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01oldetahij CopjTjrht IVi bjr Bo CHAPTER XIV 1 THE CBYPT. The human mind, though busiest jrheo exchanging ideas in conversation ;with others, dives depest in solitude. Probably no case was ever profoundly considered unless the student wasi Alone, and never so profoundly as when involuntarily?when the mental faculties are so absorbed in contenfplaticn of one subject that diversion from it is as being awakened from fe alee p I experienced this truth when?having retired to my room, set down the lantern, and exchanged my boots for Uppers?I placed my elbows on the mantelpiece and my head upon my band*, and stood so for I know not flow iong. That such was my attitude Yor not less than two hours I am sure I from the~ interruption which dispelled ... my reverie. I bad emptied my pockets, end all .the money I possessed?six sovereigns And some odd shillings?lay before me on the mantelpiece. Perhaps it was the sight of the9e few coins which led me to review my experiences of the past twelve days, and to seriously ask myself for the last time oeiure seeding .issuranoe by actual essay, what were my chances to find the treasure which had been deposited in the crypt beneath my father's house. That the treasure of which I had that day read bad been disposed of as described by ; f my ancestor. 1 did not for a moment , . doubt; that such a treasure should be suffered to rest undisturbed for more than two hundred years, there were many reasons to doubt. Yet was it j not distinctly asserted by Roger True V man that the treasure was In the Abbot's Cell In the crypt?that it was to remain there until he built a hospital? Might not the bricked-up arch which my aunt Gertrude had noticed when she went over Holdcnhurst Hall be ^ ' this same Abbot's Cell alluded to by f- my ancestor; and might not the reason ; for its being bricked up be to secure its contents? And if that were so, could a. ft^ymjeuts be other than the quarter HP0?qjj0VwMllOa Venetian sequins which bad io strfifaj.f fallen 'into my ancestor's possession and been as strangely bestowed by him? It must be so. No >?ne of my family had ever built or 'endowed a hospital?no one of them * bad ever possessed so much money sls a quarter of a million Sequins, im,v less it were this same Roger Trueman: auid had so large a sum of money been found In our house and appropriated by any member of my family at'any period I could not have failed to hear U' ef It. -Yes; the money must certainly be there, and I would presently go below and look at it, aud my father aud s. I would fetch it upstairs in the morning. Then would my father and I in;T, sist on returning to uncle Sam the Hi umsf which he had so generously (( given to us; then would I ask Con- *. stance Marsh to become my wife; tiienWhat a thing is money?the epitome of all men's desires! Why, those six small yellow counters lying ou the shelf before me would buy the hard <Iaiiy labor of an East Anglian giant, who to gain them would sweat and toll In the parched fields from sunrise to sunset for twelve weeks?wages -current this last quarter of the nine* tcenlh century. For less than two of them will not a man labor in darkness hi the bowels of the earth with constant peril to life or limb, or stand before a roaring furnace, or work in the noxious air of a factory amid the maddening whirl of machinery for a week, esteeming himself fortunate if such elender means of life so earned be not denied him? For want of these same coun:ers has not a loving husband and lather watched his wife pine and his child die? Auswer, you who have t>een up aud down this England of ours, you who have traversed her towns and villages. you who know how the 7>oor live and how they die, is it not so? Why, la the towns of Christian Englaud, is every man plucked toy the sleeve who passes along the I bjeway? What is the cause? Lust? Kay; dire need of a pitifully few silver counters, and the inability of hundreds of thousands of women to gain them by means more honorable. Even I, whose life has not yet run to two decades. and who have always lived remote from the busy haunts of men, car:not but knows these truths; and is it not wrong iu one who has youth, leisure, and the luxuries of life to so pass onately desire to grasp this treasure, which he has doue nothing to ac?juir>.. and which certainly is not his? JBuc a few days ago, and the whole aplric of greed was foreign to my nature, now is my whole being dominated by it. Alas, cau it be that Love, purest of passions, evokes Avarice? .No; desire of that which is necessary in compassing a natural and laudable . .ambition is not avarice. These se?juir.s are necessary to me if I am to win the girl upon whom I have set any heart; nay. more, perhaps they I *bave been reserved iu this mysterious I way for this special object. Have! % not ibe wise uieu of the earth in every ascribed what are commonly called . jnjc>:eries to the orderly decrees of irstglHa^ ?v; ALTER BLOOMFlELD BERT B JSXF.R'8 SOXS. high powers? But for ray love of Constance Marsh the question whether there exists a hidden treasure in our house or not would only languidly interest me. Che sara sara. Now will I light my lantern and go below. If? Heavens! what was that? # I turned about in a fright as great as that of a thief disturbed in his nefarious work, yet it was nothing more than a gentle tapping on the outside of my door. It was now a quarter of an hour past midnight, and my father and the servants should have been in oea at jeasi two uuuro. ?-ys a at my watch the tapping was repeated, as gently as before. I am ashamed to confess how much this simple circumstance alarmed me. I listened intently for a mmute, conscious of nothing but the loud ticking of my watch and the violent throbbing of my heart, when the tapping was repeated a third time, still very softly. With a great effort I disguised my terror, and called out boldly? "Who's there?" "It's only me, Master Ernest," replied the feeble voice of John Adams. "What do you want?" I asked, flinging the door wide open. "Are you 111? Is there anything I can do for you?" inquired the old man. ' "No, I am not ill, and there is nothing you can do for me. Why do you trouble me with such an absurd inquiry?" "I thought I heard you walking about, and that I saw a light in your room." I "Why, I have not moved off the hearth-rug these two hours or more, and the only light here is that taper on the mantelpiece." "You are not aner.v with me. Master Ernest ?" jileaded the old man. "No, no; why should I be? You are very attentive. Go to bed at once." I watched the old man as he slowly waited away along the corridor carrying a lighted candle in one hand, and shading its dame with the other, and did not re-enter my room until after I hod heard bis door close. This simple incident abated much of my Courage, and caused me to postpone my visit to the crypt for a full hour. I was very anxious and nervous, but not to be deterred from carrying out my resolve. At half-past one o'clock I quietly emerged from my room, closing the door behind mc as noiselessly as possible. In one hand I carried a lantern?lighted, but with the wick turned so low that it emitted only a feeble gleam?and in the other a riding whip without a thong, on the butt of which a heavy hammer was mounted?an instrument used by my sporting forefathers for opening obstinate dve-barred gates. I tried to persuade myself that I carried this weapon solely to assist in removing any lumber or other inanimate obstruction which might lie between me and the object of my search, and not for defense?an ingeuious but unsuccessful attempt at self-deception. The light from my lantern, feeble though it was, caused my form to cast an enormously exaggerated shadow on the floor and wall of the corridor. The carpe s had been removed from the corridor and stairs, a circumstance I had not considered, aud despite my soft slippers and careful tread, a distinctly audible and weird creaking proclaimed each step I set. I paused for a moment outside Old John's door. It 1 was closed and all was dark and silent | within. The creaking of the stairs was so loud that had any inmate of our house chanced to have been lying 1 awake my errand must have iufalli- 1 bly been betrayed. Once in the eutrance hall, I again paused. All was still and quiet as the grave. Setting down my lantern, I took from my pocket a huge key I had been careful to abstract from its accustomed place a few hours before, and which opened a door in a stillroom at the back of the entrance hall, whence a steep flight of steps led down into the crypt. There was now no further danger of disturbing anybody, and I entered the stillroom with confidence, but was annoyed to find the door which opened on the steps which led to the crypt standing partly open; and reproached myself for my carelessness?for doubtless I was the last person there?regarding the circumstance as additional proof of my nervousness. However, It could not matter, and I pushed open the door yet wider and boldly descended into the i crypt. I had not visited the crypt since I conducted my aunt Gertrude through it, and perhaps less than half a dozen times before. Certainly I had not previously observed it so closely as I now ' did. It was a large vault, built entirely of stone, the mainway of It being au apartment about eighteen feet wide and as long as the house?that is to say, a hundred and ten feet? : with eight arched recesses on either 1 side, whereof the one to which I was I bound differed nothing from the others i except in being closed by a brick wall ( at the fro.nt. The majnway was tolcr- 1 ably clear, but nearly all the recesses < were tilled with miscellaneous lum- 1 ber, for the most part ancient apd pe- 1 culiar?terrestrial and celestial globea, telescopes, retorts, crucibles, and strange instruments of which I did not know the names, doubtless the whole of them long ago rendered worthless by modern and improved means of scientific investigation. Notwithstanding my extreme eagerness to accomplish the object of my visit to this place, I procedeed hut slowly on my way, looking into each recess, first on the right and then on the left, resolving to thoroughly examine every object in it after 1 had informed my lather of my magnificent discovery. My spirits were greatly elated; for indeed it was scarcely possible that I should now be disappointed, my greatest fear?that the workmen employed about the house had been into the crypt to use it as a store for their tools and materials?being dispelled, for no sign of them or their belongings was anywhere to be seen. In this mood I reached the Abbot's Cell, and, having turned up the wick of my lantern, stood before It and considered it. Yes, there it was; and its aspect was the same as when my attention was first called to it by aunt Gertrude. And now. how was I to remove so much of this brick screen as would enable me to pet through to where the treasure chests were concealed? I observed with joy that the mortar between the bricks, from age and want of timely repair, was nearly all crumbled and gone; but though I could have drawn a few of the bricks out of their places with the aid of my hammer, I refrained from doing so for fear, of the upper bricks falling upon me, which from their loose appearance seemed more than probable. To get a couple of boxes, stand them 011 end one upon the other and mount to the top, was the work only of a few minutes. I then applied my hammer as a lever to force up one of the topmost bricks, and was surprised to find that it was merely laid in its place and not attached in any way to its fellows. This was the case with another, and yet another. Why, all the bricks were perfectly loose?merely piled one upon another as a child builds houses with wooden blocks. I removed more than a hundred 1 bricks which formed the upper rows by simply lifting them one by one and j laying them aside upon the floor, j When a sufficient number had been re- j moved to enable me to see what was within, I stood my lantern on what i was now the top of the wall and, with fppiincs of intense satisfaction and delight, beheld several square black , chests at the end of the recess. Forgetting in the excitement of the moment that the wall with which I was dealing was only such in appearance, I leaped on to the top of ti, and by aid of ray hands dropped down on the inside, pulling a large part of the structure inwards with me and dashing my lantern to the ground with so i much force that the glass was broken i and the light extinguished. Fortunately I was not unprovided j for such an emergency, as, being a smoker, it was my custom to carry matches. I soon extricated my lantern from among the bricks which had fallen with it, and having relit it, j proceeded to examine my surround- ; ings. At the end of the recess stood the black chests which I bad noticed ] from the outside, orderly disposed in three rows, three chests in a row?one j chest less than I had expected to find. 1 Looking about me more particular^', j I beheld with dismay the tenth chest j nearly in the middle of the apartment, j with a half-burned caudle protruding , from the neck of a bottle and an or-* dinary up-to-date box of matches standing upon it; at sight of which my burning hope fell to zero. Having removed the candle and matches, I tapped the chest with my hammer; it j was resonant. I lifted it; it weighed ' scarce ten pounds, and the lid fell off j on to the floor. I held my lantern J close and scrutinized it eagerly, and? 1 Oh, cruel fate!?it bore every sign of j having been recently opened; the thick black paint was grazed in a way that denoted the action of a double-pointed crowbar as freshly as if the chest had been forced open an hour ago. I stood it down, run to the ether chests, and quickly moved them from where they stood. Not one of them contained any thing. but each of them bore the same unftistakable traces of recent violalion as 1 had observed upon the first. Mad with rage and disappointment, [ quitted the recess in the manner I had entered .it, pushing outward a lot of loose bricks in the act, and was striding rapidly along the mainway with intent to go at once to my father and tell him all, when an object met my gaze which arrested my progress and almost stupefied me with terror, in a recess near to the door by which [ had entered the crypt crouched the ligure of a mau, his back towards me the better to conceal a small lamp which he carried. I was never robust, and my breakdown at this critical juncture must iu justice be ascribed to natural weakness rather than to cowardice. My tirst impulse was to rush at the in Lruder and strike him down with my uammer, but all power of locomotion bad deserted me. I tried to shout for help, but my tongue refused its office, ind. involuntarily relaxing my grasp jf my lantern and weapon, I sank insensible to the ground. To be continued. Clinching: a llargaiu In China. When you engage a servant or make t bargain in China it is not considered binding until the "fastening penny" lias been paid. Although his bad faith s notorious in some matters, yet, to lo him justice, when once this coin has Lieen paid by you the Chinaman, coolie >r shopman, will generally stick to lis bargain, even if the result to him i>e lQ?fc \ , M ' Method* of Building. IE present general move7( m Jj ment for better roads and O I O the prospect of national ^ X aid in road building have 'W greatly stimulated the study of the best methods of road building. While to the general public the idea of building permanent roads is to use broken stone after the system first employed by John McAdam, about the year 1785, other methods should be carefully studied in order to build the best and most durable roads at the lowest cost. It seems a remarkable fact in view of the great Improvements in everything connected with modern life, that we are still building our roads the same way they were built over 100 years ago. This resulted from the universal introduction of the railroad, which caused the improvement of our common roads to be sadly neglected, as well as advancement in the art 01 unuuiug mem. A great obstacle in the way of building durable roads of crushed stone is found in the lack of suitable stone in most localities where good road stone 1? found. In New York State, for instance, where road building has been very active in recent years, stone has been shipped over 300 miles in some instances in order to obtaiu stone of good quality. , The lack of good road material has caused careful study of various methods of road building by experts, with the result that for general use a modification of the old stone wheel track or tramway roads, which have been in constant use for over 100 years without material wear or cost, has been highly commended. The old tramway roads could only be built at reasonable cost in a few localities having suitable stone, but by substituting paving brick for the stone slabs, this superior form of road can be cheaply built in every locality. In fact, even in the favored localities, where good road stone is abundant, the use of these brick wheel tracks considerably decreases the first cost of roads, while they practically do away with all re: air expenses, as well as the dust and mud, and at the same .. .. . .. .. / time enable tnree or iour times tne load to be bandied with tbe same team force. Tbis improved method of road building has been adopted by a number of localities and the cost has been found to be from $1200 to $2500 a mile, according to the relative cost of materials, labor, etc, while the average cost of crushed stone roads has been about $9000 a mile in New York, where the greatest amount of road building has recently been done. A section <^f this brick track road in the United States Department of Agriculture grounds during the last four seasons shows no material wear, and has been uniformly free from dust, mud and ruts during that time, while an adjacent section of crushed stone road has been nearly ruined during the some time, partly by the washing of water. * For hilly roads these brick wheel tracks are especially adapted, as by depressing the tracks below tbe adjacent road surface the water is successfully carried down the hills on them without the use of the objectionable water breaks, besides enabling three times the grade to be used without disadvantage. Government road officials recommend that long term convicts he employed in penitentiaries in making the brick, cement, etc., for these roads, and short term convicts be used in making the roads, to the moral and physical betterment of the convicts, and claim that in this way the building of these superior and most durable of roads should cost but $800 to $1200 a mile in many localities. This makes an interesting comparison with the cost of $9000 a mile in New York State for crushed stone roads, some of which have been nearly ruined by two or three years of use, while wheel tracks similar to the brick tracks, built of stone, near Albany,.N. Y., in 1S33, at a cost of $1500 a mile, show very little wear in more than seventy years of constant and heavy traffic. If convicts were thus employed in such penitentiaries as Sing Sing, New York, for instance, where the best of brick clays could be delivered at very low cost by boat, and from which the brick, etc., could be cheaply shipped by boat to nearly every point along the proposed New York and Chicago road, that road could probably be built for less than one-fifth of the cost of building it of crushed stone, have three times the smoothness and more than ten times the durability of a crushed stone road, and at the same time be nearly dustless and mudless. Brick made at Sing Sing could also be cheaply delivered at all points in New York State, and also be shipped to all points along Lake Erie by boat, thus enabling the greater part of the proposed New York and Chicago road to be built by this superior system, and at a cost so low as to be insignificant when compared with its substantial and lasting benefits.?Waynesboro (Pa.) Herald. English Gold Coins. There were 9,100:000 new gold sovereigns issued in England dunhg 1903, as compared with 4,523,000 in 1902. Half sovereigns issued numbered 1,044,000. : gainst 2,121,000 in 1003. f A SERMON FOR SUNDAY AN ELOQUENT DISCOURSE ENTITLED, . ."LIFE'S ASSETS." Tlie Rev. Dr. Arthnr H. Goodenongh Talks Instructively on the Infinite Possibilities That Are in Man?What We Need to Know. "Bristol, Conn.?The Rev "Dr. Arthur H. Goodenough preached Sunday morning on "Life's Assets." The text was from 1 Corinthians iii:21, 22. 23: For all things are yours; whether Paul, or Apollos, or Cephas, or the world, or life, or death, or things present, or things to come; all are yours, and ye are Christ's and Christ is God's." Dr. Goodenough said: Man aspires. His eye is on the sky. Man was made to walk erect. His impulse is to climb. This fact indicates his destiny. The earth beneath us and the world about us contribute to our flight, but they offer us no home. The world, so near to us and so essential to our present life, has its limitations and fetters. Man is impatient of limitations; he aspires to the infinite and the infinite is always above us. The nobler man's nature the more restless and determined is he to ascend. No philosophy of life is(true that fails to recognize this instinct of the soul. Man desires more room, more room is above, and above is something that attracts and draws. That fact is man's salvation. It is generally believed that man had his origin in God. God is the root from which all men have sprung. It is equally true that Gcd is the complement of man and his goal. How noble is man. What infinite possibilities are in him. Man is not a waif, aimlessly wandering through a trackless wilderness, nor an orphan minus a parent's guiding hand and tender voice. Man's origin and destiny are one. It is God. If your five-year-old boy is in need he instinctively cries, "My father." If he is in trouble he as naturally cries, "My mother." Instantly the complement of his needy nature is at hand. Father and mother are to him all that he needs. We are only larger children, with larger and more imperative needs. Is there any help for us? We have outgrown the ability of our earthly parents to help us. What shall we do? As the thirsty ox turns to the babbling brook, we turn our eyes to the heavens and say, "My Father?God, help me." And quicker than thought the help comes. Here we have the philosophy of happiness and the secret of success. As witnesses to this fact we call to the stand Augustine, Bernard,. John Howe, Isaac Watts and Charles Wesley. The upward look wins. The man who aspires to God, and holiness, and immortality is the one to whom this text is spoken. "All things are yours; for ye are Christ's and Christ is God's." The thing that wise men are thinking about is life. Bread and acres and dollars are only incidental. God made the acres. God's sunshine and showers grew the grain from which the bread is made. God furnished the material to make the dollar. Therefore, acres and bread and dollars are good because God had something to do with producing them. These are valuable contributions to life, some of our life values. Life itself is worth more than all of them put together. The man who cultivates your farm is worth more than the farm. The man who builds your home is worth more than the house. We are not paupers. No man, woman or child in this world need be poor. There are other values beside dollars. We are heirs to untold riches. Our heavenly Father, the unseen capitalist, has invested largely in us, and He is no spendthrift. He has put the value where it may multiply. Life is a leeoie imng at me ocgiiiiuug, su ? >uc acorn, but in the acorn is the massive oak; so is the bulb, but the bulb contains the tint and perfume of the lily. So life as we see it in the babe, it contains a Kepler, a Newton, a Gladstone, a McKinley. Character is a result, a product. Character tells the story of our conduct and industry. Character is the fruitage of our thinking, our willing, our loving, our doing. And character is tne man. Character determines one's value to himself and to society. This is what makes biography the popular literature of our day. People interest people. Biography is death to pessimism. Thousands of men and women have succeeded in life. They have feasted on the universe and enjoyed the infinite, and the books tell us how they did it. My young friends, the one thing in this world for you to do, is to follow their example. You may. Character is no ready made thing; it is made to order. It means plan and purpose and persistence. You do not have to make the machinery nor the material; these are furnished. The selection of the web, the feeding of the loom, the weaving ox the cloth is ours. The result is character, and character is destiny. This is the work ox" life. Human chances are not equal. Circumstances favor some more than others. No doubt of it. But ^lfen every man has a chance, aye, more, every man has a probability of success. There are possibilities of failure, and many seem to fail, but there is no excuse for failure. Oh. horrible, heartbreaking word is failure. May none of you ever know what it means. There is a way of escape from it. Make a right, not to say, best, use of ?what is in you, wisely appropriate what is about you, give reason the i-ein. Enthrone conscience. Be religious." And every step will be an ascent, every act the advance of the soul, and the enrichment of being. All things are yours to do with. It was never easier to be good than now. Perhaps it is never easy to be good. What makes it easier to be good to-day than it was yesterday? The multiplicity of helps at hand. To read some newspapers and to hear some speakers, one would suppose that nobody was good. The fact is, t.ie world is full ot good people. What is goodness? Not the muttering of a creed nor the repeating of a prayer; not the reading of the Bible nor going to church. Cood people do these things, but these things are not essentially goodness. Bad people may do them, too. Goodness is consideration for the other fellow, sweetness of temper, gentleness of conduct, nobleness of purpose, love to God and man. It is to live kindly and truly and well. It is like the Christ doing good every day and everywhere, "hie is the goodness that counts in our day. And we rejoice to believe that it is constantly on the increase. Goodness is true religion, and true religion is goodness. The two arc inseparable. It is a culturing, refining, elevating process. It is ever making for the best tnat life is capable of. What Cod wants lor His children is'^ue best. The desire of God is human ha^nincss. To this end He is patient and indulgent. He is prodigal in gifts. He is ever lavishing His love upon us. God is neither mean nor littlei He is the great Father, giving Himself for the salvation, the enrichment, the perfect happiness of His children. God is not the author of pain. He takes no delight in tears. The blessed Saviour ceases not in His age-long effort to make the sons of earth happy. The law of the universe, the design of everything is happiness. HaDpiness is everywhere. Wander in the woods, walk in the meadow, meander by the stream, rest in the valley and climb to the hilltop, and in everything and everywhere you will find happiness. It springs up like a well of life, filling the air with its music, flooding the earth with its joys. How much more does our heavenly Father desire you, His children, to be happy. The only condition of happiness is to be good. "Blessed are the poor in heart, for thev shall see God." Holiness of life makcth rich and tendeth not to poverty. To the untutored, this looks dike an impossible thing, and many ask: "How can I do this?" Easy enough. All that ! needed is the disposition, and the effort. First of all, look at your bank account. Did you know you had a bank account? Well, you have. See, please, what stands to your credit, the gift of another. These assets are ours because we live in the twentieth century, and because we are Anglo-Saxons. "All things arc your*;^|r Whether Paul or Apollos, or Cephas, or the world, or things present, #r things to come: all are vours; and ye are Christ* and Christ is God's." That is a wonderful statement. It places us under tremendous obligation. What an incentive to attempt something, what an inspiration to noble achievement. The great personalities of history?Paul, Cephas, Apollos. Past, present, future. The world, God and Christ, all yours, to make the goal and win. Then there can.be no excuse for failure. A-practical question which meets us is, "How may I utilize these many gifts of God for my own advancement and betterment?" The answer is, "By right appropriation." Just as the parched earth drinks in the gentle rain drops, making the % grass to grow; just as the bee sips the honey from uie fragrant flower, so we must learn to appropriate the good in everything, to our own growth and refinement. Life everywhere is sustained by appropriat- , ing the outward to itself. The great intellects which teach and bless the world to-day are great and capable because of this appropriation of knowledge. To the good belongs the best of two worlds. It was once thought that the Christian's world was exceedingly limited. The Bible, hymnal, a long sermon and a dreary prayer meeting were all that the Christian had any right to. Anything else would chill his fervor and narrow his vision and tarnish his soul. Thank God, that day is so far behind us. To-day we know that evervthinz within reach and everything ?'. ; ? UtUIIIl 31^111/ 13 Uun, it wc iu?c uuu, iu cnused in the advancement and enrichment of our lives. Look at it a moment. Take an inventory. Try to itemize the blessings of the good God. Explore the world of art, the product of the centuries, it is ours, for God made fthe beautiful. What a store house of lessons and inspirations and soul delights are the art galleries of the world! The win- / dows in cathedrals and churches have for ages been telling the story of Christ. "The Nativity," by Burne-Jones, is the pride of England; "The Transfiguration," by Raphael, the glory of Italy. These are but samples of tne beautiful in art, which are ours for the 'delight and- culture of the soul. All sciences and literatures belong to us, for God is the Author of all truth. Shakespeare and Booth and De Reszke, these and the host of others like them, are ours to charm away our cares and rest of mind. The marketplace crowded with the yield of the field, the wealth of the mine, the product of the factory, is ours, for God is i imminent in nature and industry and hunfen skill. The advance in surgery and medicine, the limitless pleasures in travel?all this is ours, available and usable assets to make life rich and happy and good. All this is the product of the past, the gift of the good God. Its presence should shame badness out of existence. How can people be bad when they think of the goodness of God? What are we doing with life's assets? They are the raw material* out of which we may weave the soul's seraphic robe; they are the steps by which we ascend to the home of perfect day. They are to our spirits what air and dew and sunlight are to the seed. Plants grow by appropriating things ab extra to their use; souls grow by doing the same way. The business of life is to convert all these forces and gifts into life and -TJ character. The sool must drink in it$/ full of God and rise to the perfect life in the endless day beyond the stars. What wfe need to know to-day is the proper use of things. That means study, the exercise of the mind. Others have studied and thought for us. The result is the locomotive, carrying us sixty miles an hour; the electric wire, by which we talk to a friend 1000 miles away. If wealth is to benefit the owner'of it. he must use it and use it wisely. So, if we are to feel the stimulus and reap the benefit of the accumulations of the ages, as life's assets; if these are to answer their need, in the making of a man?we must study and think and pray. In the right use of these is the making of a holy character. All that has been said is, we believe, true. But it is not the whole truth. We must go a step further. Man has heart conditions and soul needs, which neither nature, nor science, nor Scripture, can meet. Man needs a God. God is everywhere. God is in the euulight which bathes us eveiy day with its warmth and glory. He is in the bread which we eat; He is in the music which comes floating through the air, making the heart to dance for joy. But this Goa is too vague, too vast, too impersonal. Can this God be personalized? It is God's eternal purpose to adapt Himself to the limitations and needs of His children. We do not think of God merely as Power, or Majesty, or Holiness. God is Love. Love is the winning thing. Love conquers. Love is bent on drawing home to the Father's heart all His wayward and lost ones. The human heart cries for God. What kind of a God? ?? Not the God of the atheist, not the God of the Deist, not the God of the narrow theologian, but the Eternal God. And Jesus Christ has revealed Him to the world. This Jesus Christ and this God are ours, this completes the list. There is nothing more that can be added. Flowers, pictures, music, ships, railroads, tele* , phones, philosophy, science, religion, human fellowships, friendships, loves, plus God and Christ. All are yours. Don't complain of poverty any more; never be afraid of failure; never again say "I can't.'' Goodness does not mean exemption from the common ills of life. Every life has its burdens, every heart has its own secret sorrow. We would not minimize the cares wnicn are inevitaoie. iney arc not loyous, but grievous. Many tears are shea in the private chamber. Many feet are treading lonely Daths. And blessed be God, our heavenly Father knows it all. The Christ, the Saviour of Men, is touched with the feelings of our infirmities. All the love of the Deity, all the power of the Almighty, all the compassion of the Lover of Soui is for us. Look up, then. Be of good cheer. 'Tis better further on. In company with the Saviour, nothing can harm us. The path of the good is as the shining light, shining more and more unto the perfect day. "Loose me from earth's enclosure, from the sun's Contracted circle set my heart at large; Eliminate my spirit, give it range Through provinces of thought yet unexplored; Teach me, by this stupendous scaffolding, Creation's golden steps, to climb to Thee." No Triumphal Entry. It is the irony of history that Christ's 1 entry into Palestine is so often misinterpreted. To me there is hardly more bitter irony in the life of Jesus than to speak of His triumphal entry into Jerusalem. The multitude came out to meet Him, threw their garments and palm branches in front of Him, and the people sang. But what of the central figure? He saw the . great city, and wept over it. What a contrast was that with the triumphal march of a conqueror.?Rev. Dr. A. A. Berle, Salem, Mass. _ _____ The Only Standard. Our churchman's life has paganism ha it. Nowadays many men are saying "If a pagan is honest, pure and true, why should he need religion? Outside of the Christian life there is no standard of right Christ is the only standard.?Bishop William Lawrence, Episcop; 'ian, Boston.