Decatur Democrat, Volume 38, Number 40, Decatur, Adams County, 21 December 1894 — Page 8

I* WjW”"* CHAPTER VIII.—Con titled. The night was as good a one as need have been, and though better had occasionally been known, there was on the present occasion, no call for complaint. Jerry, in particular, was fortunate, and the little girl’s spirits would have risen under the inspiring influence, if it had produced a like effect upon her companion. But although .Bellenden assisted both in taking the fish off the hooks, and in baiting them again, and although he was always ready with his congratulatory, “Another, Jerry? You are lucky to-night,” she felt that the spirit was absent, and that the passing scene had only a faint, inadequate hold on his attention. His very smile was grave. But after a while, and that at a movement of her own, he looked round quickly. She had shivered as the air grew colder, and a slight breeze had sprung up. '•You are cold,” said Bellenden, at i once laying down bis hand-line, “let , me put this over your shoulders,” and j he drew a rough, warm, weatherbeaten plaid around her. “Don’t you go and catch cold to-night, and then be ill after I am gone, little one.” “It won’t matter if I do.” The words escaped under her breath, ; but they reached his ear nevertheless, ' and he could not but make some re- | spouse. “ You think your chances of getting out on the moor and the loch will de- : part with' me? Is that it? Is Cecil no good?” “I shall not care to go with Cecil.” “You cared to go by yourself before I came.” She was silent. It seemed to her that she would not care even to go by ' herself any more. But Bellenden’s tone grew more and ; more soft and gentle. It moved him : infinitely. In his present subdued and pensive frame, to think how much of { her affections this open-hearted in-nocent-minded child had given him in one short fortnight, it gratified his some thing better than his “You must nbt forget me, Jerry,” he said. t‘No.” She had stopped fishing to listen. — — “I may come and see you again some i day, may I not?” “Oh, yes.” “And you are going to be a good girl, and learn a great deal, and have a great deal to tell me when I do come? And you will go on with our collections, and read up about them, and ■ have them all in nice order?” ‘jOh, yes.” “I shall tell your cousins about you if I come across them.” “Shall you come across them?” “Very likely I may. If I meet Lord and Lady Raymond, I shall ask to see ! Ethel and Alicia, and tell them all ■ about their little cousin in the north.” “Do you think they would care about me?” “I shall make them care about you.” “You won t say that I am very—very—” “Very what?” “You know what. You know how you found me that first fishing day. But indeed, lam not often as bad as that, and I am never going to be as ' bad again. I have promised granny I that I shall not. Aunt Charlotte, and Ethel, and Alicia would have thought it dreadful. I don’t want them to_thiuk me dreadful.” “I promise that they sha’n’t.” “■Well, they won't if you stand up for I me,” and Jerry smiled confidingly round. “Because I am grown up, I suppose.” “Oh, ves; and a man, and all that. They would think a great deal of what you say; and if you say that lam ” Here she stopped. “Go on. That you are ” “Jjjo; I am silly.” J#tot silly at all. I want to hear. Go on,‘there’s’a good child. You are quite safe with me,” and his arm pressed her a little closer. “I was only going to say that if you would say I was rather nice—that is, if you could say it,” said poor Jerry humbly, “they would tell Aunt Charlotte, and she would perhaps believe it, and that would please granny. You see Aunt Charlotte does not like me very much now, and that vexes dear granny, who loves me so dreadfully, and I thought—l thought it might just—no one else could do any good,” she concluded. There was something so truthful ana confiding in the limpid, childish eyes, and so artless in the childish confession, that Bellenden could not smile at it. “I will certainly do what I can,” he said, “and —and you were quite right to tell me all about it, J erry dear. Now, you see, I know what I am about. And if a chance offers, why, of course, I shall embrace it at once.” And to himself he added. “Js there any hope that she will always remain like this? Will she, can she expect to be always as true and honest? Or will she be like all the rest in a few short years?” and even the man of the world sighed. For he little knew, he little dreamed, that even then he had not seen to the depths of the heart he called a child's. Just before the boat touched the shore, he stooped over Jerry for a moment. "Farewell to Loch Marew,” he said. , “Farewell to all the kind hearts here. 1 Farewell, Geraldine. Good-bye, dear child - say 'Good-bye’ for. 1 shall be up and away long before you are awake in the morning. lam to breakfast in my own room, so you must not get up

as on the shooting days. So—say ‘Good-bye’ then, while we may,” and on her cold, rosy cheek she suddenly felt his warm breath, and then the pressure of his lips in a kiss. , Her heart seemed to stand still—the pulses in her throat to choke her. Cecil, raising at «he other end of the boat, seemed like a shadow in a dream; his voice calling to her, an echo from some far away distant spot, Mechanically she rose to obey the summons, touched the different hards held out to guide her, sprang ashore, and stumbled along over the dark, wet weeds, blind and deaf to all outer sights and sounds. The other two were behind, having stayed to help up the boat; but she waited for no one. And she never ? spoke to Bellenden again, nor turned her back to look for him, but hurried forward along through the dim mazes of the woodland path, and in through the great porch, and up the broad stairs, straight to her own chamber, to be seen of no one any more at all that night. For she was not required to come down again. There was to be no supper, only what the gentlemen cho-e to send for, while a tray was dispatched to her.elf: and so the farewell on the water was really what it had been given out to be, the parting between the two for many and many a day. It had not been exactly so intenaod bv Bellenden. The kiss had been given on the impulse of the moment, and _ there had been no intention of producing such an effect as he could perceive had been wrought thereby. j “Is she angry, I wonder?” he had ! thought, half amazed, and half cha j griued, but after all su. h a thing was ' hardly likely. It had really been nothing to make anyone angry; it had been nothing to think twice about. A little girl. A sudden parting. A tender good-bye. Everything provocative and excusable. Jerry could ! not have thought any harm. After all, ' what is a kiss at 15? I Within twenty-four hours that kiss I was in the giver's memory as though ; it had never been — During his rapid journey south, and while he had perforce many long hours for meditation as the swiftest express trains bore him on from one far distant stopping place to another, Belten- ! den did indeed—having no companion I to talk to, and nothing to divert hisati tention—bestow a considerable share of j his ruminations upon his late sojourn l in the old Highland castle. It was a i relief to turn to it as a memory when almost spent with conjectures and cogitations in the only other direction which at such a time could command his attention, and the repose of his monotonous lite, and the charm of its intercourse, at once simple and refined, he was, as be had divined he would be, too late, the necessity for action, the cessation ot mere passive endurance, the release from suspense, even the ■ presence and voices of others, put fin ■ end at once and altogether to the vis- ! ions of the past. The future must now be everything. The new experience began at once; new, and yet foreseen and anticipated. There was the hush, the solemnity, the mournfulness, the whispers, the I death-like pause of expectancy. The old butler bowing his white head, the underlings subsiding with profoundest respect into the backi ground, the shadows of the women flit- ; ting past in the dim distance —all wanting to look upon him. unseen them- ■ selves; all desirous of seeing him-yet none daring to intrude. And then he had to meet his mother, his brothers, his uncles; to interview the steward and the coachman; to give his sanction to projected arrangements; to hear what had already oeen done: to write letters. It was now twelve hours since the spirit had departed, and twelve hours at such times seem long. Lady Bellenden had so far recovered i from the first shock and impression, that she had seen her children and consulted with her maid. The young men had had a furtive ' stroll rcund the premises, and peeped \ by stealth into the paddocks and keni nels. The stablemen and boys had known to keep out of the way and affect not to see, as the poor young fellows wandered aimlessly about, feeling they knew not exactly what, wondering what they should do next, and how much would be considered lawful under the circumstances. One and all had wearied for the arrival of the elder brother. To learn from him what would follow this sudden overturn ot all the past, what the new regime was likely to prove, and how it would affect each one of them, was now their very natural desire. Frederick had always been a good fellow, and they hoped the best—hoped he would not change with his altered circumstances, ana Whe rs hy.ve been known to,do, a different ipan under different auspices. But whlPwas to say? Thus Frederick’s arrival had been the thing most earnestly desired and anticipated both above and below stairs. It was late ere it took place, but no one wished to retire to rest first. For himselt, be was too much confused and excited to feel fatigue. He had been traveling since 5 o’clock that morning, and he had not slept till long after midnight the night before; but he had not closed an eye all day. Even presently, even after all calls and claims on his attention had ceased on the part of the household, and one by one the domestics departed lor the night, and the doors had been locked, and silence within and without hal settled down still more deeply than befo.e upon the house of mourning, even then the traveler seemed unwilling to be again alone. The brothers sat up with him. They talked together in quiet, subdued tones of the old days, the old boyish exploits, the quaint experiences, joyous or grievous, of the past Childish nicknames were recalled; childish jests were elipred Oat; little trifling tales rose once again to the lip, that but for such, an hour had teen buried utterly. ■> The old home seemed dearer t<& one and all than it had been supposed to be. Each had gone back to bis own little

room. Each went to It that night happier than on the previous one. Their father was indeed gpue; all waa over; they were very sorry; but— Frederick was all right, and theb hearts were comforted. 1 And Frederick himself? He also was now quited down. He' knew the ground whereon he stood; and might be said to be already almost at homo upon it. From sheer exhaustion of mind and body, long and heavy slumber at length visited his wearied frame, and the sun was high in the heavens ere he was aroused from his pillow on the following morning. But with consciousness awoke every new thought and reflection on the instant. A busy day—many busy days—lay before him. He must ‘be up and doing; no more lassitude, no more uncertainty; a whole crowd of things to be looked after, and instructions to be given, and people to be seen awaited his appearance. All was solemn activity, and decorous supervision. Inchmarew Castle was like tne palest spectre on its own misty heath, if ever the faintest recollection of it flitted across his memory. And even that recollection was presently effaced. New claims, new responsibilities,new hopes and fears, a new arena in life altogether had to be entered upon,and with surprising rapidity Sir Frederick Bellenden accommodated himself to 1 the change. By-and-by he gave uphiscommission in the army, and settled down at his country seat. Next came standing for his division of the county in Parliament, with the excitement of a contested election. Then the loss of the election, and the consolations of sport, hunting in the winter especially. There was yatching at Cowes moreover, grouse and partridge and pheasant shooting as autumn came on again, and eves a run to Scotland—and still never a thought of Geraldine. He bad not come across the Raymonds in the interim, and somehow he had omitted to look up young Raymond when in town, as he had meant to do. And he had never sent the little heiress her present—for he had forgotten about it till too late. And, altogether, the thought of Inchmarew was not quite so pleasant as it had been at first, after his conscience told him he had not behaved so handsomely as he might have done; and again he resolved to make up for it, should occasion offer-and again no occasion did Offer; and so things went on for three full years, and then—but what happened then calls for a new stage, and a fresh rising of the curtain. CHAPTER IX. THE BUTTERFLY TAKES HER FIRST FLIGHT. ‘ln London I never knew what I’d be at, Enraptured with this and enchanted with that; I’m wild with the sweet* of variety’s plan, 3ud life t earns a bloating too happy tor man.* All was bustle and joyful alacrity in a smart little house in Mayfair. It was a bright, fresh spring morn- ] ing, and though it was yet very early - full and busy, and a brilliant season was prognosticated. Mrs. Campbell had been lucky in finding a little house to suit her, and she had now been in town for more than a fortnight, during which" every day had been fully occupied in preparations for the important time now at hand. For Geraldine was 18, and was to make her appearance in the world. As a preliminary, she was of course to make her courtsey, and kiss the hand of our most gracious Queen, and it is on the eventful morning of her so doing that we catch our next glimpse of the wild little , ’witch of Inchmarew. Any greater contrast than this to our first peep at her under the weath-er-stained yellow oilskin and sailor cap cannot well be imagined—and the outer difference does but shadow forth the still greater one within. Three years had done its work, and done it well for Geraldine. She was taller, gentler, milder than of old-she was lovelier by far-she was no whit less truthful, honest, ana frank. The governess had been a great success; if a governess had been searched for the whole world through to suit the place, the pupil, and her surroundings, a better could not have been found than the quiet, earnest, sympathetic and large-hearted woman who presently found for herself so warm a corner of the little girl’s heart. Very quickly she had fathomed the depths and s allows of the soil to be worked, and had gauged its value. There had been no rude measures, no hasty reforms such as wo .Id have revolted Jerry’s very soul, but, instead, there had been much kindly appreciation, a fair meed of praise where praise was due,and, above all, and it was this which had finally won the pupil’s entire affections—a candid ignorance on many tonics as to which Jerry herself wras well qualified to instruct. To be asked to teach when she had only expected to learn! All the generosity and nobility of the child's nat re had been aroused by the supplication, and no cause had Miss Corunna ever had to repent it. Once begun under such auspices, the pursuit of knowledge had thriven apace. Geraldine had actually exulted during the brief, dull, winter days, when theie had been little totempt ner from her tasks, in the thought that tho hours which she had been wont to while away in unproductive trivialities or doleful complaints had teen now hardly long enough for all she had had to do. What with one thing and another the weeks had teemed to fly, for her, eager spirit had set no bounds to its desires, until even her delighted and almost equally enthusiastic preceptress had demurred. She had hardly known how to be moderate in the race. [TO BE CONTINUED.] A man who can eat buckwheat cakes and sausage, and digest them, need not worry about death. A woman is more disagreeable to the man who has told her he loved her than to any other man. There are so many humiliations in life, that a new one is encountered nearly every day. You seldom admire a man you see a great

' TALMAGE’S SERMON. I SHE PREACHER’S IMPRESSION OF BENARES, INDIA. 1 ________ The Mecca of Hindooiam —Sights at the Banka of the River Gan^ea—Burning the Dead-Fakira, Monkeys and Misaionarica-A Brighter Picture. At a Hindoo Center. Rev. Dr. Talmage has delivered the third of his series of round the world sermons through the press, the subject being the “Burning of the Dead," and the text: “They have hands, but they handle not; feet have they, but they walk not; neith!t speak they through their throat. They that make them are like unto them." — ?salm cxv, 7, 8. The life of the missionary is a luxurious and indolent life. Hlndooism is a religon that ought not to be interfered with. Jhristianity is guilty of an Impertinence vhen it invades heathendom. You must put in the same line of reverence Brahma, Buddha, Mohammed and Christ. To re\ite these slanders and blasphemies now co prevalent, and to spread out Itefore the Christian world the contrast between idolatrous and Christian countries, I preach this third sermon in my round the world series. In this discourse I take you to the very headquarters ot heathendom, to the very capital of Hindoolsm, for what Mecca is to the Mohammedan, and what Jerusalem is to the Christian, Benares, India, is to the Hindoo. We arrived there in the evening, and the next morning we started ■out early, among other things to see the burning of the dead. We saw it, cremation, not as many good people in America and England are now advocating it—namely, the burning of the dead in clean and orderly and refined crematory, the hot /urnace soon reducing the human form to a powder to be carefully preserved in an urn— but cremation as tho Hindoos practice it. We got into a boat and were rowed down the River Ganges until we came opposite to where five dead bodies lay, four of them women wrapped in red garments and a man wrapped In white. Our boat fastened, we waited and watched. High piles of wood were on the bank, and this wood is carefully weighed on large scales, according as the friends of the deceased can afford to pay for it. In many cases only a few sticks can be afforded, and the dead body is burned only a little and then thrown into the Ganges. But where the relatives of the deceased are well-to-do an abundance of wood in pieces four or five feet long is purchased. Two or three layers of sticks are then put on the ground to receive the dead form. Small pieces of sandalwood are inserted to produce fragrance. The deceased is lifted from the resting place and put upon this wood. Then the cover is removed from the face of the corpse, and it is bathed with water of the Ganges. Then several more layers of wood are put upon the body, and other sticks are placed on both sides of it.Jbut the head and feet are left mumbled "a few word's the eldest son walks three times around the sacred pile and then applies the torch, and the fire blazes-up, and in a short time the body has become the ashes -hich the relatives throw into the Ganges. A Vile'Stream. We saw floating past us on the Ganges the body of a child which had been only partly burned because the parents could not afford enough wood. While we watched the floating form of the child a crow alighted upon it. In the meantime hundreds of Hindoos were bathing in the river, dipping their heads, filling their mouths, supplying their brass cups, muttering words of so-called prayer. Such a mingling of superstition and loathsomeness and inhumanity I had never before seen. The Ganges is to the Hindoo the best river of all the earth, but to me it is the vilest stream that ever rolled its stench in horror to the sea. I looked all along the banks for the mourners for the dead. I saw in two of the cities nine cremations, but in no case a sad look or a tear. I said to friends: “How is this? Have the living no grief for the dead?” I found that the women do not come forth on such occasions, but that does not account for the absence of all signs of grief. There is another reason more potent. Men do not see the faces of their wives until after marriage. They take them on recommendation. Marriages thus formed, of course, have not much affection in them. Women are married at 7 and 10 years of age, and are grandmothers at 30. Such unwisely formed family associations do not imply much ardor of love. The family so poorly put together, who wonders that it is easily taken apart? And so I account for the absence of all signs of grief at the cremation of "the Hindoos. Benares is the capital of Hindooism and Buddhism, but Hindooism has trampled out, Buddhism, the hoof of the one monster on the grizzly neck of the other monster. It is also the capital of filth, and the capital of malodors, and the capital of indecency. The Hindoos say they have 300,000,000 gods. Benares being the headquarters of these deities, you will not be surprised to find that the making of gods U a profitable business. Here there are carpenters making wooden gods and brass workers making brass gods, and sculptors making stone gods, and potters making clay gods. I cannot think of the abominations practiced here without a recoil of stomach-and a need of cologne. Although much is said about the carving on the temples of this city, everything is so vile that there is not much room left for the aesthetic. The devotees enter the temples nineteen-twentieths unclothed and depart begging. All that Hindooism can do for a man or woman it does here. Notwithstanding all that may have been said in its favor at the parliament of religions in Chicago, it makes man a brute and woman the lowest type of slave. I would rather be a horse or a cow or a dog in India than be a woman. The greatest disaster that can happen to a Hindoo is that he is born at all. Curiotie Sights. Benares is imposing in the distance as you look at it from the other side of the Ganges. The forty-seven ghats, or flights of stone steps, reaching from the water’s edge to the buildings high up on the banks, mark a place for the ascent and descent of the sublimities. The eye is lost in the bewilderment of tombs, shrines, minarets, palaces and temples. It is the glorification of steps, the triumph of stairways, but looked at close by the temples, though large and expansive, are anything

but attractive. The soeming gold In many * cases turn out to be brass. The precious stones in the wall turn out to be paint. The marble is stucco. The slippery and I disgusting steps lead you to images of horrible visage, and the flowers put upon the altar have their fragrance submerged by that which is the opposite of arot matics. . After you have seen the ghats the two great things in Benares that you must 1 see are the Golden and Monkey temples. About the vast Golden temple there is not as much gold as would make an English sovereign. Tho air Itself Is asphyxiated. ( Here we see men making gods out of mud . and then putting their hands together in > worship of that which themselves have made. Sacred cows walk up and down the temple. Here stood a fakir, with a right arm uplifted and for so long a time that he could not take it down, and the nails of tho hand had grown until they looked like serpents winding in and around the palm. The god of the Golden temple is Siva, or the poison god. Devils wait upon him. He is the god of war, of famine, of pestilence. He is the destroyer. He lias around his neck a string of skulls. Before him bow men whose hair never knew a comb. They eat carrion and that which is worse. Bells and drums here set up a racket. Pilgrims come from hundreds of miles away, spending their last piece of money and exhausting their last item of strength in order to reach this Golden temple, glad to die in or near it and have the ashes of their bodies thrown into the Ganges. An Interesting Colloquy. In one of the cities for the first time in my life I had an opportunity of talking with a fakir, or a Hindoo who has renounced the world and lives on alms. He sat under a rough covering on a platform of brick. He was covered with the ashes of the dead and was at the time rubbing more of those ashes upon his arms and legs. He understood and spoke English. I said to him, “How long have you been seated here?” He replied, “Fifteen years.” “Have those idols which I see power to help or destroy?” He said: “No; they only represent God. There is but one God.” Question—When people die, where do they go to? Answer—That depends upon what they have been doing. If they have been doing good, to heaven; if they have been doing evil, to hell. Q.—But do you not believe in the transmigration of souls, and that after death we go into birds or animals of some sort? A.—Yes. The last creature a man is thinking of while dying is the one into which he will go. If he is thinking of a bird, he will go into a bird, and if he is thinking of a cow he will go into a cow.. Q—l thought you said that at death the soul goes to heaven or hell? A.—He goes there by a gradual process. It may take him years and years. Q.—Can any one become a Hindoo? Could I become a Hindoo ? A.—Yes, you could. Q.—How could I become a Hindoo? A.—By doing as the Hindoos do. But as I looked upon the poor, filthy wretch, bedaubing himself with the ashes missionary said, ’ ine rtfrirt ate’accommodating, and supposing you to be a friend of Christianity he announced the theory of one God, and that of rewards and punishments.” _ . There are, however, alleviations for Benares. I attended worship in one of the Christian missions. The sermon, though delivered in Hindoostanee, of which I could not understand a word, thrilled me with its earnestness and tenderness of tone, especially when the.,missionary told me at the close of the service that he recently baptized a man who was converted through reading one of my sermons among the hills of India. Ihe songs of the two Christian assemblages I visited in this city, although the tunes were new and the sentiments not translated, were uplifting and inspiring to the last degree. There was also a school of 600 native girls, an institution established by a rajah of generosity and wealth, a graduate of Madras university. But, more than all, the missionaries are busy, some of them in churches, in chapels and bazars. The London Missionary society has here its college for young men, and its schools for children, and its houses of worship for all. The Church Missionary society has its eight schools, all filled with learners. The evangelizing work of the Wesleyans and the Baptists is felt in all parts of Benares. In its mightiest stronghold Hindooism is being assaulted. Life of the Missionary. And now as to the industrious malignment of missionaries. It has been said by some travelers after their return to America or England that the missionaries are living a life full of indolence and luxury. That is a falsehood that I would say is as high as heaven if it did not go down in the opposite direction. When strangers come into these tropical climates, the missionaries do their best to entertain them, making sacrifices for that purpose. In the city of Benares a missionary told me that a gentleman coming from England into one of the mission stations of India, the missionaries banded together to entertain him. Among other things, they had a ham boiled, prepared and beautifully decorated, and the same ham was passed around from house to house as this stranger appeared, and in other respects a conspiracy of kindness was effected. The visitor went home to England and wrote and spoke of the luxury in which the missionaries of India were living. Americans and Englishmen come to these tropical regions and find a missionary living under palms, and with different styles of fruits on his table, and forget that palms are here as cheap as hickory or pine in America, and rich fruits as cheap as plain apples. They find here missionaries sleeping under punkas, these fans swung day and night by coolies, and forget that 4 cents a day is good wages here, and the man finds himself. Four cents a day for a coachman, a missionary can afford to ride. There have been missionaries who have come to these hot climates resolving to live as the natives live, and one or two years have finished their work, their chief use on missionary ground being that of furnishing for a largo funeral the chief object of interest. So far from living in idleness, no men on earth work so hard as the missionari ies now in the foreign field. Against feari ful odds, and with 3,000,000 of Christians opposed to 250,000,000 of Hindoos, i Mohammedans and other false religions, , these missionaries are trying to take India i for God. Let the good people of Amer- . lea and England and Scotland and of all , Christendom add 09% per cent, to their > appreciation of the fidelity and consecra-

tion of foreign missionaries Far away from home, in an exhausting climate and compelled to send their children to England, Scotland or America so as to escape the corrupt conversation and behavior of the natives, these men end women of God toil on until they drop into their graves, but they will get their chief appreciation whon their work is over and the day Is won, as It will be won. No plape In heaven will be too good for them. Some of tho ministers at home who live on salaries of $4,000 or $5,000 a year,' preaching the gospel of him who had not .where to lay.his head, will enter heaven and bo welcomed, and while looking for a place to sit down they will be told: “Yonder in that lower line of thrones you will take your places, not on tho thrones nearest the King. They are reserved for the missionaries 1” Cause for Gladness. Meanwhile let all Christendom be thrilled with gladness. About 25,000 converts in India every year under the Methodist missions, and about 25,000 converts under the Baptist missions, and about 75,000 converts under all missions every year. But, more than that, Christianity is undermining heathenism, and not a city or town or neighborhood of India but directly or indirectly feels the influence, and the day speeds on when Hindooism will go down with a crash. There are whole villages which have given up their gods, and where not an Idol Is left. The serfdom of womanhood in many places is being unloosened, and the iron grip of caste is being relaxed. Human sacrifices have ceased, and the last spark of the funeral pyre on which the widow must leap has been extinguished, and the juggernaut, stopped, now stands as a curiosity for travelers to look at. All India will be taken for Christ. If any one has any disheartenments, let him keep them as his own private property. He Is welcome to all of them. But if any man has any encouragements to utter let him utter them. What we want in the church and the world is less croaking owls of the night and more morning larks with spread wing ready to meet the advancing day. Fold up “Naomi” and “Windham” and give us “Ariel” or “Mount Pisgah” or "Coronation.” I had the joy of preaching in many of the cities of India and seeing the dusky faces of the natives illumined with heavenly anticipation. In Calcutta while the congregation were yet seated I took my departure for a railroad train. I preached by the watch up to the last minute. A swift carriage brought me to the station not more than half a minute before starting. I came nearer to missing the train than I hope any one of us will come to missing heaven. HE PASSED AS A GIRL. The Remarkable Life of a Young Man In the Swiss Alps. The extraordinary story of a young man parsing as a girl all his life until a month or two ago is just related from T.echatel, in the Alpine district of Switzer and. He was known by the name of Laura Besner, and came of a good fami y. Why his friends should Eave registered the child as a female and subsequently kept up the decepHau UUb HC iaXICU XU asJvvj ■ si.fm mi to woo and win the lady of his choice he declared his proper sex. The earlier years of his life were spent in a convent school, on leaving which he studied a cure for stammering, and subsequently founded a school for that purpose. This was so successful that in a few years he amassed 40.0C0 francs, and then decided to study medicine. With this object he was entered as a student at the Grenoble School of Medicine as a woman, and to all outward appearances was one. His features were distinctly feminine, and nothing in the shape of a mustache or whiskers was to be observed. In every way he comported himself as a female, and seemed quite at ease in the character he assumed. The only thing which might have betrayed him, perhaps, was a slight suspicion of the masculine in his voice. This, however, was scarcely sufficient to attract special at‘ention. The young man has been married, and as a husband he has already become acquainted with the hardships of the rougher sex, for. sad to relate, he is registered for military service in 1895. A Frenchman’s Scheme. Mr. Berthelon, the illustrious French chemist, suggests as a subject for the attention of the next generation of engineers the substitution of the heat of the sun, or the central heat as a source of energy, for that derived from coat The sinking of a shaft three or four kilometers deep is not beyond the pjwer of modern and especially of future engineering. At such a depth water would be found with a temperature of IfiO degrees to 200 degrees, Cen., which would develop enough Ker for any number of machines. s power would be available in any part of the globe, and many thousands of years would pass away before this store of energy would suffer any appreciable diminution. A Fair Insurance Company Manager Mrs. M. L. Harrison, of San Francisco is the manager of the woman’s department of the Pacific States Life Insurance Company, the only woman in this country holding a similar position. Mrs. Harrl-on has two large rooms fitted up in the Japanese style and receives her agents there. She is a thoroughly capable business woman and full of graceful tact. She has a great deslothat is bristling with papers and documents and pamphlets, and she can enthuse her women agents as easily as she can write a policy. She pays'her agents the same rates as the men solicitors are paid in the other departments, and from dependent to wealthy insurer all rise up and call her blessed. Tea Drinking a Vice. Tea drinking is rapidly becoming a vice among British working women, and it has recently been shown that the miserable condition of the workers in the slate quarries at Merioneth is very largely due to the inordinate consumption of tea by the men, as well ag the women, o! the district. Score One for the Corset.} So far the feminine corset stay has proved a more reliable bullet-prool shield than the patents of either Dowe or Leonard. The latest practical demonstration of its utility occurred In Kentucky, where a man fired pointblank at a church organist and “neVfej touched her.” “