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. r K» i -'V DARMNG SOCKS. Xtarning socks, darning sock-s, Through and through ttie needle flies. An«l she muses, and she rocks, While the thread she deftly plies To and fro, to and fro: Thinking of the bright to-come And the shadowed long ago; Ufa buil that's yet to blow And a faded, treasured bloom While the pine-light flickers glimmers, Wavers on the hearth of stone. And the kettle sings and si enters, Mingles with the wind's low moan. Slower, by tiie dy'ng embers, Moves her needle; slower rocks Slops her musings, and remembers, That slid's darning socks. JEW, Gentile & Christian ; OR, THE CURSE OF MONEY. The Teachings ot The Aa/arene. Israel rushed into the street; the rain w*s coming down in torrents; but do rain would have affseted the young Jew’s hot blood then. The rain poured down; Israei walked on with a rapid pace, almost wishing the elements would ernsh or exhaust him. Drenched and shiver ing, he reached the hotel; there, in a doorway next to it, were two boys, crouching together: ‘Please, sir, he has found ns, ‘ they both call ed out; ‘oh ! sir, he'll come and fetch us.• •Whom do^ou meaD ?‘ said Israel, still men tally benumbed by the shock he had suffered. ‘Onr father. He’ll knock us about, and take our clothes away; you’ll see, sir. Oh ! don’t give us up.’ ‘Gome in, this instant !’ They entered the hotel, where by little and little everyone was beginning to look upon the great Eastern Jew as a moral curiosity. ‘Dry clothes ?’ was all Israel said. The smile vanished from the waiter’s lips at the tone ot the words, and he hastened to obey the order. It was well Israel had something to call away his attention from himself, or his nervous system might have become deranged. What was this Western World—this great civilization, this as tounding finery in the parks, the opera, and the honr s he had visited—when a father of high rank gave his daughters to the highest bidder, and another parent, of low rank, robbed and beat his children? Where should he find the great expectatons he had had, realized? In the chari table institutions, of which he had heard so much ? ‘But wherever there is need of much so ial charity, much social injustice must have existed before,’ thought Israel. He ordered some food for the boys, and sent them to bed, for he felt he must be left alone. The yonDgest of the lads, a remarkably intel ligent-looking little felliw, went up to him: •Wouldn’t it be wrong, now, if you let father oatch us ?’ ‘Why should you be so muen afraid of it?’ ‘Becausi father never was good to us. Why don’t the police take boys away from bad fathers? they only teach ’em to beg and steal, as ours does. What’s the good to haye a father if he don’t make a good boy of you ? Now, if you turn us off, sir, we shall be on the streets again, and go to the dogs.’ Israel unconsciously stroked the boy’s curly hair. The very touch of kindness seemed to affect the vagrant child to tears; he broke out into sobs: ‘Oh., sir, have pity on us poor wretches; just think how we’ve been brought up; and it is so nice to bo with good people, who don’t get drunk and swear, and steal, and rob. Don’t send us away: yon know. sir. mother is dead ! ‘No one shall take you away; go to bed, my j boys, and pray to God for me.’ ^ ‘That we will, only we'll have to find out what to say. But won’t He understand us anyhow, sir?’ ‘Anyhow, my boys, even if you only think of Him.’ me boys went, drying their tears. The rain had ceased, the summer evening was bright and cool. Israel drew up the vene- tian-blind and stepped out to breathe the fresh, moist air. Before him lay the lovely panorama of the shadowy park, lit up by rows of gas lamps; below him was the active life of the great metropolis. A great well of tenderness had been opened in his breast for all mankind—he could have stretched out his arms to those other beings that inhabit the earth with him, and cried out with the voice of the seer and prophet: ‘Oh let us he brothers aDd sisters, we that in habit one home in a larger sense ! Is our beau tiful planet merely a place for strife and strug gles? Can no higher unity and harmony exist here ? Is the grand preaching of Him whose feet rts’ed on Palestine never to be understood? Shall we ever be successful only when we tread on semebody else’s interests? Must the rioh be luxurious, and the poor needy ? What is virtue if its existence must be built on the loss and vice of others ? Is it not possible to let all share in the beauty of existence; let all have seme gratification of holy desires; let all be children of one great universal Father and God ? Mnst there be waste among us; one brother lost, one sister lost, the other gained—oh, why is the lost one worse than the gained one—are they not all God's children ? I cannot see it; I can find no difference. Can man ever understand that he mnst help to save those that are of one flesh and blood with him ?’ Israel looked down into the street; there, near the opposite lamp-post, was a man looking up at the house. Who could he be? Israel had forgotten the father of the boys, and did not think of him then. Again he looked out into the scene before him *How had he come here? What had hie life been ? What desires and ideas had animated him since childhood ? Had he been different to other men ? Brought up without parental care, endowed with an imaginative tempera ment, had he not rather isolated himself from man and society to plunge into the vortex of life's passions, when his own inner nature was formed and oould no longer be changed ? To him all around seemed strange in this life of western Europe. There seemed harmony want ing, equal development. It seemed a striving mass of humanity--who should be richest, highest, best; in fact, who should be most suc cessful and leave most behind ! It became evi dent to him that he mnst here be misunder stood, for he could not comprehend the desire to be in comfort while others were miserable. For a while Israel's thoughts had drifted away from that all-engrosring new subject—his love for Lady Gertrude-bnt suddenly her image ap peared before him, as she had looked up at him from below. The mighty longing of a human soul for its mate came over his spirits; enticing, charming, bewildering, maddening appeared that youthful figure, there, right before his eyes. He stietched out bis hands, be wanted to play with those wavy masses of hair, he wanted to ea rn s those rosy fingers, draw to him that sweet form imprint a kiss on those charming smiling lins ’ Ah horror ! the lovely image turned from him, declaring that it detested him for-his “SWdrops welled up into Israel’s eyes; slowlv they rolled down his cheeks—he knew it and felt it .that aversion could not be overcome. Lady Gertmde.bad she gone as far as the altar, would from it have turned a mad woman ;some- SSg had evidently bo deeply impressed her ‘I shall take a present to tbeconventfor yon.’ Pedro’s nature vacillated still, the jealous blood would not De quelled; but Pedro would anyhow not again fall back into dishonesty. So much Israel knew. It was almost pitiful to see the lad’s striving for goodness, and to read his wish that the world should follow the Nazarene’s teaching, yet in the same line trace the desire for revenge on the boys, who, Pedro thought, shared his master’s aflection. It was wrong to expect that the wild tendrils of years of neglect would he brought into the right direction in stantaneously. Man, with his complex organi zation, must be trained to the harmonious com prehension of his duties to his fellows. The boys seemed restless and shy, as if they feared something; they ate little at their break- t’sat money and marriage suited not each other, when the first became merely a purchaser of the latter, that nothing, not even her own great nas cent love for Israel, could overcome this impres sion. Slowly and surely there crept over Israel a sense of loss, the lifef-long loss cf sympathy and lov«; hope vanished, desire disappeared, and gaunt, crushing despair looked him in the face. ‘She i* gone, there is no hope,’ sounded those inner words; ‘What bast then to do here longer? Go from this civilized world that has other aims than thine, and return from whence thou earn est, taking with thee the remembrance of one sweet imago.’ There and then Israel determin ed to pass bn' once more through London streets, and bid adieu to the Christian western world, i f which, whatever wss great, geoan! harmonious, he bad only seen one aide, the money side; this jarred against hisjinner being, it had made him fly f-om his Jewish relatives at Naples, had nearly lost him his life with the gyp sies in Spain, embittered even the cup of kind ness in the convent, showed him the distorted images of vicious men and unchaste women in Paris, di'figured the grand faith of tli* old Jew in Frankfort, and here in Englan 1 robbed him of the only woman he coaid have intensely loved ! Love and over-valne of money showed him a neglected population in this powerful land, and a selfish desire for gain, g«in, gain; ah ! even a brutalizing tendency over the better feelings of humanity. ‘Then, if I must bear the curse of this wealth, I’ll hear it wuere it will not fellow mo abroad and crush mo at home, I’ll boar it on Mount Oiivet, remembering Him who overturned the money-fables. preaching the whiie a pure humanity and a living faith in God!' So soliloquized Israel at last; his power was spent, the pretty panorama of the park and street became duller, dnsky clouds again shift ed about overhead, and Israel with Irew from the balcony, finding by one last look int > the street that the ame man was still staring up at the house. Exhausted and spent, Israel threw himself on his couch, v. About undressing; he cared not for the rniDor concerns of his own person He beam the even breathing of the vagrant boys from the next room; he almost envied them their help lessness and poverty. Sleep did at last close bis eyes, to reproduce in the brain—unaided by the corrective power of the senses—the same imagee: dreams of Lady Gertrude surrounded by big money-bags that finally crushed her. Morning will coma, and morning does come, however onr own individual nature may wish darkness to remain on the world that we may hide our sorrow and trouble under its cloak. A bright, joyous morning came, and woke Israel from his fitful sleep. Ohlthesonse of loneli ness that overcame him as the sun flooded the room with light and lit up every nook and cor ner of it Conld he but have been annihilated that moment! Was that his religion ? What makes suicides? What feeliDgs must actually predominate that we should terminate existence? Powerlessness. As long as piwer exists, hope exists—and hope is the vital spring of life. Israel took a bath, dressed, and wont out Strange ! a man seemed hanging about the house like the one who bad stood opposite, at the lamp-tost, last evening. He e :ci»ed Israel’s attention: but his mood was not tnen to speak to anyone, so he let him pass. Info the Park wandered the young Jew, to ruminate there. How many sorrow-laden hearts wander into that Part, th’re to ease their troubles! Isr ei cal ed the boys, vrho dressed and oame to him. By that time the post arrived; two letters for Mons. Israel Torriano, one in a neat French lady's hand, the other in a sprawling coarse hand. Israel opened the former and read it carefully. Poor Goun'ees ! she had fmsd re t and refuge where those often seek it who bove missed the straight road because no one eveT led them to wards it. Israel heard again that ohanson of Be- rauger’s. Jastnow, there wasswestaess in that r^AolL; Iaiv«oiw lenient; be began to feel his own weakness and ia-doned the Conntessher faulty morality. Tne erring sheep was h’ding its face from the cen sorious crowd. Scour Ceci'e would be talked about, pitied for her folly in becoming kb ir do charite.and forgotten—certainly by her hus band, perhaps by her admirers and lovers. The letter with the sprawling address was oponed—from Pedro! Israel sprang up to read it. 1 ‘Ma stiomi), —I am in Paris, and I know where she is; she escaped from the gipsies and went into the convent where yon were nursed. I had told them in the convent about her; I had made efforts to communicate with her witbont yonr knowing it. I had advised her if they wanted to force her away to come to us. She had been removed for sifety to another tribe nearer the mountains, and from them she ran away before they could get her,on leaving Spain for Uogaria. Miserable and ill, she came one day to the convent; there she is; t lere she waits for me—for her brother—now grown, now near ly a young man; perhaps one day her lover, her hnsband. You, senor, despised our gipsy- queen, ourZ’.llah—I shall adoie her; the world is dark without her, the sky is bitch, the son is red and glaring, the moon white and cold, tho stars dull. Greater than all is my Zillab. You loved not poor Pedro, for you took to others— foreign beggars. You loved not sweet Zillah, for I know yon cut your hand to braak through the glass for one look at the foreign woman. But we, poor gentiles, poor gipsies—we shall be more faithfal. We shall sit on the knoll and think of you and the great Nazsrene Teacher; we shall repeat yonr words, aDd never forget that you, senor, taught us to be forgiving. Zil lah would have been yonrs, senor; she will be mine now, I know; they dare not bring her from Malaga. There I shall be able to earn my bread honestly, and Zillah will share it; now my sister, perhaps one day my bride. •Forgive me that I ran away; I took but the money yon gave me. Had I not gone I should have strangled those brata; no teaching conld have held me baok, fer I adored you, maestro, and the tears come into my eyes when I think of you. Zillah and I will often weep together, for the sweet words of onr teacher changed our souls. Oh! had they come earlier they would have made me quite good; as it was, I escaped when temptation came to me through j salons feelings. Dear senor go, teach more; oh teach all the world how the Nazarene loved it and died for it, and how the world does not know it, bat goes on all the same—no kindness, no pity. Dear maestro, don’t despise puor, jealous Pedro, he loved you in his fashion; and fer Zillah’s sake, he will love you evei and ever! ‘I am now going quick, quick to her. I found the letter from the convent with my friend who has helped me to write this. ‘Addio, addio, addio, ‘Pedeo Zadillo. The man took no notioa; he tore at the chil dren. ‘Let go!'resounded once more in a ter rible voioe, and down oame from that towering, maddened figure of a man, a blow—a blow of Moses—a blow to protect the helpless weak from the strong. Israel gave the blow—the man fell with a heavy thnd, striking his head against the pavement, and lay sprawling in the road way. ‘I told ye to interfere, perliceman; it’ll be too late now.’ They rushed to him; they bent over him; they lifted and dragged him up; like lead he fell baok—the man was dead! They shook him again, they felt him all over—no use, the man was dead! Then sounded soreams. ‘Send for a doctor!’—some hurried eff; others, ‘Sonnd your rattle!'—the policeman sounded his rattle. ‘Take the gent in charge, and the boys, too! They looked round—Israel and the boys were gone. No one had seen them leave. ‘I believe they belongs to the hotel there— the big place.’ Some men ran there. ‘The gent here ’as killed a man, father of the boys?’ ‘Don't know what you mean,’ said the waiter. ‘Soon will know; there comes the Inspector.’ ‘The posse now came up, hut no Israel was found. ‘Shall soon have him, he can’t escape,’ said the inspector, sententiously, passing through the crowd, and giving orders to have the body removed on the stretcher. As people passed, asking what was the mat ter, they had the answer: ‘A gent killed a man, to rob him of his boys; fast, and were disinclined to leave Israel's side. Cards, letters of invitation, congratulations at his arrival, had been pouring in since the pre vious day; all were put aside as useless. Israel rose from his meal unrefresbed; the morning’s brightness filled every corner of the room and almost mocked tho sadne«8 of his soul. He walk ed up and down, he stood before the window, he heard the bustle in the street; he conld s*and it no longer, he must kDow ones more if Lady Gertrud* wonld see him or not. A grand, fierce, uncontrollable desire look hold of him not to lose that anchor in his life so easily, not to give up the woman he loved for gold,not to renounce man’s right to his mate like a coward. He look ed at his dress, warned the toys to wait for him there, and was off. He ran, as it were, to the Earle’s house; he arrived breathless. A carriage was at the steps, a plain, sombre carriage. He knock'd. ‘Can I see Lady Gertrude this morning? Say it is Mons. Torriano, and that he must see her.’ His great eyes swam in fire his nostrils were extended like a noble beast’s that is to lose h»s yonng; the porter almost recoiled from him. ’Please, sir, poor Lady G.vtrude is very ill, dangeronsly ill; she knows no one, not even her hither, the Earl. The doctor is here, for her ladyship is delirious; didn’t yon see the blinds down up stairs? But here comes her maid.’ A decent woman approached them saying: ‘Oh, sir, if you are Mons. Torriano, Lady Gertrude raves about you: she calls you to her and drives yon off every two minutes. It is pi teous to see her; oh, it is dreadful to hear her screams out against money -ind human slaves and buying women, and all that, and wish for the grave. She was so good, so kind, so happy bat a little while ago, and we servants adored her. What have yon done to her? Tub Earl is quite mad, he would let her marry anyone now, but the doctor says it is too late. He fears the west’ Israel stared at the maid; he glared aronnd him; he could not understand this heart-break ing among human beings, he could not realize the awful consequences of our crooked, thought less civilization. At that moment a loud shriek rent the air. •Oa, let me go, I must fly to her; she is scream ing again.’ Those the shrieks of his Gertrude; that the lovely fresh girl he had met at the Frankfort station, nursing the wounded s i et child ? No, no—it was all a dream, a terrible nightmare. He was cot there in her father’s hall, he was away. Another shriek, a third. Israel conld not bear it; he fell down on the man’s seat and sobbed, sobbed, sobbed the great broken sobs of a hu man heart that wants to tear its heartstrings from the earth, from false humanity, from the idle world that wants to be given back to it" maker—for peace. Weary at last, he laid his head on his arm to gain quiet. The porter wiped his eyes. •Poor, poor, young things, what an awful thing for the Earl to hinder ’em. Poor things, why isn’t they poor in pocbeo. then nobody would mind,’ mumbled the porter. The shrieks had ceased, perfect quiet reigned in the house, not a sound was heard, bnt now and then the shutting of a door. Israel was about to leave when footsteps were descending the stairs; he looked up, it was the Earl and another gentleman. The two confronted each other; th« Earl came towards the young man livid with rage. i •B9goue, Jew, yon have drixs©,.ray ohild mad with yonr fantastical ideas. 'Who asked your money? Not I. Go this moment, be eff; or, so help me Heaven, I shall not keep my hands off yon, old as I am.’ The old man shook in every limb, the doctor stepped forward,bnt was push ed back, and with threatening fist, the Earl went closer up to Israel. ‘Begone, I tell you; turn him out, porter.’ Israel held up bis hands to his head; was he going mad too ? That her father, that the doc tor ! where was he ? Oh, let Vte-Ay, fly from so much wrong ancT imset’V, dra^u.rala'aot heip her then. He moved his lips in sfe inarticulate way and sprang to the door; in an instant he was out of the house. ‘Oh, the coward!’ sneered the Earl; he did not understand the greatness that made Israel go. The young Jew stormed rather than walked back; wherever should he find rest again? A« be neared the hotel he saw a crowd; he approach, he looked about him. His boys were there, clinging to the lamp-post, while the same man whom he had seen the night before, was trying to drag .them away and a policeman stood by looking on with the rest. •Want is this?’ asked Israel, sternly. •Oh, sir! please, sir, dear, s ; r! it’s father, coma to letch ns.’ And both the boys tried to rush tc Israel. ‘How dare you touch the children ?’ ‘They are mine by right—I am their father, and they shall come home.’ ‘Oi, no, sir!’ cried the ohildreu, ‘don’t let ns go; he’ll take the clothes and sell ’em, ana we will be naked. And he will send na out to beg, sell matches and take what we can get. Oj, sir, don’t!' ‘L“tthem go this instant!' roared Israel. ‘He has a right—he's the parent,’ some 0110 oried. ‘He hasn’t—he's a lazy brute,’ came from another. ‘Why don’t ye interfere, perliceman?’ called a third. ‘Come now, let ’em go with the geat; he’ll give ye some coin,’ a fourth said, to the man. •I'll have noDe of it,’ rejoined the father— ‘none of of it. Tney’s my brats, and they shall remain my brats, to do with as I like and ai the law allows. Suppose I chose to make them beggars, why shouldn’t I? Thoy’s my flesh and blood, and my property. Come along boys, ont of this row. I won’t even take chink from tho fine chap; I‘11 have my property’ The man once more dragged ncconthly at the boys, one by the sleeve, one by the hair. •Let go! sounded from a hoarse throat—it was Israel’s' ‘Let go those children, yon wrntoh! funny, isn’t it ? Lord bless ns, what don’t ye see this world of onr’n.’ Israel and the hoys came panting to Baron Torriano’s honse, who was just ready to leave for the city, about to make a call on his cousin. Israel’s pale face, the boy’s scared countenan ces. said that something was wrong. The Baron quickly led them in. ‘What is it, cousin? quick, I know it is urgent, my extra sense tells it me; quick.’ ‘I have killed a man, I believe; the father of the boys. Is it my fault or society’s? I don’t know. Cousin, let me go, I cannot go to prison. Let me go; lie will judge me. Take care of the boys, promise that. Moses shall send money for them. Oh, let me go. Lady Gertrude is mad, and la murderer; can misery go farther ? Let me go, I tell you.’ A few words from the Baron to his private sec retary, a roll of bank notes placed into his hand, ferae! wrapped in a large overcoat, pushed into the waiting brougham with the secretary— off they went. The boys as quickly takeD away by the confidential servant in a cab, and all is still. A heavy knock at the door. Enter in- speotorand policeman, wish to see Baron Tor riano. The Baron appears, begs a few minutes private conversation, denies his cousin to have been there, though they may have directed the inspector so at the hotel; believes Mons. Tor- riaDO has rnshed else where, should think was scouring the parks; says something very confi dentially, gives some hints, and dismisses the inspector very much quieted indeed. That whole day search is made, and in vain. The secretary took a steamer just leaving at tst. Katherine's Dock; no rail was the Baron’s ad vice; the two arrived in Holland. Here Israel was placed in a vessel trading to the Mediterra nean. He had somewhat recovered from the stnnniDg effects of the last scenes, and conld be left to take care of bimseif. The secretary re turned home; the affair had made a noiss; Isra el bad not been found; detectives had been to Paris without result, on the Baron's instigation; the coroner had found 'Death to have resulted from congestion of the brain, accelerated by a blow given by a foreign gentleman.’ The mat ter was talked about. ‘Foolish, he didn’t stand his ground; ho wonld have been got off some how,’said the wiseacres, not knowing that Is rael would not have understood being got off. He preferred a life-long exile from a world with which he was not able to agree. In Naples, a sweet woman, dressed quietly and handsomely, is known as ‘La Signora;’ she ministers onto all. Her father, rich Jacob Tor riano, died of apoplexy, leaving his daughter, Rebecca, solo inheritrix of his fortune' This fortune provides for hundreds; Christians and Jews are alike to ‘La Signora.’ Not unreasona bly she bestows her gifts, bnt furthers every good work, lightens every sorrow, brings her soft voice and classical face to every door. 'La Signora’ became in a couple of months the adored goddess of the poor and needy, the helper of all. In the evening, when the glow of the sunset is on the gulf, and you can see Mount Vesuvius in the distance pointing into the clouds, ‘La Signora' sits at her window singing her Hebrew songs to her harp, old Sa rah behind her wiring her tears. I-rad is freely mentioned b* t veen them; no reticence is used, for the true peace has reached Rebecca’s heart; the peace that has pnt away ‘passion.’ When Rebecca heard Israel's fate, she covered her face and wept heavy sorrowing tears. ‘Shall wa find him?’ said Sarah. ‘Nn,’ Rebecca shook her head. ‘He has loved another. I would my love were not tried again, but died, as it has nearly done, a virgin death. I cannot comfort him, as he will be comforted by tho companionship of his oten faith; let him be, God will grant him a resting place.’ Many were the suitors that turned from Rebecoa's door. A few months affer Israel's sudden escape from London, a pale English lady, with cropped hair, applied at St. Mary’s for entrance as hos pital nnrse. She had not long recovered from brain fever, and nothing, not the prayers of all her family, oould persuade her to remain an in mate in the Earl's house. Lady Gertrude became a nurse of the bodily s : ck that she might forget her mental sickness. She never ever wished to see Israel Torriano again—she never would have been his. Her lamp of life wonld not be a long- burning one; even now the angel had marked her pure brow. Like a saint who had suffered, she moved among the sufferers of the hospital, waiting her call Jerusalem lay again in a hazs; the splendid panorama swam in amaze of vapors; great deep streaks bordered the horizon; over the town in the distance, over minaret and temple, over convent and church, hung the varified Eastern sky—luminous, brokeD, quivering—telling of the great and constant life and change of tho Universe. The scene here was used to sorrow a little more or less would not change it, or take away an atom from its natural beauty. Jerusalem would remain Jerusalem—a way-mark for humanity, a great mark on the life of mortal men, standing pillar of development, a remem brance of love, of sacrifice, of the life of a great nation, of the downfall of a noble people—a place to hope for still—a place whose name never can die ont as long as man can know what history means! A man, worn and spent, with tattered clothes and shrunken limbs, came along -it was Israel Torraino. Months he had wandered—months his soul had found no rest. He came to lay down his sorrows whore he had started from -on the Mount that still bore the imprint of his dear Master’s feet. A murderer, even if not in intention, he call ed to himslef—the slayer of a fellow-being. For what ? A passionate desire to right the world. The cansr of a lovely girl’s madness. Why? Because she would not wed with the money- taint on him. What had he done to be a lost murderer on the face of the earth ? Gone forth unprepared among the world’s ways, negleced its behests, trodden on its customs, misunder stood perhaps the goodness that was in it, be cause he set himself above it. Oh ! he felt it; sorrow must befall all who cannot gently deal with mankind even in its evil ways guiding it to better ones by degrees. No enthusiast will do good, no idealist reform, no despiser of men’s ways teach; man must develop step by step, as God created and formed the Universe step by step, from the lower to the higher; till the day will come when all, of whatever creed and whatever faith, will recognizs that living on one planet, having one home, means being brothers and sisters. Israel stood there on a mountainous rocky shelf overlooking the town, his beloved Jerusa lem. He panted with joy to see it; his pale, worn faoe shone again with the light of his soul, his arms stretched for comfort to the saint-moth er of his childhood and boyhood, his home. Oh, had he never left it for the western civilization, which he could not understand, be might now rest there again an innocent man, not a suffering one ! Good God ! what conld he do to compen sate for his deed ? Money he knew had been sent largely. Here he wanted to weep out his sorrow to the teacher who had taught ‘patience in suffering' to all. And so he stood—he had studied the creeds and failed. He came back to no creed, bnt to the pare, simple understanding of the Naza rene’s words. For him no more creeds; for him no more distinction; but his soul would com mune with the highest, the greatest, the unat tainable, in sweet, lofty Jerusalem there before him. He raised up his hands, he lo k-d into the vapory sky, he asked for God's voice to come down on him in the spirit, and say: ‘My sod, my son, I have forgiven thee; be modest in fu ture. it is not given to man to set himself above his fellows.’ (CONCLUSION.) THE CHURCH. The Doings And Sayings in The Religions World. Is your standard of Christian duty higher than when you first began to serve God? God first refines the heart to fir. it to receive hi s lovely image, and (hen, by the operation of his Spirit, completes his glorious work. Rev. Thomas Muse, of Cuthbert, will reside this year at Arlington, Calhoun county, Georgia. lie requests friends to address their letters to him ac cordingly. Pope Leo is bonding his energies to affiliate the church with the German Empire. He has instruct ed his priests and bishops to pray for the emperor s spiritual and political welfare. The late Governor General of India, Lord Law rence, says that ‘missionaries have done more 10 benefit India than all other agencies combined.’ Which Sir Bartls Frere supplements by saying that, ‘they have worked changes more extraordi nary for India than anything witnessed in modern Europe. Dr. Bennett, President of Randolph Macon Col lege, is doing a doubly good work by getting the Sunday-schools to contribute toward paying off its debt. He is getting aid for the college and devel oping an interest in the minds of children in behalf of the enterprises of the Church. O, the anguish of that thought, that we can never alone to our dead for the stinted affection we gave them, for the light answers we returned to their plaints or their pleadings, for the little reverence we showed to a sacred human soul that lived so close to us, and was the divinest that God has given us to know! Bishop Simpson’s Yale lectures on preaching are good. Though spiced a little with occasional flashes of humor, their tone is worthy of the august theme, In reading these lectures we are reminded of a remark made to us twenty years ago by a Southern Methodist Bishop not less noted for pulpit eloquence : ‘I cannot preach unless I am happy in God.’ A Methodist Conference may sometimes be called a ‘ruminating’ body—their countenances are thoughtful and their jaws keep moving. Many of them use the Nicotian weed, and if it does not pro mote reflection, it docs give a meditative and phil osophical air to the masticator. The Rev. A. II. Sautherland, Superintendent of Mexican Border works, thinks that ‘our mission aries are working uu ter encouraging circumstan ces.’ He asks sympathy and support, that pros perity may increase. Texas, with her five Confer ences so greatly blessed of God, ought to see to it that nothing be wanting to the Border work. Many of the leading ministers of Baltimore aro out in ‘An Appeal to the Churches.’ The object of the appeal is ‘to invite Christians throughout the country to join them ia prayer and evangelistic effort during the month of January, looking to the outpouring of God s spirit upon our entire people.’ Let it be burnt into the conscience cf the Amer ican people—so eager to get and to enjoy the riches of earth—that no one is more certain to die, to die to every generous emotion, to die the everlasting death, than the man who, increasing in wealth, de creases in ; benovclence; who, advancing in aze, recedes, fram love-.who, blessed of God with every earthly bietssing, forgets the hand that helped Lim, and the brother at his door committed by that hand to his charge. It has always appeared strange to us why good ministers will persist in preaching such long ser. mons when short ones please everybody nest. It requires a more than ordinary smart, eloquent man to say very interesting things which will enlist the attention of an audience more than thirty min utes. Do not long dry sermons keep children from church, and as a means of grace from HeaveD. Mr. Wesley advises against, preaching ‘too long and too loud.’ So does the ‘Wesleyan’ and other sensible people. But a little girl, four years old October last, daughter of a friend of the ‘Wesleyan’ in a Georgia city, has thrown new light on the subject. Mama asked her a Sunday or two ago: ‘Well, pet, how d d you like Mr. ’s sermon?’ ‘Not much,’ replied little wisdom, ‘he preached so long I got sleepy, and he preached so loud I couldn't go to sleeps ! ’ Who can beat that for neatness and analysis? People who do not believe in prayer lo3e a won derful rest and refuge. When time and space, the wants, the bitterness, or the duties of life, separ ate us from those we love so far that our help is useless to them, our voices silent, our eyes blind;, when we know that suffering, illness, danger, death, may lie in wait for them every hour, and no strength or longing of ours can avail to help them, where do they fly, what hope or comfort do they have, who cannot give their beloved into the safe keeping of an omnipotent God; who cannot pour out their tortured and anxious hearts to Him who heareth and answereth prayer? By fearing God, is meant to fear to offend b im and to offend him is sin : and this is not of fear, but of love ; who that. Ioveth anyone, doth not fear to do him harm ; and the more he Ioveth him the more he feareth it? Without this fear, love is lifeless and superficial, appertaining to the thought only and not to the will. « r Blessed is the man who has found his work; let him ask no other blessedness. Know thy work, and do it; and work at it like Hercules. One mon ster there is in the world, the idle man. Trials and sorrows make us feel our dependence, and work in us tenderness of spirit and humble submission to the will of God. Toey are the med icines that God sees we need and that with his own hand he weighs out to us; and they are for the healing of the soul. Oh ! how many precious moments are wasted in softness and self-indulgence, in frivolous pursuits, in idle conversation, and in vague and useless rev erie, which, if rightly improved, might tell upon the world’s destiny and the Redeemer’s glory ! Accustom your children to a strict attention to truth, even in the most minute particulars. If a thing happened at one window, and they, when relating it, say that it happened at another, do not let it pass’ but instantly check them ; you do not know where deviation from the truth will end. Look out for a people entirely void of religion ; and if you finil them at all, be assured they are but a few degrees removed from the brutes. But do any of us, alas! pass from the old and enter upon the new year with the burden of un pardoned sin upon our souls ? Let us also ‘thank God and take courage.’ Thank him that we are not worse than we are; thank him that we have been restrained from more and greater sins. Thank him for his ‘exceeding great and precious prom ises;’ for his assurance of pardon—full and abso lute. r v* ;h