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IN GALILEE.
Were 1 in Galilee today
Where Jesus used to. be,
And Jesus in America,
The Land of Liberty;
Would II do now as He did then,
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Would I trust all God's promises
And to his wisdom bow?
Or would I there still wayiward be,
Where Jesus walked in Galilee?
Could I dwell in the cottage there
Where Jesus used to. dwell,
And sit upon His mother's knee
As she to me would toll,
Just as in olden times she told
To Him, God's wondrous love.
Would those sweet words of hers so true
lMy life to great things move?
Or would I there a sluggard be,
Where Jesus walked in Galilee?
Is it the place that one is born
That makes a life like His
Or, iB it how a man is raised?
No, this is what it is:
'Tis God that dwells within the man
And forms hs image there,
And lying thus within his soul.
Transforms the character;
And this is why, ft seems to me,
Christ lived 60 pure in Galilee.
So if I live as Jesus lived,
From sin entirely free.
I only have to let His God
Come down and dwell in me;
So day by day 'I'll stronger grow,
Until with love and joy and peace
My heart will overflow,
And then my land like that will be,
Where Jesus walked in Galilee.
Roanoke, Va. ?G. M. M.
OLIVER GOLDSMITH.
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tury, during the time that Johnson was idolized
in London as the king of English, that Burke
became famous through his wonderful speeches
and Reynolds painted. These three men loved
Goldsmith; and, when he died, they grieved
sorely for him. They had always understood
him, and, as they themselves had faults, they
overlooked his in enjoying the real good that
was in him.
Goldsmith was born in Ireland, and he was
always proud that he could be called an Irishman.
His life began in a quiet village, but he
was not destined to remain there many years.
He longed for a change, for a chance to see the
world; but a time came when he had seen all he
wished to, and he longed for "Sweet Auburn,"
far away in Ireland.
He was never a brilliant scholar. For years
he wasted away his opportunities. He gain
bled, he drank, and he was continually in
scrapes. He seems to have had as many troubles
with his schoolmasters as noisy Dick
Steele. At one time he was sizar in a boys'
school, at another time he worked for a chemist,
later he studied law, and once he tried to
become a surgeon. He thought of taking
orders, but he dressed in such gaudy colors
that he was not accepted. Thus in all these
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We all know how Goldsmith traveled
through parts of Europe on foot, the peasants
dancing to the music of his flute, and the old
men and women listening of evenings to his
weird stories. This view of the world inspired
him to write "The Traveler," so we
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PRESBYTERIAN OF THE S (
Readings
feel that his wanderings, seeking shelter and
food where he might, were not a waste of time.
lie was very fond of children, and wrote for
them as well as for the grown folks. Wheu
he was sizar, he loved his boys, and he was
only happy when making them so. He was interested
in them all, and once, in later years,
when he had become famous, but not prosperous,
he met one of the lads. They went into
a coffee house, and Oliver treated.
"Have you seen Sir Joshua Reynolds' painting
of me?" he asked the boy.
"No," replied the latter, "but I heard that
he had painted you."
"Faith, Jack!" replied Goldsmith, "but had
you had your picture painted I would not let
a minute go by before I. saw it."
This shows his love and friendship for the
boy, but it shows also his great vanity. But
Reynolds was a great artist and his friend,
and, when a friend does anything for us, we
are glad to praise it before the world.
Goldsmith wrote many works. Perhaps he
is best known, in prose, by his novel, "The
Vicar of Wakefield." His two beautiful
poems, "The Deserted Village" and "The
Traveller," are still read and enjoyed. He
wrote some comedies, the most popular, "She
Stoops to Conquer."
Among Goldsmith's greatest faults was his
generosity. It seems strange to call that trait
of character a fault, but it certainly was with
him. He often gave when he had to borrow
to do so. He was constantly in debt. If a beggar
asked him for alms, he made the creature
happy, perhaps by giving every cent he had;
but when his tailor came to collect his bill, or
his caterer his, or his landlady hers, he gave
not so freely, if at all. He was constantly in
some trouble. He sinned himself in many ways,
but he always forgave those who sinned toward
him.
Goldsmith was very proud of his self-imagined
power as a physician. He never had
any patients, so he told people that he prescribed
for his friends only. One friend said:
"You had better prescribe for your enemies,
if you love your friends."
Oliver Goldsmith died, as he lived, in debt.
In London with its smoky streets, and far
away from Ireland, and his beloved "Sweet
Auburn," he passed away; and the high and
low mourned him. Thackeray, in his English
"Humorists," says of him: "To be the most
beloved of English writers, what a title that is
for a man!".
Scott says, "We read 'The Vicar of Wakefield'
in youth and age; we return to it again
and again, and bless the memory of an author
who contrives so well to reconcile us to human
nature.?Every Other Sunday.
If one were to frame a definition of the gospel
of Christ, perhaps none would be better than
that ascribed to Max Muller: "The gospel is the
fulfillment of all hopes, the perfection of all
philosophy, the interpretation of all revelations,
the key to all the seeming contradictions and
mysteries of the physical and moral world."
The gospel of Christ is the supremest effort in
the way of religion that has ever been made, and,
more than that, it is the one commanding and
demanding faith which excludes all other competitors.?New
York Observer.
)UTH [ October 2, 1912
THE WONDER TALES OF SCIENCE.
Tennyson talks somewhere of the fairy tales
of science. That the phrase is literally as well
as poetically correct will at once be admitted by
the student who dips into a book, The Bible of
Xat lire, by Professor Arthur Thompson. Those
who imagine that science is dry and forbidding
will find that its facts can be marshalled in a
way that envelops life with beauty and glory,
and fills the mind with thoughts marvelous and
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troduces us to the infinitely great; on the earth
the microscope reveals the infinitely little. According
to one authority, '' the simplest organism
we know is far more complex than the Constitution
of the United States." According to Darwin,
the brain of an ant, for instnace, is perhaps
the most marvelous speck of matter in the universe;
it is said to be many times more intricate
t'lan a steam engine. In a tiny organism no
larger than a minute hand on a dainty watch
there is a molecular intricacy which might be
represented by an Atlantic liner packed with
such watches.
Take the first mentioned 'by Professor Arthur
Thomson that the simplest of all atoms?an atom
of hydrogen?must have a constitution as com
plex as a constellation, with about 800 separate
parts. How astounding, too, are the marvels
associated with radium. One kind of ray "is
said to consist of streams of little bodies which
travel at the rate of twenty thousand miles a
second, 40,000 times faster than a ride bullet;
another kind is said to consist of pulses in the
ether which can penetrate a foot of solid iron;
while another kind is said to consist of streams
of little bodies darting forth at the prodigious
rate of 100,000 miles a second." Astronomy
tells us of the infinity of worlds, systems upon
systems, whirling in endless space. Biology also
nas lis marvels. We are told that one family of
insects is said to include as many different species
as there are stars to count with, the unaided eye
on a clear night. Then think of the marvels of
the microbe world. '' It seems certain that some
microbes in certain phases can pass through the
most carefully constructed water filter, and art>
invisible to the best microscope. We know that
they pass through by the results; we can get
cultures of them out of the water. Yet these
invisible, minute creatures creatures have so
much constructive power that from one in a few
hours a million may result, and so much destructive
power that a small dose of them soon kills
an ox." Marvelous as is life in its abundance
ana intricacy, equally marvelous is the system
of relations by which plants and animals are
connected in links of mutual dependence. No
creature lives for itself. Earth-worms, as Gilbert
White in his day remarked, "though in appearance
a small and despicaJble link in the chain
of nature, yet if lost would make a lamentable
chasm." In an acre of ground, as Darwin reminds
us, there may be 50,000 or 500,000, and
they often pass ten tons of soil per acre per annum
through their bodies, and cover the surface
of the earth at the rate of three inches in fifteen
years. Science teaches us, what recent events in
the industrial world are teaching us, the vast
power and influence of the great host of unheard,
obscure* workers. As the ordinary man gazes
upon nature, little does he realiae how much of
its harmony and beauty and utility are due to
the unseen efforts of countless multitudes rrf si
lent workers.
What does the prevailing unrest show but this,
that what w? call civilization is the result of the
combined efforts of the units in the great industrial
army. In illustration of this, take the following
from an American writer, Professor
George Harris: "If a cross-section showing a sin>