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so, looking into its mother’s face, it had to die for lack of food.” 11 How terrible, ’ ’ she said, ‘‘ to imagine a mother holding in her arms a hungry, starving child, not old enough to understand why the supply was ex hausted, looking pleadingly into the mother’s face and crying for food and nothing could be given. I looked at this mother and observed her conduct without letting her know of my presence. I saw that she was absorbed in some deep, anxious thought. She had her hands clutched together and her face half turned to the sky. When I made myself known to her, she said, ‘ Oh, you are one of the Jesus women, aren’t you?’ And I said, ‘Yes, that is my business.’ Then, without waiting to give me an op portunity to say a word, she said, ‘Oh, please tell me how I may find Jesus!’ ” How many of us have gone through life not know ing Jesus? Many of us have received him as Savior who have never known him as a friend and com forter. Time and Talents. Again, have we done what we could with our time and talents? Rev. G. Campbell Morgan tells this story: “Some years ago, at home, a woman came to me at the close of the Sunday morning service, and said: ‘Oh, I would give anything to be in this work ac tively and actually. I would give anything to have some living part in the work that is going on here next week in winning men and women to Christ, but I do not know what to do.’ I said, ‘My sister, are you prepared to give the Master the five loaves and two fishes you possess?’ She said, ‘I do not know that I have five loaves and two fishes.’ I said, ‘Have you anything you have used in any way specially?’ ‘No, she did not think she had.’ ‘Well,’ I said, ‘Can you sing?’ Her reply was, “Yes, I sing at home, and I have sung before now in an entertain ment.’ ‘Well, now,’ I said, ‘let us put our hand on that. Will you give the Lord your voice for the next ten days?’ She said ,‘I will.’ I shall never forget that Sunday evening. I asked her to sing, and she sang. She sang the Gospel message with the voice he had, feeling that it was a poor, worth less thing, and that night there came out of that meeting into the inquiry room one man. That man said to me afterwards that it was the Gospel sung that reached his heart; and from that day to this—that is now eleven or twelve years ago— that man has been one of the mightiest workers for God in that city and country I have ever known. How was it done? A woman gave the Master what she had.” Are we willing to give the Master what we have? Ts so, there will be a harvest of glorious surprises in the immediate future. There is not a talentless man or woman in all the world. It is said that once when Sir Michael Costa was conducting a rehearsal, with a vast array of per formers and hundreds of voices, as the mighty cho rus rang out with thunder of the organ and roll of drums and ringing of horns and cymbals clashing, some one man who played the piccolo far away up in some corner, said within himself, “In all this din it matters not what I do,” and so he ceased to play. Suddenly the great conductor stopped, flung up his hands, and all was still—and then he cried aloud, “Where is the piccolo?” The quick ear miss ed it, and all was spoiled because it failed to take its part. 0, soul, do thy part with thy might! Little thou mayest be, insignificant and hidden, and yet God seeks thy praise. He listens for it, and all the music of his great universe is made richer and sweeter because thou givest him -thy best. A man’s house should be on the hilltop of cheer fulness, so high that no shadows rest upon it, and where the morning comes so early that the day has twice as many golden hours as those of other men. He is to be pitied whose house is in some valley of grief between the hills, with the longest night and the shortest day. Home should be the centre of joy, equatorial and tropical.—H. W. Beecher. The Golden Age for April 12, 190(j. My Whispering Conscience on Seeing the Play ‘‘Ben Hur.” By Mrs. J. F. Miller. During the closing days of February, acccompa nied by a young lady friend, I went over to Nash ville to see “Ben Hur.” Having years ago read and admired this master ful production of a great writer, I saw no harm in seeing it dramatized. On reaching the city we visited rel atives from whose home we attended the play. Our kindred host, and hostess, were members of the Mis sion Baptist Church, as were also their theatre going guests. The writer, president of a mission ary society, and her young lady friend, secretary of same. As the shades were drawn, the lamp lighted, and the daily papers on the reading table ready for the evening’s entertainment at home, the following con versation took place between the writer and her hostess: “Well, Cousin 11, I’m delighted to see you once more around my fireside, it has been over a year since you called to see us, during a return trip from the Tennessee mountains. But—and she spoke with firmness—-“I must confess my great surprise that you are here for the purpose of seeing ‘Ben Hur.’ ” A moment’s pause, then followed my weak defense. “You see dear A., my young friend, who accom panied me, has been confined at home all winter, from ill health. She was anxious to come, and kindly gave me a ticket. It is a religious play, with a spiritual tendency, and under the circumstances I see no harm in go ing. ’ ’ “From your viewpoint, this may seem true, but think of the numberless actors in a play like this, many of whom are gleaned from the lowest depths of humanity, and through them the sacredness of the Bible lowered to the plane of sordid commer cialism.” During the conversation I noticed her little six year-old daughter listened intently, and finally re marked, “Mother goes to church and Sunday School, and takes me with her, little brother goes too, but he is so little he can’t understand what Dr. Lofton says.” Our conversation was interrupted by the an nouncement. of supper. An hour later we donned our hats and wraps, and started to the Vendome. From early child hood I had loved and admired my hostess, as one of the most consistent Christians I had ever known. She accompanied us to the front door, and going down the long hall leading out, she held my hand, but as she loosed her affectionate grasp, closed the front door, and went back to her room, leaving us on the street going to a theatre, something seemed to whisper, “For the first time in your lives of congenial companionship, a dividing line this night, has been painfully drawn.” It haunted me. I tried to think of something else. The prelude, illustrating the star of Bethlehem, as it rose, and stood over Jerusalem, was beautiful, and recalled “In the morning arise and go and meet them. And when ye have come to the hdly city Jerusalem, ask the people where is He that is born King of the Jews? “We have seen His star in the East, and are come to worship Him.” The curtain went down, and conscience said, “Too holy for human hands to imitate.” The story presented in six acts, the sixth, and last, being Mount Olivet. “Now however, about the commencement of the fourth hour, a great crowd appeared over the crest of Olivet, and as it defiled down the road, thousands in number, the watchers noticed with wonder, that every one in it carried a palm branch freshly cut.” In conclusion the grand chorus sang “Hosanna! Hosanna! Hosanna to God in the Highest!” The lights went out, and tender hearted conscience again held sway, and thus she spoke: “Away off yonder in the Tennessee mountains don’t you re member the lonely cabin on the mountain side, ’neath whose poverty-stricken roof you visited a moonshiner’s widow, and five fatherless children? You saw the empty jugs, and the abandoned still in the lonely ravine, and heard the story of the cap ture. You read the letter from the State prison physician, saying that Bob Raymond, would soon die, and begged to see his wife, and little ones, once more, but she had no money to buy a railroad ticket. And when he died, you stole silently away from a giddy throng at a summer resort, and went to that humble home to offer sympathy, and on the same occasion did you not promise to do all in your power to help that poor widow keep the wolf from her door?” Have you been true to your promise? Two dollars for a theatre ticket, would have sat isfied hunger in that mountain home. The appeal was strong, and I listened, and in listening I thought, “Too often we allow Satan to run rough shod over our good intentions.” The Viewpoint. The winds did dash upon my roof On yesterday with mighty roar, And rain in torrents from the clouds Did fall and beat against my door. To-day the stormy clouds are gone— No winds, no rain; but in their place Pure zephyrs float thro’ a calm, blue sky, And sunshine has its day of grace. The fiends did beat upon my life On yesterday, with might and main, And doubt, despair and sorrows deep Did pierce my troubled heart with pain. To-day those brooding cares are gone— No sighs, no groans; but in their place The voice of hope and love and peace Sings on, and joy lights up my face. The world on yesterday I saw, Was it the same I saw to-day? The storm and strife of yesterday To-day did seem but sportive play. I looked through glasses smoked and stained— Alas! how could the world seem bright? To-day through a crystal lens I gaze And look upon the world aright. —J. Claude Upshaw. Old Geronimo, the Apache warrior and scout, has made a contract to join a “wild west” show with a Canton, Ohio, showman. The permission was ob tained from the war department. Geronimo is a prisoner of war on the Fort Sill military reserva tion. The house committee on Indian affairs decided to report favorably on the Stephens joint resolution, providing for the allotment of 160 acres of land to each child of members born of the Kiowa, Com anche or Apache Indian tribes and entitled to allot ment under the act opening the reservation of the tribes. This resolution is to cure defects in the Stephens bill for the sale of these lands, which lias passed both houses and which the president has not signed, because the Indian children were not provided for. The Spanish authorities have discovered an an archist’s plot at Lebriji, 20 miles from Seville, the notorious center of the black hands to assassinate the royal family during the visit of King Alfonso, the dowager queen and the sister of the king, the Infanta Maria Teresa, to Seville during Holy Week. The censorship prevented the sending of details regarding the conspiracy. Madrid newspapers state that the government has received 12,000 applications from persons seeking employment or military service in the Philippines as the result of the reports which were printed re cently to the effect that public sentiment in the United States favored returning the archipelago to Spain. 5