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THE LIME-KILN CLUB.
A Lecturer who was Left Because he had
Been Drinklu*.
Upon opening the meeting Brother
Gardner fined Elder Toots S3OO for
breaking a lamp chimney with his
elbow, and then announced the fact that
the Hon. Overplus Boggs, of Delaware,
was in the ante-room and waiting to de
liver his celebrated lecture on “Will the
Coming Man Shoot Off His Mouth ?”
The reception committee went out to
escort the great man in, but presently
returned with the statement that he was
lying on a bench in a deep stupor, and
that he had evidently been drinking
heavily.
“De committee, assisted by Giveadam
Jones,” said the president, “wifi escort
de ieckturer down stairs in de most con
venient manner, an’ when he has
reached de alley doah it wifi be de
dooty of de committee to see dat de
occasion be mace a memorable one in
his diary fur 1885.”
Two boot heels and a broken suspen
der were found in the alley next day,
and it is presumed that somebody
exerted himself.
A GOOD INVESTMENT.
The Secretary announced the follow
ing official report from the branch club
at Petersburg, Va. : “The name of
this club is ‘The Anti-Liars,’ and we
have 124 active members. Our financial
policy has been to fine each member 81
for each lie told. At the end of eight
een months we counted up and found we
had taken in SI.BO. Eli Perkins came
here to lecture before our Y. M. C. A.,
and alter the lecture we made him an
honorary member, and in less than forty
minutes we took in over S9OO.
“P. S.—Do you know any other per
son who would be as profitable to us as
an honorary member as Eli ? If so,
who ?
FAIR WARNING.
A communication from Memphis gave
information that Division John Smith,
as.honorary member of the club, was ad
vertising to cure consumption by the
laying on of hands, and in order to fill
his purse was making all colored persons
within ten miles believe they had the
fell disease.
A communication from Richmond,
Va., likewise announced that Prof.
Phosphate Wellington, another honorary
member, was practicing as a fortune
teller, and everyone who paid him fifty
cents was given so much good luck that
work at $1 a day was no longer an ob
ject.
The Secretary was directed to warn
both members in a large, bold hand, and
red ink, that they must at once quit such
business or suffer expulsion, and Brother
Girliei added, for the benefit of his
hearers:
“When members am sick a straight
out-dose by a straight-out-doctor, will
ridier cure or kill. You git your money’s
worf, no matter which way it goes. We
Can't countenance no member imposin'
on human natur' by pawin' around for
two shillin’ a paw. As fur de bizuess of
telliu’ fortunes, we all know de past an’
kin guess elus'miff de fucher to keep an
extra vest-buckle whar' we kin find it
any time de old one gives out.”
SENT TO NOVA SCOTIA.
Trustee rollback was then informed
that he was to be sent to Cornwallis,
Nova Scotia, to organize a branch club,
to be called “The P. D. Q Colored Ad
visers,” and the President added:
“Brudder Pullback, you has trabbled
befo’, but a few words of advice will do
you no harm. Doan’ spread yerself olier
more’n two seats in de railroad kvnrs.
Civil answers won’t cost you a cent, an’
may save yer shins from a kickin’. You
may know all aliout anoder man’s game
but doan’t bet on it. Thirty y’ars ago
our statesmen wiped deir noses on deir
eoatsleeves, but dar' has bin a new deal
an’ you mustn’t forgit your bandana.
While it am handy to eat wid a knife,
de use of a fork at table may secure yon
a Cabinet posishun. Doorn’ de day
stick to de sidewalk, by night walk in
de middle ob de road. Dat’s all, an’ we
will now sing onr closin’ song an' dis
mantle de meetin’.”
—' ■—
The Late Commodore Garrison.
While in Chicago on my way to New
York city I first learned of the death of
Commodore Garrison. I knew him well
some twenty-five years ago. He was a
man who, once seen, would always be
remembered. His presence was impos
ing, and he bad a breadth of shoulder
that was herculean. I saw him once lift
a barrel of flour, with a man on top of
it, and throw them both off a dock as
easily as one would fling a terrier. The
man had made a remark that the Com
modore objected to, and without saying
a word the Commodore threw him over
board. He wasn’t called Commodore
then—only Captain—and wherever Capt.
Garrison was he ‘ 'ruled the roost. ” In
the early days of ’SO he was accredited
with rescuing a friend of his from
twelve border Mexicans while in a
saloon. He broke two of the men’s
necks by flinging them from him, and
fractured another one’s skull with a blow
of his fist. I doubt whether the Com
modore ever used the revolver as a
weapon, but he used to be accustomed
to carry one in an outside pocket of his
coa‘, and as he was able to shoot
straight without using a sight, he was
left alone. He was known to lie one of
the most generous men in San Francisco.
There were few miners who were
“strapped” who couldn’t borrow from
him. He wa of the best Mayers
San Franc: ■ j ever had. His death is
deeply regretted by his old friends in
California.
A Fbaud. —lt is new given out that
the fifty-one-million-dollar package of
money at the National Treasury, for a
long time used for the special delecta
tion of brides, they being allowed to
handle it, is nothing more than a pack
age of paper carefully tied up and pre
served. A man who would cheat a poor
bride Is mean enough to do anything.
Turn the rascal out.
3nmmcrutlk (SMjette.
VOL. XII.
AN OLD PROVERB.
Pouting, my darling, because it rains,
And flowers drcop and the rain is falling,
And drops are blurring the window panes
And a moaning wind through the lane is
calling I
Crying and wishing the sky was clear,
And roses again on the lattice twining!
All, well, remember, my foolish dear,
“’Tis easy to laugh when the sun is shin
ing !”
When the world is bright and fair and gay,
And glad birds sing in the fair June weather,
And summer is gathering night and day,
Her golden chalioe of sweets together;
When blue seas answer the sky above,
And bright stars follow the days declining,
Why, then, 'tis no merit to smile, my love;
“Tis easy to laugh when the sun is shin
ing !”
But this is the time the heart to test,
When winter is near and storms are howl
ing,
And the earth from under her frozen vest
Looks up at the sad sky mute and scowling;
The brave little spirit should rise to meet,
The season’s gloom and the day’s repining;
And tins is the time to be glad, for, sweet,
“’Tis easy to laugh when the sun is shin
ing I"
S y 1 ves te i *’s AV i fe.
It was the summer assizes for Griqua
land West. The jury had just returned
a verdict of culpable homicide against
a dozen out of some fifty Shangaans
who stood huddled together, helpless
arid frightened, in the dock, charged
with participation in a fatal tribal affray
at the Lone Star Diamond Mining Com
pany’s compound ; the Judge had duly
sentenced the gaping unfortunates, and
the jailors were endeavoring to sort them
out from among their unconvicted com
rades, when the Crown Prosecutor, a
fresh-colored Englishman, with no small
idea of bis own importance, turned in
his seat at the barristers’ table, and
whispered to the official who sat
behind him to put forward Dick
Sylvester.
The prisoner was a tall, handsome
colonial, with dark gleaming eyes, black
beard, and a skin the paleness of which
had been ripened into swarthiness by
the fierce African sun. He was erect
and fearless ; he threw a glance of de
fiance at his enemies ; he nodded with
a smile to his friends, and then as the
door of a private entrance to the body of
tlie court opened, and a figure draped in
purest white, with bright golden hair
rippling in rich profusion over the
shapely shoulders, glided in softly and
quietly like a sunbeam from the free
world outside, he leaned over the rail
which interposed between him and
liberty, and hoarsely whispered her
name—the dearest name on earth to
him.
It was Sylvester’s wife. She responded
quickly with a look more eloquent than
words; and then the prisoner drew him
self up to bis full height, folded his
arms, listened intently as the clerk of
court, an old friend with whom he had
spent many a roystering evening in his
bachelor days, droned through the in
dictment, and in a clear voice replied
to the charge of wilful murder, “Not
guilty.”
The Crown Prosecutor began to
sketch the history of the crime; the
judge lounged back in his chair and
leisurely sought for the clean pages in
his record book ; the counsel for the de
fence pushed back his wig from bis per
spiring brow, and hunted out a refer
ence in an almost forgotten work on the
Roman-Dutch law; the spectators
hushed their murmuring; the punkah
swayed regularly to and fro overhead;
and Sylvester’s wife, sitting there in the
well of the stilling court, with her sweet
blue eyes rivited on the prisoner, and
her luxuriant locks rising and falling
with the artificial breeze, looked to me
even more beautiful than two years ago,
when she nightly ravished the hearts of
susceptible diggers in the make-shift
theater in the Dutoitspan Road.
In those memorable bygone days she
was Mademoiselle Marie La Cour, and
the star of a traveling theatrical com
pany, which, like most other “combina
tions of talent” visiting the Diamond
Fields, never, as a whole, got any fur
ther. The proprietor made so much
money'in a short season that he left to
assume the lesseeship of a big Austra
lian house, and Marie’s father took over
the management of the sheep thus be
reft of their shepherd.
In the zenith of her fame she married
Dirk Sylvester, and if ever a man de
served his bride he did, for bis passion
wore him almost to a shuflpw, and his
dark eyes gleamed dangerously if a rival
presumed as much as to speak to her.
Dirk was proprietor of one of the richest
claims at the New Rush. She seemed
to have fallen in love with him quite as
much as he had with her.
They took a little villa at the extremity
of Dutoitspan Road, a neat verandah
surrounded residence, screened from the
dust and heat by tall blue gums, and
half covered with creepers and tropical
flowers. After that we saw little of the
once so well-known Marie La Cour. Oc
casionally at long intervals they would
invite a few bachelor friends—myself
included—to witness their bliss, and on
such evenings the great bullfrogs which
invaded the garden of “the Oasis,” as
their place was rightly named, would
hush their vile croaking as Sylvester’s
wife trilled forth some gay chansonette
to the accompaniment of the Brvadwood
winch Dirk specially imported for her
SUMMERVILLE, GEORGIA, WEDNESDAY EVENING. JUNE 17,1885.
from Europe; or sometimes the happy
pair would ride over to a picnic on the
banks of the meandering Modder River,
and Mrs. Sylvester would deign to as
i tonish us with the feats of marksman
ship which she could accomplish with
the pretty revolver—ivory handled and
chased with gold—which Dirk had given
. her.
One night, as I strolled into the Albert
Saloon for a game of billiards, I found a
knot of diggers gathered around a new
arrival—a handsome little Frenchman,
who had come to the Fields to look after
some claim in which a Parisian firm had
invested. He was laughing conceitedly,
and stroking his carefully waxed impe
rial with a self-satisfied air, when Dirk
came in, and was immediately hailed by
i a man who was no friend of his—the
manager of some ground which was al
ways tumbling into Dirk’s claims and
smashing his gear.
I did not hear exactly what was said,
but my attention was suddenly arrested
by seeing Dirk make a bound at the
Frenchman, and seize him by the throat,
while his eyes fairly blazed with passion.
, The Frenchman tried to elude his grasp,
and hi a moment Dirk had dashed him
I to the floor and was standing over him,
, raging with fury.
, “You miserable liar and scoundrel,”
( he cried, “if ever 1 hear of your men-
I tioning my wife’s name again, I’ll kill
. you I” Then he strode out of the sa
loon.
A silence fell on the company stand-
I iug round the fallen Frenchman, and as
he staggered to his feet and slunk away
into a side room, where the rattle of the
, dice went on all day long and far into
the night, no one found so much as a
word to throw after him.
I met Dirk on several occasions after
this curious episode, but, as if by mutual
consent, we avoided the subject. One
night, however, when the moon was sail
ing majestically overhead and lighting
up the dusty road between “the Pan”
and Kimberley with a flood of lambent
light, I was riding slowly into camp
when I heard the rapid pattering of a
horse behind me, and turning in the
saddle confronted Dirk. He was agi
tated and angry, and without a word of
[ greeting plunged into the subject up
i permost in his mind.
“Do you know, old fellow,” he said,
i “I’ve just been told by a digger at
Hallis’s that that rascally little French
man has been repeating his lies about
my wife. Not only that, but he says
he has u miniature of her which she
gave him set hi gold. The unmitigated
1 liar I If 1 find time I shall cantor over
to his cabin the other side of the min
to-night, and if he can’t produce the
souvenir it will be hard for him. If h
does, it won’t be in his possessioi
1 .
“Don't do anything rash, Dirk,” I
1 said. “Remember, there is another t
1 think of besides yourself.”
| “That’s what it is that bothers me,
; old fellow,” he replied; and then, rein
ing in his horse, and jogging along by
i my side, he told me his trouble. It
i appeared that his wife denied any iuti
; macy with the Frenchman, but, stated
that her father tried to force his at
tentions on her in the old days when he
was a half-starved ballet-master, and she
a struggling aspirant at a Paris theatre.
The miniature was a new feature in the
i story, and Dirk firmly believed it to be
a myth, but was bent on finding out
; whether it was or not.
i After a while he grew calmer, and
; paid more attention to my entreaties to
I him to proceed with caution.
On parting, he shook ms by th ■
hand, and his last words, shouted to me
as he galloped off, were—
“l sha’n’t trouble the little French
man to-night, but let him keep out of
my way !”
1
The next morning the body of Jules
Lacroix was found lying on the floor of
his cabin, with an ugly hole in the left
I temple. In one hand he grasped tightly
part of a gold chain and the swivel of a
miniature. The bullet found in the
( brain fitted Dirk’s revolver to a nicety.
It was not long before Dirk was in
custody, and the case looked black
r * ’
against him. His threat to shoot the
Frenchman was well remembered; his
excited demeanor in Hallis’s bar at the
Pan, when the news of the Frenchman’s
reiterated assertion was brought to him,
was commented upon, and the circum
stantial evidence was strong.
1 As for Dirk himself, he utterly de
nied going near the Frenchman’s cabin
• on the night of the murder, and he ac-
* counted for the fact that he did not
1 reach home for nearly an hour after
leaving me by saying that, feeling hot
and excited, he went for a scamper
over the veldt, and the beauty of the
1 moonlit night caused him to stay out
I longer than he intended.
1 He pressed me to tell all I knew
' about the matter, and I reluctantly did
. so, making the most of his expressed
determination on leaving me not to
visit the Frenchman that evening.
The trial dragged on until late in the
night, and at 12 o’clock the jury came
i into court with a verdict of “Guilty.”
I I shall never forget the look of mute
i agony on his wife’s face as Dirk stood
i up to be sentenced to death, or the
[ calm, proud way in which he heard his '
: doom.
“Mark my words, boys, Sylvester’s
wife will get him reprieved.”
The speaker was lounging at the
counter of the “Yellow Bar,” in the
Transvaal Road, and his words evoked
a murmur of sympathy.
Ever since the conviction efforts had
been made in all directions to prevent
the dread sentence of the law being car
ried out, and Sylvester’s wife had be
come the heroine of the camp. There
were few who did not believe that he
shot the Frenchman; but why should
he die for au offence which was light
compared with some which lay quite
easily on the consciences of not a few of
the inhabitants of Kimberley ?
As the hum of approval subsided,
some one directed our attention to a lady
walking rapidly in the direction of the
jail. We recognized her at once, and
respectfully saluted her as she drew
near. She stopped for a moment aud
spoke to the foremost man, who, as she
hurried on, turned and gave a great
shout.
“Hurrah,” he cried, “Dirk’s re
prieved I The little lady has just had a
telegram from Cape Town. Three cheers
for Sylvester's wife 1”
I doubt if the attention was pleasing,
but the kindly jailer told me that she
smiled for the first time since Dirk's
conviction as that cheer reached her
ears, just as she stepped into the prison
yard.
*******
Three weeks afterward I had occasion
to call on the governor of the jail, and
as we sat in his cool little room, discuss
ing his Martell and smoking his Boer
tobacco, he looked up suddenly with a
troubled air, and said, “By-the-by, do
you know that Dirk Sylvester goes to
Cape Town with the next lot of I. D.
B.’s (Illicit Diamond Buyers)?”
I expressed my surprise, as I knew
the governor had the selecting of the
prisoners to be transferred to the break
water ut Cape Town, and hud heard that
he bad an idea of making Dirk a clerk
iu the Kimberley Prison Office. There
was little chance of his ever being a free
man again, but it was something that ho
should serve his weary years at Kimber
ley, among friends who could visit him,
and close to his faithful wife. 1 men
tioned this, aud the governor, stepping
to a little cupboard, turned the key and
took out a little blue packet.
“I have had to forbid Mrs. Sylvester’s
visits,” he said; "and when I tell you
the reason I think you will agree that I
am right iu sending Dirk to Cape Town.
You see, he seemed to expect, when the
reprieve came, that he would be set at
liberty: aud so did she, but, as you
know, the death sentence has only been
commuted to one of imprisonment for
life; and how on earth they managed to
persuade the Governor to do that I can’t
tell. Well, since that has been made
plain to Dirk, he has been a changed
man. He talks hopelessly of his future
—and God knows, poor fellow, it’s dark
enough I —he seems to be pining for
freedom; he says the convict dress clings
to him like cerecloth; and the other day,
just after his wife had visited him, I saw
such a queer look iu his eyes that I
quietly turned over his things. At the
bottom of the basket of ‘comforts’ she
bad brought him I found this.”
He opened the packet aud poured out
before my eyes a whitish powder.
“ Well ?” I said interrogatively,
"Poison 1” he briefly replied, as ho
swept the powder back into the packet.
“Aud now,” he added, “don’t think me
hard if 1 send Dick to Cape Town.”
9 * V V * %
There was an unusual otir and excite
ment in Kimberley; the streets were
crowded with men aud women whose
faces bespoke every kind of emotion,
from despairing rage to rejoicing malice;
while hither and thither among the
throng in the market square, rode offi
cials iu the dark blue uniforms of the
Civil Service.
At length there was a cloud of whirl
ing dust in the Transvaal Road; the
crowd swayed and parted, and at a hand
gallop two heavily laden mule wagons
passed through the surging ranks aud
halted for the escort to close round.
A woful freight those wagons bore; a
load of human misery; a company of
wretched convicts, into whose Souls the
iron of captivity had already entered; a
consignment of bi.lll d, trapped, and
forsaken seekers after illicit wealth.
Youth aud age were there, and the g <ll
- letters bound all together in the
links of common despair. Chained as
they were, like wild beasts, some stood
up, and in agonized voice called upon
friend, wife, and child, who answered
not; while others, crouching in a corner
of the rude conveyance, bowed their
heads between their trembling hauls
aud sought to keep out the light of a
sun that had become hateful to them.
Suddenly I caught sight ot Dirk
thin and pale with confinement and suf
fering. I called to him, but he heard
not; his gaze seemed fixed on some far
away object, aud a smile played upon
his wan lips.
I hurried on in advance of the caval
cade toward “The Oasis,” which I knew
it must pass on its way to the open
veldt. I remembered that the governor
of the jail had told me the night before
that he had allowed a last interview be
-1 fore the fearful journey to Cape Town
; between man and wife, and that they
spoke some words in French, which he
did not understand, but which seemed
to have a wonderful effect on Dirk.
As I neared the gate of “The Oasis,”
over which the blue gums cast their
shade, and where the sweet trailing
flowers were in their full autumnal
beauty, I saw Sylvester’s wife standing
motionless. She was attired in the plain
white dress she wore on the day of the
trial, and also when she crowned Dirk’s
hope and rendered him the envy of the
bachelors of the Fields by becoming his
own. Her golden hair floated unheeded
on the lazy breath from the distant
plain; her eyes were turned upward to
the deep blue sky above, and her lips
seemed to be moving as if in silent
prayer. There was no need to tell her
of the approach of the convict party;
their coming was heralded by the wild
refrain of a dismal song chanted by the
prisoners; and adown the startled air
came the sound of creaking wheels, the
cracking of whips, the shouting of
orders, and the responsive curses of the
mob. I was unwilling to obtrude my
self on her notice, and therefore I did
not speak to her, but merely took up a
position close by the gate.
Nearer and nearer camo the rolling
wagons; and the crowd rushed on
through the eddying dust, till suddenly
they caught a glimpse of the lonely
watcher in the gateway. There was
not a man there who did not know that
the slight, pale woman standing with
her hands clasped convulsively together,
and her whole soul concentrated as it
were in one long gaze, was Sylvester’s
wife. Even the officials knew his his
tory; they knew he was no midnight
purchaser of stolen gems, but only a
passionate, hapless man; and, as if by
instinct, the melancholy procession
slowed and steadied and paused before
what was once the home of a pure and
holy love.
Dirk was standing now; the smile on
his lips lit up his whole countenance;
he looked like the careless, happy Dirk
of former days; the lines of care and
dull agony seemed to soften and disap
pear from his face.
Ho made a motion with his loft hand
to his breast; with his right ho pointed
to the awful blue of the cloudless
heaven, aud then—a thin streak of
flame leaped from the midst of the
creepers aud the quivering leaves, a
sharp report rang out upon the morning
air, a puff of smoke curled upward
from the gateway, and Dirk Sylvester,
with that strange, glad smile upon his
lips, fell heavily forward, shot right
through the heart by his wife 1”
*******
She never lived to take her trial, in
deed she was unconscious from the
time when by one supremo act she
broke the fetters which were wearing
Dirk Sylvester's spirit down into the
dust and ashes of a misery too keen for
his endurance, till within a few minutes
of her death.
Then a new light shone in her fast
closing eyes; she stretched out her
arms as if to embrace a viewless form,
and with the words “Dirk 1 Dirk 1 Free
forever, dear 1 Free, Dirk, free!” trem
bling on her lips, her soul went forth
rejoicing on the mystic journey to the
dark hereafter.
*******
Soon after she had been laid to rest
by the side of her husband in the ceme
tery, white with many a memorial stone
to ruined hopes, lives wrecked and shat
tered, and affections sundered by th
cruel hand of Death, a Kafir, sentenced
to the extreme penalty of the law for an
atrocious murder, confessed that he, aud
he alone, was the cause of the French
man’s tragic end. He had watched,
through the half-drawn blind, the miser
able man toying with a golden chain to
which a miniature was attached, and his
cupidity fired by the sight, crept on
him unawares, and tried to wrest it
from him. A struggle ensued; the
Kafir snatched a revolver from the
Frenchman’s hand and shot him; them
fearing discovery, fled with only the
miniature in his possession. The size
of the bullet and the spoor were coinci
dences only; but there is one mystery
which will never lie cleared up. Was
the miniature that of Sylvester’s wife ?
—Belgravia
When our gallant marines pitched
their tents on the Isthmus, some of the
officers made temporary beds by spread
ing their blankets on boxes of provisions.
A distinguished captain in the course of
i bloody battle with mosquitoes kicked
the cover off and discovered that he was
sleeping—-when he did sleep—upon three
boxes of biscuit marked “U. S. S.
I'hetis.” Those biscuit less than a year
ago were in the Arctic seas with the
Greely Relief Expedition. The thought
of it has kept the captain cool ever
since.
The last census report in Chili pre
sents an anomaly that is puzzling the
people very much. The married popu
lation of the country, distinct from
widowers and widows, is stated to be
598,312. Os course half of this num
ber’ or 299,156. ought to be males and
half females. But such is not the case,
iccording to the census report, which
nys the married persons consist of
300 577 males and 297,735 females.
This leaves 2,842 married men without
visible wives.
NO. 22.
FOR SUNDAY READING.
A SUNDAY SCHOOL LESSON FOR THE
YOUNG.
Chrlwt our Example. riiHlppliuw 11*5-1(1.
The particular matter in which Christ
is here presented as our example is un
selfishness. The apostle, in the verses
just preceding these of the lesson, has
been exhorting the Philippic*! disciples
to discard self-seeking, so that each one
shall think of others, rather than of him
self. And this injunction ho explains,
as well as enforces, by citing the
Saviour’s example. He exhorts them
to have that love for others which the
Saviour had. The Lord Jesus was
divine; but he did not deem it as most
to be prized to enjoy the delights of his
high station. He counted it better to
be a servant than a divine ruler, and so
he took upon himself the nature of man,
that he might serve, and he gave him
self to the most thorough service, even
suffering death in his consecrated sub
jection. And it is because of this hum
ble service that he has his greatest exal
tation. It Is because he was such a ser
vant that his name is so glorious that it
commands the adoration of all created
beings. And so the apostle counsels
them to discard all selfish mtirmurings
and disputings, so that they may set be
fore an ungodly world a blameless ex
ample; and he adds iu verse 17, which
really belongs to this lesson, that he is
willing himself to do what he has coun
seled them to do—viz., to serve his breth
ren; and even if in this service death
shall become his portion, and he shall be
sacrificed, ho will rejoice therein. The
whole passage is one of pathos and of
power, a glowing exhortation to unsel
fishness and to self-sacrificing devotion
to the good of others.
The term “the form of God” (v. 6)
implies true deity, as “every form of
human nature” means real human
nature, and “every form of evil” means
real evil, not merely what looks like
it. The reality is here indicated, ns
“taking the form of a servant,” implies
becoming really a servant, not merely
having the appearance of service.
The words, “it is not robbery,” would
mean that he knew that there would be
no wrong in his retaining his high estate.
He was divine, and he had a right to re
main such. The Revised Version reads
“counted it not a prize (margin— ‘a
thing to be grasped’) to be on an eqality
with God.” The manning is that ho did
not consider his primeval divine estate
that which was to be cherished above
everything else. He did not clihg to
that exalted condition, but divested him
self of his glory—"emptied himself” is
the literal wording, as in the Revised
Version—became a man with all human
limitations and descended to the lowest
estate of a depressed humanity, suffer
ing death, and that a death of ignominy.
The assertion that he “emptied him
sell” teaches that, in his incarnation,
the Divine Son came within true limita
tions, the Infinite became Finite. The
incarnation was the assumption not
merely of an apparent but of a real hu
manity with all its imperfections. We
mean, of course, the imperfections in
separable from humanity, which would
not include sin, as this is an accident,
not an essential of humanity. The in
carnation was not a theophany in human
form, like the appearance of Jehovah to
Abraham on the plains of Mamre. The
child Jesus wits as truly human its any
infant. The assertion that he increased
in wisdom involves the truth that his
intellect was at first undeveloped. When
a boy he had just as much trouble
with his lessons as any boy, and in all
points he experienced “the feeling of
our infirmities.”
The declaration that his name is
“above every name” is an assertion that
the God-man is more glorious than pure
deity, that the greatest exaltation of
the divine is in its service to its creatures;
that God’s highest glory is his love.
The apostle applying the lesson, calls
the disciples (v.,12) his “beloved,” dis
closing, in this tender address, the
spirit of the living Christ. He urges
them, as they have always obeyed, or as
iu the Greek have listened to him. they
fliall “work” with redoubled zeal, shal
work not only as they had done when
he was with them, but even more ener
getically, now that he their teacher was
taken from them. He urges them to
work out their salvation from selfishness
and other evils, “with fear and tremb
ling”; not a slavish fear, but thattremb<
ling anxiety which a physician might
feel in an important case, or which an
artist might feel in giving the final
touches which he hoped should make
his work a thing of beauty and glory.
Aud they are to work all the more ener
getically that they may be co-workers
' with God, who is lovingly pleased to be
carrying on his work in them. God’s
spirit is at work in the hearts of us all,
and instead of resisting that spirit, we
should work with it.
1 The apostle’s warnings against self
■ seeking are an echo of the Saviour’s re
-1 proofs to the disciples who desire to be
’ “greatest,” and every thoughtful ob
’ server will discern the fact that in self
lacrifice is the truest glory. The really
’ great men in the world’s history are
‘ not those who have obtained the most
from their fellow-men, but those who
’ have done the most for their fellow-men.
1 He that would be greatest, let him be
more than others a servant
STRAY JOKES AND DASHES,
FOUND JN THE HUMOROUS COLUMNS
OF OUR EXCHANGES.
The Bnbles’ Picture*—The Bride Had
Wenllli—A Blot—The Name Hid It— D«n
aeron* to Oversleep, Etc., Etc.
THE NAME DID IT.
Margaretta Steigerwaldenzer and
Georgiana Warner, who live in Pike
county, went out for a walk. While
passing along the road they saw a rattle
snake lying in the roadway. One of
the girls threw a stone at it, and it im
mediately coiled itself aud showed fight.
Miss Steigerwaldenzer picked up a club
and accepted the challenge.
“Oh, Margaretta Steigerwaldenzer 1”
cried Miss Warner. “Don’t go near it.
It will kill yon 1”
At that the snake uncoiled itself and
hurried away. Miss Steigerwaldenzer
followed it, and, overtaking it, killed it,
the snake showing no further inclina
tion to defend itself. It was three feet
long, and had only four rattles.
“How quickly that snake lost its
fierceness,” said Miss Steigerwaldenzer
to Miss Warner.
“Yes,” replied Miss Warner. “It
heard me speak your name and knew
then that there was no use.”
The two girls are still friends.— New
York Sun.
ABLE TO PAY IT.
“Well,” remarked the divorce lawyer,
“what alimony do you want ?”
“I think $300,000 cash and an income
of $30,000 a year besides lawyers’ fees
would only be fair,” replied the lady.
“Fair, madam?” answered the lawyer,
in surprise. “What business is your
husband in?”
“He owns a skating rink.”— Graphic.
DANGEROUS TO OVERSLEEP,
i! Did you hear the dog bark and howl
last night ?”
“Yes, my ears were greeted with the
canine symphonies. I could not sleep
because of them. ”
“Is the dog a useful animal?”
“Oh, very. His owner keeps him
tied in the backyard, and the dog en
joys life so well that he barks or howls
all the time. Thus the neighbors are
kept from sleeping too much. It is a
sad and dangerous thing to oversleep.”
—Ch icago Ledger.
THE BRIDE HAD WEALTH.
Uncle Mose approached the County
Clerk the other day to obtain a marriage
license. The clerk, in order to poke
fun at the old man, said seriously:
“I hope the bride has got seventy-five
cents in cash, for the Legislature has
passed a law forbidding us to issue a
license unless the bride has that
amount.”
“Jess go ahead wid de papers, boss,”
said Uncle Mose, approaching the clerk,
and then he leaned over and whispered
in bis ear, “dar’s reliable rumors about
a dollar and a quarter.”— Arkansaw
Traveler.
MILLIONS IN IT Foil MILKMEN.
Sharp Inventor—“ Yes, siree. I've
struck it at last. Do you see that model
of a pump ? It’s my own invention.”
Friend—“ Looks to me like au ordinary
pump.”
“Well, yes, there's nothing novel
about the pump. It’s the name I’m
going to give it that I’ve got patented.
There’s millions in it.”
“Don’t see what difference a name can
make. What are you going to call it ?’•
“The Alderney pump.”—Philadel
phia Call.
A BLOT.
Boy—“ Please, sir, Tommie Johnson
has made me make a big blot.”
School Board Teacher—“ Then Tom
mie Johnson won’t go home to his din
ner to-day.”
Tommie said afterward, when the
teacher had gone away: “I 'spose yer
think yer done a fine thing by roundin’
on me, but, as it happens, I ain’t got na
dinner to go home to. Yah, yer sneak I”
—Judy.
THE USEFULNESS OF TWO ANIMALS.
“They may talk about a goat being a
nuisance, sir,” said one passenger to
another on an elevated train, "but if it
were not for that animal I would not be
so well off as I am.”
“Then I infer that you are in the kid
glove business, sir ? ”
“No, sir; I am a circus poster
printer.”
“Aba 1 Well, I must say that I owe
a great deal to a much maligned animal
—the cat.”
“Are you a furrier ?”
“Oh, no; I manufacture bootjacks,
sir.” — Journal.
UGLY ENOUGH FOR A BOY.
These bright spring days have sent
all the young folks out of doors, the very
young folks especially. This is very
pleasant indeed, as the youngsters who
have never breathed fresh air before ap
parently think it great fun to be pushed
all over the sidewalks in their baby car
riages by their mammas and their
nurses.
‘ 'Dear, dear, he is such a daring little
fellow, isn’t he?’’said one mamma to
another yesterday.
“No,, he isn’t. ‘ He’ is the nicest lit
tle girl you ever saw.”
“Oh, it’s a gill, is it? She looks ugly
enough to be a boy.”
Another name erased from the calling
list — Hartford Post.
Presidential Handwriting.
Abraham Lincoln wrote a very small
hand. Gen. Grant’s can easily be read.
The handwriting of Andrew Johnson
was large and labored.
John Tyler and James A. Garfield were
the best writers among the Presidents.
Franklin Pierce was the worst writer
of all the Presidents.
The handwriting of William Henry
Harrison was classic.
James K. Polk made a signature
which looked like copper-plate.
The handwriting of Rutherford B.
Hayes could not be counterfeited as he
never made the same letter the same
way twice.— Brooklyn Press.