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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