Decatur Democrat, Volume 39, Number 41, Decatur, Adams County, 27 December 1895 — Page 9

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CHARTER XV—(Continued.) I She had not long to wait before she (caught sight of Cherubine toiling along in the hot sunshine with a great basket or her head. She was singing merrily as she came, and frdm time to time raised and smelt a great busch of flowers, smiling with satisfaction, and then she began singing again. .’She was in perfect ignorance of the presence of any one else till she was abreast of the dump of thick foliage where Genie was standing, and then she started so violently that she disarranged her flowers by clapping both hands to her basket, which nearly fell. “You, Genie?” she said. “You frightened me.” t “I want to talk to you.” “Yes," said Cherubine, beginning to look bneasy,, and trying to hide her perturbn- * tion with a curious laugh. 1 “You have stopped away from us,” said ♦ Genie, sternly. “Why?” K | “Oh, been so busy with young misßus,” she said, hastily; “but coming again ■oon.” , The mulatto girl fixed her with her gSr eyes, and said in a low whisper: ' “The serpent grows angry with his children who do not come; and if they stay r away too much they grow sick and die.” > “Oh, I come soon,” cried Cherubine, trembling visibly now, and her black g shiny skin seemed to turn dull and strange, as white rings appeared round the pupils of her dark eyes. “You tell him- I’m not going to stay away any more.” i “Take care then,” said the mulatto girl, keeping her eyes fixed on the trembling woman. “You have not been since the £wo new white brothers came to us.” E “No, no, not once,” said Cherubine, trembling, “but I come next time.” & “Yes. When did you see him last?” “Yesterday,” said Cherubine eagerly. “Where?” | “He came to Nousie’s.” • “I thought so," said Genie, in a low taice. Then added, “How many times has he been?” fc:: ' i Cherubine balanced her basket carefult ' )y on her head, and counted rapidly on > her fingers. “Eight times.” “What for?” S Cherubine smiled, then looked horrified. “Don’t look at me like that," she said, hastily, as she tried to take her eyes off | her questioner, but stared at her again ' as if fascinated. » | * “I am not looking at you,” said Genie, K. slowly; “it is the serpent looking out of my eyes. He is everywhere. He is ask- ' ing with my lips why Etienne Saintone ? comes to Nousie’s house.” “I—l don’t know,” said Cherubine, i, • shuddering, and the rings about her pupils ■ grew more defined. “Mind what you are saying,” said Is Genie, sternly. ‘ ' “I only think,” said Cherubine, hurriedly—“l think he fall in love with little missus. An’it’s very dreadful,” she said, in a whimpering tone, as she stood shivs' , ering in the hot sunshine, and watching • Genie, who as soon as she had spoken Sfe turned suddenly, and went up the narrow K path taken by her black companion. “Wish sometimes I never went to VouK doux. Frightens me.” EH For the next few minutes as she couE tinned her journey back, the flowers *• seemed to have lost their sweethess, and she remained perfectly mute, but with the P natural carelessness of her race, all was forgotten again in a short time, and she K reached the house singing, to go straight to the window of Aube’s room, call her by ' name, and laughing merrily she thrust in the bunch of flowgys, kissed the little white hand which took them, and then into the front room behind the veramtS’, where, in the dim light, she saw her mistress hastily put away a handkorchief, and on going closer with her basket, which she now held under her g arm, she said, sharply: § . , “What missus cry about?” the sight of Nousie’s red eyes completely chasing H away all thoughts of her late encounter. . “Oh, I don’t know,” said Nousie, sadly. B “I’m not happy, Cherub.” “Nousie ought to be happy, then,” cried ? the woman. “Got lots of money, big house, and Beauty once again.” I “But she is not happy,” cried Nousie, passionately. “Oh, Cherub, it is killing K me to see her look so quiet and sad.” ; “Ah, nonsense!” cried Cherubine sharply. “She laughed just now when I took her flowers.” ' “Laughed?” cried Nousie, eager. Then, fe With a sigh, “she only tries to smile when I take her anything.” K She looked wistfully at her faithful old K servant, for the revelation was coming ’' fast with its painful enlightenment, and I; the making clear to her of complications I". of which she had never dreamed. i Cherubine looked at her wondering, B for- she could not comprehend her ; tress’ trouble, and setting it down to one bf her old fits of sadness, such as had »ften come to her since the terrible day when she had seen her husband shot - down before her eyes, the woman took her basket into the house as horses' hoofs I were heard, a shadow- was cast across fe- lhe veranda, and Saintone dismounted, ’hrew his bridle across a hook, and entered the place. Nousie looked at him sharply, as tCt a fresh source of trouble at a time when ner spirit was very low, but the young maji came up to her within smiling and friendly a look that she disarmed. > “What a morning,” cheerily; “and how well you look, Dulau.” She winced, for his and tones brought back compliments paid her by r her husband’s friend. » S,' , He noticed her manner and became serious directly, as he said in a half-re-proachful tone: > “I thought that when a man joined jfou, he found help and friendship, but you always look at me as if I were an f»npmv ** I "Afy no/’ said Nousie, forcing

“you are mistaken. What do you want me to do? You can help yourself now without going to anyone.” “Don’t play with me, Nousie,” he said, leaning over the counter and catching her hand, which she tried to snatch away, but he retained. “You know why I came. You must see that my mother approves of it, and though I am not good enough for her,' still I would indeed be to her the best of husbands, and it would be for her good. There, lam very poor at this sort of thing, but you know I love her, and I ask you humbly now for your help.” She looked at him wildly, for his prayer to her seemed horrible, bringing back as it did the past, and she shook her head; “Oh, come,” he said, “you say no because you think es that Voudoux business. I tell you frankly, I got you to take me up that I might join them solely to help me in my election. You must not think about that And yet,” he said, with a peculiar look, “I might say to you, do think about it, for I want your help.” “No,” she cried hastily, “I am not one of them. I am their friend, and I help them and they trust me, but I do not belong.” “They think you do, and treat you as one of them,” "Saintone, dryly, "but I am.not going to put pressure on you in that why, Nousie—Madame Dulau, if you like —I believe my father and your husband were friends once.” “Oh!” she exclaimed, excitedly. “Ah, yes; I’ve heard they became enemies, but what of that. They would have made it up again, so what is that to us. Let me speak plainly. I love Mademoiselle Dulau. My mother has tried again and again to make us all friends, but without avail. Now I have come myself; first of all as her messenger, to ask if she may send the carriage for Mademoiselle this afternoon.” “She would not come,” said Nousie, quietly. “You have not asked her. I am not going to press my suit I’ll be as patient as you like, but let her come. The packet came in this morning and we are to have the Captain and a few friends. It would be cheerful and pleasant for her, and she would meet some of our best people. You will let her come?” Nousie’s hand contracted, and she shook her head. “Ah, but you are hard," he cried. “You are jealous of me. You think I am going to take her from you, but listen, Nousie; she is the dearest, sweetest lady I ever saw. Are you going to keep her among these blacks, and condemn her to such a life as this?” She gave him an agonized look, for he had struck the chord which thrilled through her; and as she stood there suf- • feeing she felt that his words were right, and, growing weaker beneath the pressure put upon her, she withdrew her hand to stand with brow knit, thinking: Ought she not to forget the past and accept her fajte? She knew now that by her own act she had raised Aube far above her, and with her heart bleeding in its agony she acknowledged that she was dragging her child down. “You do not speak," said Saintone. “I was thinking,” she replied, dreamily. “Ydu say Madame Saintone sent you ?” “Yes,” he cried, eagerly. “I will ask her.” , “No, no, let me ask her; let me plead to her,” cried Saintone, fearing to lose the slight hold he had gained. “No; I will ask her myself. You need not fear,” she added, with a sad smile. “She shall go if she likes. I will be fair." She left the buffet, and went thoughtfully into Aube’s rooni, the place that was sacred to her, and pressing her lips together and trying hard to force down the agony within her, she closed the door behind her. Aube had started to her feet and was looking pale and strange. “He has come again, my dearest,” said Nousie, softly. “He says he loves you, and Madame Saintone asks if .she may send a carriage for you this afternoon. What shall I say?” “That I will not go,” said Aube, firmly. “Stop,” said Nousie now, fighting down her exultation as she struggled, as she told herself that her child might be happy. “He said to me what I have just begun to think, that I had made you a lady, and asked me if I was going to keep you down to such a home as this, here among these wretched people. Aube, darling, I feel as if I could not lose you, but would it not be best for you to go among these people?” w .“No,” said Aube, firmly. “I will not leave you—l will not go." Nousie’s fingers worked, and her lips trembled, but she mastered herself again. “You must think of what you are saying, my child. His mother wishes you to go—she would love you for her son’s sake. He asks for you to be his wife.” “Mother!” “Listen, my child; he will make you rich—a lady—the best people in the place who mock at me will welcome you, and as his wife —if you would love him ” “Mother!” said Aube, “are you going to be cruel to me now?" “I, my darling,” she cried, catching Aube to her breast, “who would die for you?” ‘ \ * “Then why do you talk like this? You do not wish it?” “I wish to make you happy dearest, and to try and mend my poor mistake.” “Mistake? What are you saying. I could not love that mmi. His mother frightens me. She seems false and strange to me, and her daughter hates me in her heart You wish me to leave you and go among those people. No, no; send me back to the peaceful old convent once again.” t Nousie started, but controlled herself still, and after an effort: “What am I to say, then, to this man.?” “That it is impossible. That I cannot go—that he is to leave us lb peace.” “Is this from your heart, Aube? Look at me before you Send me with such a

“Look st yon?” said Aube, tenderly, m ■he softly threw her arms about her mother’s neck. "Do you think Ido not consider all that you have done. Mother, dearest, your letter rests here upon my heart. I look at that sometimes, and kneel down and pray that I may learn to repay you for all your suffering in the past. What are these people to us that they should try to come between ns when we are so happy as we are?” “But you are not happy, Aube." “I try to be," she said, with the tean flooding her eyes, “but' you make me sad sometimes when you look troubled, and as if you were not content with me! Mother, I do love you with all my heart” “Aube—my darling!” , She clasped her passionately to her heart, and Aube drew her face closer to her own. “Yes; love me always like that, mother,” she whispered, “I am happy now. Tell this man to go and trouble ns uo more. We have been parted so long, and I have come back again. Mother, dearest, nobody must come between us now.” They stood locked in each other’s arms, heart beating against heart, till, as if waking from a dream, Nousie slowly .rew herself away. There was a look of pride and peace in her eyes; her face, too, seemed almost beautiful once more, illumined as it was by her mother love, and as she reached the door, she turned, ran back and kissed her child again before hurrying out to where Saintone was impatiently waiting," He stared as she came toward him, erect and proud-looking, and as if some sudden change had taken place in the brief time since they parted. “Ah,” he cried, joyously, “she will come?” “No," Monsieur Saintone,” said Nousie, firmly. “My child refuses, and asks you and your mother to leave us in peace.” A look of rage convulsed his face, and he turned upon her fiercely. “It is not true,” he said. “You have been setting her against me. I’ll speak to her myself." He made for the door, but Nousie interposed—at bay now to spare her child. But her manner changed, and it seemed to Saintone no longer Nousie, the keeper of the cabaret, but Madame Dulau, wife of his father’s old friend, who said firmly, and with a dignity of mien whicl startled him: “Stop, sir!” Then after a pause: “You shall have it from her own lips.” She went through the door, leaving him pacing the room, and in a minute she came back, leading Aube, no longer the shrinking, timid girl, but calm and self-pos-sessed, and looking more beautiful in his eyes than ever. “Ah, Mademoiselle Aube,” he cried, as he stepped forward and tried to take her hand. “You wished to hear from me,” said Aube, gravely, “the words my mother said. Let me then say, monsieur, tfcat T thank Madame Saintone for her kindness, that I cannot accept her invitations, and that all you wish is impossible.” “No!” he cried, hotly, “it is not impossible.” “Impossible,” repeated Aube, and she turned from him to whisper, as she clung to her mother’s arm: “No one must ever come between us now.” And the door was darkened as a man appeared dark against the sunshine which hindered him for a moment from seeing the group befpre him. “Is this Madame Dulau’s?” he said, sharply. Aube uttered a wild cry, while Saintone’s eyes half closed, and his lips tightened, as he looked from one to the other, saying beneath his breath: “Who is tffis?” (To be continued.) A FATAL MISTAKE. It Was Made by a Profuse Frenchman in His Leave-Taking;. A citizen of France who has an inveterate habit of confounding everything which Is, said to him, and has been endeavoring to acquire a knowledge of our vernacular, was about leaving his boarding-house for a more comfortable quarter. All the little mysteries of his wardrobe, including Ids last nether garment and umbrella, had been packed up, when he bethought to himself the unpleasant duty now devolving upon him, that of bidding “ze folks” good J by. After shaking his fellow-boarders cordially by the hand, and wishing them, with Incessant bowing, “ze verree best success in ze virl,” and “ze benediction du chief,” he retired in search of his “dear landlady,” to give her also his blessing. He met her at the staircase, and advancing, hat In hand, with a thousand scrapes, commenced his speech: “Ah! madame, I’m going to leave you. You have been verree amiable to me, madame; I will nevare forget you for zat. If in my countree I would ask zee Government to give you a pension, madame.” The good lady put down her head and blushed modestly, while our Frenchman proceeded: “Veil, I must go; you know in zeese life, it is full of pain an’ trouble. If Got adopted ate virl vich Lamartine made in his poesie, zen zure should be no more pain. Adieu, madame, adieuxj perhaps forever.” Thereupon the Frenchman was making his exit, when he was suddenly called back by his landlady, who interestedly Inquired: “Why, Mr. C , you have forgotten your latch-key.” Mr. 0 appeared amazed, apparently not understanding his interrogator. “Yes,” continued Mrs. M——, “you know it Is the rule for all boarders to give me their latch keys.” “Oh, madame!” interrupted the Frenchman with enthusiasm, “I vill give you not one—not one, but zouzandsl” AmJ applying- the action to the wordj he sprang toward Mrs. M , and embracing her tightly in his arms, kissed her most heroically. The affrighted Mrs. M , recovering herself, at length cried out: “The key! Mr. C——, the key!” Frenthy, looking confused, confounded, ejaculates with heavy sighs: “Oh, madame! I zotyou ax me for one kees, an’ I give it to you. Vat a fatale mistake!”—Scottish American. A hat Is “pounced" or smoothed by means of a machine which polishes the whole surface finely and smoothly with emery paper. Formerly this process was done by hand, the workmen using punjlcs stone for that purpose.

TALMAGE’S SERMON. THE PREACHER DISCOURSES ON CHRIST’S MISSION. The World’s Great Emancipatore Were All of Lowly Birth—The Offender’s Hope—The Season of Forbearance and Forgiveness—Good Will to Men. A Christmas Carol. In his sermon Sunday Dr. Talmage chose the universal theme of the season — the Christmastide. The text selected was, “Now when Jesus was born in Bethlehem.”—Matthew 11., 1. At midnight from one of the galleries of the sky a chant broke. To an ordinary observer there was no reason for such a celestial demonstration. A poor man and wife —travelers, Joseph and Mary by name —had lodged in an outhouse of an unimportant village. The supreme hour of solemnity had passed, and upon the pallid forehead and cheek of Mary God had set the dignity, the grandeur, the tenderness, the everlasting and divine significance of motherhood. But such scenes had often occurred in Bethlehem, yet never before had a star been unfixed or had a baton of light marshaled over the hills wiuged orchestra. If there had been such brilliant and mighty recognition at an advent in the house of Pharaoh, or at an advenkin the house of Caesar, or the house offlaps-, burg, or the house of Stuart, we would not so mi|ch have wondered, but a barn seems too poor a center for such a delicate and archangelic circumference. The stage seems too small for so great an act, the music too grand for such unappreciative auditors, the window of, the stable too rude to be serenaded by other worlds. It is my. joy to tell-you what was born that night in the village baru.jmd as I want to make my discourse accumulative and climacteric I begin in the first place by telling you that that night in the Bethlehem manger was born encouragement for all the poorly started. He had only two friends—they his parents. No satin lined cradle, no delicate attentions, but straw, and the cattle, and tlfte coarse joke and batter of the camel drivers. No wonder the mediaeval painters represent the oxen kneeling before the infant Jesus, for there were no men there at that time to worship. From the depths of that poverty he rose until to-day he is honored in all Christendom and sits on the imperial throne in heaven. Mightest Name in Christendom. What name is mightiest to-day in Christendom? Jesus. Who has more friends on earth than any other being? Jesus. Before whom do the most thousands kneel in chapel and church and cathedral this hour? Jesus. From what depths of poverty to what height of renown! And so let all those who are poorly started remember that they cannot be more poorly born or more than this Christ. Let them look up to his example while they have time and eternity to imitate it. Do you know that the vast majority of the world’s deliverers birthplaces? Luther, the Emancipator of religion, born among the mines. Shakspeare, the emancipator of literature, born in an humble home at Stratford-ou-Avon. Columbus, the discoverer of a world, born in poverty at Genoa. Hogarth, the discoverer of how to make art accumulative and administrative of virtue, born in a humble home in Westmoreland. Kitto an.d Prideaux, whose keys unlocked new apartments in the Holy Scriptures which had never been entered, born in want. Yes, I have'to tell you that nine out of ten of the world’s deliverers were born in want. I stir your holy ambitions to-day, and I want to tell you, although the whole world may be opposed to you, and inside and outside of your occupations or professions there may be those who would hinder your ascent, on your side and enlisted in your behalf are the smypathetic heart and the almighty arm of one who one Christmas night about eighteen hundred and ninety-five years ago was wrapped in swaddling clothes and laid in a manger. Oh, what magnificent encouragement for the poorly started. Sacrifice for the World. v Again, I have to tell you that in that village barn that night was born good will to mtn, whether you call it kindness, or forbearance, or forgiveness, or geniality, or affection, or love. It was no sport of high heaven to send its favorite to' that hfimiliation. It was sacrifice for a rebellious world. After the calamity in paradise, not only did the ox begin to gore, and the adder to sting, and the elephant to smite wit® his tusk, and the lion to put to bad use tooth and paw, but under the very tree from which tbe forbidden fruit was plucked were hatched out war and revenge and malice and envy and jealousy and the whole brood of cockatrices. But against that scene I set the Bethlehem manner, which says, “Bless rather than curse.-endure rather than assault,” and that Christmas night puts out vindictiveness. It says, “Sheathe your sword, dismount your guns, dismantle your batteries, turn the warship Constellation, that carrier shot and shell, into a grain ship to take food to famishing , Ireland, hook your cavalry horses to thtf plow, use your deadly gunpowder in blasting rocks and in patriotic celebration, stop your lawsuits, quit writing anonymous letters, extract the sting from your sarcasm, let your wit coruscate but never burn, drop all the harsh words out of your vocabulary—.‘Good will to men.’ ” “Oh,” you say, “I can’t exercise it. I won’t exercise it until they apologize. I won't forgive them until they ask me to forgive them.” You are no Christian then —I say you are no Christian, or you ato a very inconsistent Christian. If you forgive not men their trespasses, how can you expect your heavenly Father to forgive you? Forgive them if they ask your forgiveness, and forgive them anyhow. Shake hands all around. “Good will to men." 0 my Lord Jesus, drop that spirit into all our hearts this Christmas time! I tell you what the,world wants more than anything else—more helping hands, more sympathetic hearts, more kind words that never die, more disposition to.give other people a ride and to carry the heavy end of the loatj and give other people the light end, and'to ascribe good motives instead of bad, and find our happiness in making others happy. Good -Will to Men. Out of that Bethlehem crib let the bear ■nd the lion eat straw like an ox. “Good will to men.” That principle will yet settle all controversies, and undter it the world Will keep on improving until there will b'fe only two antagonists in all the earth, and they will side by side take the InbiUnt sleigh ride intimated bjr the

‘prophet when he said, “Holiness shall be on the bells of the horses.” Again, I remark that born that Christmas night in the village barn was sympathetic unioU with other worlds. From that supernatural grouping of the cloud banks over Bethlehem and from the especial trains that ran down to the scene I find that our world is beautifully and gloriously and magnificently surrounded. The meteors are with us, for one of them ran to point down to the birthplace. The heavens are with us, because at the thought of our redemption they roll hosannas out of the midnight sky/ z Oh, yes, I do not know but our world may be better surrounded than we have sometimes imagined, and when a child is born angels bring it, and when it dtps angels take it, and when an old man bends under the weight of years angels uphold him, and when a heart breaks .angels soothe it. Angels in the hospital to take care of the sick. Angels in the cemetery to watch our dead. Angels in the church ready to fly heavenward with the news of repentant souls. Angels above the world. Angels under the world. Angels all around the world. Human Imperfection. Rub thg dust of human imperfection out of your eyej'and look into the heavens and see angels of pity, angels of mercy, angels of pardon, angels of help, angels> crowned, angels Charioted. The world defended by angels, girdled by angels, cohorted by angels—clouds of angels. Hear David cry out, “The chariots of God are 20,000, even thousands of angels.” But the mightiest angel stood not that night in the clouds over Bethlehem; the mightiest angel that night lay among the cattle—the angel of the new covenant. As the clean white linen was being wraped around the little form of that child emperor, not a cherub, not a seraph, not an angel, not a world but wept and thrilled and shouted. Oh, yes, our world has plenty of sympathizers! Our world is only a silver rung of a great ladder at the top of which is our Father’s house. No. more stellar solitariness for our world, no other friendless planets spun out into space to freeze, but a world in the bosom of divine maternity, a star harnessed to a manger. Again, I remark that that night born, in that village barn was the offender's hope. Some sermonizers may say I ought to have projected this thought at the beginning of the sermon. Oh, no! I wanted yon to rise tpvWM it. I wanted you to examine the carnelians and the jaspers and thd crystals before I showed Kohinoor —the crown jewel of the ages. Oh, that jewel had a very poor setting! The cub of bear is born amid the grand old pillars of the forest, the whelp of lion takes its first step from the jungle of luxuriant leaf and wild flower, the kid of goat is bornjn cavern chandejiered with stalactite and pillared with stalagmite. Christ was born in a bare barn. Christ’s Mission. Yet that nativity was the offender’s hope. Over the door of heaven are written these words, “None but the sinless may enter here.” “Oh, horror,” you say, “that shuts us all out.” No. Christ came to the world in one door aud he departed through another door. He came through the door of the manger, and he departed through the door of the sepulcher, and his one business was so to wash away our sin that after we are dead there will be no more sin about us than about the eternal God. I kjiow that is putting it strongly, but that is what I understand by full remission. All erased, all washed away, all scoured out, all gone. That undergird- . ling and overarching and irradiating and itnparadising possibility for you, and for me, and for the whole race—that was given that Christmas night. Do you wonder we bring flowers to-day to celebrate such an event ? Do you wonder that we take organ and youthful voice and queenly soloist to celebrate it? Do you wonder that Raphael and Kubeus and Titian and Giotto and Ghirlandajo, and all the old Italian and German painters gave the mightiest stroke of their genius to sketch<the Madonna, Mary and her boy ? The Star of Christmas. Oh! now I see what the manger was. Not so high the gilded and jeweled and embroidered cradle of the Henrys of England, or the Louis of France, or the Fredericks of Trussia. Now I find out that that Bethlehem'crib fed not so muph the oxen of the stall as the white horses of Apocalyptic vision. Now I find the swaddling clothes enlarging and emblazoning into an imperial robe for a conqueror. Now I find that the star of that Christmas night was ons the diamonded sandal of him who hath the moon under his feet. Now I come to understand that the music of that night was not {i completed song, but only the stringing of the •instruments for a great chorus of two worlds, the bass to be carried by earthlynations saved, and the soprano by kingdoms of glory won. Oh, heaven, heaven, heaven! I shall meet you there. After all our imperfections are gone I shall meet you there. I look out to-day through the mists of years, through the fog that rises from the cold Jordan, through the wide open door of solid pearl to that reunion. I expect to see you there as« certainly as I see you here. What a time we shall have in high converse, talking over the sins pardoned, and sorrows comforted, and battles triumphant! Some of your children have alreadygone, and though people passing along the street and seeing white crape on the doorbell may have said. “It is only a child,” yet when the broken-hearted father-came to solicit my service he said, “Come around and comfort us, for we loved her so much.” Season of Rejoicing. What a Christmas morning it will make tfhen those with whom you used to keep the holidays are all around you in heaven! Silver-haired old father young again, and mo.ther who had so many aches and pains and decrepitudes well again, and all your brothers and sisters and the little ones. How glad they will be to see you! They have been waiting. <®fie lastytime they saw- yonr face it was covered' w-ith tears and distress, and pallid from long watching, and one of them I can imagine to-day, with one hand holding fast the shotting gate, and the other hand swung but toward saying: Steerrthis way, father, steer straight for ’ me, Here safe in heaven I am waiting for thee. Oh, those Bethlehem angels, when theai went back after the concert that night over the hills, forgot to shut the door I All the secret is out. No more use of trying to hide from us the glories to-come. It is too late to shut the gate. It is blocked wide open with hosannas marching this way and hallelujahs marching that way. C In the splendor of the anticipation I feel as if I was dying—not physically, for I never was more well—but in the transport of the Christmas transfiguration.

What almo«t unmana me la the thought that it ia provided for such sinners as you and I have been. If it had been provided only for Jhose who had always thought right, and spoken right, and acted right, yon and I would have had no'intereat in it, had no share in It. You and I would have stuck to the raft in midocean and let the ship sail by carrying perfect passengers from a perfect life on earth to<f* perfect life in heaven. But I have heard the commander of that ship is the same great and glorious and sympathetic one, who hushed the tempest arftund the boat on Galilee, and I have heard that all the passengers on the ship are sinners saved by grace. And so we hail the ship, and it bears down this way, and we come by the side of it and ask the captain two questions: “\Vho art thou? And whence?” And he says, “l am Captain of salvation, and I am from the manger.” Oh, bright Christmas morning of my soul’s delight! Chime all the bells. Merry Christmas! Merry with the thought of sins forgiven, merry with the idea of sorrows comforted, merry with the raptures to come. Oh, lift that Christ from the manger and lay him down in all our hearts! We may not bring to him as costly a present as the. Magi brought, but we bring to his feet and to the manger to-day the frankincense of our joy, i5 the prostration of our worship. Down at his feet, all churches, all ages, all earth, all heaven. Down at his feet, the four and twenty elders on their faces. Down, the “great multitude that no man can number.” Down, Michael, the archangel! Down, all worlds at his feet and. worship. “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will to men!” NOT WHAT THEY SEEM. Things We Eat Are Often but Base Counterfeits. It is hard to tell just what one eats' in these days. The wonderful ingenuity developed by manufacturers—unscrupulous ones, of course, and mon-< ey crazy—in the adulteration of nearly all food products would keep the av-, erage man who cares what he eats, guessing as to the contents of the dishes 1 on his table. The recent investigation of food adulteration by Commissioner Wells of the Dairy and Food Department of Pennsylvania shows some startling facts. So many articles are adulterated as to! raise the question as to what is pure: food. t Among the many impure things sold,' are allspice, which often is mainly composed of ground and roasted cocoanut! shells; baking powder; beef, wine, and, iron prepared as a tonic; butter, buck-; wheat flour, candy, catsup, cider, cheese, cinnamon, cloves—the latter made almost entirely from'ground co-, coanut shells, the odor and taste of cloves being scarcely perceptible; coffee, consisting chiefly of coffee screenings or damaged coffee, but sold at a high price as a pure article; fresh “Java” made from wheat and barley hulls, roasted with sugar and containing no coffee; codfish not codfish at all —merely cheap dried fish; cream of tartar adulterated with flour; flaxseed adulterated with starch; fruit “butters,” such as apple butter, peach butter, etc., very seldom pure, being adulterated with starch waste and salicylic acid; the same is true of grated pineapple; ginger, adulterated with ash, rice 1 hulls, rice flour, and cayenne pepper; lard; maple sirup, made from commercial glucose, thinned with about 20 per cent of water; mixed spices, orange juice, lemon oil, lemon phosphate, molasses, mustard, olive oil, pepper, vinegar, vanilla extract, all kinds of preserves, extract of strawberries, and tea. " , y To add to the deception a few apple seeds are scattered through the socalled jams, or timothy or other seeds are added to the mixture to represent raspberry, strawberry,‘etc. The production of artificial colors is particularly common in Indigo, tumeric, annatto, logwood, and cochineal are used in great quantities, and are probably not harmful; arsenic, copper, and leads are very deleterious, but are not now used as in former times, before sanitary officials made sue h persistent attacks on them. Milk and milk produces are often colored. Annatto is commonly used by dairymen to give a rich yellow color. In itself annatto is probably harmless, but it produces deceptive results. A Queer Craft. Hermit Cusack of Moosehead might have been hanged as a sorcerer in the benighted days of old. He thinks nothing of crossing the Piscataquis River standing on a thirty-foot binding pole. Recently as the steamer, from Kineo ploughed down through the heavy sea the people on board were astounded by a sight of a man in mid-lake standing breast high in the heaving waters, with which he was battling in seeming pursuit of a small dog that sat in full view above the surface a few feet ahead of hito. The steamer, changing her course, slowed down to pick up John Cusack, who was making the fourth mile of a voyage with an old tree root as his craft, and his dog as passenger. He stood upon the larger end of the root, thereby lifting the other end above the water, and upon this upraised tip the dog found a safe, if not quite dry, footing. The sight of Uncle John and his dog making similar trips is quite frequently reported.— Lewiston Journal. Could Have Been Rich. *-• Boran Rothschild one day entered an old curiosity shop to buy some paintings. The dealer brought out his rare old pictures, dusted them, and set them in the best light. “Look at this Rembrandt; quite authentic, M. le Baron.” “Authentic, you say? You have got there a Raphael of the first style, . which is a good deal more authentic.” “Oh! oh!” said the dealer; “why, you are a connoisseur, M. le Baron.” “I?” observed Rothschild, with a sigh; “if I had gone into the old curiosity business, I should have a fortune.” A Good Investment. The annual profit of the Suez Canal is ?15,000.000. /