Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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V IL ~ 8UNRISK Al tar ft Mng of sunrise: first a feeble plow tiwving bright aud brighter. Spreading, soft aud slow, Vpward aud to westward, Maying stars look dim, Rou?>iug thrush and robin To their matin hymn. Oloerls now flush with crimson. Crimson turns to gold. Till, iu bur>t of splendor. We the sun behold Rising in his glow, r Chasing togs away, Turniug dew to diamonds, Turoiug uight to day. mm t 11111 ii imtMMtnt "ROBBING Tl 11 ? A Peril ^Tth j ^ By WALTE When r. coal mine is being worked laiRe trasses or coal, or pillars, are left at intervals to support the roof, and after a mine is "worked out" these pillars are minded away. The operation of removing them is technical ly called "robbing the pillars," and it 1b the meat dangerous work known to the miner; (or the roof caves in as the detaining columns are r?moved, not onlrequertly burying the miner for. ever beneath a mountain of rock and earth. With this brief explanation of oar title ire will proceed to narrate an Incident of a thrilling nature that oc orred not kng ago in a Pennsylvania eaal mine. The night is bitterly cold, and the stinging north wind howls and wbisttes aoout a miner's hut in the Pennsylvania coal regions. Ever and anon a violent gust drives the drifting snow beneath the door, and through the any ere/ices of the rudely constructed cot, an d each wild blast seems to * ahriek in the ears cf those within that Aode of poverty the dread words: "Famine! famine! famine!" A man and woman are crouching beside a smoldering fire, and in a cradle between them an infant is sleeping. Hanger and want have stamped their dtoadful signs upon them. Their faces are thin and pale, their eyes are hollow, and the wolfish glare of starvation ?v? *? TKo man's MBflW 111 LUCll ^.laavc. * UV, head h&3 sunk upon his breast, and his attitude is that of sullen despair; his lug. slender fingers, which he extends ever the por fire, work nervously. and a dark frcwn rests upon his brow. The woman rocks the cradle, and In a weak, plaintive voice chants a nursery hymn; yuile, with a look of agony ^ aad yearning such as only the devoted mother can bestow, she gazes upon the skeleton face cf her starving V. "?. * The Infant awakes from its troubled sleep, and its cry of hunger breaks wpon that poor mother's ears, and * wrings her heart with anguish, for she has as food to give it. Mechanically L1 ^ she takes the baby to her breast, and strives to give it the nourishment for want of which It is perishing, but the fosnt ta dry, and the little one looks ?p Into its mother's face with piteous. .** 'wandering eyes. Then that mother's fortitude gives way, and she sots aloud in a despairing burst of awful . ' grief, while tc her breaking heart she elasps the famishing babe. In silence the man has looked upon ' the heartrending scene, but all the saared emotions of the husband and of I' the Bather are stirred within his breast. ?r Can he calmly look upon the awful grief of the woman? No, he springs to his feet, and standing erect, he amites his clinched hand npon his breast, and fiercely cries: "By Heavens, I will have food fci ysu this night! The good God nevei made man to starve In this land oi plenty tf he is willing to work. Wife I am going forth to seek food, and I'll get It Tes. I'll get it, and if in nc oCber way then I will steal it! I ate deapermte; I am a wclf now, and I would tear the throat of him whe dares to come between me and th? JkMd I-seek for my starving family!' I Mm be apoke he drew his thin and tattered clothing mere closely about his emaciated form, and strode toward , .the deer. ^ -Oh. John, John!" cried the woman riatag and following him. "Where art yw? going? What are yon about to dc' Ptay, do not go forth into the atom tonight Wait until morning comes.' I tell you Mary, the babe ii * .atarviag. No, no, I must go now. "Bat, John, help may come tomor mm. I have written to my father 1 hare told him that I?that I ant i mj babe are starving, and he will no ?-cannot refuse to help us now." y?"Ah, Mary, when you became m; wife he drove you from his heme, dis owned yon. because I was poor. H< wished you to become the bride of i wealthy man; he is a hard, a crue father, and your hopes will provi groundless. Mary, I would work un tU I fall dead at my task, rather thai k' seeept bis charity, nut mere is u< f work, tbe mines are Idle, and day afte ' day I feare sought In vain (or some Is fear fey which I could earn our bread. *?H. If my father does not aid us the* God help us! Ob, must my bab die??must we starve?must w starve V "Wo, no! By the God that made mt not Stood I'll have, if it ccsts my lif p fee get it!" answered the man, an ? there was desperate energy in hi i wild words that told he was terribl L In earnest t He pressed & hurried kiss upon th brow ?? her who for love had give H wj a comfortable home to share hi JroxaWe lot. and then he wont fort NO 8UNSET. 8ing a song of sunset: Long the shadows tie, 8t reletting out to ea>tward. While the western sny Dons a golden radiance Deepening into red. As the suu. low siukiug, Slowly seeks his bed. Hushed arc nature's voices. Jarring noies are sti.led: With half-murraurings only All the air is tilled. Fades the sunset glimmer. Stars are shining bright: Earth is wrapped in darkness, Day engulled in night. ?Christian Register. I IHIHH Hf. HI 1I III I+1-H-+ HE PILLAPS." I e Coal Minet. ? R FENTON. | ? ?. _ _m m AAA AJL JLA *. A AituTi Tl TTTTTVV'S'I1 Vfi'TT ttVTt TTTTTt into the night, into tl*e driving storm. Tac wife pressed her face against the pane, and strove to pierce the gloom in which he vanished, wniie ne struggled onward onward through the snow toward a light that glimmered like a beacon in the distance. The way was rugged and huge drifts obstructed the pathway, but he bravely breasted them, and at last, panting and exhausted, he reached a large brick dwelling, that by contrast with the miserable miners' huts around it seemed a mansion. This was the residence of Hugh Ashton, the proprietor of the colliery, and he was the man upon whose employment all the miners of that little hamlet depended for a livelihood. John Fayne, such was the starving miner's name, rang the doorbell, and was admitted to the presence of the king. "Mr. Ashton." said he. as he confronted the wealthy operator, "my wife and child are starving; will yon glycine some food for them tonight? I have worked for you in the mines until compelled by sickness to give up, and although I am now able tc work again, the mines are idle, and I can find no employment. I am willing to work, if I only had a chance. I would brave ' the dangers of any honest toil, endure any hardships to earn food for my family." Mr. Asbton was at heart a kindly man, but he had never experienced the awful meaning of the word starvation. He regarded John Fayne closely for a moment, and then called to a servant "Put up a basket of provisions for this man at once." "Thank you! thank you!" said John Fayne, and the tears started from his eyes; for this was the first kindly act that had gladdened his heart for many a day. When the fcod was produoed he was about to hasten home with it, when Mr. Ashton said: "Stay. You say you are willing to work, and although the mines are idle. I think I can give you work if you dare undertake it. You know the old North Mountain mine that has not been worked for several years?" John Fayne answered affirmatively. "Very well," continued Mr. Ashton, "I will give you the job of robbing the nillarfi from it." "What!" cried Payne, in surprise. "Would you send me there? The North Mcuntain mine was deserted bebecause the roof was unsafe, and there were so many lives lost by,the fall of 'top coal' that no one would longer work in it. Add to rob the pillars, too, Mr. Ashton, if I went there to wcrk, ' ther are 10 chances to 1 that I would > come forth only as a crushed and i mangled corpse. No, I cannot do it" "Very well," answered Mr. Ashton. ' "The pay would enable you to support ' your family in comfcrt, and I thought ? I would mention it to you. You posi> lively refuse my offer, then?" I John Fayne hesitated. He thought > of his loved ones, and the brave, noi ble-hearted man determined to take I the fearful risk for their sakes. He > was placed in a terrible situation, and 5 cculd any true man have done otherwise? On the one hand was starval tion for his wife and child, on the t other an awful danger for himself. He I chose the last. "I will accept your offer, and tomor, row I will begin the work of robbing 5 the pillars from the old North Mount tain mine," he said. i *** It is early morning, but John Fayne * has already entered the gloomy cav eras of the deserted mine. He had ta* ken the food to his honse last night, * and told his wife of the work he had 1 obtained. She had tried to persuade t him to abandon the dangerous project, but in vain. r The gloomy subterranean place is silent and deserted. Overhead the 9 black, chasm-seamed rocks extend, and * seem ready to descend upon him at any moment; the water drips from nu9 merous crevices, and falling upon the hard floor gives forth a Weird, unnat1 ural sound. It seems to the lone min0 er that those strange ncises are made r by the nails being driven into a coffin, and he shudders. Slime ooz^s frcm the sides of the old "gangway," and the !* iron mine rails are rusted, and dey cayed by the action of sulphur water 6 Deeper, and yet deeper he makes his way into the mine, and the cold, damp air strikes upon him like a chill breath e from the grave. d The mine lamp upon his hat sheds ? 3 fitful light upon the uncanny place y and the miner sees that here and then the woden preps that were to sustair 0 the roof from where there were nc n "pillars" have fallen from their places 19 He has now reached the point a which his work is to b? commenced and he gets about the task of drilling a hole into a huge pillar of coal. Ht labors diligently, and when the "dril. measure" tells him that the required depth is reached he puts the pcwdei into the hole, and prepares to fire tue Uiat is to mast away tut coal. fuse that is to ignite the powder, and then hastens away to a sate distance to await the expected explosion. One, two, three moments pass, and the oxplosion does not take plate. The miner this?h? the fuse must have gone out ere it reached the powder, but he waits a moment longer. He is no quite sure that the fuse has failed, and he returns to examine it. He is but few feet trom it when there is a blinding dash, followed by a terrific explosion that seems to shake the earth to its foundation, and the same instant a mountainous mass of coal, rock and earth descends upon him. He is crushed to earth, hut not K111. ed outright, for a fallen prop that chanced to lie near where he fell suppo.ts the mass somewhat. He struggles desperately to free himself, but the effort is useless, for he is hel I down by a weight that no one could move. Air couies i!i.-oug?i t.e crac,.3 ! about him, and he thanks God tor that, for, with the blind infatuation that prompts the drowning man to catch at a straw, he yet hopes to be saved. There seems little grounds lor hope, and as the time drags on. and no rescuer comes to his aid a terrible despair takes possession of his heart "Oh, God:" he cries, "spare me, spare me for the sake of my helpless family." But no one comes, and he thinks that he is doomed to die alone in the darkness of that living grave. The clock strikes six, and Mary, John Fayne's wife looks anxiously forth from tne window of their cot, hoping to see the welcome form of her husband returning from the mine, but sight of him does not gladden her eyes. A half hour passes, and the waiting wife begins to fear that some danger has come to the absent one. Another half hour is gone, and now the expected one is an hour late. For the last few moments the terrible fear that had arisen in the mind of the miner's wife has become almost a certainty. At last she can wait no longer and throwing a shawl over her head she hastens to the neighboring hamlet and rouses a party of miners to go to the old North Mountain mine, to search lor tae missing one. "Oh, hasten! hasten!" she cries, as she flees over the ground at the head of tho rescue party. Love seemed to give her new strength, and speed. The mine was soon reached, and the very pillar beneath which John Fayne I had been buried was found. Tney saw I that he had been at work here and j they alsc saw that an extensive "cave | in" had occurred. These men were j experienced miners, and they shook ' their heads gravely when the almost frantic wife asked them If there was 1 any hope. "No, there is no hope for poor John Fayne! It would take days to remove , that mass cf coal and rock, and he would then bo dead, as he no doubt now is, lor 1 think lie must have be?n , instantly crushed/' said an aged miner j to a companion. The work of removing the "fall" was commenced, and after a time the bereaved wife was induced to return to her babe. She had not gone far when a boy gave ber a letter which had arrived but an hcur before. She opened it, and found that It was from her father, and It contained a sum of money that seemed almost like wealth to her; hut what was better, her father asked her forgiveness for his cruel j conduct, and implored her to come with her husband, and cheer his declining years by' making his home ber own. "Too late! too late! Oh. if John were only alive to^hare my Joy! Oh, God! he is lost to me, and life is but sorrow now; no wealth can bring me happiness!" she exclaimed. I She had now reached her own cot, and had opened the door, when suddenly she reeled back and uttered the name: i "John!" I No pen can describe the thrilling joy, the heart and soul of gladness that she threw into that cry. The next moment she would have fallen fainting to the ground, but the strong arms of John Fayne, alive and in the flesh, caught her to his breast. In a moment she recovered, kissed back to consciousness by the husband she mourned as dead. How did he escape? How came he 1 here? He had, as we have said, given 1 up all hope of escape, when he felt the floor upon which he rested giving way, and in another moment he fell with a portion of the floor into r chamber cf a lower avenue of thi | mine. He was somewhat bruised by the fall, but not seriously injured, and as there was a read:' way of egress from the lower avenue, he soon made i his way to the surface of the earth once more, and hastened to his home. At this precise time the rescue party | were entering the upper level, and consequently they Tailed to meet. ! Thus was the peril escaped and '?* - "A Vinnnincss faiTlfi to the ; coniiuri ouu uuIT.?v? . miner and his family, who was no longer compelled by a necessity to go. j "Down in the coal mine, underneath , the ground, i Where no ray of sunsihine ever can be found." t ?New York Weekly. | What He'd Get j Big Sister (angrily): Do you know , what you will get if you break that . vase?" t Little Sister (Interested in play houses): The pieces.?Life. FOOTGEAR LICHTF*tu. oot* Have Nearly Disappeared Except in lCumantlc Plays. "Th? evolution of the shoe presents rather Interesting study," said an obervant man, "and it would be iuteri sting to know just what changes will I ike place in the future. Boots have about disappeared, except in plays of a romantic kind. Boots are mostly worn on the stage now. Of course, one may find them in remote sections of the country, in lumber camps, where men are forced to work a great deal in marshy places, and where they often sink up to their knees in mud and water. But in modern life boots are, as a rule, in the way. They are too heavy. They are a handicap in the race for success. Men have taken to lighter footwear. They want to carry just as little weight as possible. They do not want anything that interferes too much with the suppleness of me unios. i irv nave g?u m x,u , the no. But I was thinking more par- j tieularly of the intluenees in detail which have worked out the changes in i footwear. The modern method of IIv- ' i"g has bemi at war with the oi l s'v'e ! of shoes, just as it lias been at war i with old fashions in the matter of clothes. Why should a man or woman war l'?nvy slioes in the cities of today? There is no reason for It. There are too many conveniences. A man i can step in a ear at his ofliee door and In a few minutes can st"n out again right at the door of his home. It Is cheaper to ride than it is to buy shoes. Vv'e find In these conditions an explanation of the popularity of low quartered shoes in these latter days. 1 suppose after a while men and women will be aide to wear toe shoes without any sort of inconvenience, and they will be able to get around quite as well as their forefathers did in boots and shoes of a heavier kind. Besides, the development of sidewalks in cities has had much to do with changing the character of shoes worn now. It Is possible to keep out of the mnd and water, to keep one's feet dry, without crawling into a cab or street car. So I might go on and mention many other Influences which have been at work to bring about the changes we observe in footwear. But these things will naturally suggest themselves to persons who take the trouble to keep in touch with modern styles. It is an interesting study, and one which may he pursued with profit."?New Orleans Times* Democrat. WJRDS OF WISOCM. It's easy finding reasons why oth?r people -bouhl be patient.- -Gecrge Eliot. Universal peace can come only with the universal republic.?Immanuel Kant. There are possibilities of the fairest among 10,000 even in the chief of sinners. A man's force in this world Is frequently in the inverse proportion to his fashiouableuess. Many sermons are singular failures because they are preached in the sin-1 gular number, first person. If you would reform the world from ' its errors and vices, begin by enlisting the mothers.?C. Simmons. He who Is true to the best be knows to-eay will know a better best to-morrow.?Charles Cordon Ames. It is no use leading some sheep into the green pastures; they would only sigh for the briars over the fence. j You may ta*e the Lord's promise foe victory in the end; that shall not faii; but do not promise yourself ease in the way, for that will not hold.?ltobert Leighton. She Couldn't Throw Straight. John Kendrick Bangs, the wellknown humorist, lives in Yonkers, N. Y. His youngest son is a very precocious youngster of five, and from present indications he bids fair in after years to rival bis father as an humorist Like all precocious boys, he is ??> in*/* misfhief. The other proue it? eel ? day be did something especially naugh- I ty. His mother declared she was go-1 ing to whip him, and, thinking to make the punishment especially severe and lasting, she sent him out Into the yard to get ber a stick. He was gone about fifteen minutes, and when be returned he carried a stone in his hand. "WelL sir," said his mother with mock severity, "where is the stick?" "Mamma," he replied, "I couldn't find a stick, but here's a little stone you can throw at me." The little boy received a hugging instead of a whipping. Conld Not Huter Baialan. Secretary Hay never could get on with the Russian. language. He has spent much time and effort striving to master Its intricacies, but be had to give it up as a bad job and time wasted. The Tecretary of State says he has a most profound respect for any one who has ever succeeded in acquainting himself with this lingual abnormity. A German Fire Department. At a fire in Erfurt, Germany, tne members of the fire brigade quarreled with the chief, and instead of attending to their duties, belabored biiu with a hose until he was senseless. Meanwhile, the fire had taken such a hold that before it was got under control several houses were burnt to the ground. A Decadence of Character. Professor Karl Pearson says that he notes decadence of character and loss of intelligent leadership alike in the British merchant, the professional man and the workman. There is not only a , paucity of the better intelligences to i guide, but "of the moderate intelligence to be guided." I)r. Pearson attributes It to race suicide. A SERMON EOR SUNDAY A STRONC DISCOURSE ENTITLED. "COMFORTING CERTAINTiES." The ltey. I>p. Ito?>ert Ttrnee TfnlP* Talk on the Words AThlress'vl to Nlrodptnus ?The Person Tint the Verities ot Our Precious Paith Cluster About. Brooklyn. X. Y.?Sunday morning the Rev. Dr. Robert Bruee IIulI, pastor of (Greenwood Baptist Church, preached on "Comforting Certainties/' The text was from .Tolin iii:ll: "We speak that we do know." Dr. Hull said in the course of his termon: These words were addressed to Nicodcmus. He was an earnest, honest, yet timid inquirer after truth. He had come to Tpsus under cover of the darkness. As an official of the Jewish Sanhedrim. h? d d not dare to be'seen talking with tne Xazv rene Teacher. Yet lie is convinced in h a own mind that Jesus is a prophet and that. too. a pronhet sent of God. This much he confesses to the Christ. Then be gins the wonderfully instructive interview rrom wmcn tne text is laKen. 1 im inivrview is evidently only an outline, bnt the outline is marvelous y suzge.s^ive. Xieodemus was a go id mnti. He was a re'icrious man. He conformed to all the religlo ts form3 and ceremonies of his nation. His outward deportment was h'ameless and his standing in the community was honorable. But he was not a spiritual nun. He was not what we would call to-day a converted man. To him Jesus thrice used t:,c so'emn double "Amen, amen, 1 say unto thee." Xicodemus could not understand what Jesus meant by being born again. He was unable to see what that new spiritual life was of which he himself was lacking. Then it is that the third doub'e amen of Je us introduces the words of the text: "Verily, veri'y, I say unto thee, we speak that we do know and testify that we have seen." In this utterance Jesus uses the word "we," not simply as the plural of majesty, but connecting Himself with all His disciples, so that it is perfectly proper and right for us to-day to use His words and say: "We speak that we do know." Christians are competent witnesses to the certainties of religion. While in a sen?e it may be said that "the Bible and the Bib'e a'one is the religion of Protestants," ye+ in the fuller sense our religion is a life. Christ is Christianity. His life in Himse'f and in His disciples is the spirit and the power of true religion. We have something more than opinion; something better than creeds; we have as one of the eternal verities Jesus Christ as the manifestation of God. It has been well said that "Christ either deceived mankind by conscious fraud or He was Himself de'uded and deceived, or H# was divine. There is no getting out of this trilemma. It ia inerrable." He stood before the men who kn^w Him best and said: "He that hath seen Me hath seen the father. ana azain aec-n-eu to them: "I and My Father are one." This was tremendous assumption and awful b'nsphemy if it was not the truth. That it is the truth the course of time and the course of Christianity both abundantly dedare. The verities of our precious faith cluster about a person. This person was God, manifest in the flesh, and for all the centuries since Eetb'ehem the nobVst, aviscst and holiest have bowed before Him, reverently exclaiming. 'My I-ord and my God!" It matters not from what point we view Him, Jesus stands before the world as more than man. It is said of a safe and perfect arch that it must meet two requirements. Its feet must not s'ip and its middle must not bend. .Tesus Christ ts the arrh connecting humanity and divinity The weight of the centuries of Christian'ty rest on that arch and they rest there safely, for "Jesus is God; there never was a time when He was not; Boundless, eternal, merciful, the word, the Sire begot; Backward our thoughts through ages stretch, onward through realms of bliss, For there are two eternitie# and both alike are His." Another of the certainties is that the Christian life is u divine life. This was a raw thought to Xicodemus. It is a new thought to many to-day. It was not a figure of speech, but a plain statement of fact, when Jesus insisted that it Was necessary to be born again in order to enter heaven. Those of Aicodemus' time would have said it was necessary to reform, to deal honestly, to behave kindly, to live uprightly. So many say to-day. and if by ail this they mean uprightness in its perfect form they are right. But no man has ever lived who . as been thus upright "All have sinned and come short of the glory of God." The history of mankind shows that ?<?? oont- hn'innca in nrrlpr to Goth but God in order to holiness. Christ must come into the soul of man with His divine life, and then, and not till then, are we in harmony with the divine holiness. When that life comes in then there is manifested the "expulsive power of a new affection." better still, the expulsive power of a new life. Nothing less than life can account for the change in men. Nothing but life can exert the power which the centuries of Christianity nave manifested. In physics we affirm confidently that every effect must have an adequate cause. This also is true in the realm of spirituality. Jf persecutors are changed into preachers, if those once thoroughly depraved have been molded into recognized saints, if the dregs of society have been transformed into unparalleled martyes for the truth, if common people nave been fashioned into those of whom the world was not worthy?we ask what cause or what power is adeouate for such marvelous alterations. We know these changes. It is folly to say we do not know the power. , Twice each day our city is washed by n mighty ebb and ilow of tides that sweep in anil out, despite all the winds that blow. Your child recognizes the fact, but he is puzzled to think that the pale, silent moon, serene amid the clouds, is the cause of those resistless floods. The ch-ld is puzzled, but when your philosopher explains to you that the moon does this by attraction of gravitation, and you ask him to cxI plain to you this attraction of gravitatiou, then he. too, is puzzled. Yet he knews the power, knows it so well he can measure it and use it. So, too, with Christianity, and it* power. We can recognize its force and use it, but its secret is the secret of life, Like all force, in its origin it i* a mystery, Tennyson says: "We have but faith we cannot know. For knowledge is of things wc sec." This is not quite true. Knowledge is oi things we feel, as well as of things we see, Many things we know that we cannot see We never saw a pain, but we should call him a fool who should say we never felt or knew a pain. Wc know the power of the Christ life in the believer, because huvt felt it. and sometimes when tins l imst iitc in us h.i? its perfect freedom we are ab!< to say with Paul: "I can do all tiling ir Christ who strengtheneth ine." This certainty concerning the power o the Christ life can be attained by all wh< will fulfill the conditions. There must bi a surrender to Christ and a trust in Christ You cannot have the sunbeam without thi sun. You cannot have the power of Chris without the Christ Hiiuseif. The apostf says: "Christ is in you the hope of glory,' t and it is certainly true that Christ mus i be in us the power for glory. Thus th i centre of our certitude is Christ HimseH ! We know Him. We know His power. I has been exercised upon us and in us. Lik the orce blind beggar, we exclaim: "On j:hing 1 know, whereas, I was blind, now see. There was no note of uneerlaint about this; there should be no note of ur | certaintv about our utterances concernin our faith or concerning our own pogitiot Bat in thin age of doubt m.my (!? i (fall are so frightened out of sanity that they are afraid to say even of the deepest experiences of the soul, "I know." Not so Paul, facing death: "I know whom J have believed." Not so John, the be'oved dis- ?. ciple. declaring, "We know that we have passed from death unto life. We know that when He shall appear we shall be like llitn." It is not modesty, but lack of faith which prompts Christians to say, "I hone 1 am a Chrst:an." When we have 'ife we know it ard should not be ashamed to say so. If we have not the life then by all the ii:inorta->ce of eternity make sure of obtaining it. It is possible to hare a living experience of Jesus Christ. To have sueo an -experience that we may say: "I live, 1 yet not I, but Christ, liveth in me." Belief mav be glorified into this exoerence if we yie'd ourselves completely and unreservedly to Him who is able to "keep that wh:eb we have committed to Him against that day." _ # ' The effect of this certainty is in every way most precious and helnfaT. Consider for a moment what this certitude means in the presence of the awful ca'amity which Inst summer sent a thrill of horror around the frlobe. True, indred. ia the .Serioture dee oration "if in this life only we have hope in Christ we are of all men most m.iserab'o." If-death were the end of all then we might well believe that cruelty ?L ikn un!vPP?o Rflt. staggered a* aM are bv the unutterable sorrow. yet God rules and overru'es. and though we cannot see it row. yet in eternity we shall know that the carelessness? or worse?of man has been overruled to eternal gooL Because we know that God is love, and because we know Je?u? still lives ?nd is the same to-day as when He shed tears at the grave of Lazarus, we dare to go into bereaved homea a*d sneak of t'<e reunion at the right na'd of the throne of God. I went over to the nier where lay hundreds of the unclaimed bod:cs. and I won'd not have dared to do it, but that I might comfort some heartbroken ore with the assurance that God cared. God loved and in eternity God would make thia unsneakable sadness a source of perpetual joy. Can T exp'ain it? No! But I could not preaeh. I could not hold uo mv head as a Christian if I did not believe; yea, if I did not know, that somehow, aome time, t?-e curse shall be chanced into a blessing. This is the nrivilege of Christians to ssr even now: "We know that all tf?;n?s work / together for good to them that love God." Whv is it that all do nor know these things? Partlv because of their condition. t There are to-day those who "having eyes see not. and having ears hear not. The influence of training is not easi'v overcome. Trained on'v to consider as ?eal that wniek can be ana'yzed by scientific implements, men revise to admit the rea'ity of things which they cannot weigh in their scales or mcasur? by their rules. They are honest. So is the blind man honest who savs color does not exist. So is the deaf maw honest whose spul cannot he moved by the concord of sweet sounds. It is not a au^st'on of honestv, but of fact. God is. even though the unbelieving eve may sweep the heavens wi*h the telescope and assert I cannot eye God. But trusting hearts will say wi'h ever increasmv certitude: "I 1-now whom I believe." This rives us comfort in such a time as this. It is th? only thing which can give comfort. So. b'-ethreu. let us p'ace ourselves in the handg of ^ lovins God. Let us lean on the divine nower. Let us trust the divine wisdom. Let us assure ourselves of the divine home in those mansions which div'ne love hat nrenared for us, and let ua be confident , i , % mat "Tr-'al works for ends Too M<rh for some to ace? That oft in dark attire F" sends :Zk. Sonne embassy of grace." ? T.ove u ? Co* in of I c. T.ore is the greatest beautifier. Tie rea* son i.< easy to see. Love itself is beautiful, and if we give unselfish love a lodgment with us it is constantly exerting a molding influence upon us. Love always appears at its best. When it goes wooing it alwavs chooses the most becoming attire and the most captivating adornment. So love, when it pets possession of a human body, proceeds to mold I the face of that body into the most attractive form, for love alwavs seeks to clothe itself in the most attractive garb. That is the explanation of the transformation that takes place in a woman who it ix mother. She may be p'ain otherwise, but when she hends over hpr babe in an ecstasy of mother-love she becomes beautiful. A"d in proportion as we give n'ace to unselfish love do we become attractive. There is no masseur like love to work miracles in a homely face, says the Christian Endeavor Worid. There is no facial specialist who can begin to do as much to make a p'ain young man or woman atfnictive, to overcome deformity or hide ^ blemishes as the magician love can do. To hate is to become batcfu'. To love at Christ loved is to become love'y. It is not a cheap recipe, for such love costs in proportion to its depth and intensity. Fat any one that is willing to pay the price may be beautiful. Boastful Building. "Flow, 0 winds! Rise, O ocean! Break forth, vc elements and trv my work!" Such was the boastful inscription put npoi the first Eddystone lighthouse built by the eccentric Winstanlev. His challenge war accepted, and one fearfui night the sea swallowed up the tower and ita builder. The next one met a similar fate, the structure and its builder, Rudyard, again perishing together. The third was erected by Smcaton, wht built it all of stone, making it a part of itt rock foundation, so that the lighthouse penetrates it as a tree penetrates the soil Upon this lighthouse no vaunting inscriptions were placed, but on the lowest course were chiseled the words: '"Except the Lord build the house, they labor in vain that build it," and on the keystone, above the lantern, is the exclamation, "LamDeo!" That structure still stands, a never-failing beacon light to storm-tossec mariners. lie who would bnild for eternity mast not set about his task in any Taing.orious over-confident spirit. He mast be carefu as to his foundati n. building firmly anc deeply upon the rock. Christ Jesus, anc ; relying in trust and humility upon Hit* who alone can enable one to reach a pet feet result.?Wellspring. fine* to Bear. When Christ docs not take away tfci thing that is hard for us to bear, He givcj us grace to keep it and to get on even bet ter than if He had relieved us of it. Tc . Paul He said: "My grace is sufficient fo? *? rv, _, -d??i receive rrae< fiiee. X [lit U JJI, lau. w from Christ, Christ's own strength in hi1 : life, enough of it to meet air his need, sc [ that the suffering would be overbalanced by the grace, and the hindrance overcom? ] by the divine strength imparted. This pmmise is for every Christian who has a ; thorn of any kind which Christ does no? remove. While we must keep it we shal ' be helped to bear it, and it will be as j though we did not have it.?Forward. > ? Idols Transformed. A missionary in Travaneore, India, saw r one morning, a native coming to his hous? ^ t with a Heavy burden. On reaching it he e laid on the ground a sack. Unfastening h ' he emptied it of its contents?a number ol t idols. "What have you brought these hew e for?" asked the missionary; "I don't wan! f. them." "You have taught us that we d< t not want them, sir," said the native, "btr: e we think they might be put to some gooc e use. Could they not be melted down anc 1 formed into a bell to call us to church?" y The hint was taken; they were sent to a i- bell founder and made into a bell, whiek g now summons the native converts to.prater uj and prayer, _ . ^ - g,"