnoo'i sako, to the woman he liad taken to himself, still, as an* one who knew the difference could plainly soe, and u at a ^ But Stonhouse had always been a silent j and undemonstratiVo man; and his experisnee abroad had made him more so, and . more sedulous than even in his youth over the keeping up of all outward ob- . eorvnucos. Even when he Bat listening to lira. Knowle's account of Lady Bower- 0 bank's fulling health and the hopelessness y of her recovery, and again to that other ,, story, which it had been arranged sbo n should tell him, and not Emily, or tho oiroumstances of her marriage to Sir John, * sud the letter found in Mr. Kendal's desk afterward, he exhibited outwardly nothing _ more tban a sad gravity; in fact, he hardly poke six consocutive words. ? "80 like a manl" said Mrs. Knowle,' half d bitterly, when she was retailing the con- J< venation to her husband. " "I think it was like a man,"said honest * Edward Knowle; and his wife, woman as D he was, quiok, impnlsive, and hard to believe in what she did not clearly see. rooog- ? uieed dimly-what her husband meant. 8he ? respected, and in yean to come lepraod daily to respect more, the manly endnranoe whioh, beholding the absolute and inev- J (table, accepts, it, and, whatever the man suffers, makes no sign, 8 "Thank you," Mr. 8tollhouse had eald, 6 holding out his band to Mrs. Knowle, n "thank you for all your kindness; to me ? myself?and?to her! Is she able to see J mo? If so, had we not better go at ? once?" J Mrs. Knowle ordered the carriage, and * they drove across the oountry?the miles * upon miles of flat oountry whtoh mark tho " Liverpool shore?a long level of roads, *~ fields, and hedges?sometimes green, per- n baps, and not ugly, but tome and uninter sting as a loveless life?as the life which ? hod been meted out to these two human creatures, who. left to their own holy m- b fUncts, would have met and mingled to- b gather, and flowed on harmoniously as one perfect existence now. f Mr. Btenhouss and Mrs. Knowle oon- b . versed versed very little during their drive, b and then-not concerning anything of the 1 nut Onlv nnM wiiti nnnuuiun ??? 1 mnilit ?i?. iuMTHM 50*o?OU UU iwl cCufUlTO to its almost pitch, and mid: n "Perhaps it would be better if yon did not t peek to Emily about her father." John a Btenhouso's face turned purple-red, and t! his eyes darned. o "No, I will remember that he Is dead? dead." And within a minute or two be said ?the bitterest thing he was eves known to B ay?"Mrs. Knowle, my father died a f month before I was born, and my mother seven years afterward. Perhaps it's true what a cynical friend of mine used to de- / elare, 4 that when he chose a wife, he c would take oaro she was a miserable or- ] phan,4" ] But they were reaching the door, where c scarcely any visitors now entered except t good Mrs. Knowle. Boon they passed i through the splendid empty bouse, where f the mistress had been missing so long that t her absence was scarcely noticed. The j large drawing-room was just as bright, j even though the sofa in the corner where l Emily used to lie was vaoeted, and bad i been for some days. She now oooupiod a small room much quieter and farther re- 1 w.. . moved, which had been hastily tttted up i for bar oomfort. la a few days mors the 1 would Tapish from that into her own chain, j bar and bed, never to be carried thence < till carried away in that narrow coach of eternal rest where we aH shall be laid some t day. And that day was not very far ofl i now to the weary soul and wonf-out body of Emily BoWerbank. Ae she said many* 1 time, life had been too hard for her; an# 1 was gladto go to sleep. When the strong, hearty, healthy man, , still young in years, and with all nia life ( before him, passed out of the bright, cheer* | . ful drawing-room; full of all sights and ] sounds, rich furniture, the soent of exotics, < and the shrill note of cage-bird singing? , to that small inner chamber where the i light was subdued, and there was a faint, i oppressive perfume to apako up for the hot oi zrwui tor; wane * www oia vrawn. uw i > mute of Ex^OytjtfiUdlth days, ut jmwing at the window, but taming every moment M the slightest cough or movement of the motion!ess flour? on the sofa, John St?nhoute drew back involuntarily. He had not realized till now all that he had lost? til that he was losing. Though he had been told it over and over again, he never really reoognized that the woman he onoe Loved so passionately?the pretty, bright girl, with her rosy cheeks, ner laughing tyes, and her heart full of the fondest, most Innocent love, was dying, He was married" now?andthor woman owned his duty, and possessed a groat deal ?f the tenderness that no honorable man son fail to give to a croature so utterly deKdent on him as his wife is?but Emily ?dal had been his first love. All the memories of it, and of her, rushed upon lim with an agony irrepressible. Ho {rasped Mrs. Knowlo by tho arm as she was going into the sick-room. "Wait a minute?stay!?say I'll oome Mesently." And no rushed away, right down the itairoase, and through the first open door ?for it was high suumor, and tho air was 'all of snnshinoandrosos? into the garden. Jit was half an hour before ho returned, nei*ls over whom hong tho snored shadow f the eternal parting -at least the parting rhioh we call eternal in this world ?though', t often makes closer and noorer, for the est of life, those who otherwise would nve been forevor divided. Perhaps Emily felt this; for as she raised erself a littlo from her sofa, and hold out or hand to Mr. Btcnhouso, thore was not traoe of agitation or confusion in her lonner. "i am very glad to seo you. It was so ind of you to como. Did you leave your rife quite well? and all the children?'' Commonplace, eimplo words thoy were -the simplest, most natural, that eould ossibly be ohosen?and yet they were the est and safest. They took off the edgo f that sharp agony whieh was thrilliDg irough ovory fiber of the strong man's eart. They brought him back to the comlonplaco daily world, to his daily duties, nd his ordinary ways. The wholesome, ttving prosout came between him aud the elirious past. And though it was Emily's Id smile, her very tone of voice, and a rick of manner she had?how well ho resiled it, of half extending her hand, drawlg it back, and then putting it forward gain, with tho uncertainty that was the reak point in her character?still he had 0 desire to snatch hor to his arms, and old her there, in her old, familiar place, ko any mortal woman. 11 o felt inolinoa sther to stand apart and gaze at hor, as ho l&j, consecrated from oarthly emotion, 1 her almost superhuman peace, or else to ill on his knees and worship her, as Danto rorshiped his Beatrice when ho met her in lie fields of Paradise. And he fonnd himolf powerless to say any other words than ne or two, as brief and inexpressive as er own. " niv virA nnri thfl nhiidi-hn am waii i# ras very good of you to send for me, after had bees so rude, so ungratofnl almost, 3 your husband." I Emily bent her head, acquiescing; and ien, as if with a great effort: MI had something to say to you? someling I thought you would listen to, from ae, now. I entreat you to accept this ohn and Mr. Kuowlo. xou would like Sir ohn very muoh if you knew him very well. Ie knew nothing about you and mo till dely. And he has been suoh a good, good usband to mo." "Thank God for that!- If?if ho had eon anything else than good to you " And then, shocked by the sound of his wn harsh voice jarring on the stillness of ie room, and still rnoro so by perceiving 10 sudden tremor that oame over Lady ioworbank, he stopped, recognising the nnotity of siokness?of near advancing cath. "Yes," ho added, almost iu a whisper, "I sol very grateful to Sir John Boworbnnk; am not ashamed of his knowing?bleed, I have been asking Mrs. Knowle to >11 him?how vory poor we ere, and are koly to remain; and that if ho really still ishea me to aocept his offer, I will do my tmost to prove deserving of it." "Will yon? oh, will yon?" clasping her ands in her old, pretty childish way at nything she was very glad of. John Stanbouso tamed away. "It 14 not easy, but I will do it because ou wish it?for yonr sake." "No, do it for yonr own," said Emily, olemnly, with nil the old childish manner one. "Do it, that yon may take a wise ion's advantage of this chance of getting n in the world, and living folly the life hat is before yon. Think, a life of twenty, hirty years, with work to do, and money > nse, and influence to make the most of, or the good of yonrself and all that belong 9 yon. That is what I want. I want yon 9 lead yonr own noble, active, nsefnl life -jnst as I once planned it?though it was tot to be besido me, and though I shall not ven see it; for I am going away, John? on know that?" Ho collid not denv it: he did not even ttemot to do so; he just moved his lips, ut they would not form a sound. "Yes, going away?in a few days, or a aw weeks more, to where I know I shall e quite happy?happier than I ever could ? here. 1 only wished before I went to et yon know the truth. She," glancing to rlrs. Knowle, "she has told yon all?* * x ?," he muttered, out aiiempiea not, ior did Emily offer, any farther explanniou. One a husband, the other a wife, rlth the shadow of the dead f a( her betwoen bom?it was impossible. The past won ( er and done. But the present was peace -all peaoe. "And now good-by, and God bless you!" aid Emily, faintly. "Give my love to your rife. Does she know anything about me?" "No: I never told her. "Ah! well, let that be as you choose, tna one thing?l know a have xorgottea >ne thing that I had to say to you?Mrs. Cnowle, what is it? Oh, my head. Please, lira. Knowle, will you help me?" with the luerulous tone and wandering eye whioh old at onoe how fast her sand of life was wining. "Yes, I remember now; it was (o [ive yon this!" taking a valuable diamond irooch from under her pillow, "and to ask rou if you ever have a little daughter of roar oV?n, to giro it to her from mo. And I jerhaps, if yonr wife did not objoct, yoa vouldn't mind calling her Kmily? Nobody answered or stirrod, not even lira. Knowle, who stood at the window n narse's vacant place, and John Btenloose, who sat opposite the sofa where Lady Bowerbonk lav?sat, with his hand ilasped tightly on hts knee, looking at her, is if he wished to carry away the last picture of her, vivid tm life and yonth, permanent aa love and death. At length he moved, and, taking the brooch from her hand, kissed both, and so bade her farewell. "If yon come soon to settle in Liverpool, Derhapn I may eee you oitoo more,'- mid the gently. and with a eort of compasiion In her roioe, for she eaw that be wee absolutely dumb with eorrow. But both knew that thi? wis only a Action to hide the last geod-by; and when the door r'osed between them, both felt that they would never see one Mother again. They never did, though Lady Bowerkank lived lor eeverel week* longer, and even toTsetlieShe heardall about them from Mrs. Knowle, who, in bar customary mUt? way. wan exceedingly helpful to the rather helpless Indian lady; ana she ' teemed to take a faint flickering interest ,?the last interest of her fading life?In the bonte they fixed on, the manner thnJ furnished it, and their general household ' ways. Nay, she sent many little gifts-to them?harmless, domestlo gifts, each as not even the proudest man could reject, and which, witbont making any external show of giving, greatly added to the comfort of Mr. Btonhouse's home. But she never ] askod to see him again. She seemed to ' feel that the last meeting had been a peace- { fnl closing of everything that bound her to life, and everything that made death painful; apparently she did not wish to re- , vive either, but lay perfeotly at reet, watt- , tng patlontlv for tho sunreine call. It otme hi last, qnito suddenly; as often happens in consumption, when both the watchers and the pauent are lolled.into s hope that is still far distant. She had no one with her, and no time to say fafbwell to anybody; only the nurse, running to her and bcnding^rer hor, fancied there oame troths had*been hor husband's name. Hobody oontradietod the faet. It may be thought a proof of the hardnoss of John Stenhouso's heart to state that except the one day of Lady Bowerbank's funeral, when, out of respect to her memory, the office of Bowerbank A Co. was closed, and the clerks had liberty to enjov themselves as they pleased?and she tirould have been glad of it, dear, kindly heart!?exoept on tlittf occasion the junior partner of the firm was never an hour ab?ent from his desk. He came early?he went late?ho filled the place of both his enior partners?Mr. Knowle, who was laid op with an attaok of rheumatism, and Sir John, from whom, of coarse, little could bo expected just now. In every way he did Ins duty like a man; and not one of those excellent men on 'Change, with whom he daily transacted business, giving promise that the now blood which had come into the firm would moke the house of Bowerbank <fc Co. higher than ovor among Liverpool merchants?not one of them ever inspected that within the week a light had i gone oat or this young man's life which ] nothing in tha world could ever relumo. Nevertheless, John StenhouBe's life has neither been useless nor Bad. Moderately prosperous, and widely honorod by all who know him, externally he may be considered a happy and successful man. And his home, if a little dull sometimes, is always quiet and comfortable. In course of time it was brightened by a little daughter ?his very own little daughter?ana he called her Emily. In compliment?and very right, too, everybody said?to the head of the firm ana his deceased wife, poor Lady lloworbauk... Emily s instinct?true woman's instinct ?was correct. Sir John and Mr. Stenkouso became fast friends. Suoh strange likings ofton occur under circumstances which, in meaner natures, produce only jealousy and aversion. But these threesdie two men left living and the sweet woman happily dead?were all good people, none of whom had intentionally wronged the other, but had all been sinned ' (gaihst by'tho ond ttatUsh, tardheatf that wus now a mere handful of dust. Still, by the merciful ordinance of Providence, evil itself is limited in its power against good, especially when After it oomos the lolemn, healing hand of inevitable fate, which the foolish and bad resist, bnt by which the wise and good are oalmed ana toothed. When Emily was dead, the two honest men who had loved and mourned her?one with tho wild, angry passion of loss, the other with a half-remorseful tenderness? wero unconsciously drawn to one another in a way neithor could have explained or desired to oxplain, but both felt it was so. They sought one another's company shyly snd doubtfully at first; afterward with a yearning curiosity; finally, out of warm regard. The great difference of ago between them, which might hare been that of father and son, and the fact that the one had novor had a father nor tho other a son, slso combined to prevent all feeling of rivalry, and to form a bond of mutual attraction and mutual usefulness. And she who was gone, though her name was never once named between them till Mr. titenhouso asked Sir John's permission to give it to his baby daughter, constituted a tie stronger than anything external. . Mr. Knowle was a little surprised, and so was Mrs. Knowlo, to see tho great cordiality and even intimacy whion, in tho course of a year, sprang up between the senior and junior partners. But the Knowles were both suoh kindly people that, though they did not understand it? indeed, would have oxpeoted things to be altogether different?they were exceedingly glad it was so; exceedingly tender, too, in a half-sad sort of way, over the baby Emily, whom good Mrs. Knowle took to with a warmth-surpassing even her universal and ardent affection for all babies. And so the three households of the firm of John Bowerbank A Co. still subsist? two rich and childless, one much poorer. J 1 ? ? ? ? rrvA.A 1.* DUl ilUb WIUIUUI UIOUJT uicnsiu^o* xumoin9 t all oventa, wherewithal to pat food into the little mouths, and olothoe on the Utile bodies, and inetraotion into (he little f minde: and John Stenhousp is a good father, who, <n a inerai sense, "makes no step-bairns," but is equally just and tender with his own and his wife's daughters. As a parent of yonng children he has been also faultless; what he may be when the little maidens grow up and take to marrying. Heaven knows I But the sharp exCrienoe of his own life may be all the t'er for theirs. People do say that one of them is not likely to be poor nil her life, but will be ohosen by Sir John Bowerbank as his heiress, at least so far as regards the late Lady Bowerbank's fortune; bis own, Sir John openly declares, he means to divide among charitable institutions. Poor little Emily, now tanning about under the ahady alleys of Birkenhead Park in her cotton frock, and with occasional hole* in ber shoos, she knows not what may be her destiny! Nor does her father- good man? who watches her and guards her. and is both father and mother to her, for Mrs. Stenbonse, though sweet as ever, has sunk. J into oonflrmed laziness and elegant invalidism. Her girls me good children, but the apple of the father's eye Is his own little daughter; and no doubt, oven now, he thinks with a certain vague dread of the young man wbo may be coming some day to suat h her from him. Still, under all circumstances, even the alarming catastrophe of Emily's marriage. I think John Btenhouse will prove himself a just, an unselfish, and a loving father. And if?hnman nature being weak at best ?be is ever tempted to be otherwise, he will think, as he does think, in many a wakoful midnight, with bis wife fast asleep beside him, of that quiet grave, within sound of the waves on Waterloo shore, where Hes buried the love of his youth the one woman who would have msde bim really happy and been happy herself -who. Instead of dying thns, might have lived to be the light of his home and the mother of his children poor Emily Kendal.; : | [TSDSSNaJ F. 3?| mfsavnatioi^i^ tjSbson for j OoMon Texts 'TTh^RcJcctcd. Son,'' Mark xlL, 1-12- (eldcn Text: * Johni., 11?ConVientary. 1. "And He bogon to spoc\unto themby parables." This to one of ttac%iany parables uxi dtoooums which He polAin the tomplo sod On the Mount of Olives oAWednasday, tho fourth day in Passion weekAOur loeson Kxiay to one of the last memagetpf Christ to Israel ere they crucify Him, in yach He tolls them of God's grofct core of thon\and their iwful treatOusut of His servants \><l finally sf Hto own Sen. ' \ "A certain man planted a vineyard, * so asy Mark and Luke, while Matthew dills him rrOui til lxxx., 8-lvi lsa. v., 1-7: wouearn thai the ^e^do^li^ lord of^ HwUtJ^a^e rata*. who ought tojavo cared for the vinepard and rondcAd toe owner the fruit thereof. God Mpaimled Israel from other nations, iellvered them from' Egypt, brought them near to Himself and nuulo them His peculiar treasure, giving ihcra prophets and priests and dwelling Himself in their midst, that they might glorifr Him and mako Him known to other nations as tho only living and fcruo God. 2. "Ho sent a servant that Ho might receive tho fruit." Surely this was reasonable, liter Ho hod bestowed such loving core upon them. Tho servants were tho prophets, as it is written: "I sont unto you all My servants, tho prophets" (Jar. xliv., 4); and tho fruit Ho expected was righteousness and obedience sua some gratitude for mercies bestowed. 6. "They caught and beat him and sont him away empty." Micaioh was smitten, imprisoned and fed on broad and water (II Chron. xviii., 28, 2f>); Jeremiah was smitten and put in the stocks (Jcr. xx., 2), and was told that ho spoko falsely and that God hod not sent him (Jer. xlilL, 2). 4. "Again He sent unto then another servant." Wo would think that the ill-treatment of one servant would load the owner of vineyard to punish Jho husbandmen and remove thorn from THh coro of tho vineyard, but the name of tho owner is "tho Lord, tho Lord God. merciful and gracious, long suffering, and abundant in goodness and truth" (Ex. xxxiv, 5, Oh and it is written of Hbn that though they believed not, hearkened not, understood not. rememl>cred not, nevertheless He saved tnem for His name's sake, and many times did Ho deliver them, forgiving them but taking vengeance upon their inventions. (P? cvi., T, 8, 24, 25-48; xctx., 8.) 5. Tot another Ho sends in His love and long suffering, only to be treated worse than the former ones; 1 'they woro stoned, thoy were sawn asunder, were tempted, were slain with tho sword; they wandered about in sheepskins and goatskins; being destitute, af uictvu, luiiunii?u; .ui whom tuo world was not worthy; thoy wandered in dosorts, and in mountains, and in dens and eaves of the earth." 6. "Having yet, therefore, one Son, His well beloved, Ho sent Him also last unto theuLsaying thoy will reverence My Son." Now Ho speaks of Himself as tho only begotten of tho Father, tho prophet llko' unto Moses, the antitype, of all priests and prophets the truojaayvwYtof Jehovah (16a. xlii, 1). f\-v~ *'TW?is tho ffcir, ebnre let us kill Him." Instead of reverence and respect for tho only Son of their gracious ana loving Lord, this is their language. As when Joseph's brethren saw him coming thoy said: "Behold, this dreamer comoth, como now thereforo and lot us slay him" (Gen. xxxvii., 10, 20), so these Jewish brethren of Christ conspire against Him and determine to kill Him. lie is the true Joseph, separate from His brethren, the qhepherd, the stono of Israel (Gen. *]?., 22-20); but as Joseph's brethren afterward bowed down to him and accepted him as tlwir deliverer and the nourishes- of them andthoir children, so Israel shall yet bow down to this some Jesus and accept Him as their deliverer, their own Messiah. 9. "Ho will come and destroy tho husbandmen, and will givo tho vineyard unto others." This is their adswer to His question: "What shall thort fjQro the lord of tho vineyard do?' (Matt, xxl., 41.) Jesus also adds: "Therefore I say unto yw, tho Kingdom of God shall bo taken from yeu, and given to a nation bringing forth tho fruits theroof." (Matt, xxi., 4s.) In order to understand this wo must distinguish between the covenant with Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, whith still holds good and shall bo Mailed Am Israel notwitbanding their disobedionco (file, vii., 20; Jer. xxxi., 3587), and the spocial covenant with Israel at Horeb, to mako them a kingdom of priests, an holy nation, a peculiar treasure, if they would only be obedient and keep God's covenant (Ex. xix., 5. 6). This lgpti covenant was not mode with their fathers, but with tliom as a nation at Horeb (Duct, v., 2, 3), and it is tius wnien by tne rejection or their Messiah is now lost to them and given to the called out ones from Jows to Gentiles; the church, which Potcr calls "a royal oVicsthood, an holy nation, a peculiar or purchased, pooplo" (I. Pet. it, V); and who ore also called "luupi and priests unto God" (Rev. 1., 0; v., 10). From those called out ones, the body of Christ, tho bronchos of tho truo vino, the Lord of tho vinoyardnow expects much fruit, and He has told us>that the way to bear fruit is to obido in Him,, continue in His love, and patiently submit to the purging or cmannhq; which He sees that1 we from time to time need. 10. "Have ye not rencj this Seripturef No doubt they had read "t, .but they had not observed it, they had Sof neeefrea it, they had rend it blindly, just-os.we so often read the Hcripturea, from a sense cIf doty, without j^iws memn or wnac 11. "This was tlui^owPs. doings, and it is marvelous in our oycat" God is quietly but sorely working out His eternal purpose which Ho purposed in ChristrJctus (Eph. I./d-ll: iiL, 11), ana when it is all complete wnshall say concerning it all: "Tills is tho Lortrs doing;" and not only shall it Ire wonderful in the eves of tho church and in the eyes of Israel, but also in the eyes of the whole world. 12. "They sought to lay hold on,Him, but feared the people." His hour had not quite fully come to give Himself np to them, and therefore they could not touch Him. No one can touch a child of Got! or harm a hair of its head without His permission; and if we aro found in tho way or dotjy we need fearno | evil, ror wo Miall surely stay In thin mortal lxxly till our work is done;{then glorious rent with Christ fa Paradise, and at toe resurrection of tho |ast a body just like Jesus's body amiglory indoscritiablo. "They loffc Jliin ium! went their way." That is what the rtoh young man did, and all bofore and stood<WDo havo not received Jesus. Ho is tho only way to rest and truo happinosa; those who prefer tiioir own way will never And either. "What does your soul sayf Self or Christ, your way or His way??Lw?aon Helm, i ? ' -"V.>' ,>^jjr'' WltX-tAtl^ l&WEi.M'hostof frionds in all parte of-Hlie oountry will bo grieved to leankuf- thg blow that liae befallen hitn in t$e death of his oldest daughter, Winifred* in the twonty-yixth year of her ago. She hod boon an invalid for several yewra, but such bereavements are not mwah, if any, easier to bear wltep thoy ooros for having beeu foreseen and dreaded, Mr. lioxvoUa has two children loft, * younger dangh w - Song of Drunkards. "We come, we come with sad array, And in procession long, Tojeln the army of the lost, Throe hundred thousand strong. "Our banners beck'ning on to death, Abroad we have unrolled; And Famine, Care, and wan Despair Are seen upon thoir fold. "Ye heard what music ohoers us on? The mother's cry that rang 80 wildly, and the babe that wailed Above the trumpet's clang. "We've taken spoil; and blighted joys And ruined homes are here; We've trampled on the throbbing hoart And flouted sorrow's tear. "We come, wo como?wo've searched the land, The rich and poor are ours. Enlisted from the shrines of God, From hovels and from towers. "And who or what shall balk the bravo That swear to drink and die? What boots to such, man's muttered curse Or this, that spans the sky? Onward for ball?from rank to rank Fkss we the cap again. "Wo coma?of the world's scourges, who Like us bavo overthrown J What woe had ever 6arth like woo To our stern prowess known! "We come, wo come to fill our graves, On whicn shall shine no star. To glut tho worm that never dies, Hurraht Hurrah! Hurrah!" ?National Advocate Tho Poor Children. Have we no pity for tho poor, miserable children? Is there no voleo strong enough to plead "like angels, trunipet-tongued, against tho deep damnation of their taking Dtr?"?of those children who. in the longuago of Soathey, aro not so much born into the world as damned into the world, damned, predestined, as it were, to live lives of disease and degradation, becauso of the drink in tho midst of which they aro brought up and of which they havo the hereditary taint in their very veina? Canon Farrar. A Radical Remedy Required. Tho total abstinence movement Las made many sober men, and it le not proposed to abate any effort along that line; but, nevertheless, tho fact must do recognized that the total abstinence movement does not cure the drink evil. Some other remedy must bo devised to supplement the work of the church and the temperance society. A physician would not follow a mild method of treatment if thft dispflta ?rr?w mnrn nmnnnn^l virulent all tho while. He would try a remedy that was radical and heroic. The total abstinence movement is too mild for the drink evil; it needs radical and heroic treatment.?Pioneer. Civilization Will Not Always Mean ltnm. That the Indians are capable of civilisation has been abundantly proved by the Cherokee*. There are about 25,000 of them, of whom half are full blood. Thirty-tive per cent, of the national income is spent upon schools, and fifteen par cent, upon asylums. They have a written language, and claim thnt every citizen can read and writo. Bosides the common schools they have four excellent academies, and each child is allowed a large sum. .each year for its schooling. Think of acity among us with 25,000 inhabitants thus equipped 'or education I They lack one mark of civilization, however, they have no saloons, and boast of less drinking among them than among a like number in any other community. By this sad lack so mo of our Btatesmeu may be discouraged with respect to further attempts to civilize tho redmen.?Christian Standard. Tho Saloon a Deadly Cnrso. No one can doubt that wo nood the church, the school and the factory, but in the light of our present civilization no one will set up a claim for the saloon on its own merits. One has said tho saloon is the heaviest clog in the progress of our country. Every evil that curses our nation to-day flows to a great extent from the saloon. It is the prolific source of most of our political corruption. It traffics In tears, groans, blood, vice, misery and death. It drags in dishonored graves a hundred thousand human being annually. Is it any wondor that Gladstone declares the saloon to be a greater evil than war, pestilence and famine combined* Why, in the presence of such desolation as thiB, war is a white-winger! tinsel ol peace, pestilence a healing fountain ancf famine a table of plenty. The saloon has been compared with tho deadly Upas tree, which not only kills (hose who touch it, but sends out its terrible p oison even to those who endeavor to shun it. If we consider the saloon from a moral standpoint it is a curse. It is the direct cause of three-fourths of the Sabbath breaking, profanity and gambling. It desolates a million homes, and transports men beyond the bounds of reason into the seas of dissipation and ruin. It makes 500 maniacs and 500,000 criminals every year. It is tho saloon in which a million men have lost their self-respect, their health, their character, their all. Men with defiled clothing, wrecked hopes, starving children, empty purses, lost' manhood, the product and support of the taloon. But yet this monster cries out for State and National authority to ply its dreadful work, saying: "License me to sow the seeds of shame. License me to make widows and orphans. License me to write disgrace upon the fair forehead of helpless innocence. License mo to befog the mind to paralyse the reason, damn the soul. License me to incite the red-handed murderer to his terrible deeds of deadly violence." But the ealoon gets all it asks for. It is a financial curse. Nine hundred and frtrtv rnj'llnn* -? dollar? arc- Spent OTST tfafl till of th# r'imscllcr. Mom mon?v th*n we spend as a nation for all civil service, ftrrny, navy and Congress.? Itoneer. Temperance News and Notes. It is said that 30,0( 0 people go to bed drunk in Olasgow every Saturday night. Bands of Mercy ore being formed in connection with the Loyal Temperanco Legions of Ohio. A Kentucky W. C. T. U. woman recently told she had six unanswerable argumonte in favor of prohibition?her six sons. * In one court of London twenty-seven out of twenty-eight cases of attempted suicide within a short time were traced directly to drink and the twenty-eighth was doubtful. Dr. Daniel Dorchestor is responsible for the statoxnent that a distillery tlrm within three miles of the Massachusetts State House has a contract to furnish 3000 gallons of rum daily to the African trade for the next seven years. Professor Kovalevsky, of the Chair of Mental Disease at the University of Khor< koJT, Russia, has published a book in which he strongly denounces the giving of alcobolio beverages to ohildren and enlarges on the propriety of not administering alcohol as a medicine without first ascertaining whether the patient has an alcohotiO diathesis. The W. C. T. U. of Columbus, Misa, recently sent an earnest request to every eini ?yiimiB in OIIM m jn^uni a Harmon on "The Evils of the Opan Saloon." The plea was oonsidorod in the ministers' mooting, and the chairman raado answer by a note saying that the ministers, lifter prayerful consideration of the request, deemed it "inexpedient to comply." Mrs. Mary A. Lathrop, of Michigan, who has been dubbed by her admirers "the Daniel Webster of the feminine world." has a poor opinion of saloon keepers. In a lecture at Iltttsburg she said: "OannlliaHsm is decent compared with the saloon busings. I hare more Aspect f >r a savage who will kill a missionary, oook him and eat him, than for MBSfHIF1 Tho Saviour's Sympathy. Whilo UiO storm was fiercely blowing, While tho sea was wildly flowing, Angry wind nnd angry billow Only rockod tho Saviour's billow,? Jesus slept. But when sudden grief was rending Human hearts in sorrow bending; When Ho saw tho sisters weeping Whoro the brother's form was sleeping, "Jesus w opt." Lost in Sight of Homo. A few months ago, during ouo of the eovero storms thnt visited Colorado, a young man perished in sight of homo. In his bo wildorment ho passed and repassed liis own cottagu, to lio down and die almost in range with tho "light in tho window" which his young wife luul plncod there to guido him homo. All nlono she \VTrr-i-?<l thn lnnir nlirht through, listening in vuln for the lovi-stops th?t would come no more; for, long Iwlrftx tho morning dawned, tho icy touch or death had forover stilled that warm, loving heart. Tho sad d'-nth was made still sadder by tho foot that he wns lost dMfeMww*|toniK*><fit)W"''iirin3r wanderers from tho Father's house are lost in sight of homo, in tho full glare of the Gospel light I They have tho open Bible, overflowing with its calls and promise?, tho faithful warnings from tho pulpit, ihe manifestations of Goa's providence, all tending to direct their stews heavenward,and yet from all these they turn away, wniting for tho more convenient sensin, and arc lost in sight of tho many mansions.?Forward. Human Judgments. Jesus never mentioned any of earth's great men (so-called) with words of praise. 1 hero had boon great conuucrors before his time, liko Alexander tho Great, but ho novi r alluded to them. There had been philosophers, liko Plato and Aristotle and Socrates but ho never si>oko of them. Hich men had received tho notico of their fellow mon, but he novor mentioned them by name. None of those of whom human history sjienks most largely came in for a word of commendation from him or his apostles in later years. This should bid us pause, and make.?us stop to tldnk whether our human judgments are not totally faulty. Havo wo not put tho seal of groatnoss wliero it does not belong. In what respect is tho world better today for the existence of tho rich man like Croesus, of conuucrors liko Alexander, of i hflosophers liko Pinto, of authors like Olivrnt 1 What really valuable thing should wo loso had fcUCh men never existed? Gather all the conquerors of the world together, and fay whether they have been as useful to the world as one John Bunvan or one John Wesley. Put all your philosophical books together. and deolaro whether they have accomplished as much for humanity as the epistle of Paul to the Galatians. Match Bismarck and Luther, and judge whether i>oli1 ician or preacher has tlio best of it in the long run. On the other hand, if you blot out Abraham, Joseph, Moses, David the singer, Elijah, Isaiah, John the Baptist, Pt,nl, fro human history, you usher in blackness of darkness*.?A. f\ Schavjflcr. Practical Life. Daily and hourly wo meet questions that demand an immediate answer?questions that relato to food and raunent, to the handto-hand conflict with earthly necessities. Perplexities arising from these sources are sometimes the occasions of greatest peril to Christian faith. Many a soul has overcome in spiritual combat, only to full before the enemy; assaul ing him through outward and visible circumstances. They have forgotten that Christ is tlioir Lord in mnterial good as well as in spiritual. They have failed to follow him in principles revealed for proct'cal life, and have regard (1 Christ a saviour only in spiritual things. One has forcibly said, " 'He that followeth mo shall not walk in darkness.' That saying has a lower and u higher fulfilment. In tlio 1 wer, it refers to practical life and Its pernloxities. Nobody who has not tried it would believe how many difficulties are cleared out of a man's road by the simple act of trying to follow Christ. No doubt there will still remain obscurities enough as to what wo ought to do to call for the best exercise of patient wisdon; but an enormous nronortion of ti>?m vnnto. like mist when tho sun Icoks through when onco we honestly set ourselves to find out whoro the pillared Light is guiding. It is a reluctant will nnd intrinsic likings and disliking* that obscure the way for us, much oftoner tlian real obscurity in the way itself. It is seldom im]Kwsiblo to discern tho divine will when wo only wish to know it that wo may do it. And If ever it is impossible for us, surely that impossibility is liko the cloud resting on the tabernacle?a sign that for tho present His will is that we should bo still, nnd wait and watch." Tho Anchor of tho Soul. Wnlking, on n day 0110 summer, through the vast navy yard of Portsmouth, England, I came upon A street calks' Anchor street. There, sido by side, in long lines, wero laid multitudes of the liughcst anchors. You could not look at Mure immense and grappling flukes, nnd mighty iron s'.infts, without a very real feeliiu of a restful mastery ovor tid??s and storms. With her cable fastened to one of those gro it anchors, and with that anchor getting grip <n tho bottom of tho sea, ro lee shore could threaten, or devnstat nig urojiKt-r iiarm inoganant snip. Do you remctnlier how in the Enistlo to the Hebrews we nro told of the anchor of tho soul? Tho anchor of the soul?what steady, masterful word Is this, amid tho hissings and the changes and the dashing uncertainties ot our lives! And will you notice a peculiarity of this anchor ot the scul:/ We uro told it outcroth into that wiuiin the > ell. Tlio veil in tlioold Temple was the symbol of separation between tlod and man. And in this scripture nlmut tho anchor of tho soul, the veil stands for whatever distance, or mystery or sinfulness tuny divide and hinder us from God and hide Him from us. Tho great navigator Sir Francis Drake nuuie a voyage round the world in the ship Golden Hind,?A little vessel of but a hundred and twenty tons. At last, after an al>senoo of two years and ten months, ho dropped his anchor in Doptford liarl>or. Tho gnat Queen Elizabeth refused to summon him to her palace to make him knight; but went herself to Deptford, and, stat ding with her royal feet on the deck of his little but triumphant vessel, laid tho sword upon his shoulders, and hade him stand before her henceforth Kir Francis Drake. The great queon knew how. right royally, to reward those who added glory to her crown. And she gavo him n crest he might wear proudly over after?a ship in full sail with a cable running up .to Heaven, an emblem of tho Divine guidance which had helned him to do the. till then im heard-of deed. Sir Franclrf crest Is a kind of nicture of the Scripture word about this Alienor of the soul. For this anchor of the soul is not ib'-p into any ?oa-l)Ott<*n; does not go down itW any shifting worhily place or thing, out upward tn s anchor of the soul is oast. The hawser which holds this anchor pan-os up and through the celestial spaces, through every veil of any tort hiding the faoo of God, and there, in the place of ran s'lectost Divine Presence, the flukoa of this anchor of the soul anise and hold to the vor y buttresses of God's Throne; and this anchor to God's Throne koej* moored even a poor human soul Not like a ship driven of the storm, and flung into the black jaws of cruel reefs, where the breaker* dash and tear, need any of us be. For we may have a hope which b aa an anchor of the soul, bot h sure and steadfast, and which cntereth into that within the vaiL?'TAfl ttrook in thj Way," /fee. Way land Heyf. y. '.y "yi" mimneirr pbopubTV'*^*^ THE President has an offloe oat toy Prutens Maurice of Hanan'ia dead. ,*< w Kino Alexandria of Sarrla is thirteen. ' '*>. General Boulanger will visit London In June Tub King of Denmark is the Czar's fatherin-law. Miss Braddon has written over fifty novels. Cardinal Newman Is now in his eightyninth year. Postmaster-Dene hat, WanAMAKBR is a Presbyterian. Chief Justice Fuller is popular with his colleagues. A son of Charles Dickens is arising statesman of Australia. t ^ ''v *j The King of Greece is an enthusiastic and successful tlshermon. The Emperor William of Germany will visit Constantinople in the fall. qvviifan llv adqt rtf Poltf/rmfo lion tlrtrt - umiAivin tt[<ni?ot| v* v?aiiiviui?| una w %wj000 invested in thoroughbred horses. Mji. and Mrs. Gladstone are preparing for the calobration of their golden wedding. S A Texan jxwtess, Mrs. Elizabeth J. Hart- M ford, is said to be a lineal descendant of Wal- ' ^ t"r Scott. It Is noted {hat "President Harrison's Bun-" dap mall lies unopened on his desk till Men- J ? day morning." Pierre Lorillard, the wealthy tobaooo* niseis a greet birxl fancier and delights in % raising pheasants. s , Only three of the War Governors are now living?Blair, of Michigan; Curtin, of Pennsylvania, and Kirkwood, of Iowa. Caitain John Ericsson left an estate valued at about $1-50,000, which is divided > among his relatives and business associates. The wedding of His Grace of Newcastle leaves the Dukes of Portland and Somerset the only bachelor Dukes in the English peerage. William E. Boudinot, at whose suggestion the Signal Service was establishedThas just died at Pittsboro, N. C., at tho age of seventy-five years. ^ A Mr.Charles Johnson, aged twenty-three, j son of a Kansas City grain dealer, has been offered a situation as artist for Harper's / Weekly at a salary of $10,000 a year. ( The famous French physician, Charcot, the specialist in nervous diseases, has a royal income from his practice. His fee from tho Emperor of Brazil alone amounted to $S000. The Emperor of Austria intends to visit England this year in such strict iucugnito i that no one but himself and his attendants ( will know anythiug about it till he is at "" home again. ? Bishop Lightfoot, of Durham, England, makes it n rule to spend his Episcopal in- v J come ($35,000 n year) on church "ana educational work, and not a shilling of it has gone into his own pocket. Dr. Nathan Hazen, of Marshall, 111., is Mmnrlfshln hAin? ^-^1.-1.1- 4.1.1 *1_ J touiai aauio (U uoin^ |II UUttUIJ blltJ bU10 BUr* ivor of the battle of l.ake Erio, fought September 10, 1818. He served on Perry's flagship, and is now ninety years old. , The annual sales in Marshall Field's great dry-goods store in Chicago aggregate $80, 000,000. This vast business employs 8000 ^ people and is personally directed by Mr. ,~M Field, who is at his desk from 8 o'clock until 5. Mrs. Margaret E. Sangster, has accepted the position of editor of Harper's Bazar, made vacant by the death of Miss Mary L. Booth. Mrs. Sangster has been for several years the "postmistress" of Harper*s Young People. Dr. Richard M. Oatling, the inventor of the famous gnu, is now oyer seventy -r (v years old,- with a full, gray beard and such a kindly face and mild pair of ayes that no M one would ever suspect him as the inventor of "murderous war weapons. a ^ Postmastkr:Gkneral Wanamaker lias a special telegraph wire running from his business establishment in Philadelphia directly to bis office in the Fostoftlce Depart- < ment , By this means he is kept informed of what is being done in Philadelphia, and can be consulted at any moment. His oorre- ' ' spondence has reached such immense proportions that he still retains in the city bis confidential clerk, who accompanied him from Philadelphia. Tp MUSICAL AND DKAMATIO. Kate Field is lecturing on Prohibition. Christine Nilsson was born in Sweden in 1843. cr.ara Morius, the actress, is ill in St. Louis. Ada Rehan, Augustin Daly's leading lady, is worth $150,000. Booth and Barrett will pay Modjeeka i ?, J eiouu a weoK tor next /tugusu comedian Wll,mam j. florence was bora in Albany, N. Y., in 1831. Marie Van Zandt is having great success [ in Italian ojtera at Kroll's Theatre, Berlin. | "Tiik Mikado" has been produced with much success at tho Gartnerplatz Theatre in Munich. A new theatre, to cost nearly $7,00(1000, is to be built 011 the Champ de Mars, St. Petersburg, Kussia. Edward Scovel, the American tenor, has met with distinct success in Chicago as Faust and Don Jose. Daniel & Maouinnis, tho well-known comedian, died iu Boston a few days ago, aged lifty-five. f Mr. Dudley Buck's cantata called "The Light of Asia," has been presented at St. James's Hall, in London, with signal success. ? , Mr. Crotty, the leading baritone of Carl .. . Rosa's operatic company, is a great, sprinter, holding the championship of Ireland at 100 yards. Andrew Carnkoie, tho millionaire Pennsylvania ironmaster, is about to build a big music hall in New Yo'k which is to cost $1.000,000. La Bcai.A, the gteal111 MUan.trae -?WE seats for 3000 persona Covent Garden, in IiOndon, has 2o00 seats, and the Vienna Opera, 2400 Beethoven's birthplace, at Bonn, for years past a music hall and drinking bar, has been purchased for $1300, and will be restored to its former state. It is reported that $1,500,000 has been subscribe! in Wall street for the new amuse inent structure to l>e built on the site of the Madison Square Garden, NewYork. Manager Daniel Frohman, of tho New York Lyceum, lias engaged Elsie I-eslle, the Little Ijord Fauutleroy, to play a dual role k in "Prince and Pauper" next August. A new play, "Corporal Jack," based upon the American Revolution, has been produced with great success at Amberg's Theatro, New York city, with August Juukermann in the titular role. Count Von Moltkk, though eighty-elk nis fullv ratains his love for tnusio, and hardly ever mimes a court concert. He used to l>e if frorpient performer on the piano, too, but has given it up. On the personal application of Fanny Jfe Davenport, the actress, Governor Taylor, of Tennessee, granted a pardon to Charles Talbot, the Memphis hotel cleric who stole #&>,- gt 000 worth of her diamonds two years ago. Durino a itooth and Barrett's performanoe of "Julius C-wear" at Boston, a party of Harvard College students volunteered to aek at the "naoh." When the stage manager gave the signal for them to cheer during the scone between Brutus and Gassius, they re sponded with a "Rah* rah I rah I Harvard," and that official fell limp on a chair. Manaobr Abubv has had unusual hard - - ?a *.1- si?Ma?i/Mis IllCK WW BOlIlt w ?? * ?" T WIWV] during the peat two iww. L*?t aeiwon *fl Geretor hroko down at the very beginning of ;<$M bar American tour, nn<l young HoCrnan do- JV| aarted hi# manager }u#t u a aoUrtnalint >a? ?eJS? turn for the preliminary outlay was betfin ning to be maja Now, Mia# AncleriCfn tia? * beau forced to retire at a tljufc whan bar iu- ??? naiyrfll^Md^bar manager* In the neighbor