Decatur Democrat, Volume 39, Number 14, Decatur, Adams County, 21 June 1895 — Page 7

' * 7 M- z / Jj' >r*’ \ mK'jSiK'w-i '%n- W\lwfl 'I \ wv IBBCTTAPTER "vilL—(Continued.) BB really thought Mr. Winton would IB been killed,” said the eldest of the ||H>r’i9 daughters. “How wonderfully he gjs! My brother says he is a great Brary,' in fact, he cares for nothing ■ but sport. You were frightened, too, |Bi L’Estrange.” HH have not been used to horses for ||Bs,” stammered Nora. ||Bteu ought to ride now. I remember m|B managing your little sheltie capital- * Blong ago. Won’t you come back to IjHiheon at the rectory? Mother would to see you and Mrs. L’Es||Kge. Mrs. Gardner and her friends ■ coming.”gßrs. L’Estrange preferred returning IBi her little daughter, but Nora was Ml to divert her thoughts by accepting HB invitation, and was one of the most jHtnated of the party. She could not, JBvever, be persuaded to stay till the gßst son of the house, an officer on leave |Bn his regiment, in India, returned with of the rim. IBi suppose Mrs. Ruthven has heard IBhing of her jewels?” said Mrs. Gard- ■, as Nora was saying good-bye. whatever. She seems to de■lr recovering them.” ■it was a frightful business altogether!” IBlaimed Mary Darner, the rector’s sec■l daughter. “Do you remember a Cap■n Shirley who was at the ball. You jHiced with him several times. Ho dune well." Mvfora did remember. ■‘George says there were queer reports |B>ut him in India. He was in same regi|Hnt as Mr. and Major Ruthven. People Hd, too, that Mrs. Ruthven was—well, Bt too particular.” B‘l only know she Is particularly nice,” Biurned Nora. “Do not believe half the Bnatured things you hear.” B‘l wish," said Miss Darner, “that Mr. Baisden had not been frightened away B *the worry of this unlucky robbery. How nice it would be to have Evesleigh Hen once more." ■ ‘Do tell me, Miss L’Estrange,” cried He younger sister, “is the squire engaged ■ Mrs. Ruthven?” B[“lndeed, I do not know; but I am sure He would make a very pleasant mistress Hr the manor house. Now I must not Kay, it will be dusk before I get back." ■“I think you are quite heartless, not to Hay and hear if poor Mr. Winton came Hive out of the hunt, and he is such a Heat friend of yours.” ■ “Oh, he can take care of himself,” said Hora, and with a few more words she Heaped, her heart beating with annoyHice at the tone of Miss Damer’s last ■mark. She would certainly persuade Helen to come up to town next week, or 1 soon as possible, and then she would ike singing lessons, and amuse herself, ad forget the folly and weakness into hich she had fallen. “How ill-natured eople are,” she thought, “and ready to mead ill-natured stories.” She did not •lieve that Captain Shirley ever did anydng disgraceful, though she had not een favorably impressed by him, and ras disposed, in an instinctive and uneasoning way, to dislike and distrust him. Large drops of rain made her hurry on a gain shelter before the threatened torm burst; but as she crossed the oariage drive of Evesleigh Manor, on her tomeward way, she noticed fresh traces f wheels and horses’ feet. The steward ad no doubt been up at the house. She aught a glimpse of it before she passed hrough the gate leading into the wood pposite her own home. How mournful t looked with its closed shutters, and he one thin thread of smoke rising from ts wide stack of chimneys! She was luite glad to be safe at home, in her own spmfortable bedroom, changing her dress for her indoor garments. She had grown stupidly nervous of late. One folly srings on another, she thought. In the drawing room Bea was dressing jer doll, while her mother read aloud ome of Grimm’s fairy tales. “How late you are, Nora; did you get wet?" “No; at least very little.” “Had George Darner come back? How did the hunt go off? I should be glad to know if Mark Winton is safe.” “I did not wait I think the fox must have headed for Anchester downs. Do let me have a cup of tea! I feel so tired.” No more was said; but when the time came for shutting up the house, Mrs. L’Estrange sent to ask if Roberts had heard of any accident at the hunt. Roberts reported that young Mr. Gardner had been thrown, and had broken his collar bone, and that as he (Roberts) had been leaving Oldbridge that evening, where he had gone to fetch oats, he had met Mr. Winton and the rector’s son, riding back, all covered with mud and “tired like." “I am really quite relieved,” said Mrs. L’Estrange. “I was rather uneasy.” Nora did not reply and the rest of the evening was spent in making their plans for a visit to London, and writing to an ex-cook •and housekeeper, who had taken s lodging house In one of the streets on the Tyburnian side of Hyde Park, and to whom all Evesleigh folk applied when they needed temporary quarters in the great city. * 'SWIP next morning broke bright and crisphfter a night of rain, and after their midday meal, Mrs. L’Estrange drove away in the pony carriage, with her little girl, to do various errands in the town. Nora, relieved by the absence of Winton, whose presence was of late always a restraint, put on thick boots and set forth to visit the blind woman whom she had rather neglected of late. She accused herself of selfishness, and many minor «*gimes and misdemeanors, as she donned tfCr walking attire, and bullied herself considerably on the score of being better ofl than she deserved, and leading a self-in-dulgent life. Still, she did not see how the could do otherwise. At any rate, she would never sink into a weak, sentimentalist, a faded flower, pining under ths height of an unrequited attachment. No, In a month or two ahe would have thrown VIA ■’ ' ■« xla

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With this brave determination she started on her walk to the blind woman’s cottage, seeing as she went, In spite of all her resolutions, the picture of Winton contending with his horse, as it was stamped on her mental retina the day before. Walking across the bridge which connected her own little domain with Evesleigh, she turned sharply into the path leading to the moorland higher up, and nearly ran against the lord of the manor coming in an opposite direction. “This is luck!” cried Marsden. “In another moment you would have passed, and I should have only found Mrs. L’Estrange." “Not Mrs. L’Estrange either," said Nora, returning his cordial greeting. “She is gone into Oldbridge for the afternoon.” "Then, if you will allow me, I’ll be your escort" “Oh, yes, do come!” returned Nora, heartily glad of his company. “When did you arrive, and when) did you come from?” “I came last night, that is to say, last afternoon, and I came from Paris.” “Mrs. Ruthven, when she wrote, did not seem to know what had become of you.” Marsden turned, and walked beside her. “Oh, yes, to be sure. I went away tea place near Fontainebleau, to see an old chum of mine, De Meudon, who has been very ill, and so a letter or two of hers miscarried; but I saw her the day before yesterday in town. She is in a fidget to complete the purchase of a damp villa at Twickenham, which she could not do without me; but I have settled everything to her satisfaction.” “And are you going to stay here?” “No—yes,” replied Marsden, with a quick sigh, and he looked earnestly into her eyes, a curious wistful, strained expression in his own. “I am a rolling stone, you see, Nora—l presume your high mightiness will permit me to use your baptismal appellation—and I am rather at a loss what to do with myself. I shall be hard up for another year or two; but then the property will be pretty clear—then I will settle in the halls of my fathers, and live cleanly and like a gentleman.” “I hope you will, squire,” said Nora, kindly and seriously. “What! Do you think I have been such a scamp?” asked Marsden, laughing. "You know I did not mean that,” she returned, the color rising in her cheek. *T hope you will live at Evesleigh." “And be your neighbor? Thank you, sweet'cousin." “Yes, it would be very nice to have you at the manor house. It looks ghostly when shut up.” “Your kindness is killing. Do you mderstand why?” “No; there is something not quite like yourself about you to-day. You are looking white and thin. Have you been ill, Clifford?” “You darling. How graciously you have granted my prayer, amj.brought out the name I want you to call me with' just the sweetest little hesitation in the world.” He laughed as he spoke, carrying off the ardor of his words with a mocking air. “Nonsense"’ returned Nora, a little piqued. “I did not hesitate at all. You seem to forget that I am not a child.” “I am deeply conscious you are a woman; a ” He pulled himself up short, and added: “A most serious young woman.” “And I suppose there is no chance of finding the lost jewels?” said Nora, to change the subject, for there was an indefinable something in Marsden’s tone which she neither liked nor understood. “I fear not. I thought I might have tracked them to the den of an old Dutch receiver of stolen goods, and went myself to Amsterdam, to see what I could doall in vain. Don’t talk of them; you don’t know what an infernal blow that unfortunate business has been to me. That my guest should have been robbed almost under my eyes! It’s a sort of blot on me and my house.” “That is quite a morbid idea. How could any reasonable being blame you? I am sure Mrs. Ruthven ■” “Mrs. Ruthven has behaved very well, but she is desperately cut up, and I do not wonder at it,” interrupted Marsden. “She is very nice, and so pretty—attractive looking, rather.” Marsden glanced sharply at her before he answered. “Yes, she is a piquant little devil, but she ought not to be so heavy with her paint brush about the lips; that sort of art may be overdone.” “Squire!” in a shocked tone, “how can you be such a traitor ? I thought you were fond of Mrs. Ruthven—that you were her best friend.” Marsden laughed. “So I am, but I am not, therefore, blind. All the world (except you) can see she paints—her lips.” “I did not, and it is not nice or loyal of you to tell me.” “I am rebuked. You are an awful piece of perfection, Nora.” "Do not be sarcastic. I know my own shortcomings well enough; but I am not false to my friends. I shall not confide my weakness to you?’ ’ “Do you fancy I would betray you? You understand me. Why, you are my own ”he hesitated —“my own kinswoman.” Nora shook her head, and they walked on silently for a few moments. Then she said: “Helen and I are thinking of going up to town for a couple of months. It is rather melancholy and uncomfortable to be so far from one in the winter. Helen has been so nervous since that robbery.” “You are quite right—it is an excellent Idea," cried Marsden, with hearty approbation. ’"Where do you think of staying —at the Langham?” “The Langham!” laughing. “Why, the Langham would swallow up all our money in ten days. No, no; we think of going to Mrs. May, if she can take us in. Do you remember Mrs. May ?” “Well, yes, I seem to have heard the name.” “She was cook at Evesleigh when you were a boy, I belieye. Ohl years ago.” “ExMily; Wore I grew old and de-

“She has a house near Hyde Park, and wo shall take rooms there.” “You’ll be awfully uncomfortable, you’ll get nothing to eat but scorched mutton and watery rice-pudding, and you’ll never move without carrying off a knitted chair cover on your back, or hung to a button." “You are quite wrong! We stayed a week there, on our way back from Germany, and It was very comfortable. Ido not think there is a knitted antimacassar, if that is what you mean, in the house.” Talking lightly, with occasional silence on Marsden’s part, they reached the blind woman’s cottage. “How long shall you stay here?" “I do not know, but you need not trouble about me.” “If I choose to trouble, you cannot prevent me. lam going to look for one of the gamekeepers about a mile further,on, and I shall wait for you outside, when I return.” "Oh, no! pray do not mind, I—” “Do I bore you?” very gravely. "How can you say so, Clifford?” "Would you rather not walk with me?" "Nonsense!” “Very well, I will wait for you, and if you give me the slip, deep will be my wrath.” “I have no such intention,” and she vanished into the cottage. Marsden walked on in deep thought, his brows knit, his handsome face firmly set, all the smiling softness of his ordinary aspect gone and replaced by a stern haggard look, that made him seem years older. When Nora had read the better part of a newspaper to her old protege, and discussed some of its contents, she perceived the odor of tobacco wafted through the open window, and guessing that the squire was waiting, she bade the blind woman good-bye and went to join him. “Will you tell me,” he said, throwing away his cigar, when they had gone a few paces, “what is the pleasure of going into a stuffy cottage to read to a stupid old Woman, who would probably prefer being left to sleep?’ “It is not a very great pleasure, certainly, but I assure you I like reading to old Betsy. She is very shrewd, and, though I don’t profess to be an angel, we ought to help each other sometimes. It is not much to do for a poor soul; think how lonely she must be. We should be rather worthless, if we did only what we like.” “Hum! That has been the only rule I have ever followed." “I do not believe you. People would not like you so well, if you cared for nothing but self; you must have some heart.” “I begin to fear I have,” said Marsden, as if to himself. “I assure you,” he went on, “it is impossoble to me to do what I do not like, and equally impossible to resist snatching at what I desire, ay! and getting it, too, by some means or other.” “What a bad character!” cried Nora. “If any one else spoke of you in that way, I should have been quite angry.” “And would you have defended me?” “Yes, of course! you are my kinsman, and good friend.” “And you are a very pearl of a cousin.” They were silent till they reached a turn in the path, from which the dull red towers of Oldbridge were visible; the sight of them perhaps prompted the abrupt question: “What has become of Winton? Is he here still?” “No; he is gone to Devonshire, I think.” “Ha! and how has he been prospering?” “Prospering? How? In what pray?” “With your step-mother. I expected to hear that their engagement had been announced when I came back. Why has he let the grass grow under his feet?” Nora was too amazed to reply at once; but memory swiftly unrolled her picture of the past few months, and showed a hundred important nothings which corroborated Marsden’s startling assertion. “I suppose I am very stupid,” she exclaimed, as soon as she could speak, “but I never suspected this. Helen, too, is sd frank, she would surely have told me.” “I am not so sure of that! Pray, what do you think kept a man like Winton in such a dull hole as Oldbridge, and brought him day after day to Brookdale? Yourself, eh? A very nhtural supposition! You are sufficiently magnetic, sweet cousin.” “Indeed—indeed,” began Nora, eagerly, but Marsden went on smiling, am} shaking his finger at her. (To be continued.) Sings and Dances at 105. There lives to-day at 1135 Vine street an old Italian woman who might prove interesting to those of her fellow-citi-zens who are Interested in the prevailing Napoleonic craze. Mrs. Celestlna Nigro, who claims to have attained the great age of 105 years, retains a vivid recollection of the Napoleonic wars, and tells innumerable anecdotes of several battles which took place near her birthplace, Campagna, State of Salerno, Italy. The old woman has been in this country only six years, having taken the journey across the ocean when nearly 100 years old. She was at first denied permission to land on account of her great age, but she finally passed through the gates of Castle Garden. She has living in America and Italy twenty-one grandchildren and twenty-five great-grandchil-dren. She sings and dances with a vigor and abandon that might well excite the envy of A younger woman.—Philadelphia Record. Inventive Yankees. The inventlvenss of Connecticut Yankees is unparalleled. Every year they grow more inventive.* A good proportion of the population of the State are inventors and patentees. Their business in life is to invent things and take out patents for them. Lots of the women of the State are patent holders, and the patents are for their own inventions, too. Conectlcut stands the first among the inventive States of the Union. The patents taken out last year by the inventors of the Nutmeg State number one for every 903 of the State’s inhabitants. This was for a single year.—Hartford Courant. — The teeth Os rats are kept sharp by a very peculiar provision of nature. The outer edge oKthe incisors is covered with a layer of enamel as hard as flint, while the under side is much soft/ - . The layers of enamel on the under side, therefore, wear away much faster than those on the upper surface, and a keenL oft IB* JUTS

TALMAGE’S SERMON. HE DISCUSSES A QUESTION OF UNIVERSAL INTEREST. Favors Woman Suffratfe, but Says Hia Chief Anxiety Is Not for Th is,but that Woman Shall Appreciate the Glorious Rights She Already Possesses. The Queen of Women. Dr. Talmage, while on bis Western tour, preached in St. Louis last Sunday, and discussed a subject of universal interest, viz., “Woman’s Opportunity,” his text being, “She shall be called woman,” Genesis ii., 23. God, who can make no mistake, made man and woman for a specific work and to move in particular spheres—man to be regnant in his realm; woman to be dominant in hers. The boundary line between Italy and Switzerland, between England and Scotland, is not more thoroughly marked than this distinction between the empire masculine and the empire feminine. So entirely dissimilar are the fields to which God called them that you can no more compare them than you can oxygen and hydrogen, water and grass, trees and stars. All this talk about the superiority of ene sex to the other sex is an everlasting waste of ink and speech. A jeweler may have a scale so delicate that he can weigh the dust of diamonds, but where are the scales so delicate that you can weigh in them affection against affection, sentiment against sentiment, thought against thought, soul against soul, a man’s world against a woman’s world? You come out with your stereotyped remark that man is superior to woman in intellect, and then I open on my desk the swarthy, iron typed, thunderbolted writings of Harriet Martineau and Elizabeth Browning and George Eliot. You come on with your stereotyped remark about woman’s superiority to man in the item of affection, but I asked you where was there more capacity to love than in John, the disciple, apd Matthew Simpson, the bishop, and Henry Martyn, the missionary? The heart of those men was so large that after you had rolled into it two hemispheres there was room still left to marshal the hosts of heaven and set up the throne of the eternal Jehovah. I deny to man the throne intellectual. I deny to woman the throne affectional. No human phraseology will ever define the spheres, while there is an intuition by which we know a man is in his realm, and when a woman is in her realm, and when either of them is out of it. No bungling legislature ought to attempt to make a definition or to say, “This is the line and that is the line.” My theory is that if a woman wants to vote she ought to vote, and that if a man wants to qpibroider and keep house he ought to be allowed to embroider 1 and keep house. There are masculine women, and there are effeminate men. My theory is that you have no right to interfere with any one’s doing anything that is righteous. Albany and Washington might as well decree by legislation how high a brown thrasher should fly or how deep a trout should plunge as to try to seek out the height and depth of woman’s duty. The question of capacity will settle finally the whole question, the whole subject When a woman is prepared to preach, she will preach, and neither conference nor presbytery can hinder her. When a woman is prepared to move in highest commercial spheres, she will have great influence on the exchange, and no boards of trade can hinder her. I want woman to understand that heart and brain can overfly any barrier that politicians may set up, and that nothing can keep her back or keep her down but the question of incapacity. Universal Suffrage. I was in New Zealand last year just after the opportunity of suffrage had been conferred upon women. The plan worked well. There had never been sueh good order at the polls, and righteousness triumphed. Men have not made such a wonderful moral success of the ballot box tlipt they need fear women will corrupt it. In all our cities man has so nearly made the ballot box a failure, suppose we let woman try. But there are somo. women, I know, of most undesirable nature, who wander up and down the country—having no homes of their own or forsaking their own homes—talking about their rights, and we know very well that they themselves are fit neither to vote nor to keep house. Their mission seems merely to humiliate the two sexes at the thought of what any one of us might become. No one would want to live under the laws that such women would enact or to have cast upon society the children that such women would raise. But I shall show you that the best rights that woman can own she already has in her possession; that her position in this country at this time is not one of commiseration, but one of congratulation; that the grandeur and power of her realm have never yet been appreciated; that she sits to-day on a throne so high that all the thrones of'earth piled on top of each other would not make for her a footstool. Here is the platform on which she stands. Away down below it are the ballot box, and the congressional assemblage, and the legislative hall. Woman - always has voted and always will vote. Our great-grandfathers thought they were by their votes putting Washington into the Presidential chair. No. His mother, by the principles she taught him and by the habits she inculcated, made him President. It was a Christian mothers hand dropping the ballot when Lord Bacon wrote, and Newton philosophized, and Alfred the Great governed, and Jonathan Edwards thundered of judgment to come. How many men there have been in high political station who would have been insufficient to stand the test to which their moral principle was put had it not been for a wife’s voice that encouraged them to do right and a w ife’s prayer that sounded fonder than the clamor of partisanship? The right of suffrage, as we men exercise it, seems to be a feeble thing. You, a Christian man, come up to the ballot box, and you drop your vote. Right after you comes a libertine or a sot—the offscouring of the street—and he drops his vote, and his vote counteracts yours. But if in the quiet of home life a daughter by her Christian demeanor, a wife by her industry, a mother by her faithfulness, casts a vote in the right direction, then nothing can resist it, and the influence of that vote will throb through the eternities. vyoman and Home. My chief anxiety, then, is not that woman have other rights accorded her, but that she, by the grace of God, rise up to the appreciation of the glorious rights she already possesses. First, she has the right .to make home happy. That realm no one

tarry a comparatively little while, but she all day long governs it, beautifies it, sanctifies it. It is within her power to make it the most attractive place on earth. It is the only calm harbor in this world. You know as well as I do that this outside world and the business world are a long scene of jostle and contention. The man who has a dollar struggles tq keep it. The man who has it not struggles to get it. Prices up. Prices down. Losses. Gains. Misrepresentations. Underselling. Buyers depreciating; salesmen exaggerating. Tenants seeking less rent; landlords demanding more. Struggles about office. Men who are in trying to keep in; men out trying to get in. Slips, Tumbles. Defalcations. Panics. Catastrophes. Oh, woman, thank God you have a home, and that you may be queen in it! Better be there than wear Victoria’s coronet. Better be there than carry the purse of a princess. Your abode may be humble, but you can, by your faith in God and your cheerfulness of demeanor, gild it with splendors such as an upholsterer’s .hand never yet kindled. There are abodes in every city—humble, two stories, four plain, unpapered rooms, undesirable neighborhood, and yet there is a man who would die on the threshold rather than surrender. Why? It is home. Whenever he thinks of it, he sees angels of God hovering around it. The ladders of heaven are let down to that house. Over the child’s rough crib there are the chantings of angels as those that broke over Bethelhem. It is home. These children may come up after awhile, and they may win high position, and they may have an affluent residence, but they will pot until their dying day forget that humble roof under which their father rested, and their mother sang, and their sisters played. Oh, if you would gather up all tender memories, all the lights and shades of the heart, all banquetings and reunions, all filial, fraternal, paternal and conjugal affections, and you had only just four letters with which to spell out that height and depth and length and breadth and magnitude and eternity of meaning you would, with streaming eyes, and trembling voice, and agitated hands, write it out in those four living capitals, H-O-M-E. What right does woman want that is grander than to be queen in such n realm? Why, the eagles of heaven cannot fly across that dominion. Horses, panting and with lathered flanks, are not swift enough to run to the outposts of that realm. They say that the sun never sets upon the English empire, but I have to tell you that on this realm of woman's Influence eternity never marks any bound. Isabella fled from the Spanish throne, pursued by the nation’s anathema, but she who is queen in a home will never lose her throne, and death itself will only be the annexation of heavenly principalities. The Grandest Woman. When you want to get your grandest idea of a queen, you do not think of Catherine of Russia, or of Anne of England, or Marie Theresa of Germany, but when you want to get your grandest idea of a queen you think of the plain woman who sat opposite your father at the table or walked with him arm in arm down life’s pathway; sometimes to the Thanksgiving banquet, sometimes to the grave, but always to-gether-soothing your petty griefs, correcting your childish waywardness, joining in your infantile sports, listening to your evening prayers, toiling for you with needle or at the spinning wheel and on cold nights wrapping you up snug and And then at last on that day when she lay in the back room dying, and you saw her take those thin hands with which she had toiled for you so long, and put them together in a dying prayer that commended you to the God whom she had taught you to trust—oh. she was the queen! The chariots of God came down to fetch her, and as she went in all heaven rose up. You cannot think of her now without a rush <jf tenderness that stirs the deep foundations of your soul, and you feel as much a child again as when you cried on her lap, and if you could bring her back again to speak just once more your name as tenderly as she used to speilk it, you would be willing to throw yourself on the ground and kiss the sod that covers her, crying: “Mother! Mother!” Ah, she was the queen! She was the queen! Now, can you tell me how many thousand miles a woman like that would have to travel down before she got to the ballot box? Compared with this work of training kings and queens for God and eternity, how insignificant seems all this work of voting for aidermen and common councilmen apd sheriffs and constables and mayors and presidents! To make one such grand woman as I have described, how many thousands would you want of those people who go in the round of fashion and dissipation, going as far toward disgraceful apparel as they dare go, so as to be arrested by the police—their behavior a sorrow to the good and a caricature of the vicious, and an insult to that God who made them women and not gorgons, and trampling on down through a frivolous and dissipated life to temporal and eternal damnation? O woman, with the lightning of your soul, strike dead at your feet all “these allurements to dissipation and to fashion! Your immortal soul cannot be fed upon such garbage. God calls you up to empire and dominion. Will you have it? Oh, ,give to God your heart; give to God all your best energies; give to God all your culture; give to God all your refinement; give yourself to him, for this world and the next. Soon all these bright eyes will be quenched, and these voices will be hushed. For the last time you will look upon this fair earth. Father’s hand, mother’s hand, sister’s hand, child’s hand, will no more be in yours. It will be night, and there will come up a cold wind from the Jordan, and you must start. Will it be a lone woman on a trackless moor? , Ah, no! Jesus will come up in that hour and offer his hand, and he will say, “Yon stood by me when you were well; now I will not desert you when you are sick.” One wave of his hand, and the storm will drop, and another wave of his hand, and midtiight shall break into midnoon, and another wave of his hand, and the chamberlains of God will come down from the treasure houses of heaven, with robes lustrous, blood washed and heaven glinted, in which you will array yourself for the marriage supper of the Lamb. And then with Miriam, who struck the timbrel of the Red sea, and with Deborah, who led the Lord’s host into the fight, and with Hannah, who gave her Samuel to the Lord, and with Mary, who rocked Jesus to sleep while there were angels singing in the air, and with sisters of charity, who bound up the battle wounds of the Crimea, you will, from the chalice of God, drink to the soul's eternal rescue. Woman’s Dominion. Your dominion is home, O woman! What a brave fight for home the Women of Ohio made some ten or fifteen years ago, whea they bMded together and to

many of the towns and cities of that State marched in procession and by prayer and Christian songs shut up more places ofl dissipation than were ever counted. Were they opened again? Oh, yes. But is it not a good thing to shut up the gates of hell for two or three months? It seemed> that men engaged in the business of destroying others did not know how to oope with this kind of warfare. They knew how to fight the Maine liquor law, and they knew how to fight the National Temperance Society, and they knew how to fight the Sons of Temperance and Good Samaritans, but when Deborah appeared upon the scene Sisera took to his feet and got to. the mountains. It seems that they did not know how to contend against “Coronation” and “Old Hundred” and “Brattle Street” and “Bethany”—they were so very intangible. These men found that they could not accomplish much against that kind of warfare and in one of the cities a regiment was brought out all armed to disperse the women. They came down in battle array, but, oh, what poor success! For that regiment was made up of gentlemen, and gentlemen do not like to shoot women with hymnbooks in their hands. Oh, they found that gunning for female prayer meetings was a very poor business! No real damage was done, although there was threat of violence after threat of violence all over the land. I really think if the women of the East had as much faith in God as their sisters of the West had, and the same recklessness of human criticism, I really believe that in one month three-fourths of the grogshops of our cities would be closed, and there would be running through the gutters of the streets burgundy and cognac and heidsick and old port and schiedam schnapps and lager beer, and you would save your fathers, and your husbands, and your sons, first, from a drunkard’s grave and, secondly, from a drunkard’s hell! To this battle for home let all women rouse themselves. Thank God for our early home. Thank God for our present home. Thank God for the coming home in heaven. The Home Eternal. One twilight, after I had been playing with the children for some time, I lay down on the lounge to rest. The children said play more. Children always want to play more. And, half asleep and half awake, I seemed to dream this dream: It seemed to me that I was in a far distant land—not Persia, although more than oriental luxuriance crowned the cities; nor the tropics, although more than tropical fruitfulness filled the gardens; nor Italy, although more than Italian softness filled the air—and I wandered around, looking for thorns and nettles, but I found none of them grew there, and I walked forth, and I saw the sun rise, and I said, “When will it set again?” and the sun sank not. And I saw all the people in holiday apparel, and I said, “When do they put on workingman’s garb again and delve in the mine and swelter at the forge?” but neither the garments nor the robes did they put off. And I wandered in the suburbs, and I ’ said, “Where do they bury the dead of this great city?” and I looked along the hills where it would be most beautiful for the dead to sleep, and I saw castles and towns and battlements, but not a mausoleum, nor monument, nor white slab could I see. And I went into the great chapel of the town, and I said: “Where do the poor worship? Where are thq benches on which they sit?” and a voice answered, “We have no poor in this great city.” And I wandered out, seeking to find the place where were the hovels of the destitute, and I found mansions of amber and ivory and gold, but no tear did I see or sigh hear. I was bewildered, and I qat under thq shadow of a great tree, and I said, “What am I, and whence comes all this?” And at that moment there came from among the leaves, skipping up the flowery paths and across the sparkling waters, a very bright and sparkling group, and when I saw their step I knew it, and when I heard their voices I thought I knew them, but their apparel was so different from anything I had ever seen I bowed, a stranger to strangers. But after awhile, when they clapped their hands and shouted: “Welcome! Welcome!” the mystery was solved, and I saw that time had passed, and that eternity had come, and that God had gathered us up into a higher home, and I said “Are we all here?” And the voices of innumerable generations answered, “All here!” And while tears of gladness were raining down our cheeks, and the branches of Lebanon cedars were clapping their hands, and the towers of the great city were chiming their welcome, we began to laugh and sing and leap and shout, “Home, home, home!” Then I felt a child’s hand on my face, and it woke me. The children wanted to play more. Children always want to play more. Doors Mape of Glass. Two Boston inventors have secured a patent for a process of making glass veneers which have many peculiar properties. This invention relates primarily to the production of ornamental glass, which may be either semi-trans-parent or opaque, and is made to represent highly-polished wood of any description. It is intended to be applicable for veneering wherever required, and is particularly adapted for vestibule and other doors, the exterior of the glass having the appearance of highly polished wood, while in the interior of the house it will appear semi-trans-parent. In carrying the invention into prac-~ * tice, a sheet of ground or plain glass is taken of any desired size and clouded the same on one side with a liquid dye of the proper color to represent any desired wood, which dye is applied by means of a sponge for delineating the grain of the wood so as to appear upon the surface of the glass. The shading is softened by means of a badger brush. Photographers’ varnish is then caused flow on the glass, and leaves the clear and fast without the neces- r sity of using any gelatinous substance, which would render It liable to crack and spoil the effect. To complete the operation the glass is then slightly heated, and the varied shades of dyes required for the particular wood to be represented are caused to flow over It by means of a syringe. The glass Is heated in order to prevent the shadings from merging Into each other. The whole Is then made semitransparent by applying another coat of photographers’ varnish, so as to prevent the dyes from being effaced, while the exterior surface presents the appearance of a highly-polished, solid wood finish. The devil won’t let a stingy man I have aax saerey on himself. “ <