Decatur Democrat, Volume 39, Number 40, Decatur, Adams County, 20 December 1895 — Page 8

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CHAPTER Xlll—(Continued.) Ab she was hesitating Madame bain tone brought to bear the calm matter of fact mental pressure of the woman accustomed (o be obeyed, on one who was moving in a lower grade. “Ah," she said, smiling, “I thought you would relent. I understand your feelings, I should be as jealous as you if some one tried to separate me from my darhng Antoinette. Where is our dear Aube? She walked quietly forward, and, as if mastered by a stronger will, Nousie led her in silence to the inner room she had religiously set apart for her child. Aube rose from the piano as they entered, coloring vividly and then growing pale, while her mother stood at the door watching jealously every look and feel" ing painfully more and more that she had been creating the gap between her and the child she loved. . “Ah, my darling,” cried Madame baintone, “I have come at last.” She kissed her affectionately, but Aube made no sign. “What a delightful little nest. A piano. Books! All thoughtful little preparations made by your dear mother for her child s return. There, have I not been patient t I should have been here before,” she continued, seating herself in a lounge and arranging her dress while Aube stood by, and Nousie closed the door and seemed 1 • keep guard lest her child should be stole, from her, “but ’Toinette said you two ought to have a few days together undisturbed.” . , “It was very kind of you, Madame Baintone, and good of you to call. “Oh, come, my child, don't talk like that. We must not be formal. There, go and put on your things. I see how it • is; you are quite pale with keeping indoors, and yor have been feeling the heat. lam going to take y«W for* where* Vou at her mother, wh> remained a silent, and watchful spectator of the

scene. “You have seen nothing of the place yet, I am sure, and if I go back to Paris and cal, on the dear Sisters, I shall never be able to face them if I have not done my duty by you. Come.” Nousie stood with her lipa parted, and feeling as if something was constricting her heart as she told herself that she had committed a grievous error, and all her labor of these many years was to prepare her child for another grade of life, and that from this moment Aube was going to drift away. Yes; it was plain enough. She realized fully the difference between herself and this elegantly-dressed, polished woman with whom Aube seemed in accord. Misery, agony, despair—all fought for the possession of her breast as she felt now that she was only fit to be servant to her child, and for a moment, she was on the point of running from the room and finding sofhe lonely spot where she could throw herself down and beat her head against the ground. But ts she gazed wildly at Aube, their eyes met, and there was so soft and gentle a look directed at her that her bfeast heaved, her great love prevailed once more, and she said to herself: “Why not? I have been her servant and slave all these years. Why should it not continue now if it will make her happy? Is she not my life?” “Why, my child,” cried Madame Saintone, with a forced laugh, “how strange you look. Oh, I see you have some nonsense in that pretty head about obligation and not wishing to trouble me. Quite school etiquette, that, and all very well in Paris; but here we are more free and neighborly. Aube, my darling, I have give you your first lesson in Haytian hot. pitality, so to begin with, my dear, my horses and carriage are at your service whenever you like. We must mount you, and ’Toinette and you can go for long rides together.” At that moment a jealous suspicion flashed across Nousie’s brain, for she recalled meeting ’Toinette on horesback nearly two years before, and she was riding with her brother Etienne. If Aube went with Madame Saintone, she would meet this man. “Don’t you think so, Madame Dulau?” Nousie started and gazed at her wildly. “I said,” continued Madame Saintone, with a smile, in a voice full of goodhumored condescension, “do you not think our dearest Aube would look charming in a riding habit?” Nousie's lips parted, and Madame Saintone said to herself, “Poor woman; I can lead her as I like. Then aloud, as Aube crossed toward her mother, “That’s right, my dear. Do not hurry, and make yourself hot, and pray let there be no more formally between us. Your dear mother wishes you, I can see, to make friends with our people, and it will be better for you, of course.” “And she will meet Etienne Saintone, the man who came here that day,” thought Nousie; and with her eyes dilating she recalled the bribe he had given her, and what had followed when he and his friend kept their appointment. She was recalling all this with the agony at her heart increasing as the possibility of Saintone seeing and loving her child flashed across her, and quite heedless of her daughter’s words as Aube laid • a hand upon her arm, she now caught her to her side and held her fast. ■ “What?” she said, wildly; and she look- ,, ed fiercely in Aube’s eyes. I “I said that it was kind and thoughtful of Madame Saintone to come and make this proposal; but will you tell her, dear, as I did, that" I have come back home to you, to be with you, and that I cannot accept her offer,” ’ - - ! “My dearest Aube,” cried Madame Saintone, holding out her hands. “I am saying what I am sure my dear mother wishes,” said* Aube, gently, “and it to what I feel. Thank you. Madame

Saintone, I am very grateful—indeed I am—for all your care of me during the voyage, but I must decline." “My dear Madam* Dulau,” said the visitor, “it really is your duty to help your child. Do not, pray, stand in her light. Indeed, all this will be for her good.” Nousie felt constrained again. Was it right? Was it for Aube's good, and would she stand in her jight? Ihis beautiful, ladylike girl was, she saw now, so out of place there. “Do you feel this?” continued Madame Saintone, who followed up her>dvantage, and spoke earnestly to the mother. “Feel this?”* faltered Nousie, as she looked wildly at her child. “Stand in her light! Aube, dear. Should I? Yes. You should go.” < ? ;■ Aube’s arms were round her, and she laid her head upon her mother’s shoulder. “No,” she said softly. “Madame Saintone means kindly, but it is not right. No, Madame Saintone, I have thought all this over, and thank you all the same. Mother dear. I cannot go.” Nousie stood as if carved in stone as Madame Saintone rose, shrugged her shoulders, and raised her eyebrows, thinking the while. “I see,” she cried, pleasantly. “ 'Toini ette was right. I have still come too soon. I You two are quite love-sick yet. There, I ■ m going now to wait till all this emotion ..as time to calm down. Good-by, Madi ame Dulau. Aube, my sweet child,” she • continued, kissing her, “au ffevoir, I am going to disappoint ’Toinette, but you • will make up for it another day.” Aube shook her head, but Madame ) Saintone laughed. , “We shall see,” she said gently. “Gqodt by.” , > She rustled out of the door, and mother > and child stood apart now in the shaaW* » room, listening as TTORTuiolqud talking of the blacks begair’ again, and there was a cheer. Then Nousie gazed wildly in her child’s

face. - s “It is all true,” she said. “I shall stand : in your light aud keep you back.” • Aube flung her arms round her nSck, • and beetled to her as she whispered: “My own dearest mother, you hurt me I if you speak like that.” ; But Nousie made no sign, for Madame I Saintone’s words had gone deeply home; • and more and more in her heart she knew > that they were true. I : CHAPTER XIV. The time glided by, and now that the I first shock of surprise and what nearly I approached to horror had passed, Aube i found her surroundings less painful, though at times she shrank from the » idolatry with which she was . treated by the people who came about the place. It r was little less from her mother and Gher- > übine, though her mother’s tenderness - was now mingled with sadness. There I was a deprecating apologetic feeling in 1 all her approaches which caused Aube no little suffering, and she strove hard to r make her feel that she was happy and . content. t Among the blacks and mulattoes who » came to the house, there were only two > who appeared strange. One of these was [ the tall, handsome mulatto girl who > seemed to have some strange influence > with Nousie; and the other was the gigantic black with the knotted hair, who scarcely allowed-a day to pass without . making his appearance; and Aube noticed that he always watched her strangely, and on one occasion as she sat playing . one of the old pieces which brought back her life at the convent, she saw that the room was darkened and that some one was looking in. • She shrank back into one corner of the room with "her heart beating fast, for-she had caught sight of the fierce black face

ana opal eyeballs of the man who had startled her before. Then the light came uninterruptedly again, and the dread passed away as she thought of the love of the black people for Nousie, and that the chords she had been playing had attracted the man to the window. Madame Saintone came again and again, but always to meet with similar refusals, all of which she took good temperedly enough, announcing that she should return to the cottage until she succeeded; and her invitation had been supplemented by others brought by her son, ’ whose visits to the cabaret were now daily. They caused Aube but little uneasiness, only vexation that Madame Saintone should be so pertinacious, for in the midst of Nousie’s passionate affection for, and worship of, her child, it was plain enough to see that there was.,a nervous expectancy end dread lest she should be won over at last, and be ready to forsake her home. Aube only encountered Saintone twice. He was enthusiastic, and aired all hjs graces and attractions to make an impression upon his mother’s selection; but Nousie, who watched every look and word jealously, had no cause for suffering, as it was plain enough that Saintone’s visits annoyed Aube, and he went away mortified and ready to declare that she was weak and unimpressionable, or his visits would not have so far been in vain. But after swallowing his disappointment he was ready to come to the attack again, his vanity seconding the feeling of passion lately evoked. It was a strange life, and Aube would sit by her open window at night listening to the weird sounds which came from the forest, and ready to feel at times that sooner or later she would awaken from her last dream. Then she would sigh and think that it was no dream, and sit and recall her peaceful life at the convent, her happy days with Lucie, and a faint glow would flush her cheeks at the thought of Paulz j Then the hot tears would come as In her heart she felt that she might some

day have loved him, but that this was indeed a dream never to be realised—a something pleasant belonging to the dead past- ' ' . . She had written to the lady superior and to Lucie twice since she had been out there, but her letters were guarded. The allusions to her mother and her home were brief, but she dwelt at length upon the beauty of the country and the tender love showered upon her by her mother and her old nurse. But there was no mention of her position, and the agony she had suffered —no word to show that she was not happy. “Why should I speak of my disappointment and the dissipation of all my illusions?” she ashed herself. “I built up all those castles in the air; it is not her fault that they have all come tumbling down." CHAPTER XV. Nousie was seated at the back of her buffet one morning when all without was glorious sunshine, and in her heart all looked dark. The place and her avocations had suddenly grown distasteful, she hardly realized to herself why; and the great" object of her life achieved, Yhe sat wondering why it was that it had not brought her joy. There were endless things to distract her. She was jealous of Madame Saintone, and she shuddered when Etienne came, but always after their departure she communed with herself as to whether she ought not to forgive the past and encourage her child to accept the intimacy at all events with Madame Saintone, who could offer her social advantages such as were wanting now. Then she thought of leaving the place altogether and beginning a new life, but these thoughts were cast aside despairingly, for if she did this, her income would cease, and worst of all, the gap between her and her child would not be bridged. “I can see it—l can see it,” she sighed. “My poor darling; she is struggling hard to love me. I never thought of it, but-she is so different, and I can never be anything else but what I am.” Her musings that morning and the thoughts which always came to her when she was alone were interrupted by the entrance of Eugenie and the great black, who, after making sure that they would not be overheard, seated themselves, the black refreshing himself with n glass of rum, and Genie leaning over the buffet counter to speak in a low tone to Nousie. “Where is Cherubine?” she asked. “Gone into the town.” “She has not been up to us lately.” “No; she has been so busy here.” “Ah, yes, with the pretty lady from over the sea.” “Yes,” said Noupie uneasily, and, avoiding further allusions to her child, she entered at once into the business of her visitor’s call, ry-mvina—maliiii I i» n"' f 111! followed her without a word for some distance along the road, till they were quite out of sight of Nousie's home, when she pointed up a side nath. >

paui. “Go on, now,” she said. “You coming?” “Not yet. Go on, and don’t watch me.” The black laughed rather consciously,', and turned up the path, to go for sorrte distance before turning sharply round, and he was about to plunge in among the trees as if to retrace his steps, when he became conscious that the mulatto girl had followed him a little way, and was watching to see’ if he really went. The black laughed and went on again, while, after making sure that she was not being watched in turn, the girl returned to the road, and sat down where she could command the way to the port and see who came. (To be continued.) INVENTIVE CRANKS IN FRANCE. Their Favorite Idea Is to Bring About Wholesale Destraction in War. Some amusing particulars of the inventions that have been offered to the French war office since 1871, says the London Court Journal, have recently been publisheddn a French newspaper, the majority of?which are about equal to' the Laputaq scheme for plowing fields, namely, by sowing acorns In rows and then turning In pigs to root them up. One genius sought a patent for the training of squadrons of horseflies. These auxiliaries were to be fed. exclusively on blood served up beneath the delicate epidermis of mechanical figures clothed in the uniforms of members of the triple alliance, so that when political relations in Europe were strained the flies might be given dally a little of the juice of certain poisonous plants, and on actual declaration of

war turned out In the path of the enemy. Another ingenious person proposed a scheme for educating war dogs. In time of peace he would teach French dogs to bite lay figures wearing Prussian helmets, in order that on the outbreak of war the kennels of the whole country might be mobilized and let loose on the enemy. Then there are numerous proposals for bridging rivers by means of ropes attached to cannon balls, and a photographer suggests a novel kind of captive shell, which,' breaking over the fortified position of an enemy, would disclose a small camera attached to a parachute. The enemy’s fortifications would be. instantaneously photographed and the apparatus hauled back by the string and the negatives developed at leisure. Two ideas are very inhuman. One is a scheme for sending large quantities of poisoned needles, as if in charity, to the enemy’s generals, who would, of course, distribute them to their forces and so poison the unfortunate users; and the other to charge explosive bullets with pepper. Two objects are pursued by the inventor of the pepper: its discharge would blind the enemy, and the great demand for the condlpient in war time would stimulate the trade of the French colonies and increase the revenue of the country. There are also many other equally absurd propositions, such as suggestions for making soup by machinery, growing potatoes on barrack roofs in December, and killing whole army corps of Prussians by post—-but they are far too numerous ts be mentioned. A West Virginia man is so peculiarly affected by riding on a train that he has to chain himself to a seat to pre-, vent his jumping out ,of the car window, ■ »

TALMAGE’S SEEMON. HE TALKS ON THE PETTY ANNOYANCES OF LIFE. ?.♦- ’ r v ■ The Hornet,on Its Mission-Varieties of Insect Annoyances-'Necesslty for Little Troubles— They Are All Blessings in Disguise. A World of Trouble. Dr Talmage Sunday chose for his discourse a theme that will appeal to most people—viz, “The Petty Annoyances of Life.” His text was, “The Lord thy God will send the hornet.” Deuteronomy vii., 20. It seems as if the insectile world were determined to extirpate the human race. It bombards the grainflelds and the orchards and tho viueyrfrds. The Colorado beetle, the Nebraska grasshopper, the New Jersey locust, the universal potato bug seem to carry on the work which was begun nges ago when the insects buzzed out of Noah’s ark as the door was opened. In my text the hornet flies out on its mission. It is a species of wasp, swift in its motion and violent in its sting. Its touch is torture to men or beast. We have all seen the cattle run bellowing under the cut of its lancet In boyhood we used to stand cautiously looking at the globular nest hung from the tree branch, and while we were looking at the wonderful covering we were struck with 80 ™ e " thing that sent us shrieking away. The hornet goes in swarms. It nas captains over hundreds, and twenty of them alighting on one man will produce death. The Persians attempted to conquer a Christian city, but the elephants and the beasts on which the Persians rode were assaulted by the hornet, so that the whole army was broken up and the besieged city was rescued. This burning and noxious insect stung out the Hittites and the Canaanites from their country. What gleaming sword and chariot of war could not accomplish was done by the puncture of an insect. The Lord sent the hornets. Small Annoyances. My friends, when we are assaulted by great behemoths of trouble, we become chivalric, and we assault them. We get on the high mettled steed of our courage, ' and we make a cavalry charge at them, and if God be with us, we come out stronger and better than when we went in. But, alas, for these insectile annoyances of life—these foes too small to shoot —these things without any avoirdupois 1 weight, the gnats, and the midges, and the flies, and the wasps, qnd the hornets! ’ In other words, it is the small, etinang ■ annoyances of our life-which drive us *TreXark, in the first place, that these small, stinging annoyances may come in the shape (if a nervous organization. People who are prostrated under typhoid ' fevers or with broken bones get plenty of _ i a » i i •. • _ _. i- 4 1 « i _

sympathy, but who pities-anybody that is nervous? The doctors say, and the fam- , ily say, and everybody says, “Oh, she’s only a little nervous; that’s all!” The 7 sound of a heavy foot, the harsh clearing 1 of a throat, a discord in music, a want of harmony between the shawl and the ' glove on the same person, a curt answer, a passing slight, the wind from the east, any one of 10,000 annoyances opens the door for the hornet. The fact is that the vast majority of the people in this country are overworked, and their nerves are the first to give out. A great multitude are under the strain of Leyden, who, when he was told by his physician that if he did not stop working while he was in such poor physical health he would die, responded, “Doctor, whether I live or die, the wheel must keep going round.” These sensitive persons of whom I speak have a bleeding sensitiveness. The flies love to light on anything raw, and these people are like the Canaanites spoken of in the text or in the context—they have a very thin covering and are vulnerable at all pointy. “And the Lord sent the hornet.’’ Like Insects. Again, the small insect annoyances may come to us in the shape of friends and acquaintances who are always saying disagreeable things. There are some people you cannot bo with for half an hour but you feel cheered and comforted. Then there are other people you cannot be with for five minutes before you feel miserable. They do not mean to disturb you, but they sting you to the bone. They gather up all the yarn which the gossips spin and Retail it. They gather up all the adverse criticisms about your person, about your business, about your home, about your church, and they make your ear the funnel into which they pour it. They ’ laugh heartily when they tell you, as though it were a good joke, and you laugh, too —outside. These people are brought to our attention in the Bible, in the book of Ruth. Naoini went forth beautiful and with the finest of worldly prospects, and into another land, but, after awhile, she came back widowed and sick and poor. What did her friends do when she came to the city? They all went out, and instead of giving her common sense consolation, what did they do? Read the book of Ruth and find out. They threw up their hands and said, “Is this-Naomi?” as much as to say, “How awful you do look!" When I entered the minstry, I looked very pale for years, and every year, for four or five years, a hundred times a year, I was asked if I had not the consumption, and passing through the room I would sometimes hear people sigh and say, “A-ah, not long for this world!” I resolved in those times that I never in any conversation would say anything depressing, and by the help of God I have kept the resolution. These people of whom I speak reap aud bind in the great hanvest field of discouragement. Some day you greet them with a hilarious “goodmorning,” and they come buzzing at you with some depressing information. “’The Lord sent the hornet.” When I see so many people in the wotid who like to say disagreeable things and write disagreeable things, I come almost in my weaker moments to believe what a man said to me in Philadelphia one Monday morning. I went to get the horse at the livery stable, and the hostler, a plain man, said to me, “Mr,i Talmage, I saw that you preached to the young men yesterday?” I said, “Yes.” He said, “No use—no use. Man’s a failure.” Phvaical Ills. ' The small insect annoyances of life sometimes come in the shape of local physical trouble, which does not amount to a positive prostration, but which both- • ers you when you want to feel the best. Perhaps it is a sick headache which has been the plague of your life, and you appoint some occasion of mirth or sociality or usefulness, and when the clock strikes ths hour you cannot make your appear-

once. Perhaps the trouble !■ between the ear and the forehead, in the shape of a neuralgic twinge. Nobody can see it or sympathize with it, but just at the time when you want your intellect clearest and your disposition brightest you sharp, keen, disconcerting thrust. Tho Lord sent the hornet.” Perhaps these small Insect annoyances will come in the shape of a domestic irritation. The parlor and the kitchen do not always harmonize. To get good service and to keep it is one pf the greatest questions of the country. Sometimes it may be the arrogancy and inconsiderateness of employers, but, whatever be tno fact, we all admit there are these insect annoyances winging their way out from the culinary department. If the grace of God be not in the heart of the housekeeper, rhe cannot maintain her equilibrium. The men come home at night and hear the story of these annoyances and say, “Oh, these home troubles are very little things!" They are small, small as wasps, but they sting. Martha’s nerves were all unstrung when she rushed in, asking Christ to scold Mary, and there are tens of thousands of worsen who are dying, stung to death by these pestiferous domestic annoyandqs, “The Lord sent the hornet." V. . . J These small Insect disturbances may also come in the shape of business irritations. There are men here who went through 1857 and the 24th of September, 1869, without losing their balance, who are every day unhorsed by little annoyances —a clerk’s ill manners, or a blot of ink on a bill of lading, or the extravagance of a partner who overdraws his account, or the underselling by a business rival, or the whispering of store confidence* in the street, or the making of some little bad debt which was against' your judgment, just to please somebody else. The Lord Sends Hornets. It is not the panics that kill the merchants. Panics come only once in ten or twenty years. It is the constant din of these everyday annoyances which is sending so many of our best merchants into nervous dyspepsia and paralysis and the grave. When our national commerce tell flat on its face, these men stood up and felt almost defiant, but their life is going away now under the swarm of these pestiferous annoyances. “The Lord sent the hornet.” I have noticed in the history of some that their annoyances are multiplying and that they have a hundred where they used to have ten. The naturalist tells us that a wasp sometimes has a family of 20,000 wasps, and it does seem as if every annoyance of your life brooded a million. By the help of God I want to life upon us to kill the spiers of the soul and to clear the atmosphere of our skies. These annoyances are sent to us, I think, to wake us up'Trom our lethargy.

vv vrunv vic aavau vui There is nothing that makes a man so lively as a nest of “yellow jackets,” and I think that these annoyances are intended to persuade us of the fact that this is not a world for us to stop in. If we had a bed of everything that was attractive and soft and easy, what would we want of heaven? We think that the hollow tree sends the hornet, or we may think that the devil sends the hornet. I want to correct your opinion. “The Lord sent the hornet.” Then I think these annoyances come on us to culture our patience. In the gymnasium you find upright parallel bars—upright bars, with holes over each other for pegs to be put In. Then the gymnast takes a peg in each hand, and he begins to climb, one inch at a time or two inches, and getting his strength cultured, reaches after awhile the ceiling. And it seems to me that these annoyances in life are a moral gymnasium, each worriment a peg with which we are to climb higher and higher in Christian attainment. We all love to see patience, but it cannot be cultured in fair weather. Patience is a child of the storm. If you had everything desirable and there was nothing more to get, what would you want with patience? The only time to culture it is when you are lied about and sick and half dead. “Oh,” you say, “if I only had the circumstances of some well-to-do man, I would be patient, too!” You might as well say,,“lf it were not for this water, I would swim,” or “I could shoot this gun if it were not for the charge.” When you stand chin deep in annoyances is the time for you to swim out toward the great headlands of Christian attainment, so as to know Christ and the power of his resurrection and to have fellowship with his sufferings. . So as by Fire. Nothing but the furnace will ever burn out of us the clinker and the slag. I have formed this theory in regard to small annoyances and vexations. It takes just so much trouble to fit us for usefulness and for heaven. The only question is whether we shall take it in the bulk or pulverized and granulated. Here is one man who takes it in bulk. His back is broken, or his eyesight put out, or some other awful calamity befalls him, while the vast majority of people take the thing piecemeal. Which way would you rather have it? Os course, in piecemeal. Better have five aching teeth than one broken jaw; better ten fly blisters than an amputation; better twenty squalls than one cyclone. There may be a difference of opinion as to allopathy and homeopathy, but in this matter of trouble I like homeopathic doses—small pellets of annoyance rather than some knockdown dose of calamity. Instead of the thunderbolt give us the hornet. It you have a bank, you would a great deal rather that fifty men would come in with checks less than SIOO than to have two depositors come in the same day, each wanting his SIO,OOO. In this latter case you cough and look down to the floor, and you look up at the ceiling before you look into the safe. Now, my friends, would you not rather Have these small drafts of annoyance on your bank of faith than some all staggering demand upon your endurance? But remember that little as well as great annoyances equally require you to trust in Christ for succor I and a deliverance from impatience and irritability. “Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace whose mind is staid on thee.” In the village of Hamelin, tradition says, there was an invasion of rats, and these small creatures almost devoured tbe town and threatened the lives of the population, and the story is that a piper came out one ' day and played a verysweet tune, and •all the vermin followed him-rfollowed him to the banks o *,tha Weser. Then he blew a blast, and then they dropped in and disappeared forever. Os course this is a fable, but I wish I could, on the sweet flute of the gospel, draw forth all the nibbling and burrowing annoyances

qf your life and play them down Into the d *How many touches did Mr. Chnr £h to his picture of “Cotopaxi or Ills of the Andes?” I suppose about 50,000 touches. I hear the canvas sayinf. “Why do you keep mo trembling witn that pencil so long? Why don't you put it on in one dash?” “No, Church, “I know how tc make a P*inting. It will take 50.000 of these touches. And I want you, my friends, to understand that it Is these 10,000 annoyances which, under God, are making up the picture of your life, to be hung at last In the galleries of heaven, fit for angels to look at. God knows how to make a pic ture. Little Strokes Only. I go Into a sculptor’s studio and see him shaping a statue. He has a chisel in one hand and a mallet in the other, and he gives a very gentle stroke—click, click, click! I say, “Why don’t you strike harder?” "Oh,” ho replies, “that would WflßFter the statue. I can’t do it that why. I must do it this way." So he works on, and after awhile the features come out, and everybody that enters the studio is charmed and fascinated. Well, God has your soul under process of development, and it is the little annoyances and vexations of life that are chiseling out your immortal nature. It is click, click, click! I wonder why some great providence does not come and with one stroke'prepare you for heaven. Ah, no. God saya that is not the way. And so he keeps on by strokes of little vexations until at last you shall be a glad spectacle for angels and for men. You know that a large fortune may be spent in small change, and a vast amount of moral character may go away in small depletions. It is the little troubles of Hfe that are having more effect upon you than great ones. A' swarm of locusts will kill a grainfield sooner than the incursion of three or four cattle. You say, “Since I lost my child, since I lost my property, I have been a different man." But you do not recognize the architecture of little annoyances that are hewing, digging, cutting, shaping, splitting and interjoining your moral qualities. Rats may sink a ship. One lucifer match may send destruction through a block of storehouses. Catherine de Medici got her death from , smelling a poisonous rose. Columbus by stopping and asking for a piece of bread and a drink of water at a Franciscan convent was led to the discovery of a new world. And there is an Intimate connection between trifles and immensities, between nothings and everything*. , Now, be careful to let none "better. I J® Our government does not think it beJWttling to put a tax on small articles. TTm tafljvidual taxes do not amount to mucfi/W in the aggregate to millions and .-.fi11.... _ A— J T .

millions of dollars. And I would have you, O Christian man, put a high tariff on every annoyance and vexation that comes through your soul. This might not amount to much in single cases, but in the aggregate it would be a great revenue of spiritual strength and satisfaction. A bee can suck honey even out of a nettle, and if you have the grace of God in your heart you can get sweetness out of that which would otherwise irritate and annoy. Faithful in Little Things. A returned missionary told me that a company of adventurers rowing up the Ganges were stung to death by flies that infest that region at certain seasons. I have seen the earth strewn with the carcasses of men slain by insect annoyances. The only way to get prepared for the great troubles of life is to conquer these small troubles. What would you say of a soldier who refused to load his gun or to go into the conflict because it was only a skirmish, saying: “I am not going to expend my ammunition on a skirmish. Wait until there comes a general engagement, and then you will see how courageous I am and what battling I will do.” The general would say to such a man, “If you are not faithful in a skirmish, you would be nothing in a general engagement.” And I have to tell you, O Christian men, if you cannot apply the principles of Christ’s religion on a small scale you will never be able to apply them on a large scale. If I had my way with you. I would have you possess all possible worldly prosperity. I would have you each one a garden, a river flowing through it, geraniums and shrubs on the sides, and the grass and flowefS as beautiful as though the rainbow had fallen. I would have you a house, a splendid mansion and the bed should be covered with upholstery dipped in the setting sun. I would have every hall in your house set with statues and statuettes, and then I would have the four quarters of the globe pour in all their luxuries on your table, and you should have forks of silver and knives of gold, inlaid with diamonds and amethysts. Then you should each one of you have the finest horses, and your pick of the equipages of the world. Then I would have you live 150 yeaw, and you should not have a pain or ache until the last breath. Wisdom in It AIL “Not each one of us?” you say. Yes. Each one of you. “Not to your enemies ?" Yes. The only difference I would make with them would be that I would put qgJI little extra gilt on their walls and a littleM extra embroidery on their slippers. But.H you. say, “Why does not God give us allH these things?” Ah, I bethink myself heM is wiser. It would make fools-end slug-H gards of us if we had our way. No manß puts his best picture in the portico or|| vestibule of his house. God meant this II world to be only the vestibule of heaven, U that great gallery of the universe toward ■ which we are aspiring. We must notl have it too good in this world, or we E would-want no heaven. * Polycarp was condemned to be burned ■ to death. The stake was planted. He was ■ fastened to it. The fagots were placed I around him, the fires kindled, but his* ■ tory tells us that the flames bent outward (I like the canvas of a ship in a stout breeze, |U so that the flames, instead of destroying I Polycarp, were only a wall between him I and his enemies. They had actually tol destroy him with the poniard. The flamesM would not touch him. Well, my hearer, S 1 want you to understand that by God’s ■ grace the flames of trial, instead of eon-B Burning your soul,, are only going to la* al wall of defense and a canopy of blessing.El God is going to fulfill to you the blessingl I and the promise, as he did to Polycarp,■ “When thou walkest through the firell thou shalt not be burned.” Now you dol| not understand. You shall know here-us after. In heaven you will bless God even® for the hornet. Do right yourself, and you will helpl| other man to behave himself. * • * ■