Indianapolis Journal, Indianapolis, Marion County, 11 December 1887 — Page 2

THE INDIANAPOLIS JOURNAL, SUNDAY, DECEMBER H. 183 7 TWELVE PAGES. t i

PrinUd by Special Arratiffvmtnt Copyrighted 1357.

THE MISADVBTCRKOFjOHN MGHOLSON A Christmas Story in Three Parts. ' BY ROBERT LOUIS STEVESSOIT, jLcthob or "Tbeascee Island," "Da. Jkxyxi. axd Me. Htt," Etc. PART m. CHAPTER TIL i A TKAGI-COMEDV IN A CAB. In front of Donaldson's Hospital, John countad it good fortune to perceive a cab a great way off, and by much shouting and waving of his ' arm to catch the notice ot the driver. He counted it good fortune, for the time was lone to him till be should hare done forever with the Lodge; and the farther he must go to find a cab, the greater the chance that the inevitable discovery bad taken place, and that he shonld return to find the garden foil of angry neighbors. Yet when the vehicle drew up he was sensibly chagrined to recognize the port-wine cabman of the Slight before. "Here," he could not but reflect, 'here is another link in the judicial error." The driver, on the other hand, was pleased to drop again upon so liberal a fare; and as he was a man the reader must already have perceived of easy, not to say familiar manners, he dropped at once into a vein of friendly talk, commenting on the weather, on the sacred season, which struck him chiefly in the light of a day of liberal gratuities, on the chance which had reunited him to a pleasing customer, and on the fact that John had been (as he was pleased to call it) visibly "on the randan" the night before. "And ye look dreidful bad the day, sir, I must Bay that," he continued. "There's nothing like a dram for ye if yell take my advice of it; and bein' as it's Christmas, I'm so saving," he added, with a fatherly smile, "bat what I would join ye m ysel"." John bad listened with a sick heart. "Ill give you a dram when we've got through," laid be, affecting a sprightliness which sat on him most unhandsomely, "and not a drop till then. Business first, and pleasure afterwards.' With this promise the jarvey was prevailed Tipon to clamber to hia place and drive, with hideous deliberation, to the door of the Lodge. There were no signs, as yet, of any public emotion; only, two men stood not far off in talk, and their presence, seen from afar, set John's pulse buzzing. He might have spared himself his fright, for the pair were lost in some dispute of a theological complexion, and with lengthened upper lip and enumerating fingers, pursued the matter of their difference, and paid no heed to John. Bat the cabman proved a thorn in the flesh Jsothing would keep him on his perch; he must clamber down, comment upon the pebble in the door (which he regarded as an ingenious but unsafe device), help John with the portmanteau, and enliven matters with a flow of speech, and especially of questions, which I thus condense: "Hell no be here himsel', will hel No? Well, he's an eccentric man a fair oddity if ye ken the expression. Great trouble with his tenants, they tell me. I've driven the famly for years. 1 drove a cab at his father's waddin'. Whatll your name be? I should ken your face. Baigoy, ye say? There are Baireys about Gilmarton; yell be one of that lot? Then this'll be a friend's portmantie, like? Why? Because the Same upon it's Nicholson! O, if ye're in a hurry thatV another job. Waverly Brig? Are ye for way?. So the friendly toper prated and questioned and kept John' heart in a flatter. But to this also, as to other evils under the sun, there came a period, and the victim of circumstances began attest to rumble towards the railway terminus ; at Waverly Bridge. During the transit be sat ,irtK- --'jiu-a i'mpA. tr irTn firntT chill and mouldy foetor of his chariot, and glanced out aidelong on the holiday face of things, the shuttered shops, and the crowds along the pavement, much as the rider in the Tyburn cart may have observed the concourse gathering to his execution. At the station his spirits rose again; another stage of his escape was fortunately ended he began to epie bine water. He called a railway porter and bade him carry the portmanteau to the'eloak room; not that he had any notion of delay; flight, instant flight, was his design, no matter whither; bat he had determined to dismiss the cabman ere he named, or even chose, his destination, thus possibly baulking the judicial error of another link. This was his cunning aim, and now, with one foot on the roadway and one still on the coach step, he made haste to pat the thing in progress, and plunged his hand into his trouser pocket. There was nothing there! O, yes; this time he was to blame. He should have remembered, and when he deserted his blood-stained pantaloons, he should not have desorted along with them his purse. Make the -most of his error, and then compare it with the punishment! Conoeive his new position, for . I lack ; words to picture it; conceive him condemned to return to that house, from the very thought of which his soul revolted, and onee more to expose himself to capture on the very scene of the misdeed; conceive him linked to the mouldy cab and the familiar cabman. John cursed the cabman silently, and then it occurred to him that he must stop the incarceration of his portmanteau; that, at least, he must keep close at hand, and be turned to r -sail the porter. But bis reflections, brief as they had appeared, ' must have occupied longer than he supposed, and there was the man already returning with the receipt Well, that was settled; he had lost his portmanteau also; for the sixpence with which he had paid the Murrayfield toll was one that bad strayed alons into his waistcoat pocket, and unless he once more successfully achieved the adventure of the house of crime, his portmanteau lay in the cloak room in eternal pawn, for lack of a penny fee. And then he remembered the porter who stood suggestively attentive, words of gratitude hanging from his lips. John haunted right and left; he found a eoin ; prayed God it was a sovereign drew it out, beheld a halfpenny, and offered it to the porter. The man's jaw dropped. "It's only a half -penny!" he said, startled out f railway decenoy. "I know that," said John, piteonely. v And here the porter recovered the dignity of tnan. "Thank you, sir," said he, and would have returned the base gratuity. But John, too, Would none of it; and as they struggled, who must join it but the cabman? . "Hoots, Mr. Baigrey," said he, "you surely forget what day it is!" "I tell you I have no change!" cried John. "Well." said the driver, "and what then? I would rather give a man a shillia on a day like this than put him off with a derision like a bawbee. I'm surprised at the like of you, Mr. Baigrey!' "My name is not Baigrey!" broke out John, Sn mere childish temper and distress. . "Ye told me it was yoursel'," said the cabman. "I know I did; and what the devil right had you to ask?" cried the unhappy one. "O, very well," said the driver. "I know my place, if yon know yours if you know yours!" be s-epeated, as one who should imply grave doubt; and muttered inarticulate thunders, in which the grand old name of gentleman was taken seemingly in vain. O, to have been able to discharge'this monifer. Whom John now perceived, with tardy, "fiearsightednes. to have began betimes thft festivities of Christmas! But far from any touch ray of consolation visiting the lost, he stood bare of help and helpers, bis portmanteau sequestered in one place, his money deserted if another, and guarded by a eorpse; F"""self, BO sedulous of privacy, 'the eynf of all men's eyes about tbe station a, as if there were not enough nrisebancf f.e was now fallen in ill-blood with

i tbe be: aim! In J

U whom his

poverty had linked him

ood, as he

reflected dismally, with the witness who perhaps might hang or save hlia! '-There was no time to be lost; be durst not linger any longer in that public spot; ani whether tie had recourse to dignity or to conciliation,- the'rVmedy must be applied at once.' Some happily-surviving element of manhood moved him to the. former. "Let ns hare no more of this," said he. his foot once more uoon thastepi "Go back to where we came from." - lie h'i avoided the name of any destination, for there was now quite a little band of railway folk about the cab, and he still kept an eye on tbe court of justice, and labored to avoid concentric evidence. - Bat here again the fatal jarvey out-mancBuvered him. "Back to the Ludge?" cried he, in shrill tones of protest. "Drive on at once!" roared John, and slammed tbe door behind him, so that the crazy chariot rocked and jingled. Forth trundled the cab into the Christmas streets, the fare within plunged in the carkness of a deBpair that neighbored on unconsciousness, the driver on the box digesting his rebuke and his customer's duplicity; I would not be thought to put the pair in competition; John's case was out of all parallel. But tbe cabman, too, is worth the sympathy of the judicious; for he was a fellow of pennine kindiiness and a high sense of personal dignity incensed by drink; and his advances had been cruelty and publicly rebuffed. As he drove, therefore, ha counted his wrones, and thirsted for sympathy and drink. Now, it cbanced he had a friend, a publican, in Queensferry street, from whom, in view of the sacredness of the occasion, he thought he might extract a dram. Queensferry street lies something jil ttie direct road to Murray fidld. But then there is the hilly cross-road that passed by the valley of Leith and the Dean cemetery: and Queensferry street is on the way to that. What was to hinder the cabman, since his horse was dumb, from choosing the cross-road, and calling on his friend in passing' So it was decided; and the charioteer, alread somewhat mollified, turned aside hia ho-.e to the risht. John, meanwhile, oat collaosed, his chin sank upon his chest, his mind iu abeyance. The smell of the cab was still faintly present to his senses, and a certain leaden chill about his feet; nil else Ut.d disappeared in one vast oppression of calamity ant physical faintness. It was drawing on to noon two and twenty hours since he had broken bread; in the interval, he had suffered tortu-es of sorrow and alarm, and had been partly tipsy; and thoueb. it was impossible to say he slept, yet when the cab stopped, and the cabman thrnst his head into the window, his attentioa had to be recalled' from the deaths of vacancy. "If you'll no stand me a dram," said the driv-; er, witn a well-merited severity of tone and manner, "Idare say yell have no objections to my taking one myself?" '"Yes no do what yon like." returned John; and then, as be watched his tormentor mount the stairs, and enter the whisky shop, there floated into his ruind a sense as of something long ago familiar. At that he started fully awake, and stared st the shop-fronts. Yes, he knew them; but when? and how? Long 6ince, he thought; and t.ben, casting his eye through the front trlass, which had been recently occluded by the fieure of trie jarvey, he beheld, the tree-tops of the rookery in Randolph Crescent. He wae close to home home, where he bad thought, at that hour, to be sitting in the wellremembered drawing-room in friendly converse; and, instead ! It was his first impulse to drop into the bottom of the cnb; his next, to cover bis face with his hands. So he sat, while the cabman toasted the publican, and the publican toasted the cabman, and both reviewed tbe affairs of the nation; eo he stil! pat, when his master condescended to return, and drive off at last - down hill, aiongtho curve of Lynedoeh Place; bat even so sitting, as he passed the end of his father's street, he took one glance from between, shielding fingers, and beheld a doctor's carriage at the door. Well, just so," thought he; "111 have killed my father! And this is Christmas day!" If Mr. Nicholson died, it was down this same Toad he must journey to the grave; and down this road, on the same errand, his wife had preceeded him years before; and many other leading citizens, with tbe proper trapping and attendance of the end. And now. in that frosty, ill-smelling, s:raw-rarpeted and ragged-cushioned cab, with bis breath congealing on tbe glasses, where eise was John himself advancing to?" The thought stirred his imagination, which began to manufacture many thousand pictures, bright and fleeting, like the shapes in a kaleidoscope; and now he saw himself, ruddy and comforted, sliding in the gutter, and, again, a little woebegone, bored urchin tricked forth in crape and weepers, descending this same hill at the foot's pace of mourning coaches, his mother's body just preceding him; and yet aeain. his fancy, running far in front, showed him his destination now standing solitary in the low sunshine, with the sparows bopping on the threshold and the dead man within staring at tbe roof and now, with a sudden change, thronged about with white-faced, hand-upiitting neighbors, the doctor bursting through their midst and fixing his stethoscope as he went, tbe policeman shaking a sagacious head beside tbe body. It was to this he feared be was driving; in the midst of this he saw hinue f arrive; heard himself , stammer faint explanations, and felt the hand of the constable upon his shoulder. Heavens! how he wished he had played the manlier part; how be despised himself that he had tied that fatal neighbourhood when all was quiet, and should now be tamely traveling back when it was thronging with avengers. Any strong degree of passion lends, even to the dullest, the forces of. the imagination. And So now as he dwelt'on What, as .probably .awaitipg bin at the vend1 of- -this distressful drive John, who saw things litrltfi remembered' them less, and could cot havetteseribed them at ali, beheld in his mind's eye the garden of tho Lodge, detailed as in a map; be went to and fro in it, feeding bis terrors; he saw tbe hollies, the snowy borders, the paths where he bad sought Alan, the high, conventual walls, the shut door what! was tbe door shut? Ay. truly, he had shut it 6hutin his money, his escape, his future life ebnt it with these bands, and none "could now open it! He heard the snap of the springlocfc like something bursting iu his brain, and sat astonished. And then be woke again, terror jarringthroueh bis vitals. ' This was no time to be idle: he must be up aud doing, he must think. Once at tha end of this ridiculous crnise, ouce at tbe Lodge door, there would be nothing for it but to turn the cab and trundle oack airain. Why, tben, go eo far? why add another feature of suspicion to a case already so suggestive! why not tarn at once? It was easy to say, turn: but whither? He had nowhere now to go to; he could never be saw it in letters of blood he could never pay that cab; he was saddled with that cab forever O thru cab! his soul yearned and burned, and his bowels sounded to be rid of i- He forgot all other cares. He must first quit himself of this iU-smoIMn? vehicle and of the human beast that guided it first do that; do -that, at least; do that at ouce. And just then tbe cab suddenly stopped, aud there was his persecutor rapping on the front plass, like or.n with chiid of some intelligence. John let it down, and beheld the port-wine countenance inilamed with intellectual trinmoh. "I ken wha ye are!" cried the husky voice. 'I mind ye now. You're a Nnokolson. I drove ye to Herrcistcn to a Christmas party, and ye came back on the box, and I let ye drive." It was a fact. John knew the man; they had been even friends. His enemy, he now remembered, was a fellow of great good nature endless pood nature with a boy; why not with a man? Why not appeal to his better side? He grasped at the new hope. "Great Scott! and so you did." be cried, a3 if in a transport of deiight, his voice standing false in his own ears. "Well, if that's so I've something to say to yon. I'll just get out, I guess. Where are we, anyway!" The driver had fluttered his ticket in the eyes of tbe branch toll-keeper, and .they were now' brought to on the highest and most solitary part of tbe by-road. On the left, a row of field-side trees beshaded it; on the rigiit it was shaded by naked fallows, undulating downhill to the Queensferry road: in front. Corstorphine hill raised its snow-bedabbled, darkling woods against the sky. John looked all about him, drinking the clear air like wine; then his eyes returned to the cabman's face as he sat, not ungleefully, awaiting John's communication, with the air of one looking to be tipped. The features of that face were hard to read, drink had so swollen them, drink had eo painted them, in tints that varied from brick red to mulberry. The small grey eyes blinked, the lips moved, with ureed: greed was the ruling passion; and though there was some good nature, some genuine kindliness, a true human touch, in the old toper, his greed was now so set afire by hope that all other traits of character lay dormant. He sat there a monument of gluttonous desire. John's Leart slowly fell. He had opened his lies, but he stood there and uttered nought. He sounded the well of his courage, and it was dry. He groped in his treasure of words, and it was vacant A devil of dumbness had him by tbe throat; the devil of terror Dabbled in his ers; and suddenly, without a word uttered, with no conscious purpose formed in bis will, Jobn whipped about, tumbled over the roadside wall, and began running for his life across the fallows. He had not gone far, he was not past the midst of the first field, when his whole brain thundered within him. "Fool! . Yon have your watch!" The shock stopped him, aud he faced once more towards the cab. The driver was leaning over the wall, brandishing his whip, his face empurpled, roaring like a bulL And John saw (or thought) that he had lost the chance. No watch would pacify the man's resentment now; he would cry for vengeance alto. John would be had under the eye of the police; his tale would be unfolded, bis secret plumed, bis destiny would close on him at last and forever.

He uttered a deep sigh; and just as the cabman, taking heart of grace, was beginningatlast to scale the wail, hisdefaultingeustotner fell again to running, and disappeared into the further fields. ; , ' CHAPTER VTII. SlXOtrLAB INSTANCE OF THE UTILITY OF PASSKEYS. Where he ran at first. John never very clearly knew; nor yet bow long a time elapsed ere he found himself in the by-road near the lodge of Ravelston, propped against the wall, his lungs heaving like bellows, nia legs leaden-heavy, his mind possessed by one sole desire, to lie down and be unseen. He remembered the thick coverts around the quarry-hole pond, an untrodden corner of the world where he might surely find concealment till the night should fall. Thither he passed down the lane; and when he came there behold! he bad forgotten the frost, and tbe pond was alive with young people skating, and the pond-side coverts were thick with lookerson. He looked on awhile himself. There wss one tail, graceful maiden, skating hand in band with a youth, ou whom she bestowed ber brigat eyes perhaps too patently; and it was strange with vihat anger Jobn beheld her. He could have broken forth in curses; he could have stood there, like a mortified tramp, and shaken his fist and vented his gall upon her by the hour or so he thought: and the next moment bis heart bled for the girl. "Poor creature, it's little she knows!" he sighed. "Let her enjoy herself while she can!" Bat was it possible, when Flora used to smile at him on the Braid ponds, she could have looked so fulsome to a sick-hearted by-stander? The thought of one quarry, in his frozen wits, suggested another, and he plodded off towards Craig Leith. A wind had sprung up out of the northwest; it was cruel keen, it dried him like a fire, and racked his finger-joints. It brought clouds, too; pale, swift, hurrying clouds, that blotted heaven and shed a gloom upon the earth. He scrambled up among the bazeled rubbish hears that surround the cauldron of the Quarry, and lay flat upon the stones. The wind searched close along tbe earth, the stones were cutting and icy, the bare hazf-13 wailed about him; and soon the air of the afternoon began to be vocal with thocie strange and dismal harpings that herald snow. Pam and misery turned in John's limbs to a harrowing impatience and blind desire of change; now he would roll in Lis harsh lair, and when the flints abraded him, was almost pleased; now be would crawl to the edge of the huge pit and look dizzily down. He saw the spiral of the descending roadway, the steep craes, the the clinging bushes, tbe peppering of snowwreaths, and far down in the bottom, the diminished crane. Here, no doubt, was a way to end it. But it somehow did not take his fancy. 'ii; And suddenly he was aware that he was hungry; ay, even through the tortures of the cold, even through tbe frosts of despair, a gross, desperate longing after food, no matter what, no matter how, began to wake and spur him. Suppose he pawned his watch? But no, on Christmas day this was Christmas day! the pawn-shop would be closed. Suppose he went to tbe public .hquse close by at Blackhall. and offered the -watch, which was worth ten pounds, iu payment for a meal of bread and cheese? The incongruity was too remarkable: the good folks would either put him to the door, or only let him in to send for the Dolice. He turned bis pockets out one after another; some San Francisco tram-car cnecks, one cigar, no lights, the pass-key to his father's house, a pocket handkerchief, with just a touch of scent: no, money could be raised on none of these. There was nothing for it but to starve; and after all, what mattered it? That also was a door of exit. He crept close among 'the bushes, the wind playing round him like a lash; hia clothes seemed thin as paper, his joints burned, his skin curdled on his bones. He had a vision of a high lying cattle-drive in California, and the bed of a dried stream with one muddy pool, by which the vaqueros had encamped, splendid sun over all, the big bonfire blazing, the strips of cow browning and smoking on a skewer of wood; how warm it was, how savory the steam of scorching meat! And then again ha remembered his manifold calamities, and burrowed and wallowed in the sense of his disgrace and shame. And next he was entering Frank's restaurant in Montgomery street, San Francisco: he had ordered a pan stow and venison chops, of which he was immoderately fond, and as he sat waiting, Munroo, the good attendant, brought him a whisky punch; he saw the strawberries float on the delectable cup, he heard the ice chink about the straws. And then be awoke again to his detested fate, and found himself sitting, humped together, in a windy combe of quarry refuse darkness thick about him, thin flakes of snow flying here and there like rags of paper, and the strong shuddering of his body clashing his teeth lie a hiccough. - - We have seen John in nothing but the stormiest conditions; we bave seen him reckless, desperate, tried beyond bis moderate powers: of his daily self, cheerful, regular, not (unthrifty, we bave seen nothing; and it may thus be a surprise to the reader, to learn that he was studiously care f ul of his health. This favorite preoccupation now awoke. If he were to sit there and die of cold, there would be mighty little gained; better the police cell and the chances of a jury trial, than the miserable certainty of death at a dyke-side before the next winter's dawn, or death a little later in the gas-lit wards of an infirmary. He rose on aching legs, and stumbled here and there among rubbish beans, still circumvented by the yawning crater of the quarry; or perhaps he only thought so, for the darkness was already dense, the snow was growing thicker, and he moved like a blind man, and with a blind man's terrors. At last he climbed a fence, thinking to drop into the road, and found himself staggering, instead, among the iron furrows of a plougbland, endless, it seemed as a whole country. And next be was in a wood, beating among young trees: and then he was aware of a house with many lighted windows, Christmas carnages waiting at tho doors, and Christmas drivers (for Christmas has a double edge) becoming swiftly booded with snow. From this glimpse of human cheerfulness, he fled like Cain: wandered in the night, UDpiloted. careless of whither he went; fell, and lay, and then rose again and wandered farther: and at last, like a transformation scene, behold him in the lighted jaws of the citv, staring at a lamp which had already donned the tilted nightcap of the snow. It came thickly now. a "Feeding Storm;" and while he yet stood blinking at the lamp, his feet were buried. He remembered something like it in the past, a street-lamp crowned and caked upon the windward side with snow, the wind uttering it3 mournful hoot, himself looking on, even as now; but the cold had struck too 6barply on his wits, and memory failed him as to the date and sequel of the reminiscence. His next conscious moment was on the Dean Bridge; bnt whether he was John Nicholson, of a bank in California street, or some former John, a clerk in his father's office, he had novr clean forgotten. Another blank, and he was thrusting his pass-key into the door-lock of his father's house. Hours must have passed. Whether crouched on the cold stones or wandering in the fields among the snow, was more than he could tell: but hours had passed. The finger of the hall clocic was close on twelve; a narrow peep of gas in the ball lamp shed shadows; and the door of the back room his father's room was open and emitted a warm light. At so late an hour, all this was strange; the lights should have been out, the doors locked, the good folk safe in bed. He marveled at the irregularity, leanine on the hall table; and marveled to find himself there; and thawed and grew more hungry, in the warmer air of the house. Tbe clock uttered its premonitary catch, in five minutes Christmas dny would be among tbe days of tbe past Christmas! what a Christmas! Well, there was no use waiting; he bad come into that house, he scarcely knew how; if they were to thrust him forth again, it had best be done at once; and he moved to the door of the back room and entered. O, well, then he wus insane, as he had long believed. There, in his father's room, at midnight, the fire was roaring and the gas bUziug; tbe papers, the sacred papers to lay a hand on which was criminal had all been taken off and piled along the floor; a cloth, was spread, aud a supper laid, udou the business table; and in bis father's chair a woman, habited like a nun, sat eating. As he appeared in the doorway, the nun rose, gave a low cry; and stood staring. She was a large woman, strong, calm, a little masculine, her features marked witn courage and good sense; and as John blinked back at her, a faint resemblance dodged about his memory as when a tune haunts ns and yet will not be recalled. "Whv. it's John!" cried the nun. "I daresay I'm mad," said John, unconsciously following Kin Lear; "but, upoa my word, 1 do believe you're Flora." "Of course I am." replied she. And yet it is not Flora at all. thought John: Flora was slender, and timid, and of changing color, and dewy-eye.i: and had Flora en;h an Edinburgh accent?" But he said none of the.se things, which was perhaps as well. What he said was, "Then why are you a nun!1 "Such nonsense!" said Flora. "I'm a sicknurse; and I am here nursing your sister, wuh whom, between yoa and me, there is precious little the matter. But that is not the question. The point is: How do yoa come here? and are you not ashamed to show yourself!" "Flora," said John, sepulchrally, "I haven't eaten anything for three days. Or, at least, I don't know what day it is; bnt I guess I'm starving." "You unhappy man!" she cried. "Hare, sit down end eat my supner; and ill just run uostairs aud see my patient, not but what 1 doubt she's fast asleep; for Maria is a malada imadginaira." With this specimen of the French, not of Stratford-atte Bowe, but of a finishing establishment in Moray Place, she left John alone in his father's sanctum. He fell at once upon the

food; and it is to be supposed that Flora bad found her patient wakeful, and been detained w th some details of nursing, for he had time to make a full end of all there was to eat, and net only to empty the teapot, but to fill it again from a kettle that was fitfully singing on bis father's fire. Then he sat torpid, and pleased, and bewildered; bis misfortunes were tben half forgotten: his mind considering, not without regret, this unsentimental return to his old love. He was thus engaged, when that bustling woman re-entered. "Have yon eaten?" said she, "Then tell mo all about it." It was, a long end (as the reader knows) a pitiful story; but Flora beard it with compressed lips. She was lost in none of those questionings of human destiny that have, from" time to time, arrested the flight of my own pen; for women, such as she, are no philosophers, and behold the concrete only. And women, such as sbo, are very hard on the imperfect man. "Very well," said she, when he had done; "then down upon your knees at once, and beg God's forgiveness." And the great baby plumped upon his knees, and did as he was bid; and none the worse for that! Bat while he was heartily enough requesting forgiveness on general principles, the rational side of him distinguished, and wondered if. perhaps, the apology were not due upon the other part. And when he rose again from that becoming exercise, he first eyed the face of bis old love doubtfully, and then, taking heart, uttered his Drotest. "I must say, Flora," said he. 'in all this business, I can see very little fault of mine." "If you bad written home," replied the lady, there would have been none of it. If you had ever cone to Murrayfield reasonably sober, you would never have slept there, and tbe worst would not have happened. Besides the whole thing began years ago. You got into trouble, and when your father, honest man. was disappointed, yoa took thepet, or got afraid, and ran away from punishment. Well, you've had your own way of it, John,and Idon'tsupposeyoulikeit." "I sometimes fancy I'm not much better than a fool," sighed John. "My dear John." said she, "not much!" He looked at her. and bis eye fell. A certain anger rose within him; here was a Flora he disowned; she was bard; she was of a set color; a settled, mature, undecorative manner; plain of speech, plain of habit he had come near saying plain of face. And this changeling called herself by the same name as the many-colored, clinging maid of yore; she of tbe frequent laughter, and the many sighs, and the kind, stolen glares. And to make all worse, she took the upper hand with hira, which (as John well knew) was not the true relation of the sexes. He Bteeied his heart against this sick-nurse. "And how do yon come here?" he asked. She told hi.-n how she had nursed her father in his long illness, and when be died, and she was left alone, had taken to nurse others, partly from habit, partly to be of some service in the world; partly, it might be, for amusement. "There's no accounting for taste," said she. And she told him how she went largely to the houses of old friends, as the need arose; and how she was thus doubly welcome, as an old friend first, and then as an experienced nurse, to whom doctors would confide the gravest cases. "And, indeed, it's a mere farce my being here for poor Maria," she continued; "but your father takes her ailments to heart, and I cannot always be refusing him. We are great friends, your father and I; he was very kind to me long ago ten years ago." A strange stir came into John's heart. All this while had he been thinking only of himself? All this while, why had he not written to Flora? Iu penitential tenderness he took her hand, to his awe and trouble, it remained in his, compliant. A voice told him this was Flora, after all told him so quietly, yet with a thrill of singing. "And vou never married?" said he. "No, John; I never married," she replied. The ball clock striking two recalled them to the sense of time. "And now," she said, "you have been fed and warmed, and 1 have heard your story, and now it s high time to call your brother. "O!" cried John, chopfalien, "do you think that absolutely necessary?" "I can't keep you here; I am a stranger," said she. "Do you want to run away again? I thought you had enough of that" He bowed his head under the reproof. She despised him, he reflected, as he sat once more alone; a monstrous thing for a woman to despise a man; and strangest of all, she seemed to like bim. Would his brother despise him. too? And would his brother like him? And presently the brother appeared, under Flora's escort; and standing afar off beside the doorway, eyed tbe hero of this tale.

"So this is you;" he said, at length. Yes, Alick, it's me it's John," replied tho elder brother, feebly. JL er bro 'And 1 "And how did you' ge? ifffPrT replied tho younger. O. I had mv pass-kev," says John. "The deuce yoa bad!" said Alexander. "Ah, yon lived in a better world? There are no passkeys going now." "Well, father was always averse to them," sighed John. And the conversation then broke down, and the brothers looked askance at one another in silence. "Well, aud what the devil are we to do?" said Alexander. "I suppose if the authorities got wind of you, you would be taken up?" It depends on whether they've found the body or not," returned John. "And then there's that cabman, to be sure!" "Oh, bother the body!" said Alexander. "I mean about the other thing. That's serious." "Is that what my father spoke about?" asked Johu. "I don't even know what it is." "About your robbing your bank in California, of course," replied Alexander. It was plain, from Flora's face, that this whs the first she had heard of it: it was plainer still, from John's that be was innocent. 'I!" he exclaimed. "I rob my bank! My God! Flora, this is too much; even you must allow that." "Meaning you didn't?" asKed Alexander. "I never robbed a soul in r.ll my days." cried John; "except my father, if you call that robberry; and I brought him back the money in this room, and he wouldn't even take it!" "Look here, John," said his brother: "let us have no misunderstanding upon this. MacEwen said to my father: he told him a bank yoa had worked for in San Francisco was wiring over the habitable globe to have S'ou collared that it was supposed you had nailed thousands, and it was dead certain yoa bad nailed three hundred. So MacEven said, and I wish you would be careful how you answer. 1 may tell you also, that yonr father paid the three hundred on the snot." "Three hundred?" repeated John. "Three hundred pounds, vou mean? That's fifteen hundred dollars. Why, then, it's Kirkman!"1 be broke ouV "Thank Heaven! I can explaiu all that, I sve them to Kirkman to pay it for me the nigh? before I left fifteen hundred dollars, and a letter to the manager. What do they suppose I weuld steal fifteen hundred dollars for? I'm rich: X struck it rich in stocks. It's the silliest stuff I ever heard of. All that's needful is to cable to tb- manager; Kirkman has tbe fifteen hundred find Kirkman. He was a fellow clerk of mine, and a bard case; but to do him justice, I didn't think b was as hard as this?" "Aud what co you say to that, Alick1"' asked Flora. "I say tbe cablegram shall go to-night!" cried Alexander, with energy. "Answer prepaid, too. Jf this can be cleared away and upon my word I do believe it can we shall be able to hold up our heads again. Htire, John, you stick down the address of your bank manager. You, Flora, you can pack John into my bed, for which I have no further nso to-night. As for me, lam off to the postoffice and thence to the High street about tbe body. The police ought to know, you see, and they ought to know through John; and I can tell them some rigmarole about my brother being a man of highly nervous organization, and the rest of it. And then; 111 tell you what, John did you notice the name upon the cab?" John gave the name of the driver, which, as I have not been able to commend tbe vehicle, I here suppress. "Well, resumed Alexander, I'll call round at their place before I come back, end pay your shot for you. In that way, before breakfast time, you'll be as good as new." John murmured inarticulate thanks. To see his brother thus energetic in his service moved him beyond expression: if he could not utter what he felt, he showed it legibly in his face; and Alexander read it there, and. liked it the batter in that dumb delivery. "But there's one thing," said tbe latter; "cablegrams are dear; and I daresay you remember enough "f the governor to guess the state of my finances." .'The trouble is," said Jobn, "that all my stamps are in that bea6tly house." "AH your what?" asked Alexander. "Stamps money." explained John. "It's an American expression; I'm afraid I contracted one or two." "I bave some," said Flora. "I have a pound note upstairs." My dear Flora." returned Alexander, "a pound note won't ee us very far: and besides, this is my father's business, and I shall be very much surprised if it isn't my .father who pays for it." "I would not apply to him yet; I do not think it can b9 wise," objected Flora. You have a very imperfect idea of my reresources, and none at ali of my effrontery, replied Alexander. "Please observe." He put John out of his way, chose a stout knife among the supper things, and with surprising quickness broke into his father's drawer"Thero. uothmg ea&ier when you come to try," he observed, pocieticg tbe money. "I wish you had not done that." said Flora. "You will tever bear the last of it." "Oh, I don't know," returned the young' man;

"the governor is human after alL And now, John let me see your famous pass-key. Get into bed. and dont move for any one till I coma back. They won't mind you not answering when they knock; I generally don't myself." CHAPTER IX. IN WHICH MR. NICHOLSON ACCKITS THE PRINCIPLE OF AN ALLOWANCE. n spite of the horrors of tbe day and the teadrinking of the night, John slept tbe sleep of infancy. He was awakened by the maid, as it might have been ten years ago, tapping at the door. Tbe winter sunrise was painting the east; and as the window was to the back of the house, it shone into the room with many strange colors of refracted light. Without, the houses were ali cleanly roofed with snow; the garden walls were coped with it a foot in height; the greens lay glittering. Yet strange as snow had grown to John daring his years upon tbe Bay of San Francisco, it was what he saw within that most affected him. For it was to his own room that Alexander had been promoted; there was the paper with the device of flowers, in which a cunning fancy might yet detect the faco of Skinny Jim of the academy, John's former dominie; there was the old chest of drawers; there were the chairs one, two, three three as before. Only the carpet was new, and the litter of Alexander's clothes, and books, and drawing materials, and a pencil drawing on the wall, which (in John's eyes) appeared a marvel of proficiency. He was thus lying, and looking, and dreaming, hanging, as it were, between two epochs in his life, when Alexander came to the door, and made his presence known in a loud whisper. John let him in and jumped back into the warm bed. "Well, John, said Alexander, "'the cablegram is sent in your name, and twenty words of answer paid. I bave been to the cab office and paid your cab, even saw the old gentlemao himself, and properly apologized. He was mighty placable, and indicated his belief you had been drinking. Tben I knocked up old MacEwen out of bed, and explained affairs to him as he sat and shivered in a dressing gown. And before that I went to the High street, where they had heard nothing of yonr dead body, so that I incline to the belief that you dreamed it." "Catch me!" said Jobn. "Well, the police never do know anything," assented Alexander; "and at any rate, tney have dispatched a man to inquire and recover your trousers and your money, so that really your bill is now fairly clean; and I see but one lion in your path the governor." "Ill be turned out agaiu, youll see," said John, dismally. "I don't imagine so," returned the other; "not if you do what Flora and I have arranged; and your business now is to dress, and lose no time about it. Is your watch right? Well, yoa have a quarter of an hour. By five minutes before the half-hour you must be at table, in vour old seat, under Uncle Duthie's picture. Flora will be there to keep you countenance; and we shall see what we shall see." "Wouldn't it be wiser for me to stay in oed?'' said John. "If you mean to manage your own concerns, you can do precisely what yoa like," replied Alexander; "but if you are not in place five minutes before tbe half-hour, I wash my hands of yon for one." And thereupon he departed. He had spoken warmly, but the truth is, his heart was somewhat troubled. And as he hung over the bannisters, watching for his father to appear, he had hard ado to keep himself braced for the encounter that must follow. "If be takes it well, I shall be lueky." he reflected. "If he takes it ill, why, it'll be a herring across John's tracks, and perhaps all for the best. He's a confounded muff, this brother of mine, but he seems a decent soul." At that stage a door opened below with a certain emphasis, and Mr. Nicholson was seen solemnly to descend the stairs, and pass into hia own apartment, Alexander followed, qnasing inwardly, but with a steady face. He knocked, was bidden to enter, and found his father standing iu front of the forced drawer, to which he pointed as he spoke "This is a most extraordinary thing," said he; "I have been robbed!" "I was afraid yoa would notice it." observed his son; "it made such a beastly hash of the table." "You were afraid I would notice it?' repeated Mr. Nicholson. " And pray what may that mean!" "That I was the thief, sir," returned Alexan -der. "I took all the money in case the servants should get bold of it; and here is tbe change, and a note of my expenditure. Yon were gone to bed, you see, and I did not feel at liberty to knock you up; but I think when yon have heard the circumstances, yoa will do me justice. The fact is, I have reason to believe that there has been some dreadful error about ray brother Join, the sooner it could be cleared up the better for all, parties: it was a piece of business, sir, and so I took it: and decided! on mv own responsibility, to send a telegram to San Francisco. Thanks to my quickness; we may hear to-night. There appears to be no doubt sir, that John has been abominably used." "When did this take place?"' asked the father. "Last night, sir, after you were asleep." was the reply. "It's most extraordinary," said Mr. Nicholson. "Do you mean to say vou have been out all night?" "All night, as you es.y, sir. I have been to the telegraph and the police office, and Mr. MacEwen's. O, 1 had my bands full," said Alexander. "Very irregular," said the father. "You think of no one bat yourself." "I do not see that I have much to gain in bringing back my elder brother," returned Alexander, shrewdly. Tbe answer pleased the old man; he smiled. "Well, well, I will go into this after breakfast." he said. "I am sorry about the table," said the son. ffhe table is a small matter; I think nothing of that," said the father. "It's another example." continued the son, "of the awkwardness of a man having no money of bis own. 1 1 1 had a proper allowance, like other fellows of my age, this would have been quits unnecessary." "A proper allowance!" repeated bis father, in tones of blighted sarcasm, for the expression was not new to him. "1 have never gruaged you money for any preper purpose." "No doubt, no doubt," said Alexander; "but then you see yoi aren't always on the spot to have the thing explained to you. Last night, for instance " "You ennM have wakened me last night," interrupted h s father. Was it nut some similar affair that first got John into a mess?" asked the son, skillfully evading the point. But the father was not less adroit. "And pray, sir, how did you come to go out of the house?" he asked. "I forgot to lock the door, it seems," replied Alexander. "I bave had cause to complain of that too often," said Mr. Nicholson. "But still I do not understand. Did yoa keeD the servants up?" T propose to go into all that at length after breakfast," returned Alexander. "Taere is the half-hour going: we must not keep Miss Mackenzie waiting." , And greatly daring, be opened the door. Even Alexander, who, it must have been perceived, was on terms of comparative freedom with his parent: even Alexander had never before dared to cut6hort an interview in this highhanded fashion. But the truth is, the very mass of bis son's delinquencies daunted the old gentleman. He was like the man with the cart of apples this was beyond bim! That Alexander should bave spoiled his table, taken his money, stayed out all night, and then coolly acknowledged all, was something undreamed of in the Nicholsonian philosophy, and transcended comment. The retnrn of the change, which the old gentleman still carried in bis band, had been a feature of imposing impudence; itad dealt bim a staggering biow. Then there w7 the reference to John's original flight a subject which he always kept resolately curtained iu bis own micd; for be was a man who loved to bave made no mistakes, and when he feared he might bave made one kept the paoers sealed. In view of all these surprises and reminders, and of his son's composed and masterful demeanor, there began to creep on Mr. Nicholson a sickly misgiving. He seemed beyond his depth; if he did or said anything, he might come to regret it. The young man, besides, as be had pointed out himself, was playing a generous part. And if wrong had been done and done to one who was, after, and in spite of all. a Nicholson it should certainly be righted. All things considered, monstrous ns it was to be cut short in bis inquiries, the old gentleman submitted, pocketed tbe change, and followed his son into tbe dining-room. During these few steps he once more mentally revolted, and once more, and this time finally, laid down his arms; a still, small voice in bis bosom having informed him authentically of a piece of news; that be was afraid of Alexander. The strange thing was that ha was pleased to be afraid of him. He was proud of his son; he might be proud of him; the boy bad character and grit, and knew what be was doing. These were his reflections as be tnrned the corner of tbe dining-room door. Miss Mackenzie was in the place of honor, conjuring with a teapot and a coBy; and, behold! there was another person present, a large, portly, whiskered man of a very comfortable and respectable air, who sow rose from his seat and came forward, holding out his hand. "Good morning, father," said he. Of tbe contention of feeling that ran high in Mr. Nicholson's starched bosom, no outward sign was visible; nor did be delay long to make a choice of conduct. Yet in that interval he bad reviewed a great titld of possibilities both past and future; whether it was possible he had not been perfectly wise in hia treatment of John;

whether it was possible that John was innocent; whether, if he turned John out a second time, as his outraged authority suggested, it was possible to avoid a scandal; and whether, if be went to that extremity, it was possible that Alexander might rebel. "Hum!" said Mr. Nicholson, and put his band, limo and dead, into John's. And then, in an embarrassed silence, all took their places; and even the paper from which it was the old gentleman' habit to suck mortification daily as he marked the decline of our institutions even tbe paper lay furled by his side. But presentlv Flora came to the rescue. She slid into the silence with a technicality, asking if John still took his old inordinate amount of sugar. Thetoce it was but a step to the burning question of tbe day; and in tones a little ba.n. she commented on the interval since she bad last made tea for the prodigal, and congrata.ated bim on his return. And tben addressing 5lr. Nicholson, she congratulated him in a manner that defied his ill-humor; and from that launched into the tale of John's misadventures, not without some suitable suppressions. Graduallv Alexander joined; between them, whether he would or no, they forced a word or two from John; and these fell so tremulously, and spoke so eloquently of a mind oppressed with dread, that Mr. Nicholson relented. At length even he contributed a question; and before the meal was at an end ali four were talking even freely. ' Prayers followed, witn the servants gaping at this new-comer whom no one had admitted; and after prayers there came that moment on the clock which was the signal for Mr. Nicholson's departure. "John." said be, "of course you will stay here. Be careful no? to excite Maria, if Miss Mackenzie thinks it desirable that yoa should see ber. Alexander, I wish to speak with you alone." And then, when they were both in the back room: "You need not come to the office to day," said he; "Ton can stay and atnu3e your brother, and I think it would be respectful to call on Uncle Greig. And, by the bye" (this spoken with a certain dare we say? bashfulness) "I agree to concede the principle of an allowance; and I will consult with Dr. Durie, who is quite a man of the world and Las sons of his own, as to tbe amount And, my fine fellow, yon may consider yourself in luck!" he added with a smile. "Thank you," said Alexander. Before noon a detective bad restored to John his money, and brought news, sad enough in truth, put perhaps the least sad possible. Alan bad been found in his own house in Regent's Terrace, under the care of the terrified butler. He was quite mad, and instead of going to prison, had gone to Mornineside Asylum. The murdered man, it appeared, was an evicted tenant who had for nearly a year pursued his late landlord with threats and insults; and beyond this, th-i cause and details of the tragedy were lost. When Mr. Nicholson returned for dinner they were able to put a dispatch into his hands "John V. Nicholson, Randolph Crescent. Edinburgh Kirkman has disappeared; police looking for him. All understood. Keep mind quite easy. Austin." Having had this explained to him, the old gentleman took down tbe cellar key and departed for two bottles of 1820 port. Uncle Greig dined there that day, and Cousin Robina, and, by an odd chance, Mr. MacEwen; and the presence of these strangers relieved what might have been otherwise a somewhat strained relation. Ere they departed, tne family was welded once more into a fair semblance of unity. In the end of April John led Flora or, as more descriptive, Fiora led John to tbe altar, if altar that may be called which, was indeed the drawing-room mantel-piece in Mr. Nicholson's house, with the Rev. Dr. Durie posted on the hearthrug in the guise of Hymen's priest. The last I saw of them, on a recent visit to the north, was at a dinner-party in tbe house of my old friend Gallatly MacBride; and after we had in classical phrase, "rejoined the ladies," I had an opportunity to overhear Flora conversing with another married woman on the much cauvassed matter of a husband's tobacco. "O, yes!" said she; "I only allow Mr. Nicholson four cigars a day. Three he smokes at fixed times after a meal, yon know, ray dear; and tbe fourth he can take when he likes with any friend." "Bravo!" thought I to myself; "this is the wife of my friend John!" Written for the Sunday Journal. When Dreams Come True. When dreams come true I shall not wake to find my thought Was in the loom of fancy wrought. That visions fair and light as air Shall take on form so debonair When, dreams come true. When dreams come true I shall no longer hope for fame Hut on its summit carve a naznt. f Content to wait on that stera fate Till time shall bring that blissful stateWhen dreams come true.

J. B. Burris. PCBDCE UnIVEESITF. Too Late. What silence we Veep, year after year With those who are most near to us and dear. We live beside each other day by day And speak of myriad things, but seldom say The full, sweet word that iies just in our reach Beneath the commonplace of common speech. Then out of sight and out of reach they go These close, familiar friends who loved us so; And, sitting in the shadow they have left, Alone with loneliness and sore bereft. We think with van regret of some fond word That once we might have said and they have beard. For weak and poor the love that we express Now seems beside the vast, sweet unexpressed, And slight the deeds we did to those undone. And small the service srent to treasures won, Aud undeserved the praise for word and deed That should have overflowed the simple need. This is the cruel cross of life, to be Full visioned only when the ministry Of death has been fulfilled, and in the place Of some dear preseuoe is but empty space. What recollected service e'er can then Give consolation for the might bave been? Nora Terry. Across tbe Snow. Across the snow and over the sand. Where summer lingers with son? and bloom, The festoned oaks of Florida stand Enshrouded in odorous gloom; Over the mountains, across the snow. The blue sky smileth and bendeth low. Across the snow and over the sea, Italy laughs, like a child at play: And her rivers that sing incessai.tly. Are wooing the soul away! Over the sea aud across the snow They are calling me, but I cannot go. Across tbe snow and over tbe tears, The wonder-world of our childhood lies. And voices echo across the years With whispered question and low replies, Over the graves and across the snow. The children are calling who loved me so. Across the suow and beyond tbe doubt. There lieth a land so w t and fair That iioue who enter will turn about To brins- us tidings of loved ones there; Over the doubt and across the snow Tbe dear ones beckon and I shall go. Beuj. S. Parker, from the Cabiniu the CleariDg. God's Comforter. What time the Christ to Calvary was led And hung all bloedins on the cross of shame. While frenzied hordes reviled and mocked His name O'er thorns the golden aureole's flame w&s shed. When o'er His face death's deadly oalor spread Aud one great cry of anguish shook his frame, On rapid win 5 win? a pitying robin came, And fluttered sorrowfully about Uis head. From out the wounded brow, with eaer beak. The robin plucked a thorn, when, like a tear, Vpon its breast one drop of life-blood fell. And even now the blessed brand will speak. From every robin's bosom, of the dear And tender pity that He koew so well. 2. lectur Smith, in 3cri liner's Slagazine. Twilight The soft voluptuous opiate-shades The sun just gone, the eacer light dispelled (I, too, will soon be gone, dispelled). A haze Nirvana rest and night oblivion. Walt Whitman, in the Century. Greatness and coodness are not means, but ends! Ha-h he not always treasures, always friends. The good, great man? three Treasures, love and light And calm thouents regular as infant's breath: And three firm friends, more sure than day and night, Himself, his .Maker and the angel Death. Coleridge. Smart Little Johnny. Boston Transcript. "Johnny," said hi mother, the other day, catching the young gentleman in the act of propellins pebbles in the direction of neighbor Jones's windows: "Johnuy, do you know it is very wrons for little boys to throw stonesf Never let uie see yon do it again." Johnny looked up into his mother's face with that calm assurnnee which comes of a sene of innocent intent, and said "Mamma, V posing David's folks had been fo particular, wouldn't it bave been a bad thing for the Israelite A Thousand Week. Pittslmr Chronic'e. Francis Murpby returns to Pittsburg looking well and feeling well, which 'is his normal condition, and with the eclat of bating won an average of a thousand signers a week to his temperance o'.edge durinc a six weeks' campaign in tbe West, to cive a boom to the anniversary nextSunday of the beginning of his work iu this city.

READING FOR THE SABBATH. International Bible Studies Fourth Quarter, -. Lesson IS, Dee. 18. Other Parables Matt, xiii, 31 33; 44-52. A. D. 27. Home Readings. Monday The kingdom of heaven... Matt. xiii. 3l-35;44-53 Tuesdav The growth of the . kingdom Mark iv, 2 1 -3 4 Wednesday The beginning of the kingdom Acts ii, o 4 -47 Thursday The vision of the kingdom... Dsn. ii, 31-45 Fridav The progress of the kinpdom Ezek. xlvii, 1-12 Saturday The prosperity of the kingdom Isa. xxxv, 1-10 Sunday The glory of the kinzdotn Psa. lxxil, 1-20 Golden Text So shall it be at the end of the world the ancrels shall come forth and sever the wicked from the jut. Matt. xiii. 4.9. Of the connection between tbe seven parables recorded in Matt, xiii.. Dr. W. M. Taylor says: ' will be apparent to the attentive , reader tw there is a certain beauty of arrangement in the order of these parables. After that j of the four sorts of soil (or sower) which stand ' alone as illustrating the general effects pro- f duced " ' preaching of the gospel anywhere, ' the 01 come in pairs; and in these three coupl -b member is the complement and. companion of the other. Thus the parables of the tares and drag-net illustrate the same thing;, but the one. gives prominence to the origin of the mixture of evil with the good in the kingdom, while the other directs attention to the means , by which that state of things is to be brought to. an end. Again; those of the hidden treasure and the peail of rcreat price do both illustrate the acceptance of the gospel by the individual ; believer; but the one sets before us the ease of & man finding what he was not, at the moment, j looking for. while the other depicts the sue- 1 cess of the earnest seeker. Once more those oZ the mustard-seed and the leaven both illustrate 1 the progress of the gospel in the world; but while the one represents its outward and visible manifestation, the other suggests its hidden andx mvsterous operation." The "time and place are those of the last lesson the early autumn of A. D. 28, in a boat by the shore of Galilee. Dr. Taylor also suggests that as the parables of the sower, tares. mu.stard-seed and leaven were 1 spoken to the neople promiscuou.-ly, and thos. of the hidden treasure, pearl of great price, ami j drag-net were given to the diseiples alone, it i-; a f;iir inference that while the former deal" with the more public and patent aspects of the kingdom, the latter are concerned with the deeper things which are matters of personal history, and which are fully appreciated only by those who become subjects of the kigdom. The first four mav be verified from observation, but the last three 'have to be interpreted by experience. Points for Arrows. 1. Though Christianity was so unpromising in its beginnings, how mighty is it in its growth2. In its beginnings Christianity was very insignificant The manger, the cross, the Twelve what was there in them to encourage an ex-' pectation of great results? 3. Though so inconsiderable in its inception, vet Christian! tv has surpassed all kingdoms in its growth. "It is greater than the herbs, andbeeometh a tree." 4. In the foretold growth of Christianity a3 compared with all other kingdoms, what a testimony in fulfillment is there to its founder! 5. Other kingdoms grow by mechanical accretions, but Christianity like a seed, lthasv within itself an unconquerable, conquering vitality, which assimilates all of its conquests, to itself. 6. The growth of Christianity depended upoti the sowing of the seed. The sepulcher of Joseph, of Arimathapa was the place of its germination.. 7f Christianity affords a shelter for all mankind. Christian nations are the asylums of the oppressed. . 8. Like leaven, Christianity is a quickening influence. Through its vivifying power human-, ity is showing increasing signs of spiritual life,, 9. This vivifying power had to be introduced from without, Before Christ came the world was spiritually dead. 10. When Christianity was first introduced; into the world it was hidden apparently lost 11. Christianity acts upon individuals, quick-.; ening them, and using them to quicken others, i 12. Christianity has not made its way by force, but by the permeating power of love. 13. Christianity will continue to work in thi way until the whole world has leen transf ormedf , by the quickening power of the gospel. There, 1 is no possibility of its failure. 14. Christianity o5ers a treasure worth more than all other treasures combined. He whoi gives up all the world for it makes a good bar

gain. 13. Now is the time for choice. All men ar a net wmen is oemg uxawn iu mo nuuiro ... . t A 4 1 Vm in eternity. It is a character there. Pilgrim Teacher. here a deBtiByt Religious Notes. Ruskin: Intellect has been called the starlights of the brain. Religion is the starlight of the souL The English Church establishment receive about 820,000.000 yearly as tithes. Of thU $15,000,000 go for salaries of clergymen. It is rumored in Catholic circles that a thirA cardinal will be appointed to this country in thsK, person of Archbishop Feehanof Chicago. j The first Catholic chaplain to the Unite-' States navy will be a priest from the archdiocese j of New York. Who it will be will be known ial a couple of weeks. Steps are being taken to erect a chapel atkl Leatherhead, England, where Wesley's last seri mon was preached, a week before bis death. society recently organized there has now as membership of fifty. If all missionaries, evangelists, and teacher? in papal, pagan, and Moslem lands, including, men and women, foreign born aud native born, . were economically distributed, each would have 23,000 souls to care for. A little to the southeast of the Garden of Gethsemane, between the two roads which lead; southward, the emperor of Russia and hi brothers are building h small but beautiful anjf costly church as a memorial of their mother. Emerson: Every man takes caro that his neighbor shall not cheat him. But a day cornea when he begins to care that he does not chealj his neighbor. Then all goes well. He has changed his market cart into a chariot of the sun. Oliver Wendell Holmes: Those who have n ear for music must be very careful how theyv speak about the mysterious world of thrilling vibrations which are idle noises to them. And; eo the true saint can be entirely appreciated only by saintly natures. The Spurgeon family in London is represented by three- clergymen. The membership under their care, it is said, constitutes more than onesixth of the membership in the London Baptist association. Mr. Thomas iSpurgeon, son ofj Charles II., is pastor of one-fourth of all theBaptists in New Zealand. The Greensburg Standard says: "It is mat-, ter of much rejoicing among the Methodists audi' citizens of Adams, Ind , that Mr. Thomas Haeton has generously donated natural gas te the Methodist church, and the trust'jes and; niemers have piped it Sabbath, Nov. 20, thi church was, for the fui time, heated by it ani the house can be comfortably warmed with about cne-sixth the pressure." A genuine Christian life solves all social problems. A man will not cheat or oppress the brethren whom he genuinely loves. All ehiK dren agree whr-n all love their parents. God is Father, and his g-nuine children dwell aud labor in harmony. The Son's prayer contain enough to convert and harmonize the world. The great trouble is m arly all men want "the other fellow to be governed by the instructions in that prayer. Dr. Cameron Lees, minister of St Giles. Ediuburgi, before leaving Melbourne, threw,, out tho suggestion that Scotsmen in Australia should assume the responsibility of erecting a , monument to John Knox in St. Giles', where? the reformer so often thundered from the pulpit, j The suggestion has found much favor and is; likely to take a practical shape. Dr. Marshall ; Lang, of Glasgow, hits sailed for Melbourne te continue the pacific work begun by Dr. Lees. The Baptists of Canada have agreed to accept Mr. McM aster's bequest of three-quarters of a million of dollars on the testator's terms. The money is to be used in founding a university. With a view to this same end a charterhas been granted by tbe Ontario Legislature for thetmion of the Toronto and Woodstock colleges. Whether the new university shall be located a Woodstock or in Torotto is to be determined at a special session of the Board of Home MisMons. And now Martin Ltither's views on future probation are reproduced by The Christian Union. It thinks that Luther "did not b-!ieve in tbe modern theory that men can be aved without a knowledge of Christ. It is clear, also, it says, that Luther did nut hold the dogma of the absolutely decisive nature of this life's proba- , tion for all mn. whether they have heard of Christ or cot; sail less to the idea that any man who does not hold to that dogma is uuworthy of Christian fellowship or .if ministerial ordination. His position is substantially that of Mr. Morse, one of the rejected candidates for missionary appointment by the American board; we cannot say that the hypothesis of future probation is certainly false," but we cannot aflirm lt to be positively true.

.1

V