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SPINNING.
■ii ———
ns the spinner turns the wheel
.Mnd with her song winds her thread,
'jKk- I turned the wheel of thought
HK*very round new pleasure brought,
■Stitil "there is,” I said.
""•No joy that can compare with mine—
In all the world no heart so blest
JUtd so the whole day long I spun,
dknq fast, so fast the thread wound
! Bop< s shuttle in my breast.
But, while I in the sunlight turned
The busv wheel and sang my song,
And while my shuttle was so full.
And a 1 the thread so beautiful,
My spinning all went wrong.
The thread it broke nud slipped nty hold.
Till I could not discern
Where and which was the end I sought:
It tangled, and the wheel of thought
For me refused to turn
In tkJbld-time exultant way;
Mdftand its cunning all had lost
It oMld no longer deftly spin,
BaoSe the thread of hq>e had in
of sorrow crossed.
Helen .4. .Manrille.
9' DUSTERS.
“Dusters” have gone out of fashion, un
dent; look into any Pullman palace car
•nd yon will see that lor yourself. I
took one this summer, but found it not
the thing at nil; first-class travelers non
are in stylish suits, and I’m sure they
look Bauch better. A few years ago the
-women,in any waiting-room were like a
brigade ready to be ordeted off on duty,
all in uniform—the regulation gray
duster, with only a blue or brown vail
to distinguish cue from another.
I am not surprised that dainty aristo
crats have discai ded the homely but con
ventional garment, for ail must admit
that dusters were eminently democratic;
that they were great levelers; that they
were no respectors of person*. They
covered the shabby alpaca quite as suc
cessfully as the glossy silk; I do not
doubt in the least their democratic pro
clivities banished them from good so
ciety.
But I have a dear old duster laid
away; you will laugh, I am sure, tc hear
that I enteriain for it the most romantic
attachment. Ah! you can t think what
a trick it served me—dear old thing!
I first came South this very month
three years ago. to teach, you know,
though I do not think now I was well
qualified for the work—only en un
tutored girl myself.
This was the first time I had ever
strayed far from home; the trip was a
leng one; I grew very tired, and as the
engine steamed into the city a terrible
feeling of home sickness took possession
of me.
I expected Professor Raynor, the
principal, to meet me; and when the
train stopped, took my little sachcl and
stood waiting, while all the other pas
sengers hurried out. I began to feel
faint and dizzy with the fear that he
might not come, but followed along
after the others, my heart in ray throat,
my eyes gazing forward eagerly and
scanning every face in sight.
Suddenly I saw a gentleman making
his way anxiously toward me. smiling
and expectant; this was surely Mr. Ray
nor, but how young he was for the
principal of a school, and how handsome.
It was evidently he, for his hand was
extended before we quite met, and in a
second more he had clasped mine warmly,
and—and—ardently kissed me! Yes,
kissed me! fair and square on the lips.
Did I scream? No, not exactly, but I
shivered, and was cold to my finger-tips,
then flushed until the angry blood burnt
into my cheeks, before he exclaimed:
“Why, little Christine, how you have
grown! Can it really be my little Chris
tine?”—a sudden fear Hashing into his
face.
I tried to speak, I gasped, turned cold
again and almost fell, but managed to
say;
•‘I am Miss Stretton. lam to teach at
Jackson academy, and expected Mr.
' Raynor to meet me. You are not he:”
Us course it was very foolish. I knew
it at the time, but knowing it did not
help matters. Great tears welled up to
my eyes as 1 gazed into his, and a com
passionate look came into his pale, hand
some face.
“A thousand pardons, Miss Stretton.
I came to meet some one,” he continued.
“No, 1 am not Mr. Raynor; but allow
me to accompany you to the waiting
room. Probably he is on the platform.”
I made no reply, but went with him,
and just as he turned to help me down
the steps of the coach, a tall, portly gen
tleman, with suave, self-conscious man-'
ner, came forward somewhat slowly, say
ing:
“Ah, Miss Stretton!—l am Professor
Raynor, I began to fear you were not on
the train.”
I could not tell you exactly why, but
a strange shyness came over me; I did
not even look toward the gent leman who
had given me such an affectionate wel
come, only mumbled someth ng to Mr.
Raynor, and followed him quickly to the
omnibus.
That night, after shutting and bolting
the door of my room, looking around
upon its bore and cheerless walls and
trying to think the place homelike and
pleasant, I thiew myself, in a fit of his
torical sobbing, upon the sorrow bed,
•nd between smiling and weeping, man
aged to spend an hour. What foolish
creatures girls are!
“Why did I cry?” Because, to be sure,
I wus homesick, and—and —because a
strange man had kissed me, and —and—
perhjh» a few tears were shed because
he vMh a stranger. I wished in my
hearshearts that he had not been:
that was some dear brother, cousin
or friefß who had come to greet me so
warmlyjj
What Was his name? Who was the
“little Chrstine?” And would 1 ever
meet him again?
These were the thoughts that occupied
the hour, but at last 1 fell asleep. “My
eyes always did make pictures when they
were shut;” great pity I never could put
the pictures > n canvas. My dreams that
night would have been a fortune, either
painted or written. Oh, such glorious
sights and scenes —and always that
stranger somewhere near.
Well, a week passed, and I am.
ashamed to say how frequently I thought
of him ; of course, ns I told myself then,
it was due to loneliness, to my entire
isolation, nnd to the fact that it
was my first prolonged absence from
home.
one afternoon, a chilly, drizzling
autumn day, u servant came to my room
with a card. “A gentleman to see von,
Miss Stretton.”
1 took the card wonderingly, thinking.
“Perhaps it is the minister.” The i I
gave a hasty look into the minor,
smoothed back the curling bangs, gave a
touch of powder to my forehead and a
pinch to my cheeks—l was beginning to
look a little pale—and went immediately
to the parlor.
The light was rather dim, and 1
walked the length of the room before
discovering my guest. He was looking
from the window, and evidently did not
hear my steps, but turned suddenly.
Honestly, I will be ashamed as long ns
I live of what I almost did. It reminds
me of the little boy who said, “Pins
have saved lots of lives by not being
swallowed.” I think a kiss’ saved mine
that time by not being given. 1 was so
astonished, and, to tell the truth, so
glad, that I very nearly returned his first
enthusiastic salutation; and if I had—
well, there is no telling whnt I would
have done; jumped into the river, I
suppose; 1 always wa> a thoughtless, im
pulsive creature.
We shook hands, though, and then
laughed, both of us. before he asked
pardon for calling, saying he had pur
posed doing so each day since our first
meetins, but feared I would consider it
presumptuous. At last he bad decided
that he must offer an apology and ex
planation for conduct which doubtless
appeared scarcely that of a sane man.
“I was expecting my sister,” he said;
“my sister whom 1 have not seen for ten
years.”
Would you believe it—l promised to
tell you all the truth, or you should not
hear this—ray heart almost few out from
my lips when he said that? So “Chris
tine” was his sister, only his sister, i
had not told myself before what manner
of bird, beast, or fowl she was; now I
felt an unacknowledged satisfaction in
discovering.
“The mistake was due entirely to the
duster,” he continued; “she distinctly
wrote that her costume would consist of
a grav duster and blue veil, but since I
have thought of it, it seems to me all the
ladies wore dusters. What masking
stuff is here! I will tell her to be more
explicit next time; I might make an
other blunder, and it might be a worse
one.”
I scarcely knew what this meant, but
it sounded pleasantly in my ears anyway.”
He left, after awhile, asking to be al
lowed to call “now and then,” and I
flew back upstairs, and went up to the
looking-glass, thinking, “1 wish I had
worn my blue cashmere to-day. instead
of this sombre brown.” What giddy
creatures girls are, to be sure!
Well, he did call now and then, and I
must admit he was always welcome.
One day, just al out the begi ining of
the Christmas holidays, we had an en
gagement fora walk, and after returning
(the evening was dark and cool) he came
in, only for a moment, he said. The
room was warm, with a red fire slumber
ing under a great bank of black coal. I
opened it a little and leaned forward,
holding ray fingers to the blaze. Di
rectly, something influenced me to look
up. lie had remained standing, and
was very near me, gazing down upon my
face with such an intense, searching
look, that involuntarily I clasped my
hands before my face. I cannot say why,
exactly. I fear it was to conceal what
he might see there, but I shrank from
his glance, intuitively.
“Don't," he said, very gently, and
stooping over me. drew my’ hands away
and held them in his own.
I have always contended that there
was an unfair advantage, for I never
could conceal my feelings. He held my
hands in a tight clasp, and I turned away,
but directly he drew me nearer and lifted
up my face until he could look straight
down into my eyes.
'Then a quick indignation, a sudden
anger, took possession of me, and I
wrenched myself away, and asked,
proudly, “How dare you! bv what
right 1”
“Because I dare to Icve you!” he in
terrupted;'“dare to love you with all
the intensity of mv whole being!”
Then those foolish tears of mine came
again, and he threw his arms about me,
and gazed down into my eyes, exclaim
ing: “Now you look as in the first mo
ment I loved you!”
Then he kissed my lips for the second
time, and we were betrothed.
It was a queer courtship altogether—
one in which the climax, the acme, was
reached in the very first moment, for I
believe I loved him then as truly as I
have ever loved him since. “In the dark
hour fortunes meet us;” that home-leav
ing would have been quite different if I
had guessed toward what I was journey
ing.
And you see, the duster was really re
sponsible for the whole thing. Upon
what thread our destinies do hang!
So it will make no difference how en
tirely dusters may tee tabooed by aristo
crats, I will be a democrat to the extent
of feeling a great weakness for mine, at
least. I almost feel like wearing it to
the altar next week, instead of the regu
lation white satin and lace. An odd
looking bride I would make, to lie sure;
but I’m happy—oh. so happy! He's just
the dearest fellow in the world!
Now, I’ve kept my promise, and told
yon the whole story. — Annah R. Watson.
Patroliug Russian Railroads.
The track from Charkov to Nikolajev,
in Russia, is patroled before each train
by a watchman of each section, who car
ries forward a number found by him at
the beginning of his section and left on
a hook provided for at the end, even
numbers being carried in one direction
and odd numbers in the other. The
numbers, which are painted on metal
plates, are hung in view of the trains, so
that officials passing can readily see
them, and by means of a small table of
the positions of the number ou any day
or hour can see whether the watchmen
are doing their work. A hook without
a number indicates the negligence of a
watchman, who can be readily identified,
since every watchman is required to give
notice when he does not find a number
at the beginning of hissection, and must
do so to avoid having the carelessness
ascribed to hi m.
There are 150,000,000 tons of coal
waste piled up in the anthrac.te regions.
WORDS OF WISDOM.
Poverty of soul is worse than that of
fortune.
Confidence is a plant of slow growth
in an aged bosom.
livery day should be distinguished by
at least one particular act of love.
There is no escaping our destiny, ns
each dny brings us in contact witii it.
The yoke a man creates for himself bj
wrong doing will breed hate in the kind
liest nature.
Having once taken a brave resolve,
never look back, but go on bravely to
ward its fulfillment.
A word of kindness is seldom spoken
in vain—it is a seed which even dropped
by chance springs up a flower.
Calm the disorders of thy mind by re
lenting on the wisdom, equity and abso
ute rectitude of His proceedings.
Our alarms are much more numcrouj
than our dangers; and we suffer much
more in apprehention than in reality.
There is an enduring tenderness in the
love of a mother for her son that tran
scends all other affections of the heart.
Inquisitive people are the funnels of
conversation; they do not take in any
thing for their own use, but merely to
pass it to another.
Let every man take care how he
speaks and writes of honest people, and
not set down at a venture the first thing
‘hat comes uppermost.
Legal Age of Majority.
By the Roman law the period of in
fancy lasted till the seventh year, child
hood continued till the nubile or mar
riageable age. which for males was four
teen, and females twelve, and during
the period of adolescence following,
males were allowed to manage their own
property, make a will, or contract mar
riage independent of the consent of par
ents or guardians, but the age of majority
was not reached until twenty-five. By
the English law, which has been in force
since Anglo-Saxon times, there are two
great periods into which life is divided
—infancy, which lasts in both sexes un
til the twenty-first year, and manhood or
womanhood. But the period of infancy
is divided Into several stages, marked by
the growing development of rights and
obligations. Thus at twelve years of age
a male may take the oath of allegiance,
and at fourteen both sexes are held to
have arrived at years of discretion, and
may therefore choose guardians, give
evidence in court, and consent or disa
gree to a marriage. A female, indeed,
has this latter privilege from her twelfth
year, but neither sex can legally marry,
without the consent of parents or guar
dians, until the age of majority has been
retched. At fourteen, too. both sexes
are fully responsible to the criminal law;
but under the age of twenty-one neither
can execute a valid will. At the latter
age both males and females obtain their
full legal rights and become liable to all
legal obligations. In Scotland a minor
between the ages of fourteen and twenty
one has more personal rights than in
England at the same age, as he can dis
pose by will of movable property, make
contracts, carry on trade, and marry
without the consent of guardians. In
France, by the Napoleonic code, males
may marry at the age of eighteen, and
females at fifteen, with the approval of
guardians; at sixteen a minor may devise
one-half of his or her property; execute
the will of another, and at twenty-one,
full personal and legal rights are granted.
In the United States the English law is
generally followed. A guardian may be
chosen at fourteen, and the age of ma
jority, which gives free disposal of per
sons and property, is usually fixed for
the sexes at twenty-one, though in some
of the States females are considered “of
age,” in a legal point cf view, at eight
een. The age at which male citizens are
allowed the franchise right differs in dif
ferent countries. In Switzerland and
Hungary it is twenty; in the United
States, and most of the South American
republics, Canada and Great Britain, it
is twenty-one; also in Belgium, France,
Italy, Portugal and Sweden. In Hol
land it is twenty-three; in Austria,
twenty-four; in Spain, Norway, Prussia
and nearly all of the German states,
twenty-five, and in Denmark it is thirty.
Chica'jo Inter-Ocean.
The Monkeys’ Revenge.
An officer stationed at Kalladgee, In
dia, was once climbing a rocky hill, when
he and a native who accompanied him
witnessed the following episode: A
poor monkey was being slowly en
wrapped in the voluminous folds of an
enormous boa, its bones breaking like
pipe stems by the pressure. Gradually
the reptile unwound itself, leaving a
crushed unrecognizable mass. The nu
merous monkeys on the rock were in the
greatest state of excitement, running
wildly about gesticulating, chattering
and moaning, though,of course, powerless
to help their comrade. While the snake
was commencing its gorge, and before
its body began to fill and swell, the offi
cer and native went in quest of a stout
cudgel and a sharp knife, expecting to
make it an easy prey as soon as it should
be filled to repletion. When they re
turned to the scene of strife the boa lay
thoroughly gorged beneath a projecting
mass of cliff, looking more like a log
than anything more lively. On the sum
mit above a troop of monkeys were as
sernbled, and three or four of the largest
and strongest were occupied in displac
ing a massive fragment of rock, already
loosened by the rains from the main
ledge. By enormous exerti. n—ma le,
too, with a silence quite unusual to mon
keys—they at length succeeded in push
ing the rock until it trembled just over
the boa s head, then, uttering a yell of
triumph, they dropped it over the mini i
ture precipice. It struck the boa on the
head, mushing it to a jelly. As its
great tail lashed about ineffectually in i s
last struggle there was a general chorus
of exultation man joining his near rela
tive, if we believe some of our instruct
ors —over this well accomplished act of
vengeance.
Two Ways of Looking at IL
The snow is beautiful to see,
And to the poet gives delight
When over lawn and over lea
It lies, a mantle pure and white.
But when six inches deep, or so.
It lies, at morn, beside his door
And must be shoveled off, the snow
The j»et deems a great big bore.
Host m Courier.
DR. TALMAGE’S SERMON.
HTSIHXI* AN’h WIFE IX HAP
MONY.
The subject of the Rev. Dr. Talmage's
fourth sermon of the series upon the “Mar
riago Ring” was entitled: “Huslwncl and
Wife in Harmony or Out. of Tune.” The
text was chosen from Amos, iii., 3: “(’an two
walk together except they l>e agreed ?”
No, Ainos, they cannot! They will either
be tripping each other up, or pushing each
other down. Under such circumstances the
marriage relation will l»e the sounding of an
everlasting war-whoop. In this course* of ser
mons which I am preaching on “The Mar
riage Ring,” I want this morning to discuss
the mutual duties of husbands and wives,
leaving to other sermons the discussion of
their individual duties. A church within a
church, a republic within a republic, a world
within a world, is a word spelled by
four letters: “H-o-m-o!” If things
go right there, they go right
everywhere. If things go wrong then* they
go wrong everywhere. The doorsill is the
foundation of church and state. A man
never gets higher than his own garret, or
lower than his own cellar. In other words,
domestic life overreaches and undergirds all
other life. The highest housdof Congrees is
the domestic circle, and the* rocking chair is
higher than the throne. George Washington
commanded tho forces of the United States,
but Mary Washington commanded George.
Chrysostom's mother made his pen for him.
If a man start out and run for seventy years
in a straight lino he cannot get out from
under the shadow of his own mantlepioce. It
is, therefore, a subject of infinite and eter
nal moment that I present to you this morn
ing whea I talk to you about
your hemes. As individuals wo
are only fragments. God makes
tiie race' in parts, then gradually puts us to-
Either. What you lack I make up, what I
ck you make up, and our surpluses and de
ficits of character aro the cogwheels in tho
great social mechanism. God gives to one,
courage; to another, patience: to another,
placidity; to another, enthusiasm; and what
ouo lacks tho other makes up, or
they all make up. Buffaloes in
herds, grouse in broods, quails in flocks and
the human race in family circles. So all
these things are beautifully arranged. That
conservative balances that radical. I have
no more right to conmlain of another man
because he thinks differently from myself
than a drive wheel has a right to complain of
the iron shaft thad holds it to the centre. A
ship must have mast and cutwater and taf
frail and ballast, and society is made up of a
great many different parts if it is going to
prosper at all. I thank God for Princeton,
and I thank Him for Andover, just tho op
posites. John Wesley balances Calvin’s In
stitutes. All these varieties divinely arranged
and divinely directed. The trouble is that we
aro not contented to stay where God puts us, 1
and the water wheel wants to come inside tho
mill and grind the grist, and the hopper wants
to go outside and k dabble in the water. Oui*
happiness, our success, our prosperity depends
u|>on staying just where Goa puts us. Thecold
theologian makes the I wines of theology for
Scotland, but Thomas Chalmers and Thomas
Guthrie clothed those bones with throbbing
heart and warm Hash. So wo are all in one
great community, and God arranged it sd
aud arranged it beautifully. Then for pur
poses of compactness and greater usefulness
we are brought into smaller circles and into
the home group. There you find the same
principle. Brothers, sisters, fathers, mothers,
all different in temperament and tastes. If
the husband be all impulse, the wife must lie
all prudence. If our sister have sanguine
temperament, the other sister must have lym
phatic temperament. Mary and Martha
are necessities. There will lie no
dinner for Christ if there be
no Martha and there will bo no audience
for Christ if there lie no Mary. All is divine
ly arranged. Eden is gone, the bowers are all
down, the animals that came up for Adam to
stroke as he gave them their names on that
famous morning, have thrust forth sting and
tusk, or growled panther at panther, and mid
sky with their !x*aks have plunged until with
torn wing and eyeless sockets they came
whirling down from under tho sun in blew]
and tire. Eden is gone. There is only one
fragment of it left, and that is the)
marriage institution That floated out
on the waters of the Hiddekel from paradise.
Instead of as then being the taking away of
one rib, it is the addition of many ribs. This)
institution of maiTuigc* lias Imjoii default'd in
(.ur time, nnd th'*re influences abroad to
this i i I’.t.) a Turkish harem, or a
great Sa.lf Lake <’ity. While for the most
part the Tail pits are silent on these subjects,
novels, their cheapness only equaled by their
iiasfinusi, pro j wise to educate this nation in
regard to the subject of holy marriage which
makes or breaks for time and for eternity.
Ah! it is not a mere question of wardrobe
or of residence; it is a question of gigantic
joy or gigantic sorrow. Alas! for this new
dispensation of < leorg<* Sand. Alas! for this
mingling of the nightshade with the marriage
garlands. Alas! foi the venom of addersspit
into the tankards. Alas! for the white frosts
of eternal death that kill the orange blossoms.
Th“ wh-ile attempt into change marriage into
a coin n enterp/fcie, an exchange Jof
house an 1 laxul and equipage, a partnership
of two stuffed with stories of romance nnd ’
knight errantry ami unfaithfulness and fem- !
inin • angelhood. After a while the twain
wake up to find that instead ofjioinga paradise
It is a\ an Am burgh’s menagerie Ailed with
tigers and wild cats. The whole influence
abroad to-day is to destroy or belittle tho
marriage.* institution. Eighty thousand di
vorces m l‘arl< in one year preceded the
worst revohiticn that France ever saw, anH.
there is not aa Intelligent man or woman in
this house to-<l»y but knows right well that
wrong notions about the marriage relations
are the foundations of the worst outrages of
our time. There are here many who have been
in the conjugal relation. There arc others
I' re who have *e -ently set up their homes,
an l only for u few months or a few
years have Jived together. There
are others in this house who
will after a vdiile establish their own dwel
lings, and I confront them in the name of
God, asking the divine help, while as your re
ligious tea< b .r, I say some very important
things
In the first place, I charge you, in ydur |
new home Live the Ix>rd Jesus Christ. The
guest, of the I* dhany sisters let Him lie your
guest. Take Him into your plans, hope's,am
bitions and erjiectatiorjs. Have on your hand
the marriage ring of the divine affection. If
one of you Im> a Christian, let that one take
the Bible at the even tide and read a few
passages, and then k jeeJ down and commend
yourself to Him who sett/'th the solitary in
faniili<*s. If the husband will not pray the
wife must pray: If the wife will not
j>ray the husband must pray. 1 tell you that
the destroying angel goes past ami does not
enter tlie home, tJi’> go of which are
sprinkled with the blool of the everlasting
rovunent. 1 have noticed that young people
who start with God end in h<-aven. Why is
it that in some families there an-jx*rturhation
and annoyame and controversy perpetual?
You have seen it. I have noticed it. J have
come to this conclusion in regard to
all such jMiople. They did not
start light. Then in other homes, though
there may bo many trials and many priva
tions and many hardships, and some things <
that n<“si ‘-xplanation, yet tiny get along
smoothly ami well. Wiiy? They started
right. 1 toll you that wliat you want in your
h<nne more than anything <*!«(*,what J want
in my home more than anything else is more
of the pre.M nee of a gracious God.
I rhaigc you also, that in your new home, ■
as far as |XMsible and to the utmost ex
tent, you exercise th“ grmie of forliear- j
ance. Prayer cannot do everything.
Some of the l>e-st ix»</ple are
very hard t/j get along with. T here are men •
who in prayer-meeting pray like angels, and
at home they are imcomprornising and
cranky. You <annot have it all your own
way. Sometimes it will Ije th<? duty of the
husband to yield. Sometimes it will be the
d«ty of the wife to yield. But you stand
punctUHous in your rights and I promise you
a Waterloo with no Blucher coming up at
niv’oGil’t de dde the d»*stiny Ido not like
lico4I ico 4 ’o who aro always standing on their
rights. Th»*n mv juirtnerships whi< h imply
surrender and compromise. Neither Im*
ashamed to apologize for any domestic in
accuracy. A man that diM»s not know
how to apologize is not a man. A woman
who dors not know how to n|w>logize is not a
woman. I made tip iny mmd that in the
home circle and in the church nnd in the
state, uh at is very much wanted is a spirit
of ajMilogy. The ix*st thing I over heard
about my grandfather, whom I never saw.
was that he once had unrighteouHly rebuked
one of his children, had himself lost his pa
tieib c, |M*rhaps having Immui misinformed in
regard to the child’s conduct, and ho found
out his mistake, and on the evening of the same
day hr gathered his family together and said:
“Now I have calk'd you together to make an
explanation. I wish to say one thing. Thomas,
I unrighteously rebuked you this morning. 1
am very sorry for it, and as I rebuked you
in the presence of the whole family circle, 1
now ask your forgiveness in the presence of
all of thrui.” Uould you do that? Not many
of you. There are required grare and cour
age of a wry largo kind and of the very best
kind. Yet it was right. We all st*e it was
right. Find out what are the points, and if I
may say, the weak |»oints of your
companion, and then do not carry
the lire of your temper too near the gunpow
der. If the wife lie <*asily fretted by disorder
in the household, let the husband be careful
when* he throws his slippers. If the husband
comes home from business or from work all
worn out, laxly, mind and soul, do not let the
wife cross his temper. William (’as|x*r put it
very pleasantly and very lieautifully when he
said
“The kindest anil the happiest pair
"Will find occasion to forlxMir,
And something every day they live
To pity and jiei hafis forgive.”
I charge you also, my friends, that you
make your chief pleasures circle around
the home. It is a very hid sign when
a man likes any place on earth
bott -r t han his ovvc home. It is a very bad
sign when a woman likes any place on earth
Ix'tter than her own home. If a man spends
the most of his evenings away by choice and
not by necessity, he is not tho head of the
household; he is it's cashier. If a woman put
the cares of the children, the cares of the
household in the lap of servants, and then go
off nnd spend five nights of the week at the
oixjra or the f.heatre, though she may
clothe those children with satins and silks,
and ribbons until it is enough to confound a
French milliner, they are orphans. It is a
sad thing when children at night have not
anyone by whom they can kneel down nnd
say t heir prayers because the mother is off at
the opera or the theatre. That is occurring
many nights. I saw a mother in grief at the
death of a child that she had neglected. It
was not so much that the child was dead as
that she had neglected it. She said: “Oh. if I
had only watched and cared for that child I
lx.‘lieve God would have spared it/' But t here
were no tears. It was a dry. hot t-cm|>est
of sorrow, a scorching sirocco of t in* desert.
When she wrung her hands it seemed as if she
would twist the finders from the sockets.
When she seized her nair it seemed as if she
took the - oils of a serpent in her grasp. But
no tears. Th<* comrades of the little one came
in and wept on the eolliy. The neighbors
came in and at the first sight of the st ill face
the shower broke. But no ti*ars for her. God
gives tern s as the summer rain tq>on the
parched heart. But the hardwt, driest, most
blast<*<land most consumed thing on earth is
a mot her's heart when her child is dead nnd
she has neglected it. God may forgive her.
She will never forgive herself. Her memory
will sink the eyes d<*e|M r into tin* sockets and
pinch the face and whiten the
hair nnd eat up the heart with
vultures that are never satisfied, plunging
d<*fq>er and deeper their iron Ixiaks. Ah,
woman uegleetful of your home, goback to
your duty. I tell you this day, that the
sweetest flowers that grow on eart h are in the
gardens of the domestic circle or chandler
over lh<*)M>r<*h of a Christian homo. Have
any of us <*seap(*<l from such influences of
kindness and love and mercy in the early
home." What has Ix*en flu* influence that has
kept you and has kept me many times from
going astray? All! was it not a Christian
memory? Was it not father and mother on
their knees liefore God in family prayer?
Next to the strong arm of the Ijord God Al
mighty in nry life has lieen my mother’s arm
to keep me fi-om passing oft’ into sin and
keep me in paths of rectitude and |»cace. (>h,
we never get away from those influenc<*s,
and it is not a good thing for me to say this
morning in the priw'iiro of this multitude of
homes here represents! bring your children
to God, yourselves first going to Him, ami
consecrate everything almut your household
to the Lord who macle you and the Lord who
redeemed you I
1 charge' you, also, to cultivate sympathy
of occupation. Sir James Mclntosh, <>:•'• of
the most eminent and “elegent men that ever
lived, while at the height of his jirosperity
and tame, standing amid a group of philoso
pher*, one day, said: “Gentlemen, my wife
made me.” And how much some c»f us have
been heljwd and strengthened in tho home
circle God knows and you know. The wife
ought to be the advising partner in every
enterprise. She ought 6) know, she has a
right to know everything. Your interests,
your defeats, your victories, your successes,
your losses, your pangs—they are hers.
She has a right to know. Tell
her everything. If a man is going
a 1 •.•' h pro-1 pri. he'. , '’.r w f '*ll
’ his wife, he is either on his way tx> bank
’ ruptcy or moral ruin. There may be thingfl
that he does not want to trouble his wife with,
but if he dare not tell her lie is on tho way to
'discomfiture. Men often say: “Oh, if I had
only taken my wife's advice.” She came by
a flash of intuition to see what was best.
You went by a roundabout way of evil expe
rience! to find out what, would have bec*n the
liest, and blessed is that man who does not at
the close of such ex|>erience say: “I told you
sal” Then let the husband be sympathetic
with the occupation of the wife. It is a
hard thing to house. There arej thou
sands of martyrs of the kitchen. What an
annoying thing, what a trying thing it is for
a man to come home at night, not Knowing
what t he* wife has suffered in the parlor, in
the kitchen, in the nursery, in the drawing
room, and have h«*r stab) something that exj
curred during tho day that, has annoyed her
very much, and have hirn say: “Oh, you
don't know anything about trouble; you
ought to be ov< r in the store half an hour!”
Hympathy of occupation. If the husband’s
work covers him with soot c>f furnaces, or the
odors of leather or tin; soap factory,
do not let the wife lie too easily disgusted by
the grimy hands or unsavory exlialernents.
Lay hol<i the work of life together, oh, man,
oh, woman. Four arms to fight the battle of
life, four eyes to see tlr* danger, four should
ers to bear the burdens. It. is a sad thing for
a painter when his wife does not. like pictures.
It is a sad thing for a piariisto when her hus
band do**-; not jiki* music. It is a sail thing
when th • wife thinks her husband has not a
genteel business, A genteel business, as near
as I can nn<lerstand, is something to which a
man go<*s at 10 o’cloc k in the morning and
conu!S home from at 2 o’ckxrk in the
afternoon, and getsa lai go amount of salary
for doing nothing! That is a genh-cl busi
ness.and Iht •h i s In- -n many a woman ruined
by wanting to get bar husband intxi some
genteel business, turning his Lack on the
tanning of the hides, or the building of the
wail, or tin; turning of tin- banisters to get
Komewler- wh< re he rould do nothing but
smoke tt e I, ‘nt ' igars ordrink the Isist wines,
or got habits on him winch ruined him,
taking his wife nnd child en down with him
in the sum ! maelstrom. if your husband
has an honest Lu.in **.-. lx* satrfic*! with it.
From earth t* -l-xtru'D oith'T- ui" long trains I
running all th • time trains that skirt ev« ry
hour of th- day nn I evm y hour of the night
-running from earth to destruction. There
are the fi .-ight trains and tin ygo very slow
ly and they uro very h<avily laden. There
are the a<-< -ommo<hition trains an<l th -y stop
ever and anon to let a man gift off wh-n lie
wants to. But genteel idlene-s is the express
train of which Satan is the stoker and b ath
the engineer, ami though you go out in front
ami wave the red flag of danger, or swing the
lanb rn/ f God’s word, it g's.n like a. h »trto
perdition with wail and. shout ami shriek
tumbling over the embankments, crasli,
crash, crash! There are two
classes of men sure to be destroyed. First,
those who have nothing to do. Secondly,
th<.se who have something to do, but are too
proud or too lazy to do it.
Again, I charge you, in your new home
have love preside. When your behavior in
the home circle iaa matter of cold calculation,
when the caress is merely a result of your de
lilx*rate study as to whnt. is proper, domestic
happiness lies stark dead on the hearthstone.
When a man maintains his jMunition in the
household by tire of temper and
loudness of voice and strength of
arm, the republic of domes
ti • bliss is turned into a depotism
which neither God nor man can abide. Oh,
ye who pledged love at the altar, how dare
you commit ]M*rjury ? lx*t no shadow fall on
your affection. It Is easier to kill that flower
than to make it grow again. The blast from
hell that puts out that light, leaves us in the
blackness of darkness forever. A man
and wife resolve they will have a home.
That is the only thing that, they are agreed
iu. They quarrel about everything else,
but they arc going to have a homo. They
resolve to build a splendid houae, and think
that if they haven splendid house they will
have a home. The architects make
the plans and the mechanics ex
ecute them. The house costs SIOO,OOO. Tho
work is done. The carets an? laid. The
chandeliers are swung. The cards are sent
out. Horses in gold puit<*d harness jaw at
the gates. Guests come in. Flute sounds.
Dancers go up and down the floor, and in one
grand wnirl tne wealth and the pomp and the
Fashion of the city wheel amid the pictured
walls. Ah! here is happiness. Float it on
the smoking vtands. Flash it in the chande
liers. (’ast it on the white snow of the sculp
ture. Send it up the broad stair
way. “Here is happiness!” Lot us
build n throne for the Queen of
Happiness right amid the parlor floor, and
let all the guests its they come in throw their
flowers and their pearls and their diamonds on
this pyramid, and then let the queen of hap
piness come in and mount that throne, and
then let us all stand around with uplifted
chalices, crying: “Drink! oh, queen.live for
ever.” But now the guests have departed.
The flutes are breathless, the last clash of the
impatient hoofs is heard in the distance and
the twain come tx> mid parlor fltwr to find the
Quts'ii of Happiness on the throne,
and lo! tho flowers have all wilted,
and lo! instead of tho Qu(*en of Hap
piness on the throne there is the gaunt form
of Anguish with bitten lip and sunken eye
and ashes in her hair. The romping of the
feet -»♦’ da’, -rs m*-- thunder s ' g yet on the
rumbling of tho floors and the thundering
acroAs the room that makes the glasses clash
and clatter rim to rim. The wreathes of
flowershave become wriggling serpents. The
spilled wine has become blood. The terrors
have caught in the canopy over the
couch. A strong stout breeze blows through
hall and Im*<l cnarnber and drawing room,
and all the lights are dead. And then the
lips of the wine beakers whisper: “Hapni
ness is not in us.” And then tne
a.rOhc's reply: “Happiness is not in us!” Then
the instrument of music.*, played on by invisi
ble fingers, say: “Happiness is not in us!”
Then the frozen lips of Anguishjbreak open,
and seated on the throne of wilted flowers she
claps her bony hands together and groans:
“It is not in me!” That same night a young
man on SI,OOO a year salary, sl,oooonly, goes
to his home that ho sed up three months ago,
just after Ihe marriage day. Ixive meets him
nt the* door. Love sits with him at
the* table. Love talks over all the
toils of the day. Ixwe takes
down the Bible and reads of Him who came
our souls to save. Then tin* twain kneeland
while* they are kneeling the angels of God
come to bihl I a throne on that, plain carpet
in that plain room under that plain ceiling—
not a throne built, out of flowers that faded,
but out of garlands of heaven, wreath on the
top of wreath, amaranth on the top of ama
ranth, until thee the throne is done. Then the
harps of God sounded and there bounded in
one who mounted the throne, so bright of
eye, so fair of brow that when the twain
saw her they knew it was
(’hristian love. And as t hey knelt
before* ln'i* throne she bent over them and put
this hand on the* one head and that hand on
the other head and said: “Happiness is with
me!’’ And that throne of heavenly flowers
withen'd not, and that Quc'en of Christian
love h»ft not that throne until one day the
twain well stric ken in years, felt themselves
c alled away and knew not which way to go,
and then the quec*n dismounted the throne
and said: “Follow me, follow me, and I’ll
lead you to the realm of everlasting love.”
And so they went up to sing songs of love
and to walk on pavements of love and to live
together in mansions of love, and to rejok’9
forever in tho truth that God is love!
A Temperance Anecdote.
John Join s began at the age of fifteen
to build u monument and iinielied it at
fifty. He worked night and day, often
all night long, and on the sabbath. He
spent all the money he earned upon it
- some say $50,000. Then he borrowed
all be could ; and when no one would
lake his wife’s dns-es and the bed
clothes and many other valuable things
in his home*, and soli them to get more
money to finish that monument.
They say he cime home one day and
was about to take the Inankets that lay
over his sleeping baby to keep it warm,
and hi 4 wife friecl f ttop him ; but he
drew back •’’"fi'd «nd knock"*! hes down
d then \»ent with the blankets’
..nd never brought them back, and the
po r baby sickened and died from tho
exposure*. At laid there was not any
thing left in the house. Jhe poor,
heart broken Wife soon followed the
baby to the grave. Yet John Junei
kept woiking all the mere at the monu
ment. I saw him when he was about
fifty years od. The monument wax
nearly done, but he had worked so hard
at it that I Imiclly knew him, he was so
worn ; his < lollies were all tatters, and
his bands and face, indeed, his whole
body, were covered with scars which be
<<ot in laying up Home of the atones.
And the wretched man had been so little
pood society all the while that he was
i uilding. that he had about forgotten
low tc, use the English language; his
oiigue hud somehow bee me very thick;
nod when he tried to speak, out would
' me an oath.
'That may seem strange, but I have
h;und out that all who build such mon
iirnenth us John’s prefer oaths to any
o' her words.
Now, come with me, and I will show
\on Jc hn’s monument. It stands in a
beautiful part of the city where five
i treets meet. Most men put sucu things
i a cemetery. But John had his own
a »y and put it ou <.r;e of the finest lots
be found.
•‘Does it look lik Bunker Hill m*m
uniont ?” a-ks JittL Amy Arlott by my
side
Not nt all John didn’t want to be
remembered that way He might have
/tkeu that $50,000 and built an asylum
f;r poor little children that have no
h >me, and people wcuht have called the
asylum his monument.
But nure we are ut the front door. It
is grand house ! tis high and large,
rilh great halls nnd towers, and velvet
curpets, elegant mirrors and a piano,
r;r a I know not what all; so rich and
grand.
This is John Jones’ monument! and
■ho man who sold John nearly all the
whiskey he drank lives here with his
family, and they all dress in the richest
and finest clothes.
Do you understand it?— /JU Pcrkinf
“ Wit and Humor of the Agef*