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LEWIS 31. (xRIST, | 31 it Jndependent family ^cicspaprr: (.foi; the promotion of the political, Social, ^grimltural and Commercial Jnterests of the ,$outh. J TERMS?#2.00 A YEAR IX ADVANCE. VOL. 40. YOEKVILLE, S. C? WEDNESDAY, JANUARY S4, 1894. KO. 4. A TRANSFERS BY EDITH SESJ Copyright, 1893, by American Press CHAPTER XIII. NORTH AND SOUTH. I think for once in his life Mr. Maurice Raymond was nonplused. However, he speedily recovered. "Ah!" he cried, "you sly little Puri- ! tan, eavesdropping were you? Do you I think that is a nice trick for good little girls?" "Sir!" -I said stiffly, "I am neither a Puritan nor a good little girl" "No?" ho asked good humoredly, "are i yon then a pagan and a bad little girl?" I "Pleaso remember I am not on the ; witness stand," 1 retorted, "and do not i try to muddle me with vain questions." I At this he shouted with laughter. "I am glad you find me amusing," I ! said, with considerable severity. "I do," he cried. "You are delicious with your prim little ways, and your j stiff little speeches, and your dear little ; face" "Sir!" I exploded. "Pardon me, my child. 1 have no [ right to speak of yon in that way. But j come," catching my hands in his and ! drawing me away from the window, , "tell me, how came you to be spying j and eavesdropping?" "I was not spying," I spattered iudig j nantly. "I was reading there when you | came in. I wish now I had made my : presence known, and that I had not been j a witness of your unpardonable severity ; to tljat poor, wretched, half mad wo- j man." ."Oh! She is half mad, is she?" he j asked, assuming his puzzled and ques- ^ tioning air. "Why, cannot you see her condition , for yourself?" I asked. "And I must say that while it is just as well 6he should { know that you have remarked her cruelty toward Daphne 1 think you might ; have been less harsh with her. Poor Por- 1 tia is not to blame. She is the victim of some dreadful spell cast over her by those j vile creatures, those voodoos in Dead Man's swamp." Mr. Raymond caught me by the shoul- i ders and bent his head to scrutinize my | face. "What do you know, child," lie mut- ! tered, "of Dead Man's swamp and the ' people there? You couldn't have been in j that ghastly place." TCn " I ronlipil "I tmvannt bf?en th?>re. but I know enough about it and the bale- j ful influence it has exerted on my poor friend's life. My desire is to save Por- i tia, to see her restored to her right mind j aud bring her onco more to her husband j and child." "Why, so is mine," he answered, with 1 a curious expression. "Well, this is no way to go about it," j I said, "to fly at a crazy womau, call her : a vampire, taunt her, alarm her, talk | about chaining her in a cell and all that, i To bo sure, it's just like a man. You are not to blame, I suppose, for your brusquerie, which amounts almost to? to"? 1 hesitated. "Well, well, out with itl Let's hear tho dreadful word," lie cried. "Brutality!" I said. "So I was brutal, was I?" ho asked. "Indeed you were. I had no idea that a courteous gentleman could behave so villainously to a suffering woman." "Well, now, tell me," said Mr. Raymond quite solicitously I fancied, "how i should I have approached Portia?" "It is quite right to be firm and do- j cided with her," 1 answered. "I think myself she needs a strong hand. You can see for yourself how little attention her husband pays to her, and I blame Colonel Marchmont greatly for this de- ; plorable state of affairs. He neglects | his wife, treats her with contempt and coldness. What can a man expect? Why, 1 heard him say a dreadful thing to her one evening. She was dancing iu the hall?somewhat boisterously, to be 6ure"?the blood rushed to my face as I recalled that abandoned dance?"and he told her that her dancing was more suitable to the orgies of Dead Man's swamp than to a gentlemau's house." "Quite right, too," interposed Mr. Raymond. "Oh, you are its bad as he," 1 said, and it suddenly occurring to mc that Manrice was still holding my hands 1 tried to draw they away, but he only tightened his grasp. "Don t, Prudence, he said very quietly, "don't take your hands away. Poor . little fragile claws," looking down on them, "I could easily crush them, but they are good hands." He suddenly bent his head and kissed them. It was the first caress I had ever received from any one save Portia and Daphne, I trembled, and with an effort released myself and left him, going over to the fire. Mr. Raymond followed, but did not attempt to touch me. He took up his station opposite mo on the rug, and leaning his arm on the mantel said: "Possibly I was too severe with her; but, as you say, she needs a strong hand. She must not be allowed to harm little Daphne, must she?" "On no account," I replied quickly. ? "Since that night I have watched and guarded the child constantly." "Since what night?" he asked carelessly. I hesitated. I was conscious that he was trying to draw mo out. Should 1 tell him? Ho knew of the closed gate, i ho knew of Portia's visit to the swamp; why should ho not know of this? 1 studied his face before speaking. Caudor and honesty were written there. lie | might be severe, but he was just. Yes. 1 would tell him. I then as brielly as possible recited the story of that niglit. When 1 spoke of j the knife she carried, and which she held so long as if in invocation toward the moon, he gave a perceptible start. And when 1 related the conversation with old .Jezebel at the gate ho was again visibly affected. Once he ground his teeth j and stamped his foot in rage, and moro than once the strong white fingers clinched as if they ached to throttle somebody. Then, growing more confidential, 1 told him of my first night in the house and of Portia's stealthy survey of me through the window; the experience in the arbor: her anger when I tried the "They arc fjnml hmuls." closed gate, and at last of that awful *i.~ i?..i 111 tlic lli?Ub V? HUM MVUVU U|> from the interior of Dead Man's swamp. His face grew tense and white with { suppressed passion, and the veins stood out on his neck like cords. "Oh, Portia, Portia!" he cried as I finished, "my poor tortured girl. It is : time for me to act. Yes.it is time for mo to act." "Can we save her?" I asked tremu- ! lously. "Can we?" he said, rousing from the study in which ho was plunged. "Yes. j wo will." Then once more, taking my not too I ,ED IDENTITY. 5I0NS TUPPER. Association. unwilling hands in his, ho said gently and almost tenderly: "Little woman, I believe you to be of the stuff of \vhich fighters are made. There must be a drop of Bunker Hill blood in your veins. I believe you to be IUJ ill, uuiiCOb uuu uia ? u. i uu mo wvui ageous? Yes, I know you are. I want you to trust yourself to me, to go through a terrible experience. To what end? you will ask. To this: We will save Portia. Will you help me?" "With all my heart." "Very well. Say nothing to a soul, but prepare to go with me at midnight to Dead Man's swamp." CHAPTER XIV. A MIDNIGHT MISSION. I started. To Dead Man's swampl To enter that uncanny, mysterious place at midnight was a prospect which might well daunt the most courageous of women. What could be Maurice's motive in visiting that spot? How was Portia to be benefited by such an adventure? As if he read my thoughts, Mr. Raymond said: "Yes, little woman, you hesitate. 1 expected that, but you need have no fear. You will be amply protected, and I want your assistance and presence. 1 need you. Will you come?" A thrill shot through me at these words. 1 raised my eyes and saw in his only the kindest and tenderest expression. "Come," he said again, holding out his hand. I would have followed him to the ends of the earth had he so bidden me. I put my hand in his. "I will go," I said. At nightfall the rain ceased, but the sky was black and overcast. 1 shuddered as I drew back the curtains and looked out and thought of the dense tangles and thickets of the gloomy swamp. How black, how awful, how impenetrable, seemed those dusky recesses I remembered! What was I to see?to hear on this wild midnight quest? I scarcely dared ask myself. But I resolved thero should be no misgivings, no faint heartedness. I had put my hand to the plow, and I would not turn back. To save Portia, Maurice had said. Ah, yes! if by any sacrifice of creature comfort I could exorcise the evil influences surrounding my poor friend, how gladly would I make that lenial! But what did it mean? Had Maurice In any way discovered that Portia intended to pay one of her nocturnal visits to the swamp? Was it his plan to follow her and plead, threaten or command her to give over forever her association with the half human devotees of that hellish cult? But of what avail wero questionings? I found no answers to the many riddles puzzling my mind. I trusted Maurice with the blind, unreasoning trust which every woman gives to the man she loves. For I had acknowledged the fact to my lonely heart that I loved this brilliant, intellectual, masterful man. Though my superior in*every way, I yet lifted my eyes to him as a weed clings to the base of a mighty tree. Did he love me? It seemed absolute folly to think so, and yet I could not banish the look in his eyes, the ring in his voice nor the magnetic pressure of his lips upon my hands. "Good little hands," he had said, looking down 011 them. And now as I looked down 011 them, too, and remembered hiswords I was thankful they had never been stained with evil, and that though small they were strong and could help him 011 his mission, whatever it might be. Portia did not appear at dinner, sending down a message that sho was not" well. I knocked at the door, but she wouiu not uuiiiit me. Colonel Marchmont appeared to be plunged in deeper gloom than ever. He scarcely noticed Mr. Raymond or my"Oh, God!" self. Daphne only could rouse him from the lethargy which surrounded and enveloped kim. It was painful to see him so depressed, so unhappy. When spoken to, his gaze wandered, and his answers were incoherent." "You are not well, dear fellow," said Maurice as we left the dining room. "I cannot sleep. I have not slept for two nights," returned the colonel. "When I close my eyes, I see her as she used to be, not as she is now?oh, God!" wildly breaking off. "Listen, Jermyn," said Maurice in a low voice. "Your troubles are nearly at an end. No, do not ask one question now. Before another day dawns your doubts, your sorrows, will be dispelled. All I ask of you is to go to the library and remain tin "re until I come. Do not leave the room or house. Wait therefor me if vim wait until davbreak. Do vou promise?" Colonel Marclimont stared at Raymond in a dazed fashion "Trust me, ?lertnyn," said Maurice, "and promise me." "I promise," said the 'cdonel in a strange voice. Overhearing this, I marveled more than ever. Was it possible that Maurice intended, after bringing Portia from her rendezvous with the voodoos, to lead her into her husband's presenco and oblige her to la-g his forgiveness? I grew more and more mystified. The evening dragged away. Daphne was sent to bed, Sophie receiving orders from Maurice, who seemed to have assumed command of everything, not to leave tho child for one moment during the night. Eleven o'clock. I sat in tho drawing room waiting for Maurice, as wo had agreed to meet there. The great house was still. There were lights in the library, where the unhappy husb;.ml kept his vigil. But everywhere else darkness brooded over the mansion. The silence, "The hour, tho nervous expectancy possessing me grew almost unbearable. "Where is he? Why does he not come?" I cried to myself. Ui.U/lat.lv I pillthv fnntstpns iii the hall above, 011 the stairs, then the rustle of a woman's dress. Stepping softly to the drawing room door, 1 looked out. A figure wrapped in black was descending the stairs. It was Portia. Clinging to the stair rail with one hand, with the other she was drawing a long black lace scarf over her face, which in the dim light was ghastly and terrible to see. Just as she reached the lower stairs a man stepped quickly out from the corner of the hall. Maurice! Without a word he confronted her. She stared at him for an instant with dilating eyes; then, evidently realizing her helplessness, with a gasp fell forward. He caught her in his arms and carried her up the stairs. I heard the door of the room open and in another moment shut. Then a key sqftly clicked in it lock, ami presently Maurice camo j clown the stairs again. Ho canto into tho drawing room. "Prudence,*' he said in a low voice, "uro j you here?" "Yes," I responded, going toward him. "Are you ready?" "Yes." "Give me your hand. Ah! Pulse all right, nerves steady. Good. Come." "But Portia" J "Well, what of her?" "She is ill. I ought to go to her." "She will soon he better. It is nothing ! i serious. You can help her more by going to the swamp than in any other way." i He drew me out upon the piazza, [ wrapped my shawl closer about me, and j | tucking my hand under his arm led tho ! way down the path toward the swamp. | There was no conversation. Wo i I walked in utter silence. Once or twice j | he turned and looked back. I had a fancy that he was looking to see it we j Were followed. Just as we came to the wall and the j closed gate a dark figure rose suddenly \ up, it seemed to me, from the earth. I suppressed a faint shriek. "Don't be alarmed," said Maurice. 1 j "Jake, is that you?" j "Yes," answered the big overseer. "You have your rifle?" ! "Yes. sir." "Are t:w boys at hand?" ! "Yes, sir; hero they are," as two j brawny negroes stepped out of the dark- ] ; ness. "That's all right. Now, I don't appre- ! ; hend any trouble; still thero may be i i some. I wish the lady to be protected ! I in any event. You remain hero close by j | the gate. If you hear my pistol, come: 1 otherwise wait for us." j "All right, sir," replied Jake. ; Mr. Raymond drew a key from his : | pocket and opened the gate. : He held out his hand. "Come, Prudence," he said. i We stepped through the gate. Ho did I not lock it behind us. "Remember, Jake." he said in a low : i tone, "if you hear my pistol, lose no j ; time." "Yes, sir." Black, slimy and filthy stretched the j morass about us. We were in Dead ; Man's swamp. TO IJK CONTIXUKi) NKXT WKKK. ___ HEAVEN'S BEGINNING. I I MISCONCEPTIONS AND PROBABILITIES j AS TO THE FUTURE STATE. A Sermon by Rev. J. It. lluwtlioriie at the FirHt tlaptist Church In Atlanta?What the Itlblo anil Reason Teach ? Different Notions That Prevail. If I go ami prepare a placo for you. I will ! come again and recoivo you unto myself, thut | where I am ye may be also.?John xiv, 3. These were tho comforting words ' which Jesus spoke to liis disciples just beforo his crucifixion. To thoso who lutd journeyed with him through the years of his earthly ministry, and who had received his saving grace and experienced tho blessedness of tho closest communion with him, ho was tho dearest 'object in the universe. Tho thought of separation from him was almost unendurable. It extinguished their fondest hopes and filled their hearts with the loneliest anguish. As his presenco had mado their highest joy, tho los9 of it would make their bitterest grief. Knowing this, loving them with tho tenderest affection and moved with tho profoundest pity for their sorrow, ho j assured them that he would provide for the gratification of their supremo desire. "I will come again and receive you unto myself, that where Iain 31 1 may bo also." An impressive feature of divino reve- 1 lation is tho lack of particularity in reference to the future state. It gives us only tho outlines of the great unseen. It assures us that another and an endless state ef being will succeed thopres} ent. It teaches ns that 011 tho threshold : of that other life thero is a judgment, j and that in that judgment thero is a j separation of tho righteous from the | wicked, tho former going away into ! everlasting blessedness and the latter j | into everlasting punishment. It tells j j us that tho presence and love of Christ j win uitiuu iuc viuiuai vi vnv i class, and the absence of it the eternal j j wretchedness of the other. These aro | i the eternal verities which revelation i j has placed beyond the realm of doubt j ! and speculation. These are tho out- | 1 lines of the world to come. As to what ; | lies between them wo are at liberty to J ' exercise our reason and imagination. THE REAL HEAVEN. i Men who not only believe heaven to ! be a reality, but cherish the hope that i it will bo their final and eternal home, j i can scarcely avoid discussing many ! questions about it upon which revel-"- j ! tion is silent. They desiro to know i j whero heaven is. Is it one of tho lar- ' ger planets of our solar system? Is it in ' j tho dim faroff milky way? Or is it tho ' great central orb of tho universe? They i desiro to know what heaven is. What j does it look like? What object within I the range of mortal ken does it resemble ? j What shall wo do in heaven? What un- j dertakings shall engago our enlarged J and unfettered faculties? What will come in to satisfy our desire and need of activity when wo aro forever beyond tho realm of earthly pursuits? With whom shall wo keep company there? j What languago shall wo speak? What music shall wo sing? What raiment ; ' j shall wo wear? How much of what wo I know and feel and enjoy in this lifo | can we carry over into that other life? , We cannot take our houses and lands } | j and money. Our sensuous pleasures, our social distinctions and our political j offices and honors must be left behind. | But may we carry with us the inno- ! cent loves and pure friendships which j wo cherish here? Will the genius and j knowledge and skill of the painter, and of the musician, and of tho poet, and of tho orator be transferred to tho next lifo and tin; next world? Tho absence of light upon tlieso sub- i jects does not distress the intelligent j Christian. Having Christ as his ever- j lasting portion and companion, ho is i confident that no element of blessedness will bo left out of his heavenly inheritance. If wo liavo received Christ as our Saviour; if we have seen him as our ! substitute under diivno law, bearing our sins in ais own body on tho tree; if wo have felt the transforming power i of his grace making us new creatures I 111 him; if wo have received tho spirit j ' of adoption and as loving, confiding j children lean on his breast, look up in- j to his sweet, benignant face and bask in j J his smile, wo realizo that heaven is | simply to be with him forever. "Whero I am ye may bo also." Wo | are with him hero and now, but in j tho next life wo shall bo with him in ! a deeper and larger sense. Thero wo j shall havo a clearer sight of him, n ; closer communion with him and a : more perfect knowledgo of every at- | tributo of his being and of every ele- j mcnt of his history and work than it , is possiblo for us to havo in this life, where, even in our moments of highest exaltation and rapture, wo seo only "through a glass darkly." HEAVEN BEGINS BEFORE DEATH. Thero is much in our hymnology that I will mislead if wo aro not intelligent | readers of tho JBible. We sing of "go- I ! ing to heaven when wo die," as if it j ?? ...... vnnTin .,,,,1 i,i ,1 r, WOP "l,c" ,ull'n" "?'"i """ """"j > connected with tho present world nnd j the present .'ife?as if it were n distant ! i port to which wo set sail after tho jour- j j ney of this life is over. All this is : misconception. Ileaven is simply tho j unfolding and enlargement of tho fifo , which wo now have in Christ. Tho | new and everlasting lifo begins with i : regeneration, repentance and faith, j 1 Heaven is that part of it which comes I after death. That will lie tho best part of it, becauso then it will bo a life of absolute harmony and communion with Christ. Unfettered by flesh and freed from sin, thero will bo nothing to dim tho soul's vision of him whom it loves supremely, and nothing to prevent the most intimate and perfect fellowship with him. Tho point I wish to emphasize is that tho heavenly life is a continuation 1 of tho present Christian life. It in a life begun not in tho next world, but in this world. Jesus said, "Tho kingdom of heaven is within you." It is within us in tho seed form. After death we shall have that kingdom within us in full development. When you sing, "I want to go to heaven when I die," you give expression to a desiro for which thero is no vrnr*?n + in tbr> word nf (3nd. If VOtl want heaven, you must find it beforo you die. "Going to heaven" is simply going to Christ. All that constitutes heaven is in him. To kr.ow him is to havo eternal life. "Ho that believeth on the Son hath everlasting life." Thnt life is a present possession. The present enjoyment of it is imperfect, only because immeasurable difficulties render present communion with Christ imperfect. Wo taste heaven now as we 600 Josus?"through a glass darkly." After death, when wo "see him as he is" and "face to face," wo shall have heaven in all of its ineffable fullness and glory. lam quite familiar with tho objections that have been urged against this view. It is claimed that wo confino ctlestial enjoyments to a comparatively narrow range when wo say that heaven is simply to bo with Christ, and love him, and praise him. Mr. Beecherwas quite rebellious at the idea that heaven is a place where God, in the person of Christ, sits upon a visiblo throno and requires his myriads of saints and angels to spend eternity s'nging songs and blowing trumpets to his praise. Ho thought there would bo a very wearisome monotony in such a service. Tho . Scriptures do not support any such view of heaven, and I do not know of any intelligent Christian who holds to tho conception which Mr. Beecher so vigorously repudiated. IT WILL NOT DESTROY Ol'U IDENTITY. The Bible does not teach that tho solitary occupation of tho redeemed in heaven will be singing songs and blowing trumpets to the praise of God. Tho man who believes that it does is a crazy literalist. In revealing to us the realities of tho future life the inspired writers were emmielh d to use illiatrcrv ?figures of speech. In no other way could they give us an idea of su personf.uous and divine things. Their pictorial representations of tho futnro state of the redeemed were meant to teach us that tho worship of God there, as hero, is the highest and most satisfying act of the human soul. Whero is it that our souls aro in closest touch with God? Whero is it that wo aro tho most conscious of tho divinity within us? Where is it that our spiritual faculties expericnco tho best illumination and the highest and sweetest exaltation? Whero is it that "heaven comes down the soul to greet, and glory crowns tho mercy seat?" It is where wo worship God "in spirit and in truth." It is in tho secret chamber of prayer, whero wo speak to God, and God speaks to us in the still small voicoof his spirit. It is also in his holy temple, where every faculty of tho soul is lifted up and enraptured by tho inspirations of sacred music, and the consecrated spot on which we stand is transformed into a Mount of Transfiguration. Now, think of these blessed experiences multiplied and intensified a thousandfold, and you will at least approximate a right conception of the sublimity and tho satisfying rapture of heavenly worship. But in that better life we shall do more Hum speak and Bing God's praise. Death will not destroy our identity. Wo shall be thesntno beings in tho next world that we arc in this. We shall have the same intellectual and spiritual faculties, and when these faculties aro exalted and expended, as they doubtless will bo after they cease to bo fettered by their earthly environment, wo shall engage in loftier and moro diversified employments than have ever octics l?orn (1 r\rt of a man's faculties in tho service of Christ in this life does not restrict his energies or render his movements monotonous. Whoso faculifes were moro thoroughly concentrated and riveted upon a single object than William Carey's? the consecrated cobbler?when ho undeitook the work of converting India to the faith of the gospel? Of all tho men who have lived in the nineteenth century, I know not one whoso lifo was less restricted than Carey's. There is nothing that so quickens, expands and exalts a man's mind, and nothing that gives such amplitude, variety and power to his life, as tho inspiration of that grandest affection called "tho love of Christ." Now, if there aro such range and variety of activity to bo found in tho service of Christ on earth, how much vaster the range and greater tho variety in the same service continued in heaven, where the field is infinitely broader and grander, and every object, from the beauty of the crystal seat to the majestic glory which crdwns tho Saviour's brow, files tho redeemed soul with tho loftiest aspirations! Tho novico in Biblo study is apt to bo confused by the variety of the imagery which is employed to set before us the felicity of tho celestial world. Ho is apt to be confused especially by tho fact that the images used for this purpose, "if taken in a natural sense, are quite incompatible with each other." In the one place heaven is pictured as a great city with high walls. In another place it is an open country with trees and streams of water?a country resembling tho land which (Sod gave to tho ancient Israelites. SOME DOUBTS DISl'F.LLED. There aro no discords and divisions in heaven. Why? Because Christ is love, and all beings there take their law and temper from him. .Nothing mar uenicin or maiccm a no can ewer heaven. Why? Because lie is thogatekeeper, and ho is jam; and true. In heaven there will ho no sickness, no care and sorrow for anything, no blighted hopes, iu> disappointment, no anxious forelooking, no fear, no wounded affections, no heartaches, no remorse, no unsatisfied longing. Why? Because Christ is there, and "in his presence there is fullness of joy." Wo have enough in having him. We shall be satisfied when we awake in his likeness. This view of the subject disposes of nil such questions as, "How can I bo happy in heaven if I take with ino tlieru the memory of my own wrongdoings and of the cares and struggles and griefs ol loved ones left behind mo?" or, "How can I be happy there and know that an impassable gulf separates 1110 forever from my father, or my mother, or my wife, or my child?" All such problems will dissolve and disappear in the ineffable light of Christ's visible presence. To have Christ as our everlasting portion is to have every element of happiness. This doctrine makes largo rcom for the differing notions that men liavo about heaven and their differing de- ' grees of sensibility to the next world. I find Homo Christians who have such constant and blessed fellowship with Jesus here, and who are so busy with tho Christian duties of this life, that they aro but little inclined to think about heaven. The most godly, active, humble, self denying Christian that I know today is a woman who, during an intimate acquaintance of many years, lias scarcely spoken to me about what is to conio after death. She so enjoys tho Master here, and mind and hands and heart aro so constantly and earnestly encju;Qd.ifl hls.workiiithisj lower vserld. | that she lias but littlo opportunity c.r ! inclination to ihink of what her stato j will Ijo in tho world nhove. Other truo j and faithful Christians derive most of their comfort and happiness and most j of their inspiration" ^or duty from | thinking of tho glory that shall he rc| vealed to them when mortality is swal| lowed up of life and their feet tread the crystal pavement of the eternal city.' 1 Somo of God's peoplo cling to ono asI pect of the heavenly stato and somo to | another. What feature is most pleas| ing, inspiring and comforting to us is j determined largely by our present tem! perament, condition and environment. ! If a believer is having a lifelong strugj glo with poverty, it will he a sweet j consolation to him to think of an eter i nal residence in a country of plenty, j and where ho will never again havo to grapple with such questions as: "What shall I eat? What shall I drink, and wherewithal shall I ho clothed?" A Christian woman, wasting away under a longnnd painful illness, pointed with skeleton hand to tho sky and said, ; "Thero I shall be well." A DESIRE AND A HOPE. Southey was wont to speak of heaven j as the home of sanctified genius, where i gifted spirits hold exalted fellowship, j Ho longed to seo and converse with | Shakespeare, Dante and Chaucer. Tho ; ruling aspiration of John Foster was to I explore the stcrets of tho spiritual uniI verse. His sublimo soul was restivo j under the limitations of the present life. ; If was like a courser panting to leap : tho barrier; like an eagle dragging at i its chain, beating tho bars of its prison J ' and longing to soar above the clouds. ! He thought of heaven as a place that ' will givo free and ample scope to his | truth seeking and wonder loving spirit. Take tho Christian to whom homo and family are very dear, and who, when j far away in a strange land or on a trou| bled sea, is accustomed to sit alono in j tho twilight and sing "Home, home, i sweet, sweet home I Bo it ever so humI ble, thero's no placo like home!" and you will find that his fondest concep! tion of hea. en is that it is tor thoso ! who bavo been exiles, strangers and pil| grims here, a homo of infinite rest. God has planted in my own breast an | almost boundless admiration for hero- j | ism?especially moral heroism. My , j favorite study has been the biographies , j of heroes. In selecting men to bo my j I companions I look first for courage? I courago to know and speak and act tho j truth. In a world of trimmers and ! timo servers and placo seekers and moral cowards my heart bounds with ecstatic joy when I find a man who j holds himself immeasurably abovo tho j dastardly principle that "wo must do in Homo what Romans do." Having this intense admiration for courago and this passionato fondness for brave men, it is a feast to my soul to think of heaven as tho gathering place of God's heroes. And no intelligent Christian can j read tho eleventh chapter of Hebrews j and John's description of tho glorified martyrs without admitting that this conception is true. I want to see bravo j old Noah, who for more than 100 years I withstood tho ridicule of tho wholo world. I want to seo Moses, who had tho sublime courago to step down from 1 tho wealth and splendor and power of a j prince?an heir apparent to tho throne j of Egypt?and identify himself with the afflicted and enslaved people of God. I want to seo those apostles who, when sentenced to ho whipped and threatened with death, stood before tho court which condemned them and said, "Wo will obey God rather thanmon." I want to seo Paul, whom neither bonds nor imprisonments nor stripes, nor tho fury of mobs, nor the wrath of kings, could conquer. I want to see Polycarp, who could not bo constrained even by tho torture of flames to deny Christ. 1 want to sec Martin Luther, who taced tho wicked vengeance of papal Romo j without a tremor. I want to seo the old Bedford Baptist John Bunyan, who would lie in jail "till moss grew over ; his eyebrows beforo he would surrender j ; his right to preach the gospel without j i tho license of tho king." Neither man nor angel could depict tho rapture that will fill my soul if through God's mercy I shall be permitted to sit down in the kingdom of i heaven and look into tho faces of such men. But my admiration for these heroes will not blind me to tho fact that it was Christ in them that made them brave and faithful unto death. They were conquerors through him, and all the glory of their achievements | will merge .nto tho imperishable glory that encircles his brow. In that best abodo Christ is all and in nil. Without his presence nothing there could render us happy. It is tho light radiating | from his faco that makes all tho beauty j I and all tho bliss of heaven. Blessed j ! Saviour! Giver of all good! Thou i I art of all thy gifts thyself the crown. Improving on Nature. j One of the cases in which tho work of man is superior to that of nature is 111 the material now being employed by tho builders of the walls of tho elaborate I batteries at Portland headlight. This ' is a combination of stone, broken fine by j the steam crusher, and cement. The j compound is blocked out in molds, and the slabs thus formed, 3 feet in length by 1 in width, are laid in the walls like bricks. This is expected to withstand | any shot, and by actual tests is innneas- j urably superior for this purpose to tho I natural stone. Every stone (nature's) fort throughout ' the country has been condemned. It is j i proposed to erect besides a battery of ' heavy guns at White Head, Cushing's is- j land, a mortar battery of 1(5 pieces at tho j southerly point of the island. It will j have tho new breech loading mortars, | which have great accuracy as well as re- | markablo range. It is evident that the ! government regards this harbor asoneof the most important?a great strategic point?and as such to be strongly fort'- ' tied.?Dangor Commercial. What (ieniK Will I)o. Sapphire produces somnambulism and impels the wearer to all good works. Catseye is considered by tho Cingalese as a charm against witchcraft. Moonstone has the virtue of making j trees fruitful and of curing epilepsy. Emerald promotes friendship and constancy of mind. Vlsiiuii: l in mint V>? J DI,H? , , sleep ami insures good dreams. Tim Burmese ltelieve that the ruby ripens like fruit. Agate (pienches thirst and if held in j tlie mouth allays fever. Coral is a talisman against enehant| meats, thunder, witchcraft and the per| ils of flood and field. A bouquet composed of diamonds, 1 1 loadstones and sapphires combined renj ders a person almost invincible and wholly irresistible. Leathery Wlngcil Most curious in origin of all nocturnal I | insect hunters aro the leathery winged | bats, which may bo regarded, practi- I | callv speaking, as very tiny monkeys, i highly specialized for the task of catch- ! ing noctur?...I flies and midges. Few ' people know how nearly they aro related to us. They belong to the self same division of the higher mammals as : man and the apes. Their skeleton an- : ; swers to ours, bone for bone and joint J for joint, in an extraordinary manner. , ! Only the unessential fact that they have | I very long fingers with a web between as 1 an organ of flight prevents us from in- : ! stantly and instinctively recognizing ; them as remote cousins, once removed ; ; from the gorilla.?Cornhill Magazine. A Wrung Start. Toddles?Papa, which are tho bestest, j ladies or men? Papa?Ladies, my dear, Toddles?Then don't you fink you an . mama outfit to be patienter wif us boys I 'cause we got a wrong start?don't you ' see??New York Recorder. 1 j THE YOUNH MAN IN BI'SIXKSX. ! One of the inrii who haw surmounted olistacli's anil sichicvcil res|>onslble position ill an I'urly litre anil whose divided talents are reeomiized in the publishing world, is Mr. Kdj ward \V. link,the editor of The Ladies' Home I .lournal. Mr. Itok was horn in Holland from | whettee his family removed to this country ; j w I ten he was live. Hettinnint; his career in the otllceof the Western I'nion hcsnhseiiticntlvcnI tered theserviceof a publishing hotiseand inter achieved the (Misitfonof advertising manager I witli Charles Serihner's Sons. This position | lie retained until he was twenty-live, when he I accepted the ditllcul! and respotislhle (Misition | of editor of The Ladies' Home .lonrnai. He I is now a part owner in the famons journal to i whose success he has so largely contrihiiteil, I j and in addition to tlds is,with Ids brother, | proprietor of a prosjieroiis syndicate press j | agency. Kdwurd W. link, in January Cosmo|Mditan. A well-known New York millionaire gave it as his opinion not long since that any young man possessing a good [ constitution and a fair degree of intelligence, might acquire riches. The statement was criticised?literally | picked to pieces?and finally adjudged j as heing wildly extravagant. The figures then came out, gathered by a 1 careful statistician, that of the young i men in business in New York city only ; (!() per cent, were earning $1,000 per ' year, 12 per cent, had an income of | $2,000, and only 5 per cent, command- I ed salaries in excess of the latter figure, j j The great majority of young men in New York city?that is, between the ages of 23 and 30?were earning less tlian thirty dollars per week. On the basis, therefore, that a young man j must be established in his life profes- t ! sion by his 30th year, it can hardly be said that the average New York young man in business is successful. Of course, this is measured entirely from j the standpoint of income; yet, after all, is not that point of view a tolerably fair one? A young man may not, in every case, receive the salary his services merit, but, as a general rule, his income is a pretty accurate indication of his capacities. Now, as every young man naturally desires to make a business success, it is plain from the above statement that something is lacking; either the opportunities or the capabilities in the young men themselves. No one conversant with the business life of any of our large cities can, it seems to me, even for asingle moment, doubt the ex- j istence of the chances for young men. Take New York city as a fair exHnun /ivlel ttlACJI Ai\n/?idnnJ_ JltJl' LAiot UIUI v millties (lian there are young men capable of embracing them. The demand is far in excess of the supply. Positions of trust are constantly going hogging for the right kind of young men to till i them. Hut the material doesn't exist, ; or, if it does, it certainly has a most unfortunate way of hiding its light under a bushel, so much so that business men cannot see even a glimmer of its rays. Let a position of any real im- i portance become open, and it is the most difficult kind of problem to lind { anyone to fill it satisfactorily, business men are constantly passing through this experience. In order that, in this article, I might deal with facts rather than with theories, I made a personal canvass of a dozen of the largest houses in five different commercial and professional lines of business to see to what extent there existed openings for young men. In only two of the houses approached were the heads of the firms satisfied that the positions of trust in their houses were filled by capable men. And in both of these instances I was told that "of course, if the right sort of a young man came along who could tell us something about our business ! we did not already know, we should not let him slip through our fingers. Positions can always he created." In the remaining ten eases, one or more opportunities presented itself in each instance; in fact, in four of the houses positions had been open for six months or more, and the sharpest kind of a lookout kept for possible occupants. These positions commanded salaries all the way from two to five thousand dollars per year. Take in that particular profession, the publishing business, with which I am naturally most conversant, I know, personally, of not less than six positions actually yawning for the men to come and lill them?not clerical positions, hut positions of executive authority. Young men are de- j sired in these positions because of their progressive ideas and capacity to endure work ; in fact, "young blood" as it is called, is preferred in nine positions out of every ten nowadays. I have dwelt upon this phase of the question because I wished to make it as ! clear as it is given me to do, that the j chances for business success with any young man are not wanting. The op- 1 portunities exist, plenty of them. It is simply that the average young man of today is incapable of filling them, or if he he not exactly incapable (I am willing to give him the benefit of the doubt), he is unwilling, which is even worse. That exceptions can be brought up to controvert this statement I know, but in this article I shall deal with the many and not with the few. The average young man in business today is nothing more or less than a plodder?a mere automatic, machine. He conies to his office at nine o'clock in the morning; is faithful in the duties he performs; goes to lunch at twelve, comes back at one; takes up whatever he is told to do until live, and then goes 1 home. His work for the day is done. One day is the same to him as another; he has a certain routine of duties to do. and he docs them day in and day out, month in and month-out. His duties are regulated by the clock. As that points, so he points. Verily, it is true of him that he is the same yester- | day. today and forever. No special fault can he found with his work. (liven a particular piece of work to do, he does it just as a machine would. Such a young man, too, generally considers himself hard-worked?often over-worked and under-paid, wondering all the time why his employer doesn't recognize his value and advance his salary. ' "I do everything I am told to do," he argues, "and I doit well. "What more : can I do?" This is simply a type of a young man which exists in thousands of ollices and stores, lie comes to his work each day with no definite point or plan in view ; he leaves it with nothing accomplished. He is a mere automaton. Let liim die, and his position can he tilled in twenty-four hours. If he detracts nothing from his employer's business | he certainly adds nothing to it. lie ! never advances an idea; is absolutely devoid of creative powers ; his position remains the sameafter he has been in it for live years as when he came to it. Now, 1 would not for a moment he understood as belittling the value of i faithfulness in an employe. Hut, after all, faithfulness is nothing more nor less than a negative quality. 15y faithfulness a man can hold a position a life- I time. He will keep it just where he found it. Hut by the exercise of this single quality he does not add to the importance of the position any more than he adds to his own value. It is net enough that it should he said of a young man that lit* is faithful; he must be something more. The willingness and capacity to be faithful to the smallest detail must be there, serving only, however, as a foundation upon which j other qualities are built. Altogether too many young men are content to remain in the positions in which they (ind themselves. The thought of studying the needs of the next position just above them never seems to enter into their minds. 1 be- j lieve it is possible for every young man to rise above his position, and I care not how humble that position may be, nor under what disadvantages he may be placed. l>ut he must be alert. He i must not lio afraid of work, and of the J hardest kind of work. He must study not only to please, hut he must go a | step beyond. It is essential, of course, ; that he should first of all till the position for which lit is engaged. No man can solve the problem of business before he understands the rudiments of the problem itself. Once the requirements of a position are under- i stood and mastered, then its possibilities should he undertaken. It is foolish, as some young men argue, ; that to go beyond their special position I is impossible with their employers, i The employer never existed who will prevent the cream of his establishment from rising to the surface. The advance of an employe always means the advance of the employer's interests. Every employer would rather pay a young man live thousand dollars a year than five hundred. What is to the young man's interests is by far greater to the interests of his employer. A five hundred clerkship is worth just that amount and nothing more to an employer. But a five thousand dollar man is fully worth five times that sum to a business. A young man makes of ; a position exactly what he chooses: a \ millstone around his neck, or a step- j ping-stone to larger success. The pos- j sibilities lie in every position; seeing and embracing them rests with its occupant. The lowest position can be so ! filled as to lead up to the next and be- , come a part of it. One position should only be the chrysalis for the develop- > ment of new strength to master the i other just above it. A substantial business success means several things. It calls, in the first place, for concentration. There is no truth so potent as that which tells us that we cannot serve Ood and Mammon. Nor can any young man success- j fully serve two business interests, no ; matter how closely allied ; in fact, the i iliore closely the interests the more dangerous are they. The human mind is capable of just so much clear thought, and generally it does not extend be vond the requirements of one position in these days of keen competition. If ttiprn ovists 11 secret of success it lies. ! perhaps in concentration more than in any other single element. During business hours a young man should be in | business. His thoughts should be on nothing else. Diversion of thought are killing to the best endeavors. The successful mastery of business questions calls for a personal interest, a forgetfulness of self that can only come, from the closest application and the most absolute' concentration. I go so far in my belief of concentration to business j interests in business hours as to argue I that a young man's personal letters I have no right to come to his olfice ad- j dress, nor should he receive his social j friends at his desk. Business hours are j none too long in tho great majority of ; our olliccs, and with a rest of one j hour for luncheon, no one has a right i to chop oil' iifteen minutes here to read j an irrelevant personal letter, or fifteen | minutes there to talk with a friend j whose conversation distracts the mind j from the problems before it. A young j man cannot draw the line between his | business life and his social life too j cloudy. It is all too true of thousands j of young men that they are better conversant during the baseball season with the batting average of Roger Connor, or the number of men "put out at second'' by "Buck" Ewing, than they are with the discounts of their business, and this useless knowledge too many of our young men allow themselves to their own detriment. Digression is just as dangerous as I stagnation in the career of a young j man in business. There is absolutely ] no position worth the having in busi- j 11 ess life today to which the care of j other interests can be added. Let a j man attempt to serve the interests of j one master and if he serves him well ; he has his hands and his head full. | There is a class of ambitious young j I -A. A 1 ?l I men who ikivc wnac nicy cuuuse iu cull "an anchor to the windward" in their business. That is, they main- j tain something outside of their regit- j lar position. They do this from necessity, they claim. One position does 1 not offer sufficient scope for their pow- j ers or talents; does not bring them 1 sufficient income, and they are "forced," they explain, to take on something in addition. I have known such young men. But as far as I have been able to discern, the trouble does not lie so much with the position they j occupy as with themselves. When a i man turns away from the position he , holds, to outside affairs, he turns jusl so j far away from the surest path of sue- ! cess. To do one thing perfectly is better than to do two tilings only fairly well. It was told me once of one of our best known actors, that outside of ! his stage knowledge he knew absolutely nothing. But he acted well?so j well that lie stands today at the head of his profession, and has an income of five figures several times over. Allaround geniuses are rare?so rare that [ we can hardly find them. It is a pleasant thing to be able to talk well on many topics; but, after all, that is but ; a social accomplishment. To know one thing absolutely means material success and commercial and mental superiority. I dare say that if some of our young men understood the needs j of the positions they occupy more fully than they do, the necessity for outside work would not exist. Stagnation in a young man's career is but a synonym lor starvation, since there is no such thing as standing still in the business world of today. Either we go backward or we go forward ; we never stand still. When a young in:ni tails to Keep anreasi ui uic liilities of his positon, lie rccetles constantly. if unconsciously perhaps. The j young man who progresses Is he who enters into the spirit of the business of his employer, and who points out new J methods to him, advances new ideas, ! suggests new channels and outputs. There is no more direct road to the confidence of an employer than for j him to see that any of his clerks tin- I del-stands his business even better than himself. That young man commands the attention of his chief at once, and when a vacancy occurs lie is apt to | step into it, if he docs not forge over the shoulders of others. Young men i who think clearly, can conceive, create ; and carry out, are not so plentiful that | even a single one will he lost sight ; of. It is no special art, and it reflects i but little credit upon any man to sim- j ply fill a position. That is expected of iiim ; he is engaged to do that, and it is only a fair return for a certain pay- j meat made. The art lies in doing more than was bargained for; in proving greater than was expected ; in making more of a position than has over been made before. A quick con- j ccplion is needed here ; the ability to view a broad horizon, for it is the Jibe- I ml minded man, not the man of narrow limitations, who makes the success of today. A young man showing such qualities to an employer does not i remain in one position long. Two traps in which young men in business often fall are a disregard for a small things, and an absolute fear of I making mistakes. One of the surest keys to success lies in thoroughness, i No matter how great be the enterprise j undertaken, a regard for the small ' things is necessary. Just as the little j courtesies of every-day life make life worth the living, so the little details form the bone and sinew of a great success. A thing half or three-quar- I ters done is worse than not done at all. j Let a man be careful of the small things in business and he can general- ! ]y be relied upon for the greater ones. The man who can overcome small worries is greater than the man who I can override great obstacles. When a | young man becomes so ambitious for ' i large success tliat be overlooks tbc | ( small tilings, be is pretty apt to en- j | counter failure. There is nothing in business so infinitesimal that we can i ] afford to do it in a slip-shod fashion. < It is no art to answer twenty letters in | a morning when they are in reality < only half answered. When we com- j mend brevity in business letters, we do not mean brusquencss. Nothing | stamps the character of a house so , clearly as the letters it sends out. I The fear of making mistakes keeps ( many a young man down, of course, , errors in business are cosily, and it is , better not to make them. I Jut, at the ; same time, I wouldn't give a snap of i the linger for a young man who has i ] never made mistakes. IJut there are j | mistakes and mistakes; some easy to : j be overlooked, others it is better not to ! ] blink at in any employe. A mistake , of judgment is possible with us all; the . oesi 01 us are not auove a wrong ue- j cision. And a young man who holds | ( back for fear of making mistakes loses | the first point of success. : \ A young man in business nowadays , , with an ambition to be successful must ; ; also be careful of his social life. It | is not enough that he should take care | i of himself during the day. To social dissipations at night can be traced the : , downfall of hundreds upon hundreds < of young men. The idea that an em- ! . ployer has no control over a young i | man's time away from the office is a j dangerous fallacy. An employer has ! ] every right to ask that those into , whose hands he entrusts responsi- < bilities shall follow social habits ] which will not endanger his interests . upon the morrow. So Air as social life ( is concerned, young men generally run s to both extremes. Either they do not < go out at all, which is stagnating; or, | they go out too much, which is deadly. Only here and there is found one who , knows the happy medium. A certain f amount of social diversion is essential ( in ouoi'i'ldvlv hnv mnn oirl or woman. VfV.JMVMJ, JO--- -- - J And particularly so to a young man j < with a career to make. To come into ! < contact with the social side of people ( is broadening: it is educative. "To j know people," says a writer, "you I , must see them at play." Social life ; < can be made a study at the same time ( that it is made a pleasure. To know i j the wants of people, to learn their ? softer side, you must come into contact ! , with their social natures. No young | | man can nfl'ord to deny himself certain | i pleasures, or a reasonable amount of , contact with people in the outer world, i | It is to his advantage that people ' j should know he exists: what his aims ! | and aspirations are. It is well for a i j young man to keep himself honorably i s in the eyes of the public. His even- j ing occupations should be us widely j , different from those which occupy him ; j during the day as possible. The mind [ j needs a change of thought as well as j , does the body a change of raiment. t ( "All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy" contains a vast amount of i 1 truth. ] ( At the same time, nothing is more i ] injurious to the chances of a young j \ man in business than an over-indul- : > gence in the pleasures of what, for the | | want of a better word, we call "socie- | | ty." It is a rough but a true saying , that "a man cannot drink whisky and j be in business." Perhaps a softer and | ( more relincd translation of this is that j ] a man cannot be in society and be in | business. This is impossible, and notli- ! | ing that a young man can bear in mind I | will stand him to such good account as i this fact. No mind can be fresh in the : , morning that has been kept at a ten- j j sion the night before by late hours, or i , befogged by indulgence of late suppers. I ) We need more sleep at twenty-five j ( than we do at fifty, and the young man j | who grants himself less than eight 1 , hours' sleep every night just robs him- ' , self of so much vitality. The loss may ] not be felt or noticed at present, but : | the process of sleeping is only Nature's , banking system of principal and inter- , est. A mind capable of the fulfilment , of its highest duties should be recep- j tive to ideas, quick to comprehend, in- ( stantaneous in its conception of a point. With a fresh mind and a clear brain, a young man has two of the greatest levers of success. These cannot be retained under social indulgences. The , dissipation of a night has its invariable influence upon the work of the morrow. : I do not preach total abstinence of any \ habits to which human nature is prone. Every man ought to know what is \ good for him and what is injurious to his best interests. But an excess of anything is injurious, and a young man . on the threshold of a business career cannot afford to be excessive in a sin- ] gle direction. He should husband his j resources. He will need them all. I For no success is easily made nowa days. Appearances are tremendously deceptive in this respect. We see men . making what we choose to regard and ( call quick success, because at a com- . paratively early age they acquire posi- 1 tion or means. But one needs only to . study the conditions of the business life of today to sec how impossible It is y to achieve any success except by the very hardest work. No young man need approach a business career with ' the idea that its achievement is easy, j The histories of successful men tell us ? all too clearly the lessons of the pa- ' tience and efforts of years. Some men 1 compass a successful career in less time than others. And if the methods em- v ployed arc necessarily different, the requirements arc precisely the same. It ' is a story of hard work in every case, j J of close application and of a patient | . mastery of the problem in hand. Advantages of education will come in at ' times and push one man ahead of an- 1 other. But a practical business knowl- j J edge is apt to be a greater possession. 1 know there are thousands of young ' men who feel themselves incompetent for a business career because of a lack ' of early education. And here might [ . come in?if I choose to discuss the 1 subject, which I do not?the oft-mooted ! question of the exact value of a college ! education to the young man in business. ; 1 Far abler pens than mine have treated I of this: it is certainly not for me to 1 enter into here. But I will say this: I } a young man need not feel that the J . lack of a college education will stand ; in any respect whatever in the way of ( his success in the business world. No j college on earth ever made a business man. The knowledge acquired in col- ! s lege has fitted thousands of men for ( professional success, but it has also un- i ( .... 1 .1_? .1 1- r... ? 1 IlllCU OlIltT lHUUMiima iui 11 jm.iiim.h j business career. A college training is j . never wasted, although I have seen i again and again live-thousand-dollar educations spent 011 five-hundred-dol- j J lar men. Where a young man can bring ! a college education to the requirements of a practical business knowledge, it is an advantage, lhit before our Aineri- ' can colleges become an absolute factor 1 in the business capacities of men, their 1 methods of study and learning will f have to be radically changed. 1 have <] had associated with me both kinds of 1 young men, collegiate and non-collegi- t ate, and I must confess that the ones > who had a better knowledge of the I practical part of life have been those s who never saw the inside of a college \ and whose feet never stood upon a t campus. College-bred men, and men who never had college advantages, 1) have succeeded in about equal ratios. -s The men occupying the most important t commercial positions in New York to- t day are self-made, whose only educa- t tion has come to them from contact with that greatest college of all, the business world. Far he it from me t? c depreciate the value of a College editcation. I believe in its advantages too c firmly. Hut no young man need feel i hampered because of the lack of it. If business qualities are in him they will pome to-the surface. It is not the college education : it is the young man. Without its possession as great and honorable successes have been made as with it. Men are not accepted in the business world upon their collegiate liplomas, nor on the knowledge these imply. The young man engaged in business loday, in this country, has advantages exceeding those of any generation before hint, lie lives in a country where ;very success is possible ; where a man pan make of himself just what be may boose; where energy and enterprise ire appreciated, and a market is always ready for good wares. And he : ... - ...t uvea ai ii iiiiir \> urn iiiuie up|iuiiuuilies are open to him than at any period m the history of our land. Young men have forged to the front wonderfully luring the past ten years. Employers ire more than ever willing to entrust jreat responsibilities on their shoulders. Salaries are higher than ever; young men never before earned the incomes which are received by some today. All success is possible. Hut? and it's a big word in this connection ?he must remember a few very essential truths, and these arc: Above all things, before a young man attempts to make a success, he should convince himself that he is in a congenial business. Whether it be a trade or a profession?both are honorable and productive?let him satisfy liimself, above everything else, that it enlists his personal interest. If a man diows that he has his work at heart, bis success can be relied on. Personal interest in any work will bring Dther things; but all the other essentials combined cannot create personal interest. That must exist first: then two thirds of the battle is won. Fully satisfied that he is in the particular line of business in which ho feels i stronger, warmer interest than in any ather, then he should remember: First?That, whatever else lie may strive to he, he must, first of all, he absolutely honest. From honorable principles he can never swerve. A temporary success is often possible on what are not exactly dishonest, but 'shady" lines; but such success is Dtily temporary, with a certainty of permanent loss. The surest business success?yes, the only successes worth the making, are built upon lionest foundations. There can he no 'blinking" at the truth or at honesty, no half way compromise. There is jut one way to be successful, and that s be absolutely honest; and there is nit one way to he honest. Honesty s not only tlie foundation, but the capstone as well, of business success. Second?He must be alert, alive to every opportunity. He cannot alford o lose a single point, for that single point might prove the very link that would make complete the whole chain >f a business success. Third?He must ever be willing to earn, never overlooking the fact that it hers have long ago forgotten what he :ias still to learn. Firmness of decison is an admirable trait in business. 1'he young man whose opinions can he ossed from one side to the other is poor material. Hut youth is full of . rrors, and caution is a strong trait. Fourth?If he be wise, he will enirely avoid the use of intoxicating liquors. If the question of harm done ay intoxicating liquors is an open one, [he question of the actual good derived from it is not. Fifth?Let him remember that a young man's strongest recommendaion is his respectability. Some young nen, apparently successful, may be lashy in dress, loud in manner, and lisrespeetful of women and sacred hings. Hut the young man who is respectable always wears best. The way a young man carries himself in lis private life oft-times means much to hid ill ins diisiiicss career. .>o mauer vlierc lie is, or in whose company? cspcctability, and all that it implies, >vi 11 always command respect. And f any young man wishes a set of rules veil more concise, here it is: (Jet into a business you like. Devote yourself to it. Be honest in everything. Employ caution ; think out a thing veil before you enter upon it. Sleep eight hours every night. Do everything that means keeping n good health. School yourself not to worry ; worry tills, work doesn't. Avoid liquors of all kinds. IT you must smoke, smoke moderitely. Shun discussion on two points?reigion and politics. And lastly, but not least: Marry a rue woman, and have your own home. Carlisle's Suicidal Policy.?A sVcstern exchange shows how Secreary Carlisle has killed his popularity u Kentucky: ''The recommendation of Secretary Carlisle for an additional tax upon vhisky, will cause deep mortification o his friends in Kentucky, and in fact o all Kentucky. The people in the State had honored Mr. Carlisle as a horoughbred; and although he gave nany of them a severe wrench when ic went back on his record and united villi the goldbugs in the war on silver, hev could not believe be could sink to uch depravity as this ! "This assault on the great Kentucky staple will never be forgiven. Oh, lack, were there not hundreds of useess luxuries upon which taxes could ic laid or advanced, that you must :fol? vmip mnflinr fil t lli? . hv add ng to the cost of one of the absolute lecessities of life? Are you really >one of the blue grass ami flesh of the .horoughbrcdr or were you swapped in lie cradle for some puny nursling of ikini milk and weak, pale water? "Put more tax on whisky ! when it s now so burdened that the most bulimic saloon keeper cannot sell it at ess than Hi cents a drink. And some vilI look you dead in the eye as you lour, and ask if you wish to take the oof from the house when you try to ivritig in 'two for a quarter.' "Mr. Carlisle need not return to Kentucky, lie is socially and politi ally defunct, and former friends will ;ive liini the back of the kind. Could le not raise revenue by tax on white shirts and free niggers? (Jood Denio rats can do without both. Hut to sit lown and in cold blood recommend nore tax on whisky ! Why, lie had letter be caught throwing a race, or logging on ace ami deuce. A Kenuckian recommending increased tax ipon whisky! How long now till crack o' doom ?'" - flaY" A gentleman who had been re reshing liimscl! u snort time prtviousy at one of the Houlevard cafes, litiriedly reentered the establishment and, iddressing the waiter anxiously in[iiired of him : ' I >i?l I leave behind neasmall parcel, tied with a string, on he table?" "No, sir," replied the vaiter. "J?v jove, then, it's unlucky. shouldn't like the parcel to get into trange hands, for it contained some aluahle?" "Jewels, sir ?" suggested he waiter, smiling diuiiuiy. ".icweis : S'o, man ; scorpions. Some very rare mil deadly scorpions." The waiter miled no more, lie, on the contrary, urncd deathly pale, and sinking into lie nearest chair gasped, as lie pointed o his coat pocket, "They are there." #07* "When something is very dilliailt to understand," said the distinguished professor of biology, "it is ailed science; when it is impossible,it s called philosophy."