Indiana State Sentinel, Indianapolis, Marion County, 11 December 1889 — Page 6

THE INDIANA STATE SENTINEL. WEDNESDAY, DKUKM.HKH 11, löyj.

DR. TALMAGE AT JOPPA.

A PORT MADE FAMOUS BY SOLOMON. Dorcas Lived There One and the Divine Par a Tributs to the rounder of a Magnificent Charity The Needle i lilmiDf. Last Sunday was memorial in the sacred Listory of Joppa. The Rev. T. De Witt Talmage, D. D., preached there to a company of Christian people of various denomi nations on Societies." "The Birthplace of Sewing lie took for Lis text Acts, ix.. 39: "And all the widows ntood by him weeping, and showing tho coats and garments which Dorcas made while she was with them." The preacher said : Christians of Joppa! Impressed as I am with your mosque, the first I ever saw, and stirred as I am with the fact that your harbor once floated the great rafts of I nanOil cedar from which the temples at Jerusalem were bail led, Solomon's oxen drawing the lops through this very town on the way to Jerusalem, nothing can make me forget that this Joppa was the birthplace of the sewing society that has blessed the poor of all succeeding ages in all lands. The disasters to your town when Judas Maecakeus set it on lire and and Napoleon had 500 prisoners massacred in your neighborhood can not make me forget that one of the most magnificent charities of the centuries was started in this seaport by Dorcas, a woman with her needle embroidering her name ineCaceably into the- beneficence of the world. I see her sitting in yonder heme. In the doorway, and around about the building, and in the room where ehe sits are the pale faces of the poor. She listens to their plain, ehe pities their woe, she makes garments for them, she adjusts the manufactured articles to suit the bent form of this invalid woman and to the cripple that romes crawling on his hands and knees. She gives a coat to this one, fhe gives sandals to that one. With the gifts sho mingles prayers and tears and Christian encouragement. Then 6he goes out to he greeted on the street corners by those whom she has blossed and all through the street the cry is heard : "I reas is corning !'' The sick look tin gratefully in her face an she b. puts her hand on the Imming" brow, and the lost and aban!onvl stnrt up wan hope a they near tier gentle voice, as thou g'.i an angel had addressed them; gnil as she goes out the lane eyes half put out with sin think they see a halo of light about her brow and a trail of f,lory in her pathway. That niirht a ha!f5a:d shipwright climbs the hill and reaches lome and sees Iiis little Im. y well clad and Favs: "Where did these clothes come frc'm?" And they tell him,,"I or.-as has Leon here." In another place a woman is trimming a. lamp ; Donas bought the oil. In another place a family tint had not leen at tah'.e for many a week are gathered now, ir Dorcas lias brought bread. But there 13 a sudden pause in that woman's ministry. They sa": "When) is Dorcas? Why, we haven't seen her fur many a day? "Where is Dorcas?'' And one of these poor people gots up and knocks r.t the door and linds the mystery solved! All through the haunts of wretchedness the news comes, "Dorcas is sick !" !No bulletin Hashing from the palace gate, telling the stages of a kind's disease, ji more anxiously awaited for than the news from this sick benefactress. Alas! for Joppa! there is wailing, waiünir. That voice which has uttered so many cheerful words is hushed; that hand which has made; so many garments for the poor is coll and still; the star which lias poured lighc into the midnight of wretchedness is dimmed by the blinding mis ts that go up from the river of death. In every Godforsaken place in this town; wherever there is a sick child nnd no balm; wherever there is hunger and 310 bread; wherever there is guilt and no commiseration: wherever there is a broken Leart and r co::ihrt, there are despairing looks and Streaming eyes, and frantic gesticui .tions as they cry "D(.rca3 is dead." They" s -ml for the apostle Peter, who happens tt he in the suburbs of this place, stopping with a tanner by the name of ?imon. Peter urges his way through the crowd around the door and stands in the presence of the dead. What expostulation and grief all about him! Here stands some of the. poor people, who show the garments which this poor woman bad made for them. Their grief cannot be appeased. The apostle IVt r wants to perform a miracle. lie will not do it amid the excited crowd, so lie kindly orders that the whole room be cleared. The door is shut against the populace. The apostle stands now with the d; ad. Oh, it is a serious moment, yen know, win n you r.re alone -with a lifele.-s body! The apostle pets dov;n on his hue s ;;nd prays, and then ho comes to the lifeless form of this one ad ready for the s-epulcher ami in the strength of him who is the r-sunretion ho exclaims: "Ta'.itl.a., arise!" There is a Etir in the fountains of life; the hu art llutters; the nerves thrill ; the cheek Hushes; the eve opens; she sits up! We see in this suieeet Dorcas e dlsCiple, Dorcas the Dem-nu-trc-s, Dorcas tue 1 lamented, Dorcathe resurrected. If I had seen that word disciple in my text I would have known this woman was a Christian, Scch music as that never can e from a heart which is not chorded and strung by divine grace. Before I show you the needlework of this woman I want o show you her regenerated heart, the source of a pure life and of all Chris tian hantKS. 1 wish toat the wives and mothers and daughters and sisters of all the earth would imitate Dorcas in her di.-cipleship. Before '. vou ross the threshold of the hospital, before you enter upon the temptations and ; trials of to-morrow, I charge you, in the name of (hid and by the turmoil and , tumult of the judgment day, O women! ; that you attend to the first, last and great- : est duty cf your lif the seeking for (Jod 1 and being at peace with Him. When tho trumpet shall sound there will be an up- ! roar, and a wreck of mountain and con- ! tinent, and no human arm can help you. j Amid the rising of the dead, and amid ; the boiling of yonder sea, and amid i the live, leaping thunders of the flying : heavens, calm and placid will be every ; woman's heart w ho bath put her trust in i Christ; calm, notwithstanding all the tu- ' mult, as though the fire in the heavens were only the gildings of an autumnal sunset, as though the ptal of the trumpet ; were only the harmony of an orchestra, . rs though the awful voices of the sky ' were but a group of friends bursting ,' through n gateway at eventimo with laugh- j tcr and shouting: "Dorcas, the disciple 1" Would God that every Mary and every Martha would this day sit down at the feet of Jesus ! Further, we see Dorcas the benefactress. History has told the story of the crown; the epic oern has sung of the sword ; the pastoral poet, with his versos full of the redobnee of clover tops, and a-rustle wih the sük of the corn, has sung the prais-.-s of the plow. 1 tell you the praises of the needle. From the fig leaf rohe prepared in the garden of Edn to the last stitch jken on the garment for th'1 ior, the aecdle has wrought wonders of kindness zenerosity and benefaction. It adorned the girdle of the huh priest; it fashioned the curt uns of the ancient tai rnaeie; it Si ilomnn rushioned the chariots of King it provided the robes of Queen Elizabeth;

and in high places and in low places, by tho lire of the pioneer's back log and under tho flash of the chandelier, everywhere, it has clothed nakedness, it has preached the g'sjel, it has overcome host3 of penury and want with tho war-cry of "Stitch, stitch, stitch!" The operatives have found a livelihood by it, and through it the mansions of the employer have been constructed. Amid the greatest triumphs of all ages and lands I set down the conquests of the needle. I admit its crimes; I admit its cruelties. It has had more martyrs than the fire, it has punctured the eye, it has pierced the side, it has struck weakness into the lungs, it has sent madness into the brain, it has filled the potter's field, it has pitched whole armies of the suficring into crime and wretchedness and woe. But now that I am talking of Dorcas and her ministries to the poor, I shall sneak only of the charities of the needle. This woman was a representative of all those women who make garments for tho destitute, who knit socks for the barefooted, who prepare bandages for the lacerated, who fix up boxes of clothing for missionaries, who go into the asylums of the suffering and destitute bearing that gospel which is sight for the blind and hearing for the deaf, and which makes the lame man leap like a hart and brings the dead to life, immortal health abounding in their pulses. What a contrast between tne practical benevolence of this woman and a great deal of the charity of this day! This woman did not spend her time idly planning how the poor of your city of Joppa were to be relieved; ßhe took her needle and relieved them. She was not like those persons who sympathize with imaginary sorrows and go out in the street and laugh at the boy who has upset his basket of cold victuals, or like that charity which makes a rousing speech on the benevolent platform, and goes out to kick the beggar from the step, crying: "Hush your miserable howling!" The sufferers cf the world want not so much theory sls practice; not so much kind wishes as loaves of bread; not so much smiles as shoes; not so much "(iod bless yous!" as jackets and frocks. I will put one earnest Christian man, hard working, against 5,000 mere theorists on the subject of charity. There are a great many who have tine ideas about church architecture w ho never in their life helped to build a church, There are men who can give you the history of Buddhism and .Mohammedanism who never pent a farthing for their evangelization. There are women who talk beautifully about the suffering of the world who never had the courage, like Dorcas, to take the needle and assault it. I am glad that there is not a page of the world's history which is not a record of female benevolence. ciod says to all lands and people, Come now and hear the widow's mile rattle down into the poor box. The princess of Cotti sold all her jewels that she might help tho faminestricken. Queen Blanche, the wife of Louis " 1 1 1 of France, hearing that there were some persons unjustly incarcerated in the prisons, went out amidst the rabble and took a stick anl etruek the door as a signal that they might all strike it, and down went the prison door and out came the prisoners. tueen Maud, the wife of Henry I, went down amidst the poor and washed their sores anel administered to them cordials. Mrs. lletson, at Matagorda, appeared on the battle-field whil- the missiles ot death were flying around, and cared for the wounded. Is there a man or woman who has ever heard of the civil war in America who has not beard cf the women of the sanitary and Christian commissions, or the faet that, before the smoke had 01ie UD frOM Gettysburg and South Mountain, the women of the North met the women of the South on the battle-iield, forgetting ail their animosities, w hile the' bound up the wounded and closed the eyes of the slain? Dorcas the benefactress. I come now to speak of Dorcas the lamented. When death struck down that good woman, oh, how much sorrow there

j was in this town ot Joppa! I supposo j there were women here with larger j fortunes; women, perhaps, with hand- ! Fomer fae.s; but there was no grief at I their departure like this at the death of Dorcas, there was not more turmoil and upturning in the Mediterranean sea, dashing against the wharves of this seaport, than there were surging to and fro of grief because Dorcas was dead. There are a great many w ho go out of life and are unmissed. There may be a very large funeral ; there may he a great many carriages and a plumed hearse; there may be high-sounding euioginms; the bell may toll at the cemetery gate; there may be a very fine marble shaft reared over the resting 'place; but the whole thing may lie a falsehood and a sham. The church of God has lost nothing, the world has lost nothing. It is only a nuisance abated; it is only a grumbler ceasing to lind fault; it is only : an id! r stopped yawning; it is only a dis- ; sipated fashionable parted from his wine ' ( liar; while, on tho other hand, no use- : fai Christian haves this world without being missed. The church of God cries out like th; prophet: "Howl, fir tree, for the cedar has fallen." Widowhood comes and shows the garments which the deoart- : inent had made. Orphans are lifted up to lok into the calm face of the sleeping benefactress, llcclaimed vagrancy comes and kiws the cold brow of her who ; charmed it away from sin, and all through the street? of Joppa there is mourning 1 mourning because Dorcas is dead. y ! When Josephine of France was carried : out to her grave there were a great many 1 men and women ot jKmp and pride and position that went out after her; but I am most a fleeted by the story of history that i on that day there were lOKX) of the poor i'of France who followed her tollin, weeping and wailing until the air rang again, because when they lost Josephine they lo.-t their last earthly friend. Oh, who would not rather have such obsequies ' than all the tears that were ever poured . in the lachrymals that have been exhumed from ancient cities? There maybe no mass for the dead; there may be no costly sarcophagus; there may be no elaborato mausoleunt; but in the damp cellars of the citv and through the lonely huts of the mountain glen there will be mournin'.', mourning, mourning, because Dorcas is dead. "lik-sa jd are the dead who die in the Lord; they rest from their labors and their works do follow them." I sjeak to you of Dorcas the resurrected. The apostle came to where she was and paid: "Arise; and she sat up 1" In what a short compass the great writer put that "she sat up!" Oh, what a time there must have been around this town when the apostle brought her out among her old friends! How the tears of joy must have started! What clapping of hands there must have been! What singing! What laughter! Sound it all through that lane! Shout it down that dark alley! It ail Joppa bear it ! Dorcas is resurrected ! Vou and I have seen the Fame thing 1 manvatime; not a dead bodv resuscitated, but the deceased coming up again after float h in the eood accomplished. If a man labors up to fifty jn ars of age, serving ( Iod, and then dies, we are apt to think that his earthly work is done. No. His iiuliience ou earth will continue till the world ceases. Services rendered for Christ neVf. r stop. A Chri-tian woman toils lor the upbuilding of a church through many anxieties, through many self-Menials, with prayers and tear, and then she dies. It is Jn'teen years since. she went away. Now the spirit of Ood descends upon the church; hundreds of souls stand up and confess the faith of Christ. Has that Christian woman who went away fifteen years ago nothing to do with these thiDgs?

I see the flowering out of her noble heart. I hear the echo of her footsteps in all the son:: over sin forgiven, in all the prosperity of the church. The good that seemed to be buried has come up again. Dorcas is resurrected. After awhile all these womenly friends of Christ will put down their needle forever. After making garments for others some one will make a garment for them; the last robe we ever wear the robe for the grave. You will have heard the last cry of pain. You will have witnessed the last orphanage. You will have come in worn out from j-our last round of mercy. I do not know "where you will sleep nor what your epitaph will be; but there will be a lamp burning at that tomb and an angel of God guarding it, and through all the night no rude foot wiil disturb the dust. Sleep on, sleep on! Soft bed, pleasant shadows, undisturbed repose! Sleep on ! Asleep In Jenus! B'e.e.l sleep! From which none eer wake to wepp. Then one day there Avill be a sky rending, and a whirl of wheels, and the flash of a pageant; armies marching, chains clanking, banners waving, thunders booming, and that Christian woman will arise from the dust, and she will be suddenly surrounded surrounded by the wanderers of the street whom she reclaimed, surrounded bv the wounded souls to whom she had administered! Daughter of God, so strangely surrounded, what means this? It means that reward has come, that the victory is won, that the crown is ready, that the banquet is spread. Shout it through all the crumbling earth. Sing it through all the flying heavens. Dorcas is resurrected. In 1SÖ5, when some of the soldiers came back from the Crimean war to London,the queen of Kngland distributed among them beautiful medals, called Crimean medals. Galleries were erected for the two houses of parliament and the royal family to sit in. There was a great audience to witness the distribution of the medals. A colonel, who had lost both feet in the battle of Inkerman, was pulled inon a wheel-chair; others came in limping on their crutches. Then the queen of England arose before them in the name of her government and uttered words of commendation to the officers and men and distributed these medals, inscribed with the four great battle-fields Alma, Palaklava. Inkerman and Sebastopol. As the queen pave these to the wounded men and the wounded officers the bands of music 6truck up the national air and the people with streaming eyes joined in the song: ol fare our jrraciou quefn! iini; live our noblo queen ! fiod save the queen ! And then thev shouted, "Huzzah!

huzzah!" Oh. it was a proud dav for a p those returned warriors! Put a brighter, better and gladder day wl' come when Christ shall pather those who have toiled in His service, pood soldiers of Jesus Christ. He shall rise before them, and in the presence of all the glorified of heaven He will say: "Well done, good and faithful servant !" and then He will distribute the medals of eternal victory, not inperibed with works oi righteousness which we have done, but with those four great battle-fields, dear to earth and dear to heaven, Bethlehem! Nazareth! Gethsemane! Calvary. WHAT ASEA COW ISN'T LIKE. A Strang Annimnl Tlmt Iitp in the Rivers of fr'loririn. N. Y. Times. On my first trip up the Manatee river I fully expected to see a manatee, or sea cow, raise her big-horned head out of the black water and bellow a warning at us. The name leads one to look for a great creature with the hairy skin of a cow, with horns and a frisking tail, a terriblo animal big enough to swallow the boat and all its contents, wading along the shallow shore, perhaps, and nibbling at prass and bushes. But the sea cow of reality is a very different tiling from the sea cow of imagination. There is little danger of seeing one of any sort, for it is years since the last one was taken in the Manatee river, except one solitary specimen that was considered rare enough to bo taken out to the semi-tropical exhibition at Jacksonville. I saw it there, and now my idea of the sea cow is clearer. t It does not roam about the country hallowing and swallowing whole sheep; it has no hair and no horns, nor hoofs, nor angry tail. In appearance it is no more like a cow than it is like a chicken, and its name comes not from its shape, but from its habit of living on grass and green vegetables, instead of eating fisi or flesh. THE BEST SELLING PHOTOS. Small Remand For Mm. CleTelnnr Pictures and Les Fur Mrn. llarrlsun'. New York Star. "The best selling photographs to-day," said a clerk in a Broadway store that makes a specialty of selling the photographs of local and foreign celebrities, "are those of Mrs. Langtry, Mrs. Potter, Mary Anderson, Jane Hading, Edwin Booth and Maurice Barrymore. Mrs. Harrison's photos have never sold well, and the sale of Mrs. Cleveland's likeness fell off one-half early last fall. The demand for the pictures of Mary Anderson and Mrs. Langtry have continued uninterruptedly for the past seven or eight years. Men's tastes are much less tickle than women's. For instance, the photographs of popular actors vary in their demand as mm 11 as the styles in spring bonnets. "A few monthsago Kyrle Pellew's photos sold better than any others in that class. Now there is hardly any demand for them at all. Since he began playing with Mrs. Potter his female admirers have deserted him.- Maurice Barry more is the present feminine idol, and his popularity only began when he was given a chance to play a romantic and heroic part in Capt. Swift.' " Establishing The r Genealogy. I New York Sun. It was at the depot in Macon, Ga. A colored man from the country stood looking at the locomotive when the colored fireman called out: "Hey, yo' nigger, what yo lookin' at?" "Who'i nig?er?" demanded the other. "Yo' is." "SoisyoV "Look out, dar, niser. I doan' take no eass ofl'n shucks." "Yo' is shucks yo'self." "Humph! Do yo' know what ray fadder sol I fur befo ue who.."' "No." "Fo'teen hundred dollars ia gold, 6ah, an dey reckoned dat was $-00 under price. Who wa to' fadder. eah?" "lie was ds k"11''" who bought to' fadder fur a waitah, 8.1h, an' lie alius 'lowed he paid a thousand dollahs mo' dan he was worth." How to Tell .Man's ntivity. Ocpan. A discussion arose on hoard an Atlantic liner a thort time aeo as to the citizenship of a gentleman Ht the other end of the aloon. , "He's au Englishman," said one; "I know by his llOHd." "He's a Scotchman," said another; 'T know by his complexion." "lie' a German," said another; "I know by his heard." The younar ladies thoncbt be looked a little Spanish. Here the conversation retted, but Boon one of thein spoke: "I hare it," said .he; "he's an American; ho's got his legs on the table." , It I n Great Help. perre Haute Express. Wickwire "By Getrge that is a pretty girl over there." Yabniey "Yes, she U pretty enough to be a poeteKs." Wickwire "You don't mean to imply that a pretty woman can write better poetry than a plflin one?" YHbsler "No; I suppose not. Cut she bus much less trouble in getting it accepted."

AN INHERITED VICE. 'Did you wipe off the cider barrel?" 6aid a voice from the head of the cellar stairs. "Did I wipe oft the w hat?" asked the perEoh spok.cn to, with a puzzled air. He was a young man, handsome and ell-dressed, with a frank, jolly face. He stood a second, waiting for an answer, the pitcher of foaming cider in his hand. He turned to his companion, a pretty, delicate-looking girl, w ho seemed amused at his perplexity. A sort of cool twilight reigned in the orderly and spotlessly neat cellar. The light struggled in through squire windows, each covered with wire netting, and 6ome of them overgrown with vines. The cellar was ceiled overhead and- waterlined underneath, and the ceiling and walls shone with fresh, clean whitewash. Around one 6ide, on a slightly raised platform, stood a row of barrels. Each barrel wa3 ' in cleanliness what Casars wife should have been in character above suspicion. Under the faucet of each barrel was a small stone jar, to catch any possible "drip," and they were all so alike in appearance and so regular in arrangement that they reminded one of a class drawn up for recitation. One half expected that the first barrel would start off with "twice one is two," or some such simple state

ment, and the rest follow in regular order. At the other end of the cellar was a swinging shelf perforated with holes, in which dozens of very clear, dustless bot tles were standing on their heads in slightly tipsy attitudes, doing penance, apparently, for the evil that their former contents might have done. It was a re markable cellar, remarkable for its exquis ite cleanness and order. Even the 6tairs leading down to it were white and shining as though scrubbed with sand. "What did your mother say?" asked the young man of the girl beside him, after waiting a minute. "She asked if you'd wiped off the cider barrel," she replied, half laughing. "Here, Harry," and 6he led the way to where, in a row, under the stairs, as many cloth.s were hanging as there were barrels, and taking one down, she banded it to him, saying: "This is the cider barrel cloth." He looked at it curiously and then at her. . . "Do you mean to say," he asked, "that your mother wipes the noses I beg your pardon, I mean the faucets, of every one of those barrels every time they are used?" "Why, yes," "she said, with dignity; "why shouldn't she?" . He took the cloth meekly, and tenderly wiped off the damp faucet with it, and then hung it back on its own special nail. "Well," he exclaimed, "that beats me! I've beard of neatness and order before, but I never saw anything like this! I don't believe your mother will half enjoy her halo, she'll be so busy scrubbing it all the time." The young girl didn't laugh. She went up the stairs, saying as she went: "Don't vou like to have things clean? I can't bear dirt." "Can't you ?" he said, lightly. "Now I revel in it! ; All the .most picturesque things in life are the dirtiest, you know." They came together into the diningroom, where a tall, thin woman was putting the finishing touches to a well-spread eupper table. She looked at them and smiled grimly. "Seems to me," she said, "yon wa3a long time getting that cider." The girl blushed furiously, but the young fellow putting the pitcher down on the table answered cheerfully: "Well, if we were, Mrs. Futnain, it's all your fault. To tell the truth 1 was so dazzled when I eaw that cellar of yours that I went into a trance, and Jennie had an awful time bringing me to." "Humph," said Mrs. Putnam, " a likely story !" but 6he looked pleased, nevertheless, for her cellar was to her what some favorite chapel is to a devotee, and praise of it was sweet. Her face was wrinkled and worn, but her eyes had a singular alert expression the look of one who wages a continual warfare. And this was just what she bad done. A farmer's daughter and a farmer's wife, she had spent all her life in one ceaseless struggle after perfect neatness and rule. Cleanliness was next to godliness with her. It wis godliness, and she worshiped it accordingly. She had been known once to say, in passing through a cemetery, that she "wouldn't mind dying so much if only there was something cleaner to be buried in." The final triumph of earth, which was only another name for her life-long enemy dirt, worried her greatly. Her husband was a rich, well-to-do farmer, buLwhile his money had given her increased ability for keeping ever3tbing in spotless condition that she loved, it had not brought her one single hour of leisure. She never relaxed her vigilance. She scrubbed and scoured and dusted, she swept and shook and polished, until it seemed as if the very riles were intimidated and kept at a respectful distance from her home. Her one daughter, Jennie, Avas engaged to Harry Jackson. He was going to take her away from her old home to the city, and one would have thought that the approaching separation from her only child would have weighed heavily on Mrs. Putnam. JSut it didn't. To tell &c truth, she was so very busy keeping things clean that she had never much time for emotions of any kind. Harry Jackson was not rich, though he had a good position in a railroad company, with those "prospects of rising" bo dear to every youngiuan s heart. He was slightly superior to the Putnams socially, but the rugged stock of their family had produced its fairest flower in Jennie, who was sweet and lovable in every way. Altogether he considered himself a very fortunate fellow, and went back to the city full of dreams of happiness for the future. It was in March that he was married, and after a little trip, which somehow was not as rapturous as he had anticipated, he brought Jennie back with him, and they went to housekeeping. He had almost furnished their little home, but she was to add the last touches and make all the final arrangements that women love. She was delighted with everything the pretty little house, with its picturesque piazza, its hardwood floors, and rugs and portieres. It was verry different from the old home, but all very attractive, and she took genuine delight in arranging her household goods. One morning after they bad been home about a week sho paid to her husband: "Harry, do you know those portieres are going to be very hard to keep clean? They are so heavy. I wish you would send a man up to Wat them this week." "Why, Jennie," he answered, "they Laven't been np a month. They surely can't need cleaning already." "Yes, they do," she answered firmly; "they're all dust in the folds. I was look ing at them yesterday ; and while the man is here he might as well beat th rugs, too." I f er husband kissed her. "What a little housewife it is, to 1kj sure," he said, lovingly. "Well, dear, I'll

try and snare a man and send him up today," and he went down the street, whistling. He did not suspect it, but the inherited vico had shown its cloven hoof. It was not long after this that Jennie came to him with a little drawing on a piece of paper. "Harry," she said, "can't you get me a sharp piece of iron or steel, this shape?" She seated herself on the side of his ctuar, and he put his arm around her and drew her close, as he went to examine the paper, "What is it for, dearie?" "I want to clean out the cracks of the kitchen floor," she said. "I have tried hair-pins and an old pen-holder, but they don't work. Mother had a sharp-pointed thing like this." 11 threw back his head and laughed. "The cracks in the kitchen floor?" he said; "whv in the world don't you leave them alone?" Her face was very serious. "O, Harry!" she said, "I can't. I lie awake nights and think of the dirt that's in them." "That is absurd, Jennie," he said. "No one else digs up the cracks of her kitchen floor, as if they were the ruins cf Pompeii !" "I can't help what other people do," she answered, solemnly. "I should be miserable if I couldn't have things clean. Mother always did I" He laughed again, but this time a little uneasily. U began to strike him that this sort of thing might be carried too far. He w as sure of it, when Jennie proposed to clean house in May. "Why, Jennie," he expostulated, "this house was put in thorough order not two months ago!" "I know it," she said, and it isn't very dirty, to be sure, but it will be so long to let it go till fall, and the spring always seems such a good time to clean it, and I feel 60 well now." Her arguments carried the day, and for over a week she reveled in scrubwoman and soap-sud3. Every closet was ransacked, every bureau drawer turned upside flown. Alf the bedslats were washed, and the rugs and curtains beaten and the furniture taken out and whipped and brushed. "As long as it is going to be done, it might as well be done thoroughly," said Jennie, and her only regret seemed to be that there was not more to do. Harr', coming home one evening, was surprised to see his entire wardrobe hanging upon the clothes-line. The legs of his trousers flapped with the wind, and seemed to be kicking viciously, as if they resented the insults to which they were subjected, and even his coats shrugged their shoulders athim in an oilended and injured Wl'. He found two women on the piazza, who were cleaning the little balustrade around it. This was a sort of open lattice work, and they had little sticks wound around w ith cloths in their hands, which they seemed to be inserting intoevery opening. Coming in he found Jennie on the highest step of the step-ladder, apparently prodding the wall with some shining instrument. She was so intensely in earnest, and her whole occupation seemed so absurd, that it struck himufor one awful moment that she had gone insane. "Jennie," he shouted, "Jennie, what are you doiug?" She started up and almost lost her balance. "Oh," she cried, "how yon frightened me! Why, Harry, do you know that this frieze is covered with fly specks, and I can't wash them off without spoiling the paper, but I lind I can take a knittingneedle and sort of scratch or prick each little speck off with it." He took her by the händand led her upstairs. They went into the room together and he shut the door. "Lie down, Jennie," lie said, earnestly, "lie down." She looked at him half frightened. "What is the matter, Harry ? You act so strangely." "Strangely!" ho echoed, with a short laugh, "strangely, Jennie!" he said, desperately; "either you or I must be crazy, that's äll!" "Why, Harry, what do vou mean? I, at least, am perfectly sane' "Well," he said, "perhaps it is I, then, who have lost my wits. Hut when I come home and find my garments gyrating in unseemiy attitudes upon the line; when I find two women poking sticks with cloths on them through every hole in the lattice work on the front piazza; when I find my wife picking off fly-specks with a knittingneedle, I can't quite tell whether it's my own house or a private asylum." "You must exoect such things, Harn'," said his wi:e with dignity; "don't you know I'm cleaning house?" "Yes," he answered, you haven't done anything e'se since I married you!" The color camo to her face and Ehe began to cry. . "Very well," she said, brokenly, 4,if you feel like that, I think I had lietter go home to my mother It was always clean there." "Don't talk about your mother," he cried excitedly. He was walking up and down the room rapidly. Presently he stoppet! and eat down on the edge of the lied beside her. "Jennie," he said gently, "don't cry. Can't you can't we change in some way so that you won't have so much of this eternal fussing?" "Don't you want to be clean?" she asked tragically through her tears. Why, of course, Jennie'; but can't we be cleän without being so wretchedly, so abominably, clean? Why, we fairly have to fight forour lives'." "1 don't know," she said, tearfully; "a thing is clean, or it isn't. That's all there is about it." Sho began to cry again. "Oh, dear," she" moaned, "I wish I were at home! I wish I were at home I" He kissed her wet cheeks and stroked her disheveled hair. "Don't cry, darling," he said, "don't cry. You shall scrub and clean all you want to. I'll never say a word about it again. Only love me and don't cry." After a time he comforted her, and they went down stairs together, and ho never realized that the inherited vice had conquered him, and was now firmly established in his home. They lived through the summpr very pleasantly. Jennie had put down mattings and covered the furniture with linen slips. So the house was easier to take care of. Her mother came to see her in the early fall, and they had what Harry called a "cleaning orgie" together. Harry was learning to submit to the inevitable, and Jennie tried to conduct her perpetual scourings as unobtrusivel' as possible. Sho had expected to go home for Christmas, but she was not very well, and they had not a great deal of spare money. Harry was finding out that too much cleanliness is as expensive as any other extravagance. So Jennie decided to stay at home, and they were very well satisfied, after all, to spend their Christmas at their own home. Cn Christmas eve, when Harry came in, she ran to meet him, saying: "There is a box from mother in the hall. I wish you would open it. I've been waiting for you." He got the hammer and chisel and set

to work cheerfully. Presently the cover flew off, and ho bent to examine the contents, and gave a long, low whistle. There were four dozen cakes of soap in the box, and that was all. But Jennie did not understand his whistle, nor tho laugh, that followed it.

She took out one of the cakes and held it almost lovingly. "Dear mother," she said, tenderly, "bow good she' always i3 to me!" It was absurd, preposterous, it wa3 pitiful, but her husband realized that nothing not a diamond tiara, nor a grand pianowould have been so acceptable a gift, or had represented so much happiness to her, as that box of sanol io. It was in April that the baby was born, a sweet, plump, pretty baby, who didn't seem to appreciate its advantages in being born into "the best-scrubbed family in the state," as Harry called iL He hoped that the advent of this young stranger would make a change in the frightful neatness of his home. It seemed to him it would be impossible to keep a house with a baby in it so clean. L5ut he soon discovered that he was mistaken. The baby was not expected to produce any disorder; it was simply another object to be scrubbed. Harry stopped a moment one morning as it was having iu bath. He was just going to his business, and he stood by the side of the tub pulling on his gloves. Tue baby poor little red atom of humanity cried all the time, and seemed to resent the application of soap and water in a way that appealed to the father's heart. "Jennie," he said, "don't wash that child out of existence." She looked up at him indignantly. Her lies were compressed and her face was red and shiny with her exertions. "This is my child," she said, firmly, "and it shall be clean if we both die doing it." Her sentence was not grammatical, but it carried the force of the proclamation of an edict. It compelled conviction on the spot. He knew then, that neither prayers nor entreaties, neither the hope of happiness, nor the fear of misery, nor even the lives of those dearest to her, would stop her in her clean career. The inherited vice was stronger than all else. He bent over and kissed the top of the babv's head. "Well, little one," he said, "good luck to you! I'b gather up your little bones, after your mother has bleached them well, and mourn over them." "Harry," cried his wife in a shocked tone, "why, Harry." But he fan, laughing, down the stairs, and she-turned to the baby again with a 6igh. .No one would ever know how much her husband's levity cost her. We can all bear opposition to our religion more easily than ridicule of it, and cleanlineNS wa9 her religion. Put, like the apostles of old, who preached so much tho more after each fresh persecution, so Jennie, after every little searcasm of her husband's, redoubled her cleanly exertions. On this particular occasion "the baby nearly lust an ear under her searching and vigorous ministrations. She had concluded not to rnpa:;eanu.rce for the child, but to get along with the one servant, who had always proved suliirient, and then have women come in by the day to do the heavier work. ' This sounded like an economical plan, but it wasn't. There were women who came to wash, and women who came to iron, women to sweep, wash windows and clean the piaz.as, women who scrubbed in tho attic and scoured in the cellar, special women who came to wash blankets, or lace curtains, or clean brass or scour tin. Harry christened their house "The "Working Women's Home." lie said it was so infested with them that he had a ßtrange sense of loneliness on the rare days when they didn't come. He declared that a woman ith a damp cloth in her hand seemedto'him an essential feature of every room. They looked bare and unfurnished to him w ithout one. He was patient and loving, and as cheerful as a man could le w ho "had to scrub every breath before he drew it." But at last there came a day, or rather an evening, when he determined to have an earnest, sensible talk with Jennie and try to reform her. Harry had been compelled to borrow. It was not. a large 6um, but it weighed heavily upon him. He hated, as most men do, to preach economy to his wife, but it had to be done, so ho nerved himself for it. She was darning some minute holes in her own white stockings when he began. She had never worn colored ones; 6he considered them "dirty." "Jennie," he said, "I want to go over these accounts with you, if vou have time." She put down her work and looked at the paper while he explained tho various items. "You see, dear," he said, pleasantly, "that we have been extravagant. We'll have to turn over a new leaf and retrench somewhere." "I am so sorry," she said; "what can we do? I can make the grocer's bill smaller. We can do without so much fruit, for instance." He laughed at her suggestion. "I think eoap is the biggest item on tho bill," he said, lightly, "and I don't suppose you could do without that." "'o, Jennie'." he added, seriously, 'don't you see, dear, it's these confounded, davs' work that have made the mischief." "But they had to be done." "Had they, dear? I don't believe other people spend as much time and money cleaning as you do. Whv, Jennie, everything is wearing out! The house looks like some thin horse, whose bones begin

to show througn ins skin, ihe nap is coming off the carpets and the furniture all shows wear. Don't you think you beat it too often?" "No," 6he answered, shortly. "And my. clothes, Jennie, why, they used to wear twice as long. I don't think brushing them so much agrees with them." "I never heard of going dirty to save your clothes," she said sarcastie-ally. "Oh, Jennie, be reasonable! I'vo laughed at you and let you go on and do as you pleased, but it's getting serious. It doesn't make us happy, it doesn't make us comfortable. It's simply fiendish. Besides, we can't afford it. It's more expensive than smoking. It costs more than poker playing. It's a vice that's what it is, a positive vice." He laughed, but Jennie's eyes grew strangely bright. There was no tears in them" She sat up very straight and tall, and Aid in a low voice. "When I married vou, Harry, I knew you weren't rich. I knew I should have to go without many things. I expected to live quietly, and I have. I expected to dress plain . y, and keep house economically, but I did think I did think, Harry" and here her voice broke, "that we should have enough to be clean !" It seemed to him that he was a brute, a man w ho wouldn't let his wife beciean! He wanted to laugh, but it was too pitiful, ami she was too much in earnest "Oh, Jennie!" ho said, sorrowfully, "it is all too absurd ! AVe might be so häppy. Can't you change,"Jennie can't you look at things differently?" "No," she said, in a stifled voice, "I can't. I don't want to. It is lorn and bred in me." He realized suddenly the painful truthfulness of her answer. She couldn't help it; it was born and bred in her. His mind we nt back to Mrs. Putnam and her immaculate cellar. He recognized the inherited vice and gave way before it. "Never mind," he said, slowly; "I suppose we will get along some way. I've hoped they would raise my salary. They promised to, and they ought to do it." They talked no more then, but Harry began to think where he could appeal for help in caso his situation should become more desperate. He had an aunt, a rich, childless woman, who had formerly been very kind to him. But ehe had quarreled

with him over his mr.rriage, and thy had never spoken since, b' ie had not approved of Jennie, and she had openly spoken of 'he Putnams as "conmion." "lie felt that re was no help tobe expected from her. :ien he concluded that there was but one tiier thing to do. He mut break up his iiome and send Jenie back to her mother's for a time, until he got upon his feet again. It was a humiliating, dreadful thing to do, but there seemed noother way. He decided no? to do it until March, w hen his lease expired, and not to worry about it befonijund. So they passed through their second winter, which ws happy, in spite of the cloud that rested cn the hous Harry used to wonder, whimsically, sometimes, if the "unclean spirits" mentioned in the bible were any more difficult to live with than the clean spirit that shared, lis bed and board. But he never told his fancy to Jennie. She would not have thought it funny. But one day in February a letter came which changed all their plans rnd altered the cutrent of their livs. It was from Boston, from the attorney of the offended aunt. She had died suddenly, and left all her prrijrty to "her dear nephew," and had aj pointed him eole executor. Harry became perfectly beside himself at this news. He sang he shouted, he seized Jenni around the waist and made her dance the wildest kind of ag:'i!op. He tossed the baby up in the air, and made a futile tflbrt to "stand on his hea l. "Oh, dear Aunt Sarah! oh, rare Aunt Sarah!' be cried; 'nothing in your life became you like the leaving of it! Jennie, I'll buy a Turkish hath, and you can lie in it all day! You shad be so clean so clean, "ear that you'll b;g for mercy! Oh, Jentic, isn't it too good, too splendid? Oh, dear me, I must balm myself, and remember that I'm a mourner!" He understood how great the strain was under which he had labored bv the exultant relief that he felt now "that it was over. After the firt surprise and delight had passed they tegan to plan what they should do. "let'.s go abroad," said Harry. "I'll resign my position, and we'll just go and have a whole year of enjoyment. I'm tired to death an! vou look Vorn to the bone, Jennie. We'll take a good nurso for the babv, ar.d jus have a glorious time!'' Jennie murmured a little at first, but was finally persuaded to look favorably upon the plan, and they sailed in Mav. Harry was like a boy' let out of school. His jodity and inn knew no bounds. He became u great lavoriu-ou board and made many friends. Jennie was sick most of the way over and kept her state-room, but the babv was :;s weil and nearly as jo ly as its father. Harry was abnost thankful that its mother was too siek to see bow very dirty it cot on deck. lie felt it would. have been an added pang. They reach' d London in the midst of one ot its worst fo.-s, which certainly was depressing. Jennie could speak of nothing but the grimy, dirty apjaraiice of everything. It seemed to really hurt her, and ;t was plain to her hu-Iaad that she regarded all the "show places'' as just so mueli waste of the pubiic money, which might have been ued in cleaning the city. The fog lined after a day or two, and they went to Westminster Abbey. Jennie thought it "smelt damp," an 1 that the monuments were "v ry di:sty." she further informed her hushaud that she was sure some of the banners "had moths in them." Beyond this she did not seem impressed. The fog came bac k again, and one day Harry, who had been out alone, returned to lind his wife in tears. "Oh, let us go away!" she cried. "I cannot stand it here. It too horribly dirty. I've tried and tried not to mind, but I can't help it. I told Mary to change the baby's dress whenever it got soile d, and he's had five clean ones on to-lay, and now I've put him to bed, because he's only got three more! Oh, it is too dreadful. The very air seems full of dirt. I cannct stand it. Ixt's go away !" They went to Paris, which seemed bright and cheerful after murky London, and their spirits rose and they were both much more contented there. They meant to have stayed a long time there, but ono day in looking from her window, Jennie saw a fearful sight. Her roo'i.s looked out on a court, and across this court, on the opposite side, was a sort of covered piazza. "There," said Jennie, taking her husband and leading him to the window, "there is the very place. There was some milk spilt over there, on the floor and on the steps, and I saw a man come out and wine it up with a dish-towel. I saw him with these eyes!" "How elo you know it was a dish-towel, Jennie?" "Oh, I am sure of it! It looked like one, and he wiped a plate with the same towel afterward." "Well," said Harry, cheerfully, "he isn't our cook anyway. These apartments front on another street." "It has given me a horror of them all." she said mournfully. "They are probably all alike. I have alwavs suspected they were dirty, they garnish so much! It must be to cover up. Ju.-t think! wiping up the floor with a dish-towel !'' It was not a mere fastidious dislike to it that she felt; it was a spiritual recoil. They did not stay much longer in Fans. Jennie seemed to tate that dish towel in everything she ate, and the flavor was so disagreeable that they determined to escape from it and seek fresh fields. But, alas! they took the inherited vice with them, and it drove them like a pai-dy from place to place. It found dust under the bed at Stras burg, and queer stains on the towels in Cologne. Tho washing was miserably done in Brussels, and the sheets were damp at Ghent. The inside of the pitchers was black at Antwerp, and Jennie found two flies in the soup. One she might have forgiven, but two did look like a gratuitous insult. But things improved from the time they entered Holland, and Jennie's face lost its worried, anxious expression, and became strangely peaceful. They w ent one day to a little ullage a few miles from Amsterdam. Jenuie was wonderfully pleased with all she saw, and her face grew brighter at every iresh step. The clean little tiled rooms where the cows were kept seemed to impress her more than any cathedral, and the arrangements for tying up their tails drew forth tho expressions of positive rapture. She was so delighted that they stayed there over night, and in the morning she was up early looking from the window. The rod tiled roofs of the hous s teamed on every side. The tall wind-mills moved lazily. The street was absolutely immaculate." A stout Dutch woman was scrubbing the pavement in front of her houso on her hands and knees. Jennie watched her as if fascinated. Her husband joined her and looked out, tco. She turns her face to him, and he looked at her in astonishment. It was the glad, peaceful face of one w hose every longing is gratified. A calm glorified expression shone in her eyes. She looked like one w ho after much tribulation comes to the "sweet and blessed country" at last. "Harry," she said, softlv, "let us live here." "Would you be happy here, darling?" he asked. "Her eyes wandered back to the Dutch woman scrubbing the pavement They rested and feasted on her a single moment "Yes," she said, solemnly, "perfectly happy." The Inherited Vice has found its full and perfect gratification at last, and they are living at Brock EtilL