Decatur Democrat, Volume 38, Number 19, Decatur, Adams County, 27 July 1894 — Page 6

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VWwl J \ WMM IF 1 >« wll v TlffllCwpfii I ~*l\ \ > 1W mli /' IL di /# //l ' || LJ XT 1 4 Mi jp ■ «— CHAPTER XVll—Continued. As they approached Marchbrook Mr. Wyatt began to talk about the Benedictines find their vanished monastery. He had found out all about it in the county history—its founder, the extent of its lands, the character of its architecture. “That avenue must be 603 years old, ” he said, as he came in sight of the tall elms. “By Jove! that’s queer,” cried Sir Thomas, pulling out his race glass. “A fellow jumped out that balcony, like Romeo in the play. “Except that Romeo tfiover scaled the balcony,” said Mr. Wyatt. “That summer-house belongs to Davenant, doesn’t it, Gilbert? Our friend’s mode of exit suggests a flirtation between one of your guests and somebody at Marchbrook. ” “There’s nobody at Marchbrook but old Clanyarde and Sir Cyprian Dav- 1 enant,”said Sir Thomas, “and I’ll lay any odds you like it wasn’t Lord Clanyarde ju taped off that balcony.” Gilbert took the glass from his friend’s hand without a word. The man who had jumped off the balcony was still in sight, walking at a leisurely pace across the wide alley of turf between the two rows of trees. The glass brought him near enough for recognition, and Mr. Sinclair had no doubt as to his identity. “If you lay onto those leaders like that, you’ll have this blessed machine in the ditch,” cried Sir Thomas Houndslow. “ What is the matter with you? The horses are stepping like clock-work. ” “Juno was breaking into a canter," said Gilbert, coloring. “Steady, old lady; steady, steady.” “She’B steady enough,” said Sir Thomas; “I think it’s you that are wild. Memorandum, don’t drink kirschen wasser after champagne when you’re going to drive a team of young horses. ” Mr. Sinclair took the curve by the park gates in excellent style, despite this insinuation, and pulled up before the old Gothic porch with like precision. “There’s a pretty bit of feather-edg-ing,” said Sir Thomas, approvingly. Gilbert did not wait to see his friencs alight, but flung the reins to one of the grooms and walked off without a word to any one. He was at the summer-house ten minutes afterward, flushed and breathless, having run all the way. A flight of stone steps, moss-grown and broken, led up to the door of the temple. Gilbert Sinclair tried the door and found it locked. “Is there any one in there?" he asked, shaking the crazy old door savagely. “Who Is that?” inquired Constance. “Your husband. ” He heard hdr light footsteps coming toward the door. • She opened it, and faced him on the threshold, with neither surprise nor fear in her calm, questioning face. “Is there anything the matter, Gilbert? Am I wanted?” “There is not much the matter, and I don't know that you are wanted in my house,” answered her husband, savagely. “It seems to me that your vocation is elsewhere.” His flushed face, the angry light in bis red-brown eyes, to'd her that there was meaning in his reply, incomprehensible as it seemed. “I don’t understand you, Gilbert. What has happened to make you angry?” “Not much, perhaps. It’s bad form to make a fuss about it. But lam vulgar ent ugh to think that when my wife plays Juliet to somebody else’s Romeo, it is time she should call herself by some other name than miije, which she disgraces. I admire the innocence of that astonished look. Unfortunately that piece of finished acting is thrown away upon me. I saw yourJover leave you.” “Mr. Sinclair!” with a look of unspeakable indignation. “Yes. your gentle Tomeo forgot that this summer-house is seen from the high-road. I saw him, I tell you, woman—l saw him leap down from'the balcony —identified him with my fieldglass—not that I had any doubt who your visitor was. ” “I am sorry that you should le so angry at my seeing an old friend for a few minutes, Gilbert, and that you should make so very innocent an act an excuse for insulting me.” “An old friend —a friend whom you meet cladestinely—in an out-of-the-way corner of the park—with locked doors.". “I have spent all my mornings here of late. I lock my door in order to be undisturbed, so that anybody happening t j wmv this way may believe the summer-house empty. "Anyone except Sir Cyprian Davenant. He would know better. ” “Sir Cyprian's presence here to-day was the merest accident. He heard me singing, and climbed up to the balcony to say a few kind words about my bereavement, which he knows to be the one absorbing thought of my mind just now. No friend, no brother, could have come with kinder or purer meaning. He gave me good advice; he warned me that there was selfishness and folly in giving way to sorrow. Not one word was spoken which you might not have freely heard, Gilbert, which, you would not have approved.” y “Could any woman in your position Hy less? You all sing the same song.

Once having male up your mind to betray your husband, the rest is a matter of detail, and there is a miserable tameness in the details. Do you think anything you can say—oaths, tear —will ever convince me that you did not come here on purpose to meet that man, or that he came here to preach you a sermon upon your duty to me?" “Gilbert, as I stand hero before God, who sees and hears mo, T have told you the truth. We have made a sad mistake in marrying; there are few things in which wo sympathize: even our great sorrow has rot brought us nearer together; but if you will only bo patient, if you will bo kind and true to me, I will still try even more earnestly than I have done vet to make you a good wife, to make your home life happy.” She came to him with a sad sweet smile, and laid her hand gently on his shoulder, looking up at him with earnest eyes, full of truth and purity, could ho but have understood their meaning. Alas! to his dogged, brutal nature , purity like this was incomprehensible. Facts were against his wife, and he had no belief in her to sustain him against the facts. The lion of fable might recognize Una's purity and lie down at her feet, but Gilbert Sinclair 1 was a good deal more like the lion of reality, a by no means magnanimous beast, who waits till he can pounce upon his enemy alone in a solitary corner, and has a prudent dread of numbers. As the little hand alighted tremulously on his breast; Gilbert Sinclair raised his clenched fist. “Let me alone,” he cried. “You’ve made your choice. ” And then came a word which had never before been spoken in Constance Sinclair's hearing, but which some instinct of her woman’s heart told her meant deepest infamy. She recoiled from him with a little cry, and then fell like a log at his feet. Lest that brutal word should too weakly express an outraged husband’s wrath, Mr. Sinclair had emphasized it with a blow. That muscular fist of his, trained in many an encounter with professors of the noble art of self-defense, bad been driven straight at his wife’s forehead, and nothing but the man’s blind fury prevented the blow being mortal. In intention, at least, he had been for the moment a murderer. His breath came thick and fast as he stood over that lifeless form. “Have I killed her?” he asked himself. “She deserves no better fate. But I had rather kill him. ” CHAPTER XVIIL CYPRIAN’S VISITOR. Sir Cyprian Davenant left Marchbrook an hour after his interview with Constance Sinclair. He sent his man home with the portmanteaus and guncases, and went straight to his ciub, where he dined. It was between eight I and nine when he walked to his chambers through the snowy streets. The walk through the rough weather suited his present temper. He» cou'd have walked many a mile across Yorkshire moor that night in the endeavor to walk down the anxious thoughts that crowded upon his mind. His interview with Constance —like all such meetings between those whom Fate has irrevocably parted—had deepened the gloom of his soul, and added to the bitterness of his regrets. It had brought the past near to him. and made the inevitable harder to bear than it had seemed yesterday. He had seen all the < Id loveliness in the innocent face, changed though it was. He had heard a l the old music in the unforgotten voice. To what end? That brief greeting across the iron grate of Destiny's prison-house only made it more agonizing to think of the long future in which these two, who had so met and touched hands across the gulf, must live their separated lives in silent patience. The snow lay thick in the quiet turning out of the Strand. There was a hansom standing at the corner by Sir Cyprian’s chambers, the horse hanging hi 5 head with a dejected air under his whitenod rug, the man stamping up and down the pavement, and flapping his arms across his chest. The cab rm st have been waiting some time, Sir Cyprian thought idly. His chambers were on the first floor, large and lofty rooms facing the river. Since his inheritance of Colonel Gryffln’s fortune he had indulged himself with that one luxury dear to men who love books, a well-arranged library. This bachelor pied-a-terre suited him better than lodgings in a more fashionable quarter. It was central, and out of the way of his fashionable acquaintances—an ineligible feature which was to fijs mind an attraction. Sir Cyprian admitted himself with his lat 6 key, and went up the dimly lighted staircase. He o; ened the outer door of his library, within which massive oak barrier there hung a heavy crimson cloth curtain, shutting out noise and draught. This curtain had been dragged aside, and left hanging in a heap at one end. of the rod, in a very different style from the usual neat arrangement of folds left by the mid-dle-aged valet. The room was almost in darkness, for the fire had burned low upon the hearth. There was just light enough to show Sir Cyprian a figure sitting by the fire in a brooding attitude, alone, and in the dark. “Who's that?” asked Sir Cyprian., The man started up, a big man, tall and broad-shouldered, whom for the first moment Sir Cyprian took for a stranger. “I should have thought you would have-known Constance Sinclair's husband anywhere,” said the intruder. “You ana I have reason to remember each other. ” “I beg your pardon, Mr. Sinclair,” Cyprian answered, quietly, without noticing the sneer; “but as I do not possess the gift of seeing in the dark, you can hardly wonder at my being slow to recognize you.” He was not going to invite a quarrel with this man—nay, he would rather avoid one at the loss of some personal dignity, fir Constance’s sake. He (went Up to the hearth where Gilbert had resumed his seat, anfl put his hand on the bell. “Don’t ring for lights,” said Sinclair.

“What I have to say can be said !n the dark.” “Perhaps. But I prefer to see. a man’s face when I am talking to him. May I ask to what I am liyjebted for this unexpected p’easure? I thought you were at Davenant?” “I left by the train after that in which you traveled." The man camo in with a lighted lamp, which ho placed on the table in front of the fire—a large carved oak table, loaded with classic volumes and ponderous lexicons; for a wealthy student is rarely content with a single lexicographer’s definition. Having set down the lamp, the valet replenished the exhausted fire with that deliberate care so peculiar to a servant who is slightly curious about his master's gue-t, and finally retired, with soft footfall, shutting the door after him very slowly, as if ho exacted to gather something at the last moment, from the visitor’s impatience to break covert. In this case, however, the valet retired without hearing a word. Gilbert Sinclair sat staring at the fire, and seemed in no hurry to state his business. He could not fly at his enemy’s throat like a tiger, and that was about the only thing to which his spirit moved him at this moment. Looking at his visitor by the soft, clear light of the lamp, Sir Cyprian was not reassured by his countenance. Gilbert Sinclair’s lace was of a livid hue, save on each high cheek-bone, whore a patch of dusky red made the pervading pallor more obvious His thick red-brown hair was rough and disordered, his large red-brown eyes, prominently placed in their orbits, were b ight and glassy, and the sensual under lip worked convulsively, as in some inward argument of a stormy kind. |TO BB CONTINUED, i A Duck Drowned by an Oyster. The meek and lowly oyster can sometimes become a revengeful as well as a dangerous antagonist, as a" unwary Baltimore duck found to his cost. This careless duck, belonging to the tribe known as “fishermen," was swimming about in search of food off the shore near Claiborne when he espied an oyster —a nice, fat, juicy oyster he was—with shill widely parted, feeding, doubtless, on the simple and rather intangible diet upon which an oyster is suppose! to feed. The duck, true to his greedy instincts, dived for that supposed juicy mon el and was about to swallow him whole, without salt or pepper even, when the angry passions of the oyster arose, and mapping his shells together caught the unsuspecting duck’s bill in a vise-like embrace. The duck rose to the surface, shook his head, mumbled apologies through his tight-shut mouth, but the bivalve’s heart was hardened, and he held on. Soon that constant load pulling down his head, and growing weightier and weightier, began to tire the duck and his neck arched lower and lower until finally it sank into the water and he was drowned. A deckhand on the steamboat Tangier saw the duck floating with head submerged and picked him up. The oyster was still clinging to his victim with a relentless, deadly grasp, and the tragedy that must have been enacted as described wa> revealed. Both the duck and the slayer were taken to Baltimore, and proved quite a curiosity.

Went to the Root of the Evil. This is woman’s age, and a businessman who knows says there is positively nothing that she will not undertake. He was lounging In his office the other day when the door opened and a wel - dressed, comely little woman appeared. She wore a resolute expression in addition to other apparel and in her hand she carried a largo tack-raiser. “Good morning,” she said, winningly. “Is this Mr. Cash’s office? Will you please tell me what chair it is that has that nail in it?” The business-man was confused—the nice little woman was a total stranger to him. He answered wildly: “What chair? What nail?” “Why,” she exclaimed, “my husband has come home three times recently with dreadful holes in his coat and trousers and ho said he tore them on a chair in your office. I’m tired of darning those rents and thought it would be more sensible and satisfactory to come down here, pull the nail out, and be done with it. Don't you think so?” Still in a trance the merchant agreed with her, found the offending chair, extracted the nail and with many thanks and smiles the enterprising little woman withdrew. —New Yo.k World. Saw His Parents Sixty Miles Away. Harry Willetts, a young man who was nearly killed by striking an arc light with the sieel tip of his umbrella at Atlantic City. N. J., upon his recovery related a remarkable vision which came to him as he felt the electric fluid going through his body. His home is in Camden, sixty miles from Atlantic City. “I had left home but two days before,” he said to a reporter, “and every detail of the home life I remembered, and as I fell unconscious I saw it again as plainly as I now see you. My father sat by the table reading, while my mother was engaged in sewing buttons on his clothes. The picture was so realistic that my last words as I fell were: *My God, where am I?’ And they were heard by bystanders who did not'know what caused them. ” The most fiiarvelous partof young Willets’ vision is that his brother declares that the hour the accident occurred his parents were seated and occupied just as he saw them.

Unappreciated Courtesy. Mr. Martha Moore Avery, the socialist leader from Boston, whose smooth and communistic speeches have been a feature in Philadelphia, prides herself cn her winsome and sympathetic ways with the commonest people. She was ridieg the other day in a Girard avenue car, bound for Memorial Hall, when a ragged and red-headed newsboy boarded the car. Mrs. Avery put on an attractive smile and the boy hurried to the end of the car and flashed his papers on her. “No, thank you, little boy,” said that lady, »“I don’t wish for a paper, but I am ever so much obliged to you fur coming in here.” The boy walked reproachfully away, and as he left the car he remarked to the conductor, “Say, it’s a wonder de woman didn't ask me if me wife was well.” \ Matrimonial Item. According to French divorce statistics the most unhappy period of marriage is from the fifth to the tenth year. After that the figmres drop rapidly. If you would keep the devil in, keep the bottle corked.

TALMAGE’S SERMON. THE WORTH OF LIFE DEPENDS UPON CIRCUMSTANCES. If It Opens to a Life That Shell Never Then It In Worth Llv'njr— A Strong, Breoxy and Optimistic DlSooure by the Greet Preacher. •■Worth Living.• Rev. Dr. Talmage, who is now touring in the Australian cities, has.choson as tho subject for this week’s sermon through the press “Worth Living,” the text being taken from Lamentations ill, 39, “Wherefore doth a living man complain?” It wo leave to the evolutionists to guess where we camo from and to the theologians to prophesy where we are going to, wo still have left for consideration tho imjiortant fact that wo are here. There may be some doubt about where tho river empties, but there can be no doubt about the fact that we are sailing on it. So I am not surprised that everyboay asks the question, “Is life worth living?” Solomon in his unhappy moments says'it is not. [“Vanity,” “vexation of spirit,” “no good,’’ are his estimate. The favt is that Solomon was at one tinje a polygamist, and that soured his Ono wife makes a man happy; more than one. makes him wretched. But Solomon was converted from polygamy to monogamy, and the last words he ever wrote, as far as we can read them, were the words “mountains of spices.” But Jeremiah says in my text life is worth living. In a book supposed to be doleful and lugubrious and sepulchral and entitled “Lamentations” he plainly intimates that the blessing of merely living is so great and grand a blessing that though a man have piled on him all misfortunes and disasters he has no right to complain. The author of my text cries out in startling intonation to all lands and to all centuries, “Wherefore doth a living man complain?” A diversity of opinion in our time as well as in olden time. Here is a young man of light hair and blue eyes and sound digestion and generous salary and happily affianced and in the wav to become the partner in a commercial firm of which he is an important clerk. Ask him whether life is worth living. He will laugh in your face and say, “Yes, yes, yes!” Here is a man who has come to the forties. He is at the tiptop of tne hill of life. Every step has been a step and a bruise. The people he trusted have turned out deserters, and the money he has honestly made he has been cheatea out of. His nerves are out pf tune. He has poor appetite, and all ,the food he does eat does not assimilate. Forty miles climbing up the hill of life have been to him like climbing the Matterhorn, and there are forty miles yet to go down, and descent is always more dangerous than ascent. Ask him whether life is worth living, and he will drawl out in shivering and lugubrious and appalling negative, “No, no, no!” It Depends Upon the Kind of Life. How are we to decide this matter righteously and intelligently? You. will find the same man vacillating, oscillating in his opinion from dejection to exuberance, and if he be very mercurial in his temperament it will depend very much upon which way the wind blows. If the wind blow from tho northwest, and you ask him, he will say, “Yes, ” and if it blow from the northeast, and you ask him, he will say “No. ” How are we, then, to get the question righteously answered? Suppose we call all nations together in a great convention on Eastern oreWesk--ern Hemisphere and let all those who* are in the affirmative say “Aye,” and all those who are in the negative say “No.” While there would be hundreds of thousands who would answer in the affirmative, there would be more millions who would answer in the negative, ana because of the greater number who have sorrow and misfortune and trouble the “noes” would have it. The answer 1 shall give will be different from either, and yet it will commend itself to all who hear me this day as the right answer. If you ask me, “Is life worth living?” lanswer, it all depenas upon the kind of life you live. In the first 'place, I remark that a life of mere money getting is always a failure, because you will never get as much as you want. The poorest people in this country are the richest, and the next to them those who are half as rich. There is not a scissors grinder on the streets of New York or Brooklyn who is so anxious to make money as these men who have piled up fortunes year after year in storehouses, in government securities, in tenement houses, in whole city blocks. You ought to see them jump when they hear the firebell ring. You ought to see them in their excitement when some bank explodes. You ought to see their agitation when there is proposed a reformation in the tariff. Their nerves tremble like harp strings, but no music in the vibration. They read the reports from Wall street in the morning with a concernment that threatens paralysis or apoplexy, or, more probable, they have a telegraph or a telephone in their house, so they catch every breath of change in the money market. The disease of accumulation has eaten into them—eaten into their heart, into their lungs, into their spleen, into their liver, into their bones. Dominant Ideas. Chemists have sometimes analyzed the human body, and they say it is so much magnesia, so’much lime, so much chlol-ate of potassium. If some Christian chemist would analyze one of these financial behemoths, he would fina that he is made up of copper, and gold, and silver, and zinc, and lead, and coal, and iron. That is not a life worth living. There are tod many earthquakes in it, too many agonies in it, too many perditions in it. They build their castles, and open their picture galleries, and they summon prima donnas; and they offer every inducement for happiness to come andlive there, but happiness will not come. They send fdotmanned and postillioned eauipage to bring her; she will not ride to their door. They send princely escort; she will not ride under them. They set a golden throne before a golden plate; she turns away from the. banquet. They call to her from upholstered balcony; she will not listen. Mark you. this is the failure of those who have had large accumulation. And then you must take into consid-

eration that tho vast majority of those who make the dominant idea of life money getting fall far short of affluence. It is estimated that only about two out.of a hundred business men have anything worthy the name of success. A man who spends his life with the one dominant idea of financial accumulation spends a life not worth living. So the idea of worldly approval. If that be dominsnt tn a man's life, he is miserable. The two most unfortunate menjn this country for the six months of next presidential campaign will be tho two men nominated lor the presidency. The reservoirs of abuso and diatribe and malediction will gradually fill up, gallon above gallon, hogshead above hogshead, ana about autumn these two reservoirs will be brimming full, and a hose will be attached to , each one, and it will play away on those nominees, and they will have to stand it and take the abuse, and the falsehood, and tho caricature, and the anathema, and the catorwauling, and the filth, and they wil 1 be rolled in it and rolled over and over in it until they are choked and submerged and strangulated, and at every sign of returning consciousness they will be barked at by all the hounds of political parties from ocean to ocean. And yet there are a hundred men today struggling for that privilege, and there are thousands of men who are ' helping them in the struggle. Now, that is not a life worth living. You can get slandered and abused cheaper than that! Take it on a smaller scale. Do not be so ambitious to have a whole reservoir rolled over on you. But what you see in tho matter of high political preferment you see in every community in the struggle for what is called social position. Social Ambition*. Tens of thousands of people trying to get into that realm, and they are under terrific tension. What is social position? It is a difficult thing to define, but we ail know what it is. Good morals and intelligence are not necessary, but wealth or the show of wealth is absolutely indispensable. There are men to-day as notorious for thoir libertinism as tho night is _ famous for its darkness who move in what is called high social position. There are hundreds of out and out rakes in American. society whose names are mentioned among the distinguished guests at the great levees. They have annexed all the known vices and are longing for other worlds of diabolism to conquer. Good morals are not necessary in many of the exalted circles of society. Living That I* Worth Something. But I shall show you a life that is worth living. A young man says: “I am here. lam not respinslble for my ancestry. Others decided that. lam not responsible for my temperament: God gave me that. But here I am, in the afternoon of the nineteenth century, at 20 years of age. I am here, and I must take an account of stock. Here I have a body which isadivinely constructed engine. 1 must put it to the very best uses, and I must allow nothing to damage this rarest of machinery. Two Teet, and they mean locomotion. Two eyes, and they mean capacity to pick out my own way. Two ears, and they are telephones of communication with all the outside world, and.they mean capacity to catch sweetest music and the voices ot friendship —the very best music. A tongue, with almost infinity of articulation. Yea, hands with which to welcome or resist or lift or smite or wave or bless —hands to help myself and help others. “Here is a world which after 6,000 ye&rjff battling with tempest and accidAw'is still grander than any architecWkhuman or angelic, could have have two lamps to light me • l ~a lamp and a silver lamp-a golden lamp set on the sapphire manI tel of the day, a silver lamp set on the jet mantel of night. Yea, I have that at 20-years of age which defies all inventory of valuables —a soul with capacity to choose or reject, to rejoice or to suffer, to love or to hate. Plato says it is immortal. Seneca says it is immortal. Confucius says it is immortal. An old book among the family relics, a book with leathern cover almost worn out and pages almost obliterated by oft perusal, joins the other books in saying I immortal. 1 have eighty years for a lifetime, sixty years yet to live. I may not live an hour, but then I must lay out my plans intelligently and ' for a long life. Sixty years added to the twenty I have already lived—that will bring me to eighty'. I must remember that those eighty years are only a brief preface to the five hundred thousand millions of quintHlioiis of years which will be my chief residence and existence. Now 1 understand my opportunities and my responsibilities. Falling and Rising. “If there is any being in the universe all wise and all beneficent who can help a man in such a juncture, I want him. The old book found among the family relics tells me there is a God, and that for the sake of His Son, one Jesus, He will give help to a man. To Hiijji I appeal. God help me! Here 1 have yet sixty years to do for myself and to do for others. I must develop this body by all industries, by all gymnastics, by all sunshine, by all fresh air, by all good habits. And this soul I must have swept and garnished and illumined and glorified by all that I can do for it and all that I can get God to do for it. It shall be a Luxemburg of fine pictures. It shall be an orchestra of grand harmonies. It shall be a p&lace for God and righteousness to reign in. I wonder how many kind words I can utter in the next sixty years? I will try. Iwonder how many good deeds I can do in the next sixty years? I will try. God help me! That young man enters life. He is buffeted; ho is tried; he is perplexed. A grave opens on this side, and a grave opens on that side. He falls, but he rises again. He gets into a hard battle, but ho gets the victory. The main course of his life is in the right direction. He blesses everybody he comes in contact with. God forgives his mistakes and makes everlasting record of his holy endeavors, and at the close of it God says to him, “Well done, good and faithful servant; enter intothe joys Jof thy Lord.” My brother, my sister, I do not care whether that man dies at 30, 40, 50, 60, 70 or 80 years of age. You can chisel right under tiis name on the tombstone these words: “His life was worth living.” Amid the hills of New Hampshire In olden times there sits a mother. There are six children in the householdfour boys and two girls. Small farm. Very rough; hard work to coax a living

out of it. Mighty tug to make the two ends of the year meet. The Ixjys go to school in winter and work the farm in summer. Mother is the chief presiding spirit. With her hands she knitsail the stockings for the little feet, and she Is the mantua maker tor the boys, ana she Is the milllaer for tho girls. There is only one musical instrument iu the house -the spinning wheel. The food Is very plain, but it is always well provided. The winters are very cold, out are kept out by the blankets she quilted. On Sunday, when she appears in the village church, her children around her, the minister looks down and is reminded of the Bible description of a good housewife: “Her children arise up and call her blessed. Her husband also, and , he praiseth her.” A Mother'* Bleined Life. Some years go by, and the two eldest boys want a collegiate education, and the household economies are severer, and the calculations are closer, and until those two boys get their education there is a hard battle for bread. One of these boys enters the university, stands in a pulpit widely influential and preaches righteousness, judgment ana temperance, and thousands during his ministry are blessed. The other lad who got the collegiate education goes into the law, and thence into legislative halls, ana after awhile he commands listening senates as he makes a plea for the downtrodden and the outcast. One of the younger boys becomes a merchant, starting at the foot of the ladder, but climbing on up until his success ana his philanthropies are recognized all over the land. The other son stays at home because he prefers farming life, and then he thinks he will be able to take carp of , father and mother when they get old. Os the two daughters, when the war broke out one, went through the hospitals of Pittsburg Landing and Fortress Monroe, cheering up the dying and homesick, and taking the last message to kindred far away, so that every time Christ thought of her he said, as of old, “The same is my sister andi mother. ” The other daughter has a bright home of her own, and in tne afternoon of the forenoon when she has been devoted to her household she goes forth to hunt up the sick and to encourage the discouraged, leaving smiles and benediction all along, the way. But one day there start five telegrams from the village for these five absent ones, saying, “Come; mother is dangerously ill.” But before they can be ready to start they receive another telegram, saying, “Come; mother is dead.” The old neighbors gather in the old farmhouse to ao the last offices of respect. But as that farming son, and the clergyman, and the Senator, and the merchant, and the two daughters stand by the casket of the dead mother, taking the last look or lifting their little children to see once more the face of dear old grandma, I want to ask that group around the casket one question, “Do you really think her life was worth living?” A life for God, a life for others, a life of unselfishness, a useful life, a Christian life, is always worth living. Examples of Snccea*. I would not find it hard to persuade you that the poor lad, Peter Cooper, making glue for a living and then amassing a great fortune until he could build a philanthrophy which has had its echo in 10,000 philanthropises all over the country—l would not find it hard to.persuade you that his lite was worth living. Neither would I find it hard to persuade you that the llleTfr Susannah Wesley was .worth living. She sent out one son to organize Methoaism and the other son to ring his anthems all through the ages. I would not find it hard to persuade you that the life of Frances Leere was worth living, as she established in England a school tor the scientific nursing of the sick and then when the war broke out between France and Germany went to the front, and with her own hands scraped the mud off the bodies of the soldiers dying in the trenches with her weak' arm, standing one night in the hospital, pushing back a German soldier to his couch as, all frenzied with his wounds, he rushed toward the door and said: “Let me go! Let me go to my ’liebe mutter.’” Major Generals standing back to let pass this angel of merev. Neither would 1 have hard work to persuade you that Grace Darling lived a lite worth living—the heroine of the lifeboat. You are not wondering that the Duchess of Northumberland came to see her, and that people of all lands asked for her lighthouse, and that the proprietor of the Adelphia Theater in London offered, her SIOO a night just to sit in the lifeboat while some shipwrecked scene was being enacted.Reward of Effort. But I know the thought in the minds of hundreds who read this. You say, “while I know all these lived lives worth living, I don’t thihk my life amounts to much.” Ah, my friends, whether you live a life conspicious or inconspicious, it is worth living ifjyou live aright. And I want my next sentence to go aown into the depths of all your souls. You are to be rewarded not according to the greatness of your work, but according to the holy industries with which you employed the talents you really possessed. The majority of the crowns of Heaven will not be given to people with 10 talents, for most of them were tempted only to serve themselves. The vast majority of the crowns of Heaven will be given to people who had 1 talent, but gave it all to God. And remember that our life here is introductory to another. It is the vestibule to a palace, but- whp despises the door of the Idadeleine because there are granderglories within? Your life, it rightly lived, is the first bar of an eternal oratorio, and who despises tho first note of Haydn's symphonies? And the life you live now is all the more worth living because it opens into a life that shall never end, and the last letter of the word “time” is the first letter of the word “eternit y. ” . The sugar beet has not Riven as good results in this country as a source from which to obtain sugar as Id Germany, but improvements are being made very rapidly The use of sulphates instead of muriate* of the potash salts has been found an advantage, and implemepts are being invented for greatly lessening the labor required. In Germany the sugar beet produces 10 per cent of its weight in sugar. It takes a'blg milking to supply a pint of society cream.