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3* TI
The Family
PUZZLED.
. By Annie Trumbull Slosson.
You ask me whether I'm High Church,
You ask me whether I'm Low;
i wish ,vuu u ten ine cpnerence,
For I'm sure that I don't know.
I'm just a plain old body,
And my brain works pretty slow;
So I don't know whether I'm High
Church,
And I don't know whether I'm Low.
. I'm Irving to be a Christian
In the plain, old-fashioned way
Laid down in my mother's Bible,
And I read it every day;
Our blessed Lord's life in the Gospels,
Or a comforting Psalm of old,
Or a hit from the Revelation
Of the city whose streets are gold.
Then I pray; why, I'm generally praying,
Though I don't always kneel or speak
out.
But I ask the dear Lord, and keep asking
Till I fear he is all tired out;
A piece of the Litany sometimes,
The Cpllect, perhaps, for the day,
Or a scrap of a prayer that my mother
So long ago learned me to say.
My old father was never a Churchman,
But a Scotch Presbyterian saint.
Still, his white head is shining in
Heaven,
I don't care who says that it ain't.
To one of our blessed Lord's mansions
That old man was certain to go.
And now do you think I am High
Church ?
Are you sure that 1 ain't pretty Low?
I tell you, it's all just a muddle.
Too much for a body like me;
I'll wait till I join my old husband,
And then we shall see what we'll see.
Don't ask me again, if you please, sir,
For really it worries me so,
And I don't know whether I'm High
Church,
' And I don't know whether I'm Low.
Meditate daily on the things of eternity;
and by the grace of God do something
daily, which thou wouldst wish to
have done when the day of judgment
comes.?Dr. Pusey.
Give us to go blithely on our business
all this day; bring us to our restinghpHc
VL'PQrvr on.l -J
f. vmi j uuu v/uuicui anu UliaiSIlCJUored;
and grant us in the end the gift
of sleep.?R. L#. Stevenson.
The prudent sees only the difficulties;
the bold only the advantages of the great
enterprise; the hero sees both, diminishes
those, makes these predominate,
and conquers.?Bavater.
Certainiy in taking revenge, a man Is
but even with his enemy, but in passing
it over he is superior, for it is a prjnce's
part to pardon.?Bacon.
iE PRESBYTERIAN OF THE SOU
HAL'S WIRELESS TELEGRAPHY.
Hal Clayton looked very rueful. His
mother found him, after the company
had gone, sitting on the back steps?
alone! Even Emperor William, the big
Newfoundland dog, was not with him.
"Why, Hal?" and Mrs. Claytons tone
implied a question.
"It?it's because you said my nose was
smutty," explained Hal, struggling hard
to keep his voice steady?something that
every man, according to Hal's notion, is
expected to do. "And made me leave the
room and wash the smut off?rierht he.
lore the?the (jompany."
"Hut my boy wouldn't want to remain
i?i the room looking like that, 1
hope," replied his mother, gently, "and
have the ladies see him."
"No?o," after considering the situation
a moment. "Hut isn't there some?
some other way of?than speaking right
out, mamma? 1 mean when I?I ought
to leave the room for something?"
"Why, yes; 1 guest so," answered Mrs.
Clayton. "We might use wireless telegraphy."
"Wireless ? te-leg-raphy!" exclaimed
Ha! wonderingly. "You can not do?t5at;
we'd have to have instruments, if we
don't need any wire."
"We have them," and Mrs. Clayton assumed
an air of mystery.
"Instruments!" repeated Hal.
"Yes; I have a pair, and you have a
pair," and Mrs. Clayton smiled at the
incredulous expression on Hal's face.
"Mamma, you're fooling!"
"No, I'm not, dear."
"I?1 don't see." Then quickly: "Where
are they?the?the instruments?"
"They are our eyes," replied Mrs.
Clayton. "Mine will be the transmitter
and yours the receiver."
"I don't see how that can be!" exclaimed
Hal, more mystified than ever.
"Don't?"
"No!"
"Let me explain," and Mrs. Clayton
held open the door for Hal to r>om?
into the house. "We will go Into the
sitting room now, and learn the code."
"Mamma, I still think you're playing
tricks with me," declared Hal.
"Not at all, dear. In a minute you'll
see I'm not."
"I hope?so," doubtfully.
"Now let's imagine I have fcompany,
Hal." after they were seated?Mrs. Clayton
by the south window, and Hal directly
opposite?"and you have come Into
the room with soiled hands. Of course
I wouldn't want you to remain in that?"
"Hut how would I know without your
telling me?just as you did today?" interrupted
Hal.
"By using the wireless." renlied Mrs
Clayton, smiling. "For boiled hands I'll
send a message of one wink, with my
transmitter. And your eyes?the receiver?will
take the message. That
will mean for you to hurry out and wash them.
You understand so much of the
code?"
"Yes," and Hal laughed at the mere
idea. "I never thought of that!"
"No! For a dirty face?two winks.
Uncombed hair?three winks. Muddy
boots?four. Then for?"
"Wait, mamma, please," said Hal, "till
TH. April 7, igog.
1 get some paper, so we can write down
all the code. Then I won't forget."
"Very well," and Mrs. Clayton went
to the library table drawer for a peu
cil.
"'Twill be just?dandy!" exclaimed
Hal, enthusiastically.
"There," after the code was written
out, "suppose we practice a little, to be
sure we have learned the signals," suggested
Mrs Clayton.
"All right:" agreed Hal, happily. "The
messages come from you!"
"We'll try the one for uncombed hair
first," and (Mrs. Clayton immediately
flashed a wireless across the room.
Without a word Hal got up and went
out, and on his return his hair was neatly
combed.
"That was aw fully easy! And so much
better than to?to have all the people,"'
pointing to the empty chairs in the room,
"know why I left. Let's try the others,"
eagerly?"all of them!"
And so they went through the entire
code. Not a single message miscarried!
"My! that's splendid?our wireless telegraphy!"
exclaimed Hal, in great delight,
after the practice was over. "How
did you happen to think about it?"
"If I recollect rightly," smiled Mrs.
Clayton, "it was you who suggested the
plan!"?Zion's Herald.
A BIRD THAT SEWS.
Would you not like to see it doing it?
But as that is impossible, as you are
in the United States, and the little tailor
in India, Afrioa, or Australia, the best
i can 00 is to bring the pretty spectacle
before your mind's eye.
Imagine, then, that you are in India,
which, with the Indian Archipelago, is the
home of the genus "orthotomus," or
tailor bird;
You have retired to the grateful shade
of a grove of strange foreign trees, figs,
palms and mangoes; all round you stretch
fields of rice dotted wnv> *?
i.uc mint; turbans
of the husbandmen; the buzz of myriads
of insects rises and falls like the
waves of tire sea washing a distant
strand.
A succession of loud, not very sweet
notes, breaks In on the monotone, and
a little brown and black bird runs nimbly
out of the long grass, and, seeing
you, stops to reconnoiter. He is not in
the least shy, for his kind like best to
haunt cultivated regions, and consequent
jy are accustomed to man's presence. He
cocks his bright eye inquiringly at you
for a minute, then resumes his wonderfully
smooth, quick run, tilting his long,
slender tail over his back in a very comical
manner.
Another halt, this time to inspect a
lance-leaved plant. Snip! goes his sharp
beak, and one of the leaves falls; he
plants a claw cn it and strips the midrib
clean in a trice.
Then off he flies, the vegetable string
dangling from, his beak, to an adjacent flg
uni, wuere niB mate is at work. She
greets him with a cheerful note and
snaps the fiber from his beak as if she I
had been waiting for It ever so long, hut
knew how to excuse the idle ways of
such a beautiful bird as her lord.
And she resumes her labor, delighted
to have him perch near by and encourage
her by his warbling. I