Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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National Flowers. In crown and teal the royal Rooe is si/rn And symbol swe^t of England's sover eignty; Old France her banners filial with flenr- de-Tis, And Gennan flags shake oat the Corn-flow er’s shine. The Thistle is the Scotsman’s kingly flower, And Ireland proudly waves her Shamrock green. But ia car flag no one flower might be seen As emblem of oar greatness. Splendid shower All blossoms on cur vastness—lily, rose, The thistle, shamrock, corn-flower, thou sands more, That grow from stern Alaska to Gulf shore, And bloom by sandy beach or mountain snows; All flowers of us? or beauty God bestows To grace our boundaries and their scope dis- elo-e. —Emily E. F. Ford in Harper's Weekly. WANTED-AN HEIRESS. BY EMSIA A. norrEB. “Ilerc’s a story for you!” said Mrs. Gerry to a literary friend, seated in her handsome parlor. Her jolly, matronly face broadened wi.h smiles at an apparently diverting recollection. ‘•You wouldn’t credit the incident if you read it; but as I was an eye-wit ness, I can vouch for it. You’ll be paid for listening; it's really too good! “I took what I called a vacation af ter we got done with Asbury Park and Saratoga last summer. Mr. Gerry was going west on a two-week’s business tiip, and said I: “ ‘I’ve worked hard this summer, and I’m going to take a rest. I’ve talked amiably to five hundred thousand peo ple I haven’t cared for; I’ve rowed and sailed all summer, though it makes me sick, and bathed religiously, when I hate it; I’ve chaperoned a million girls to doings of all sorts, and even succaed- ed in getting one or two engaged—and I’ve earned a period of peace. I’m go ing to spend the two weeks of your absence, Mr. Gerry, in a woodland re treat. ’ “Well, it wasn’t that precisely, but it was passable. I went to a little hotel in the Catskills. I found too many peo ple there to suit me, though. Old Col onel Marlow came the next day—an en tomological old ci ank, craving his par don; he carries a trunkful of dried beetles and things about with him; and Harry Fosdick was there with his friend Mr. Pierson. “I had met Fosdick before, and abom inated him for a conceited sprig and an heiress hunter. Mr. Pierson was a lank young creature, with an inane smile and a middle parting to his hair. “They were two of a kind, and most congenial, till the new waitress burst upon the scene. If th<? new waitress didn’t stir things up! ^ “Polly, her name was. The other girls were the regulation sort, imported from the city, I imagine, frizzed hair, red jerseys, pert ways—you know them, “Polly was an oasis in the desert. Polly wasn’t exactly pretty, but she was as fresh and blooming as a rose, as neat as wax, and as bright as a dollar. I ii irly nabbed her for my table,and kspt ht; and we got to be very good friends, Polly and I. “O.d Colonel Marlow was at my t ii'le. He mooned at mo three times a day through his spectacles, and talked ruoths and mosquitoes to me till I felt like one of his pin-stuck speci mens. “But after Polly came the colonel bcht the light of his glasses ou her with vivid interest. I thought at first that the old absurdity was in love with her. “But that wasn’t it. Ho followed me out to the piazza one day; he looked excited. “ ‘Mrs. Gerry,’ said ho, ‘I have made a remarkable discovery—extraordinary ! Do you know the identity of the young woman who sei vcs at our table?’ “ ‘I know she lives down the road somewhere,’said I, ‘in a vine-clad cot tage, probably, and that the proprietor of the hotel, having bought butter and eggs from her father, made boll to ask Polly to fill the vacancy loft by tho sud den departure of a waitresi, aud that Polly being obliging and not too proud to turn an honest penny, came along.’ “The colonel looked sly. *’ ‘That’s what the landlord has given out,’ said he. ‘The story is a fabrica tion. Listen, Mrs. Gerry! That young woman is Miss Mary—or Polly, as she is called by intimates—Miss Polly Gard ner. I am an old friend of her grand father’s, and I have seen her frequently. You have heard of her? She is heiress to half a million.’ “I had heard of her. She was a friend of the Lemoynes, and the Le- moyncs are frieads of mine. I laughed a full nnnu'.e. “ ‘The la?t I heard of Mi-s Gardner,’ said I, ‘she was in Europe. I don’t think she’s returned. ’ “ ‘That young person is Miss Polly Gardner,’ said the colonel, peremptori ly. ‘1 recognized her at a glance—at a glance, Mrs. Gerry.’ “ ‘You are short-sighted, colonel,’ I ventured, ‘and perhaps a little absent- minded.’ “ ‘Possibly, Mrs. Gerry,’ said the colonel with dignity, ‘the fact remains that I recognize Miss Gardner beyond doubt, strange though the fact may seem.’ “ ‘She is, then, out of her senses?’ said I, patiently. “ ‘I trust not,’ said the colonel. But Miss Gardner, Mrs. Gerry, is a whimsical young woman. Ska has a reputation for peculiarity. Her large and independent fortune has made her somewhat crochety. I am not greatly astonished at this freak, remarkable though it is. Evidently she has tired of gaieties, frivolities, and has taken this course for a complete change. I have read of such things,’ said the col onel, thoughtfully, ‘but never before have I seen it. If it were the act o f any but an eccsntric, self-willed young woman, I could not believe my eyes.’ “ ‘But nobody outside of a mad house,’ said I, and considerably more in that strain. “All in vain. When the colonel be took himself aul his butterfly-net aud bis bottle of ether into the woods, some time later, it was with his phenomenal belief unchanged. ‘“I shall not accost her,’ said he. ‘An exposure would undoubtedly annoy her.’ “‘Undoubtedly,’ said I. “That’s tho first chapter of the com edy. To comprehend tho sequel you must understand that the colonel is garrulous. Wh°n I saw him talking to Harry Fosdick, and later to Mr. Pierson— when I observed them listening with open mouths and bulging eyes—I knew what he was imparting. “Now, I’m discreet and far-seeing. I kept my counsel and awaited develop ments. “Sure enough, tho little Fosdick joined me in the parlor one morning. ‘•‘That is a charming girl at your table, Mrs. Gerry,’ said he. ‘And a lady. That is evident. I may as well confess that I am mack impressed with her. Some men would blush to confess it, Mrs. Gerry, merely because she has not a high social position, nor money. I,’ said the little wretch, ‘am a man of more independence. I admire Miss Polly and I own it boldly.’ “Bah! how I wanted to take him by the collar and shako him. But I knew his sin would overtake him, for I knew his corrupt little head was teeming with thoughts of the Gardner half- million. Where pare meanness is concerned I am merciless. I own that I chuckled. “Then came along Mr. Pierson, of the lady-like hair. He referred to Polly in terms of warm approval. “ ‘When I marry, Mrs. Gerry,’ he re marked, ‘I marry the girl of my heart’s choice, and not the parti indicated by worldly prudence. If it be necessary to slap society in the face, Mrs. Gerry, I shall do it.’ “If you could have seen him as he uttered it! His weak blue eyes tried to flash, but didn’t succeed, and he forti fied himself with the head of his cane. “ ‘Go on, addle-pates I’ said I, in wardly. ‘It’s fun for me. Go on!’ “So it was, and for everybody else; though with everybody else they got the credit of being honestly in loyejffiilh my poor Polly. I had the real enjoy ment all to myself. “Polly didn’t know how to take it. To have two fine young men of a sudden paying her all sorts of respectful atten tions—looking at her and smiling at her, hurrying through their meals in order to get a chance to speak to her, bowing to her as they would have to any lady when she entered the dining room—well, Polly was bewildered, that was obvious. “The frizzled and red-jerseyed wait resses didn’t like it. They giggled amoncr themselves, and went about with noses perked up. “What Polly endured in the kitchen, I don't know, but the dining-room at mosphere was an indication of it. “How shall I place the ensuing period realistically before you? Try to imagine it! “Fosdjck gave Polly fresh flowers every day, and Pierson sent to New York for a box of the best confectionery. Fosdick hung about sedulously when Polly was on the scene; Pierson I sus pect of having sent notes to her by the bellboy. “Finally, as a desperate move—you wouldn’t have believed they’d have gone to such lengths on mere speculation— but Fosdick sent to the city for his trap, in bold readiness for the next step in the campaign, and Pierson walked a mile to a livery stable to sec if there were any suitable buggies for hir?. - “ T have relatives, Mrs. Gerry,” said Pierson, ‘who would be shocked to know of my hones!; admiration for a waitress. What do I care? I snap my fingers at them!’ “And he heroically snapped. “ ‘I do not ask myself what the world would say, Mrs. Gerry,’ said Fosdick— Fosd ok grew most confidential toward the last—‘because I am not that kind of a man. I am my own master, that shs be feen!’ “I presume they fondly believed that I repeated their remarks to Polly,know ing me to be on good terms with her. I needn’t say that I didn’t.’ “Of course it grew warm toward the climax. The hotel was agog with it, of course, an d Pierson an I Fosdick hardly on speaking terms, and Polly the ob serve d of all ob ervers. ‘ Poily bore herself well. You see, the meekest woman has a spark of coquetry, and Polly, I am convinced, half enjoyed it, in spite of her amaze ment and the spleen of the red jerseys. I haven’t any proof of it—but Polly looked demure. “Colonel Marlow and his insects took themselves off before the end came. “Well that he did! I couldn’t have answered for tho consequences if he hadn’t. “Well, it came with a crash, and 1 had the real pleasure of witnessing it. I was reading on the side porch one afternoon, just the day before I came home, and Fosdick put in a sudden, hurried appearance. ‘ ‘ ‘Have you seen Miss Polly, Mrs. Gerry?’ said he, ‘I’m looking for her.* “ ‘Isn’t that she?’ said I sweetly. “Polly was coming round from the kitchen court. She had her hat on and Pierson was with her. “Fosdick turned a little pale. Than presently the peat-up storm burst. I put my book over my lips and serenely lis tened. “ ‘I have my trap waiting. Miss Pol ly,’ said Fosdick—actually he did, it seemed. ‘I widi the pleasure of your company for a drive. I mentioned the matter yesterday, you remember.’ “ ‘I diln’t say I could go, Mr. Fos dick,* said Polly. “I could ses the poor girl was fright ened. Her voice fairly trembled. “ ‘I’m going home today,’ said she. “ ‘If Miss Polly does remember,’ said Pierson, superciliously, ‘she will uot be able to accompany you. I have engaged her company for the afternoon.’ *‘ ‘Mr. Pierson,’ said Polly, faintly, ‘I’m going home. I’m expecting some body to get me. ’ “ ‘Not to-day, Mbs Polly,’ said Fos dick. ‘Don’t tell me that you are going today. You are going no further than the Peak to-day, with me.’ “ ‘I bog your pardon, Mr. Fosdick,’ said Pierson, glaring. “ ‘No more words, sir!’ said Fosdick, savagely. “Polly broke out crying from sheer fright, sidling up to me. I think Pol ly felt all through that affair that I was her friend. “A big fellow in a flannel shirt and a straw hat came around the porch just then, with a whip in his hand, light- heartedly snapping it. “A good-looking fellow, too, with light curls and sharp, dark eyes. “He stared at Polly, standing there with her two adorers; but he recovered. “ ‘Come on, Poll,’ said he; ‘boss’s a-waiting.’ “ ‘What do you mean?’ said Pierson, turning on him. He began to look scared, an I Fosdick was getting white about the gills. “ ‘I don’t mean much,’ sail Polly’s young man; it had dawned upon me in stantly that it was Polly’s young man. ‘Only I’m going to take Polly home. Glad I got here when I did,’ said he, and he fingered his whip rather sug gestively. ‘I guess she’s b’en here long enough. Guess I’ve got the right to take her. I’m going to marry her.* “Woe! the bomb had burst. Of course they looked ghastly. I won’t dwell on the way they did look. “Only if Colonel Marlow had been there at the moment, I think lus Iffe - would have been endangered. Making abject fools of two conceited and snob bish fellows at a time isn’t safe, you see. “There was an awful stillness—which poor Polly didn’t fully understand. She thought merely that they had rather liked her, and were put out. She dried her eyes, and even smiled at them apologetically. “I think that attitude of Polly’s as that moment—her timid commiseration of them; hers, a penm ess country last —was, after all, the bitterest drop in the bucket. They fairly writhed un der it! “Well, they went home—or some where—on the evening train. They went together, but they didn’t go as friends, and whether they have made it up I don't know. It wasn’t exactly a David-and-Jonathan friendship, any how, so it doesn’t much matter. “I gave Polly fifty dollars to buy her wedding-gowns with. I thought I had had enough enjoyment, on tho whole, to warrant it; and you know I always pay as I go. “I should surely have attended the wedding if I hadn’t come away before it transpired; I had the most pressing invitation possible. I did a last wicked act; I made her promise to send invita tions to Fosdick and Pierson; I told her it was incumbent. I couldn’t resist it. “As for Miss Gardner, she’s in Europe still, so the Lemoynes tell me. If ever I meet her, and I mean to, I shall give her a good laugh with my little story. “And old Colonel Marlow—I’m just waiting to see him once!”—Saturday Night. Diamonds from the Sky. According to a statement in a recent number of the American Naturalist, Professor H. C. Lewis exhibited, at a ig Phiiade 1 phia Academy of Natural Science, a sputfiBcn of me-, teorite containing some very small clia- monds. Carbon in a crude form has been reperted in meteorites before now, aud there need not, therefore, be any thing incredible in diamonds being dis covered in one. Recent experiments of Mr. Norman with Carbon rods heated to a high temperature by the electric cur- ri.ut under pressure in a closed cylinder, resulted in the formation of a gray dust harder than emery, and scratching glass, which appeard to be a form of diamond. Some years since, diamonds in a minute form were found in a meteorite that fell in North Germany; while in another specimen were microscopic shells of tht kind of which chalk deposits on the earth are in part formed, which indicat ed that the meteorite came from some other planet that had supported animal life. REV. DR. TALMAGE. \ THE BROOl DAI jYN DIVINE’S l SERMON. SUN- Subject: (Preached at J itted by the World." ingston, Montana.) Txxr: “The their generation light."—St. Luke: That is another tians are not so i spiritual affairs the management of around me peoples centrated and skil who, in the affairs inane, inert. The great want of iof this world are in than the children oj of saying that Chris- in the manipnlation of ‘orldliegs are skillful in rr ■»- i see all are alert, earnest, con- in monetary matters, the soul, are laggards, this world is more eom- ofthi mmi sense in matters iof religion. If one-half of the skill and for^efulness employed in financial affairs were employed in disseminat ing tho truths of Christ, and trying to make the world bettor, within ten years the last juggernaut would fall; the last throne of op pression upset, the kut iniquity tumble, and the anthem that was chanted over Bethlehem on Christmas night would be echoed and re echoed from all nation? and kindred people: “Glory to God. in the high on earth peace, good will to men.” Some years ago, on * train going tAward ” the southwest, as the porter of the slpeping car was making up the berths at ttn^evening tide, I saw a map fcneol dpsar'to pray. Worldly peopte TH^^tfiLkx>Ked ou, ns much as to say: “WhatcloeFthis mean?" I aip- pose the most of the pet pl« in the car thought that man was either in sane or that ho was a fanatic; but he disturbed no one when he knelt, and he disturbed ?o one when he arose. In after conversation w ith him I found out that he was a member qf & church in my own city, that he was a jeafearing man, and that he was on his >way to New Or leans to take command of a vessel. I thought then, as I thinH now, that ten such men—men with suchcotfvage for God as that man had—would bring the whole city to Christ: a thousand such iben would bring this whole land to God; tenVbousand such men, in a short time, would tnfcng the whole earth into the kingdom of J< ccssful in worldly i ~ he was skillful in ’spirib^^^Pnrs, you well persuaded. If menw^^^fc courj pluck, the alertness, thejkcumen, the indns- try, the common sense iA-matters of the soul that they have in carthlyUnatters, this would bo a very different kind world to live in. In the first place we Wstnt more common sense in the building and r The idea of the adaptive; mount in any other kin bankers meet together an putting up a bank, the adapted to banking pi factoring company putup be adapted to manufactu adaptiveness is not alwa; the rearing of churches, churches we want mi room, more ventilation, mi sums of money ore expend structures, and men sit d< you ask a man how ho life says: • ‘I like it very well, As though a shawl facto; everything but making of the preacher dashes Men sit down under tho Gothic arches and shiver, a; ’•» getting religion, or som feel so uncomfortable. O my friends, we want mo; in the rearing of churc' cuse for lack of light •* full of it, no excuse for when the world swims in it. an expression not only of oi pi cess, but of our physical co; say: “How amiable are Thy Lord God of Hosts! A day better than a thousand.” Again I remark: We want sense in the obtaining of relig men understand that in order worldly directions they bins They think on that one sub; want than. Oh that in this matter of accu mulation we are as wise in the matters of the soul as we are in tho matters of the world! t How little common sense in tho reading of the Scripture*! Wo get any other book and we open it and we say: “Now, what does this book mean to teach me? It is a book on as tronomy; it will teach mo astronomjr. It is { a book on political economy; it will '< teach me political economy.” Taking up the Bible, do we ask ourselves what it means to teach? It moans to do just one thing; get the world converted aud got us all to Leaven. That is what it proposes to do. But instead of that, we go into tho Bible as botanists to pick flowers, or we go as pugilists to get something to fight other Christians with, or we go as logicians trying to sharpen our mental faculties for a better , argument, and wc do not like this about the j Bible, and we do not like that, and wo do not like the other thing. What would you J think of a man lost on the mountains? Night has come dovn; ho cannot find his j way home and 1 e sees a light in a mountain 1 cabin; he goes to it, he knocks at the door; • the mountaineer comes out and finds the j traveler and says: “Well, hero I have a lan tern; you can take it and it will guide you i on the way .home;” and suppose that man should say v *‘I don’t like that lantern, I don’t like the handle of it, there are ten or fifteen j things about it I don’t like; if you can’t give ; mg.a better lantern than that I won’t have uuu.v- , tmy.” rod andj. Now, God says this Bible is to be a lamp to ost.ju<U : our feet and a lantern to our path, to guide : us through the midnight of this world to the gates of the celestial city. Wo take hold of : it in sht. rp criticism, and deprecate this, and ! deprecate that. Oh, how much wiser w« would be if by its holy light we found our j groat in its time,! marks of Its i that picture. It wa ay to our everlasting homo! The * pnduct of cbnrches. i is always para- of structure. If | they resolve upon ink is especially >ses: if a manu- , building, it is to ig purposes; but the question in [In many of our light, more pe comfort. Vast 1 on ecclesiastical in them, and the church; he [rat I can’t hear.” were good for ris. The voice nst the pillars, idows of the feel they must ‘ ing else, they > common sense, LThere is no ex- heavens are [if fresh air i ought to be piritual hap- fort, when we mcles, • O hy courts is re common lus hope. All ito succeed in concentrate, nntil their ten we do not read the Bible as we road other books. Wo read it perhaps four or five minutes just before we retire at night. We are weary and sleepy, so somnolent wo hardly know which end ortho book is up. We drop our eye, perhaps on the story of Sampson and the foxes, or upon some genealogical tabl e important in its place, but stirring no mor« religious emotion than the announcement that somebody begat somebody else, and he begat somebody else, instead of opening the book and saying: “Now 1 must read for my immortal life. My eternal destiny is involved in this book.” How little we use common sense in prater! We say: •‘Oh, Lord, give mt this,” and “Oh Lord, give me that,” and “Oh, Lord, give mo something else,” and we do not expect to get it, or getting it, we do not know we have it. We have no anxiety about it. We do not watch and wait for its coming. As a merchants you telegraph or you write to some other city for a bill of goods. You say: “Send me by such express, or by such a steamer,or by such a rail train.” The day ar rives. You send your wagon to the depot or to the wharf. The goods do not come. You immediately telegraph: “What is the matter with those goods? We haven’t received thorn. Send them right away. We want them now, or we don’t want them at all.” And you keep writing and you keep telegraphing, and yon keep sending your wagon to the depot, or to the express omoe, or to the wharf, until you get the goods. In matters of religion we are not so wise as that. We ask certain things to be sent from heaven. We do not know whether they come or not. Wc have not any special anxiety as to whether they come or aot. We may get them and may not get them. Instead' of at 7 o’clock in the morning saying: “Have I got that blessing?’ at 12 o’clock noonday, asking: “Have I got that blessing?’ at 7 o’clock in the evening saying: ‘‘Have I received that blessing?’ and not getting it, pleading, pleading—begging, begging—asking, asking until you get. Now, my brethren, is not that common sense? If we ask a thing from God, who has sworn by His eternal t hrone that He will do that which wc ask, is it not common sense that we should watch and wait until we get it? 1 be nearly man comes up, very unskillful in art, and he proposes to retouch it Yon say: “Stand off! I would rather have it just as it is; you will only make it worse.” After a while there comes an artist who was the equal of Raphael. He says: “I will re touch that picture and bring out all its orig inal power.” You have full confidence in Ins ability. Ho touches it here and there. Feature after feature comes forth, and when he is done with the picture it is complete in all its original power. Now Grad im pressed His image on our race, but that image tm* been defaced for hun dreds and for thousands of years, get ting fainter and fainter. Hero comes up a divine Raphael. He says: “I can restore that picture.” He has all power in heaven and on earth. He is the equal of the One who made the picture, the image of the One who drew the image of God in our soul. He touches this sin and it is gone, that trans gression and it disappears, and all the deface ment vanishes, and “where sin abounded grace doth much more abound.” Will you have the defacement or will you have tho restoration? I am well persuaded that if I could by a touch of heavenly pathos in two minutes put before you what has been done to save your souL there would be an emotional tide over whelming. “Mamma,” said a little child to y, her mother when she was being put to bod at night, “mamma, what makes your hand so scarred and twisted and unlike other people’s hands?’ “Well,” said the mother, “my child, when you were ; younger than you are now, years ago, one night after I had put you to bed I heard a 1 cry, a shriek upstairs. I came up and found the bed was on fire, and you were on fire, and I took hold of yon and I tore off the j burning garments and while I was i them off and trying to get you away I my hand, and it has been burned anil scarred ever since, and hardly looks any more like a hand; but I got that, i my child, in trying to save you.” Oman! i O woman! I wish to-day I could show you the burned hand of Christ—burned in pluck ing you out of the fire, burned in snatching you I away from the flame. Aye, also the burned ! foot, and the burned brow, and tho burned i heart—burned for you. By His stripes yo are healed. mind takes fire with the velocity of their own thoughts. All their acumen, all their strai all their wisdom, all thoir common sense, put in that one direction andi they succeed. But how seldom it is true in {the matter of expects to rid without seeking after God. While m Accomplish anything for nwMMntrifiwi and iltffe there are expecting after awhiljb to get into the kingdom of God without the use of any such means. A miller in Califor nia, many years ago, held i p a sparkle of gold until it bewitcl ed nations. Tens of thousands of peopla left their homes. They took their blankets and their pickaxes and their pistols and went to tiro wilds of California. Cities snrang up sud denly on the Pacific coast. If enchants put aside their elegant apparel ar.d put on the miner’s garb. All the land Avas full of tho talk about gold. Gold in t Ito eyes, gold in tho ears, gold in the wake ofe ships, gold in the streets—gold, gold, gold; to us that the mountain of Gi bright treasure; that men ging there, and have brougl amethyst, and carbuncle, sardonyx, and ehrysoprasus cious stones out of which th< were builded. Word come digging in that mine for brought up treasures wo; all the stars that keep sick and dying world, company that is form< veloped territory? Oh no, There are thousands of people in this audience who would be willing to ris ; and testify that they have discovered that gold, and have it in their possession. Notwitl istanding all this, what is the circumstance? One would sup pose that the announcemer t would send peo ple in great excitement i ip and down our streets. That at midni ght men would knock at your doorjT asking how they may got those j treasures. In stead of that, many of us tut our hands be hind our back and walk upland down in front of the mine of eternal richfes, and say: “Well, if I am to be saved, I will to saved; and if I am to be darned, I will be flamned, and there is nothing to do about it.”J Why, my broth er, do you not do that way * * * ters? Why do you not to-i store and sit down an<* Word comes I’sloveis full of wo been dig- irp gold, and ad jasper, and [and all the pre- I walls of heaven [of a man who, one hour, has more than [igil over our it a bogus I? Is it unde- iie story is true. soL in business mat- orrow go to your fold your arms i are to bo sold, iey are not to be there is nothin] No, you dispatci advertisement , you and say : “If these they will be sold, and sold, they will not bo for me to do about it. your agentfe, yoji you adorn; your those goods, you Oh that men were as ^Ke in tho matter of tho soul as they are wile in the matter of dollars /and cents! This doctrini of God’s sovereignty, hov it is misquoted and snbkon of as Though it wore an iron chain which bound us hand and foot for time and for eternity, when, so far from that, In every fiber of your body, in every faca'ty of your mind, in every passion of free man and it choice whether/ abroad or moment a you will In all the conscript. M' h-javen. Amo; the Lord’s soldiery will tell you: “I chose I desired to be in His : script—I am a volun soul, you are a , matter of free to-morrow go e, than it is this choice whether or reject Him. ers there is not (me to be dragooned into f thousands of noMno man but IwantodHim; , ice; I am not a oon- Oh, that men had the some common sens^ in tho matters of re ligion that they have world—tho same cor push, the same one case a the other, a cor Again I remark: sense in the building Christian character, who have for forty Christian race, and ' ter of a mile! No business man his investments vest a dollar you homo bringing anot What would you invest ten institution, then make no the investment, up to the and say: “Havo_ dollars safely that asking no dividend, mon sense,” way we act i make a far meat than U invest oar Are we growing better ? Are dares; than, we do not < the matters of the tration, the same thusiasm! In the enthusiasm; in ■ted enthusiasm, i want more common and enlarging of our 'There are men here ‘ears been running the have not run a quar- Id be willing to have imulativo. If you in- that dollar to come dollar on its back, of wi man who sbould In a monetary off for five years, in regard to come back, step of the institution > those ten thousand with you?* but interest or about say. “That is notcom- it, bat that is the qf the souL We doOera. We it aocumnletive? , but we do not collect , we do not nut 1 remark again: We want more com mon sense in doing good. How many people there are who want to do good and yet aro dead failures! Why is it? They do not ex- erciso the same tact, tho same ingenuity, the same stratagem, the same common sense in the work of Christ that they do in worldly things. Otherwise they would succeed in this direction as well os they succeed in the other. There are many men who have an arrogant way with them, although they may not feel arrogant. Or they have a patronizing way. They talk to a man of the world in a manner which seems tQLsay: “Don’t.you wish you were.as am? Why, I have to lodff clear before I can see yon, you are so far beneath me.” That manner always dis- always drives men away from the of Jesus Christ instead of _ them in. When I was a lad IT was one day in a village store, and there was a large group of young men there full of rollicking and fun, and a Christian man came in, and without any introduction of the subject, and while there were in great hilarity, said to one of them: “George, what is the first step of wisdom?” George looked up and said: “Every man to mind his own bnsiness.” Well,it was a very rough answer, but It was provoked. Religion had been hurled in there as though it were a bomb shell. ’’"e must be adroit in tho presenta tion of religion to the world. Do you suppose that Mary in her conver sation with Christ lost her simplicity? or that Paul, thundering from Mars Hill, took the pulpit tone? Why is it people cannot talk os naturally in prayer moating and on religious subjects as they do in worldly circles? For no one ever succeeds in any kind of Christian work unless he works naturally. We want to imitate tho Lord Jesus Christ, who plucked a poem from the grass of the field. We all want to imitate Him who talked with farmers about tho man who went forth to sow, and talked with the fisher men about tho drawn rot that brought iu ! fish of all sorts, and talked with the vine j tlressor about tho idler in the vineyard, and I talked with those newly afilanced about tho ; marriage supper, and talked with tho man I cramped in money matters about tho two debtors, and talked with the woman about the yeast that leavened tho whole lump, and. j talked with tho shepherd about the lost sheep. Oh, we might gather oven the stars of the j sky and twist them like forget-me-nots in tho ; garland of Jesus. We must bring everything | to Him—the wealth of language, the tender- ; ness of sentiment, the delicacy of mornin; dew, the saffron of floating cloud, the tangr surf of tho tossing sea, the bursting thunder guns of the storm’s bombardment. Yes, every star must point down to Him, every heliotrope must breathe His praise, every ' drop in tho summer shower must flash His glory, all the tree branches of the forest must thrum their music in the grand march which shall celebrate a world redeemed. Now, all this being so, what is tho common sense thing for you and for me to do ? What wo do I tmnk will depend upon three great facts. The first fact that sin has ruined us. It has blasted body, mind and soul. We want no Bible to prove that wo are sinners. Any man who is not willing to acknowledge himself an imperfect and a sinful being is simply a fool and not to be argued with. W.- all feel that sin has dis organized our entire nature. That is one fact. Another fact is that Christ came to reconstruct, to restore, to revise, to correct, to redeem. That is a second fact. The third fact is that the only time we are sore Christ will pardon us is the pres ent. Now, what is the common senso thing for us to do in view cf these three facts? You will all agree with me to quit sin, take Christ and take Him now. Suppose some bnsiness man in whose skill you had perfect confidence should tell you that to-morrow (Monday) morning between 11 and !2 o’clock you could by a certain financial trans action make five thousand dollars, but that on Tuesday perhaps yon might make it, but there would not be any posi- tivoness about it, and on AVodnesday there would not be so much, and Thursday less, Friday less, and so on, less and less—when would you attend to the matter? AVTiy, your common sense would dictate: “Immediately; I will attend to that matter botweeu 11 rad 12 o’clock to-morrow (Monday) morn ing, for then I can surely ac- accomplish it, but on T uesday I may not, and on AVodnesday there is less prospect. I will attend to it to-morrow.” Now let ns bring our common sense in this matter of religion. Here are tho hopes of tho Gospel. We may get thorn now. To morrow me may get them and we may not. Next day we may and we may not. The prospect less and less and less and less. The only sure time now—now. I would not **1* to you in thfa way if I did not know ♦hmt Christ was able to save all the people, and save thonqmdg as easily as save one. I would not ~ > into a hospital and tear off the bandages from the wounds if I had no to-bn to apply. I would not have the face to tell a m»n he is a sinner unices I had at the same time the anthority of saying ha may be nved. Suppose in Vemcethereis a Raphael, a faded picture. RELIGIOUS READING. DISTRACTIONS IN PRATER. I cannot pray; yet, Lord! Thou k no west The pam it is to me To have my vainly straggling thoughts Thus torn away from Thee. Prayer was not meant for luxury Or selfish pastime sweet; ’Tis the prostrate creature's place At his Creator’s feet. H d I, dear Lord, no pleasure found But in the thought of Thee, Prayer would have come unsought and been A truer liberty. Yet Thou art oft most present, Lord, In weak, distracted prayer; The sinner out of heart with self Most often finds Thee there. For praver that hnmbles, sets the soul From all illu-ions free, And teaches it how utterly, Dejr Lord, it hangs on Thee. The heart that on self-sacrifice Is covetously bant, AVill bless Thy chastening hand that makea Its prayer its punishment. My Saviour, why s' ould 1 complain, And why fear aught but sin? Distractions era but outward things, Thy peace dwells far within. These surface troubles come and go Like millings of the sea; The deeper depth is out of reach To all, my God, but Thoa. TO-DAT. Tired fathers, your happy day xpected it t» da rill it < TEMPERANCE. THE LITTLES. A little flame Will scent a room— A little candle Light the gloom— One little gjoazn Of sunshine, stream Through bars, and gild The prison-tomb! A little hand Will comfort bring— A little tongue Annoy a king— A little wine Kill thoughts divine— A little balm Allay a sting! A little staff Will ease the way— A little joy Change night to day— A little song Drown thoughts of wrong— A little forethought Save the hay! A little pledge Will bless a life— A little reason Banish strife— A little pen stroke Brand a name— A little love Save name and fame 1 A little smile Is like a ray— A little kind word Makes it Mav - A little cheer Will dry a tear— A little prayer Give peace olway! -Mrs.M. A.Kidder, in Temperance Banner. weary mothers, when is coming? Long since you expected it t > dawn. It is not here yet, nor will it ever be si long as you do not deter mine that it shall be to-day. This failure to take comfort as you pass along life’s path way. but ever looking forward for all enjoy ment of good, is throwing away tho real sweets of life. You may as well attempt to store up Summer sunshine to warm in Win ter, or bottle moonshine for cloudy nights. The real and only true wa;- is to find in the present all the goo t God gives us. Our whole lives may be filled with joy if we are only willing to learn that in all good work there is profit, in all sorrow are some rays of sunshine, apd in all care some com pensation. Make the most of today and your future will grow brighter and brighter as von step into it. Let the old saying that “Man never is, bat always to be, blessed” be proven false by vour finding In the present all the fullness ol blessing it really possesses. —Selected. THE INSPIRATION OF CHEER. Half the battle of life cons'sts in keeping up a cheerful spirit. When depression comes and the clou Is, when the spirit is loaded with deadening pain, all work ber comes a drudgery, and life is a burden and difficulty. Whatever is done is carr ed on under compulsion, with a wish that it could be avoided, and a feeling of pleasure—If so mournful a kind of congratulation can be called a pleasure—that it is at lost completed. And even if—because there is will-power enough to carry it along and favorable cir cumstances to make it successful—it will af ford bat little satisfaction, for the spirit will be loaded with forebodings and the mind be full of the prophecies of coming eviL If any good work be well done, it must be amid buoyancy and hope. With this experience, no matter how hard tho task may be, or how unpromising there will be energy given to it; and that facility of skill and that un- HORRORS OF THE LIQUOR PLAGUE. I believe that there is scarcely one family in England which has not suffered from this hiueous plague; scarce a house in England whore there is not one dead. And, oh! “is it nothing to you, all yo that pass by?’ You have board what drink costs to this nation in money; what does it cost in dis ease and accident? Ask the dreary pages of statistics, and you will read that in so- called accident, but accident perfectly pre ventable, it cost us broken limbs, and ship wrecked vessels and burned houses, and shattered railway trains, and tho deaths of children overlaid by drunken mothers or beaten savagely by drunken fathers; and to tell you what it costs in disease, I should have to take you, not in fancy, but in hard fact, to what the poet saw as the result of in temperance in meats and drinks: “A laiar-houso It seemed, wherein were laid Numbers of all diseases—all maladies. Of ghastly spasm and racking torture; qualms Of heartsick ngony; all feverous kinds— Dropsies, a:-d nsthmaa, aud heart-racking rheum. Dire was the tossing, deep the groans; despair Tended the sick busiest from couch to couch, Aud over them, triumphant. Death his dart Shook—but delayed to strike.” less the hindrances are invincible, will carry it through to a good end. Our religious work very often lags and fails, not because we are not in earne t in it—perhaps we expend un necessary labor on it—but because it is done under a cloud. Hope is wanting. There is no enthusiasm, no spring and eager onlook- ing.and vision of inevitable accomplishment. But if the heart is bright it will be able to go cheerfully through an experience, and also bear its disappointments, rejoice in its tribu lations, and not only believe, but know, that God makes all things work together for good to those who love Him. It is not possible, not for all of us, all the time. Moods are many, and we are liable to fall into dull ones be times; but it ought to be a part of our Christ- if p/—•* ble and turn to WT beautiful and inspiring light.—I/h«ed Presbyterian. This is what thoso who claim to speak with authority tell us it costs in sheer disease; and which of you is so ignorant of English his tory, of English literature, of English life, ns not to know further of noblest reputations stained, of glorious intellects ruined, of great souls embittered, of invaluable lives cut short? Aud what does it cost in crime? I will tell you, not as a surmise of my own, but on the recorded testimony, on the emphatic evidence of almost every judge aad magistrate and recorder on tho English bench. Remember that those arrested for drunkenness do not furnish one tithe of the drunkards, and then shudder to hear that, in a single year, 203,989 were arrested for crimes in which drunken ness was entered as a part of the charge; and that last year 5131 women—only think of that, and of all the hideous degradation, all the unspeakable horror which it implies!— were arrested for drunkenness in Middlesex alone.—Canon Farrar. TEMPERANCE NEWS aND NOTES. In Para, Brazil, a license to toll liquor cost* $5; a license to keep a school costs $10. Sir John Gorst states that there are nine teen breweries in India, brewing 4,860,282 gallons. In 1888 there were 158,587 retail liquor dealers, of all kinds, paying the special liquor tax in the United States. A prominent firm of glass makers in Phila delphia, net long ago, refused a large order for bottles from a liquor bouse. Where twelve men made beer in the Wal- ruff brewery, Lawrence, Kan., one hundred persons are now busy making shoes. Tho champions of the saloon are now turn ing to Kansas to try and sec are a resubmis- sion of tho constitutional amendment. Cardinal Manning, at eighty-two, at a re cent mooting in Loudon of the depositors of tho Southeastern and Metropolitan Rail ways Savings Bank, made an impressive plea for temperance on the part of railway men. A National Temperance Congress, under the auspices of tho National Temperance League, will bo held in Birmingham, Eng., in October next, commencing with a large number of sermons on Sunday, October 20. Absolute prohibition still prevails in Okla homa. The beneficence of the law is unques tioned. A man at Guthrie voiced the general sentiment when he said: “Prohibition is our salvation; without it there would be a mur der every day.” Tho Boston Record quietly remarks that “Sullivan, lying beastly drunk in the back room of a Chicago whisky saloon on Sunday, and everybody who bought a drink taken m to sec the exhibition, is a suggestive com mentary on the claim that prize fighting is a ‘manly art.’ ” A leading worker makes the following forcible comparison: “Can yon imagine s beautiful church with an elegant wine and tobacco room attached? And yet I knew a man who said his body was the temple of tht Holy Ghost, who makes a tobacco store-rooa of his cheek.” It appears that the liquor bills of tiu Chicago Asylum amount to betwess $3000 and $4000 a year, much of the liquoi v^diMT consumed by the attendants and em ployes of the institution. That must be i very good asylum tor insane patients to b* keel away from. THROW YOUR RAGS OVERBOARD. When Captain Murrell of the steamship Missouri found the Danish steamer Danmark with her seven hundred passengers lying helpless in mid ocean, be was obliged to come to some decision as to what he would do in the caso. His cargo filled the vessel, and he was undsff obligations to carry it across the Atlantic, but hundreds of human beings were in danger and in a little while must sink in tho engulfing waves. He must ch. oso between landing the cargo and saving the men; between steering straight for his port, or turning aside to the Azores, where he could land the imperiled passengers. He did not take long to decide, he took the responsibility, and overboard went the bales of rags, etc., to make room for living men and women and children. And then, while the owners were wondering why the Mis souri did not arrive, bo was steaming for the Az< res, where he might place in safety the hundreds whom he could not undertake to carry across tho Atlantic for lack of pro vision. He has his reward in tho love and affection oi me rescued, in tne approval or ms em ployers, in the praise of millions in all lands, in ovations and testimonials from persons known and unknown, and finally in the honor of knight hood from the king of Den mark. He sacrificed rags that he might save lives, and thus won honor and fame and reputation that few min would achieve in a * life-time of ambitious toil. There are multitudes today who are as busily employed as was the captain of the Missouri. They have their work to do, their voyage planned, their cargo on board; they suppose their duty is settled and their course is fixed. But souls are perishing; men and women are suffering and dying, signals of distress are seen; and the cry from Mace donia, and from every other quarter is, “Come over and help us.” Shall we excuse ourselves? Shall we pleau our duties, our obligations, our occupations! Shall we cling to our earthly pos-essions, while souls for whom Christ died are drift ing helplessly on time’s waves? Or shall we with prompt, vigorous and decisive action seek to rescue the perishing and save th« lost? What shall be said of the man who count* his millions saved, while souls around hire have gone down iu unfathomed depths! What advantage can there be in the po-sess ion of wealth, honor, fame, if with it then shall be the haunting memories of duties un done, of opportunities neglected, of souli who might nave been rescued, but who hav« sunk in darkness and death? O, Christian, hesitate no longer. Decidt for God and for eternity; throw over th« rags, and bo content to let earth s cargo per ish if you can bring souls home in sau-ty tc the kingdom of our God.—1'he Christian. “What,” (said one to a Roman conqueror) “what can be add--d to a triumphal proces sion like this?” ‘ Continuance!” was the ro py.—‘ Tbo glory of man is as the fliwer of grass; the grass wiihereth, the flower fadnli, but the word of the Lord endureth forever.” W nderful, the book divine, Sent in mercy from above; To reveal to fallen man The divine unbounded love. Wonderful in truth and light,— Wonderful in ckan-ing power,— Wonderful in grace and strength It affords in every hour! WHAT ALCOHOL WILL DO FOR YOU. Hold a mouthful of spirit*—whisky, for instance—in your month for five minutes, and you will find it barns severely; inspect the mouth and yon will find it inflamed. Hold it ten or fifteen minutes, and you will find that various parts of the interior of the month have become blistered; then tie a handkerchief over the eyes and taste, for in stance. water, vinegar, milk or cream, and you will find that yon are incapable of dis tinguishing one from another. This experi ence proves to a certainty that alcohol is not only a violent irritant, but also a narcotic Can you believe that the still mors tsndm- end important internal organs of the body can be less injurioudy * mouth?—Dr. McCoU&L