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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.