Pike County Democrat, Volume 27, Number 47, Petersburg, Pike County, 2 April 1897 — Page 3

snu.fikt (fotrotg femorrat ' H. Mec. STOOPS, Kditor and Cioprloior. PETERSBURG. - INDIANA. ART OF MONEY CATCHING. fftUlta and Proverbs Touch Inn tbs Construction of a Bank Account. Ia Paternoster row, Amen corner, London, 159 years ago, there was bon a little volume, named by its parent: ■“The Pleasant Art of Money Ditch* In#.” The author kept his name from the typers, probably to avoid cor re* spondence on the manifold question* easily suggested by a perusal of th* “Pleasant Art.” The style is quaint and original, all of the “esses” are “efs,” and many of the hints on how to get money and how to keep it are really worth considering. The author first considers the origin and 'nvention of money, the misery of wan. og it, and how persons in straits for money may supply themselves with it. He assures his readers that it doesn't grow, and warns against lending by saying that “fools ask much, but he is more fool that grants it ” From the color of one of the chapters it may be inferred that in the days of the author the London pave was frequently trod by men looking for the 'price of a drink, for the pictures he draws of men broken in pocket are

startlingly familiar. “He that wauteth money," says the author, “is for the most part of sorrowful countenance, both in company and alone by himself, especially if the weather be foul, rainy or cloudy, and he Is always laying the cause of this want before others.” Young married couples depending on a small salary are cautioned not to let the table exceed the fourth part of the incoming revenue, while the head of the family is told to be always ready to give advice, but to stop short at giving security. The man who would keep money in his pocket must be a person who is industrious, cjyefol. cautions. He must spend l«w than he earns, avoid games of hazard, unnecessary luxuries and keep out of bttd conff>any, for money is a coy mistress |nd as hard to bold as a greased ptg at a picnic. The Dutch ha*.® a proverb that gentility and fair lo»ks buy nothing in the market. This it the basis of the unknown author's little book. In the years previous the development of the art of “leg pulling" this proverb was all right, but in these days there may be found merchants who would shake their heads dubiously were the proverb to be read to them. Such men, you may be sure, have l>een “touched." and if you were to inquire into details the description of the "toucher" would be that of an elegantly-dressed, goodlooking fellow, polished and all that. The author warns his readers to have a care of whom they trust, else they may be led to speculate much on the Ingratitude of mankind. Here is one of the author’s caution* in rhyme: Spare not, nor spend too much; be,this thy care. Spare but to spend, and only spend to spare; Who spends too much may want, and so complain: But he spends best, that spares to spendagain. Of course everybody knows that the quarreling dog has a tattered skin. The author had this in mind when giving advice to those who would grow rich. “Avoid going to law over trifles,” he says, “for 'tis the lawyer alone that walks away with the gain." This good counsel is aptly borne out bv a case in Maine. Two farmers fought in the courts over the possession of a double-'*arreled gun left by a deceased relative. One mortgaged bis house to keep up the tight, while this other was obliged to dispose of a choice Jersey cow. When the smoke of strife blew away the lawyers divided the spoils, and in the division one of them got the gun.—Boston Globe.

Kpriiicnttrd. Although Lord Tennyson hated the toadyism of those who love a lion, he did not always avoid his kind. At one time he fell in w ith a party of tourist* who were traveling in the highlands, and made himself indispensable to their daily pleasure. Yet they did not know who he was, and when a gentleman who had met him at length joined the party, they fell upon him with entreaties. “Who is that gentleman?" they besought him. “He has been the life and soul of the party, and we cannot,get a clew to his name. He has baffled ns in every way. He has torn his name from his baggage, and out of the book he was reading." And the newcomer told, much to Tennyson's disgust. Hut not always were there those who were able to betray him. One day a tourist In Scotland asked another w ho that flnelooking gentleman could be. “That’s Alfred Tennyson," was the reply, “the American poet.”—Youth’s Companion. .% Mechanical Sarsesa. A valiant sailor who had lost his leg formerly in the wars was nevertheless, for his great prudence and courage, made captain of a ship, and being in the midst of an engagement, a cannon ball took off his wooden supporter, so that be fell dow n. The seamen immediately called out for a surgeon. “Confound you all," said he, “no surgeon, no surgeon— a carpenter, a carpenter!” - Mark Lemon’s .lest Rook. KrnutalUg Pkotograph*. People seldom know w hat to do with photographs and delicate book fundings that become soiled. They can be wonderfully improved by rubbing gently with finely powdered pumice stone.' This is used in book shops, by dealers, in renovating their shopworn stock.—Chicago Tribune. ! YVUilws to Let It ftah A small boy, whose new suit of clothes was bought on Friday, added this to his prayers: v “Please, God, make to-morrow Sunday: don’t mind Saturday this week." —N. Y. World.

A LESSON OF LIFE. A long: day's journey the^e lay before; I crossed the meadow at breaking morn. I saw the road wind by hill and moor. - And beyond the hills was my distant bourne. ! l thought of the greeting* I should win— | What was it moaned at my feet meanwhile? A poor old terrier, lame and thin: I stooped and helped him over the stile; Then would have crossed, but a dreary yelp Arrested me, and I turned to view | A limping poodle whose need of help ! Was manifest; anti I helped him, too. Of every nation and tribe are they; And each has a fresh, resistless wile. Each says, in his own peculiar way: “Please help a lame dog over a stile?" They're greyhound. Skye, Pomeranian. They limp along in an endless file. They're smooth and curly, they’re black and tan. They all are lame, and vould cross the stile. The shadows deepen o’er hill aad glen. Dim is my pathway of many a mile: Yet will I renew my Journey when The last lame dog is over the stile. —May Kendall, in N. W. Christian Advocate. I — HE WOULD BE BAD. BY P. M’ARTHIH.

F you were rich you J W would never be I m blue. Would you? I IT If you had in your P \ pocket the price of j a box at the opera and of a good sup- j Qj per after, you would leave care to

its proverbial occupation of killing cata, wouldn’t you? Well, perhaps you would, but in that case you would be unlike Mr. Gordon Smith, the youthful multi-millionaire, philanthropist, financier, etc. I Mr. Smith was sitting in his favorite qlub one 'afternoon completely in the dumps and parsing his time in meditating silent profanity, which was both ^inful and unsatisfactory. Sinful, because all theologians agree that to think ^in evil is as bad as to commit it, and Unprofitable because it didn’t clear his mental atmosphere. And the sole cause q*f his wrath was that his name was exploited iu the evening papers on account i tj>f his giving some thousands of dollars j to help a deserving charity. Mr. Smith j was certainly a strange man. While he was fidgeting in his leather- I cushioned chair and sipping a glass of j Vichy, a quiet-locking man entered the ; ibom, looked about, and then pounced on Smith like a l?ird of prey. ; “Hello. Gordie!” he exclaimed, extending his hand,' “How are you?” j “Well. Al,” exclaimed the millionaire, ^ith an amount^ of animation that .seemed incredible from one who had bjfen so dejeetbd a moment before, “I'm awfully glad to see you. When did you g^*t back from Paris?* “Last Wednesday.”

“Strange I didn’t see anything about It in the papers. They always have so much to say about you on the sporting l>4ge. And say,” he rattled on, without noticing the iook of mild consternation that came over the newcomer’s face at the mention of the sporting page, “what a time you have been having abroad! I read all about your breaking the bank in that club and ibjout that little affair of yours in Paris. O.j I say!” and he gave a chuckle that Ini mediately suggested a Sunday school aujperintendent gone wrong. But," gasped the man with a past, *yjou speak of it as if you enjoyed it all! Hbw—er—I don’t understand!” 1’Oh. yes. I suppose you saw in the evening papers about my contributing to | that confounded charity. Well, it is ju^t my luck to be always doing goodvthings and never having any fun. ten I went to Sunday school I got a conduct card every Sunday, and same blasted luck has stuck to me >r since. I was born with a good le, and I’ve got to pass it along to sterity untarnished, and I can’t have fun to save me.” le sporty one whistled softly, jl know you think I am crazy, but yoia just happened to come in when I was in one of toy worst fits of blues. anjl to see you who have made a worldwide reputation as a sport and a man of!the world threw me off my guard and I "talked too much, but now that Tvy started I may as well tell you all.” *jl)o: it may do you good—but—talking is dry work.” *!why, certainly. Here, Jean, take th«j gentleman’s order. A pint of Extra .ill rt*Kt • nn/i hrincr tnA CAtrtP Dry? All right; and bring me some frejsh vichy." When the order was filled the two men settled into confidential attitudes. “jYou remember, don’t you, Al, when we; were school chums and used to read thd dime novels you gbt from the stable boys?" Al nodded. “Well, you could piajy at killing Indians any time you liked, but whenever I tried it I was sure to be caught by that old hen of a tutor I had and get soundly thrashed. It was so ail through my boyhood, and I dimply had to be good. I worked tw ice as hard at my studies as any other boy, but it was not because 1 loved work, it was because I wanted to go to college, for I felt sure I could be as wild us I pleased there.”

! “Ye*?" “Well, after I had matriculated, my 1 mother took me down to Cambridge and | got me a boarding place in the family | of ia minister. Of oourse I could have [ broken loose, but if 1 had, he would ! have reported me to her and it would i hare broken her heart. "And you know, Al, 1 couldn’t do anything to hurt her for the world. 1 think she is the dearest mother a fellow ever had. You remember how sweet she used to be to us, doii’tyou? Yes. Well, I simply couldn’t cut up like the other fellows when there was a chance of her hearing it, so I plugged away for dear life so as to get through college and get out into the world where I could be cussed for awhile and sow my wild oats.” lire bod man murmured: "What says the poet?

M ■Oh. the devil drew an Inward breath, tab bis soul was free from care. A rampty-tumpty-tumptjr-tum—but tha roots of sin are there.* ” “Well, when I was in my fourth year I fell in love with the sweetest woman that ever breathed. Say, you have never met my wife, have you? No? Well, say, you must come home to dinner— er—er—” “That’s all right, Gordie. Don’t embarrass yourself by inviting me. I couldn’t go, anyway, for I know how I have cut loose from society, and you w ouldn’t dare to take me, for a man as tough as I have the reputation of being wouldn’t be the sort of man you would care to introduce to your wife.” There was a painful silence, during w hich the man with a past gulped down a glass of champagne and viciously bit •' the end off a cigar. “Go on with your story, Gordie!” “Well—1—er—er—I got married, and, of course, I couldn’t do anything that < would pain the woman I loved so devotedly. If I was out late at night, even ] with business, I would always find her I in'tears when 1 got home, so I finally be- I came so methodical that I was able to | spend all my evenings with her. Now, i I’m not grumbling about that, for I j have the coziest home a man ever had, j and oh—you have never seen my cbil- I dren, have you? You must see them— l * A1 smiled grimly. “That’s all right, Gordie. It’s because you are such a good soul that you forget my limita- j tions, and I forgive you for old, sake’s sake. You don’t drink'or smoke, do you?” “No; the fact is, both my wife and j mother don’t like drinking and smok- ! ing, and 1 don’t think myself that it is a good example to set before the children.” “Right, my boy, and don’t you do it. But go on. You haven’t finished.” “Well—there isn’t much more,” said the good man in an embarrassed way, “except that as I was the oldest in the family I naturally took charge of the business my father left, and as the estates of my younger brothers and sisters were in the same boat, I had to give business every attention, so that they wouldn’t lose anything. And as our concern is highly respected, it wouldn’t do for me to dissipate in any way, for fear the story would get out and the publio lose confidence in us.” “Quite right. Now I don’t suppose you want to hear my story, so I’ll just tell you the results. I’ve been tough, haven’t I?” “Well, you’ve had a good time.” “You put it delicately. I don’t think you would hurt the feelings of a microbe if you could help it; but look at the result. I can't be received in good society on account of my escapades, and I am dead broke.” “Why, my dear fellow,” exclaimed the good man, reaching for his purse. “Let me—” “That’s all right,Gordie, but takeout your checkbook, not your purse. You have money to burn, and I have a personally conducted bonfire that has almost gone out. I’ll touch you for the amount of that contribution to charity that was worrying you when I came in.” The millionaire signed the check for

J •‘BRING ME SOME FRESH VICHY." $3,ton, and said appealingly as ha handed it over: * * “By the way, Al, I never talked to any one before as I have to you.” “That’s all right. I’ll never speak of it if you make me a few promises.” “What are they?" "That you’ll keep on attending strict* ly to business for the sake of your younger brothers and sisters.” “Why, certainly, I must do that.” “And that you’ll never do anything to pain that good woman, your mother, or your sweet wife.” “Of course I’ll not.” “And that you’ll never set a bad ex* ample to your children.” “Why—er—er—what are you driving atr* “And that you’ll stop reading sporting news and scandals in the papers and wishing that you were a devil of a fellow. In return, when you hear of me painting the town you can console your* self with the thought that you supplied the paint; and when my luck turns I’ll refund the money you have staked me with.” Without waiting for a reply the man with a past strode away, leaving his old schoolfellow dazed and puzzled, and wondering if, after all, virtue might not be its own reward. As the black sheep paused in the hallway to adjust his tie, he muttered: “They say that a sucker is born every minute, but mighty few of them are of his kindX. Y. Truth.

la the Dark Agra. Am early as the sixth century the woman question was a knotty problem. ! puzzling the. wise men of that period. “Are Women Human Beings?” was ths startling inquiry proposed by a bishop at the famous council of Maoon, and l several sessions were devoted to the coni s-idvration of the important subject. ; The point was not considered jocular 1 or frivolous, and the good fathers earnestly and gravely undertook the task of assigning to woman her proper place in creation. They finally decided that she did not belong to the “world of mutton, beeves or goats,” but was. In reality, a human being. This decision was made only after something of a straggle. Am It was not an ecumenical council, the faithful were advised that the decision was not fending on them.—Cincinnati Enquirer.

TALMAGE’S SERMON. What the Civilized World Owes to Greece. ChrbtlaaltT Lugcly Indebted to Hella*— real's Acknowledgment—Philological, Architectural, Art and Other Obligations. Rev. T. DeWitt Talmage delivered the following sermon of present worldwide interest before his Washington congregation, taking for his text: I am debtor both to the Greeks and to the barbarians.—Romans L, 14. At this time, when that behemoth of abominations, Mohammedanism, after having gorged itself on the carcasses of 100,000 Armenians, is trying to put its paws upon one of the fairest of all nations, that of the Greeks, 1 preach this sermon of sympathy and protest, for every intelligent person on this side of the sea, as well as the other side, like Panl, who wrote the text, is debtor to the Greeks. The present crisis is emphasized by the guns of the allied powers of Europe, ready to be unlimbered against the Hellenes, and I am asked to speak out. Paul, with a master intellect of the ages, sat in brilliant Corinth, the great Acro-Corinthus fortress frowning from tbe height of 1686 feet, and in the house of Gaius, where he was a guest, a big pile of monay near him, which he was taking to Jerusalem for the poor. In this letter to the Romans, which Chrysostom admired so much that he had it read to him twice a week, Paul practically says: “I, the aspostle, am bankrupt. I owe what I can not pay, but I will pay as large a percentage as I can. It is an obligation for what Greek’ literature and Greek sculpture and Greek architecture and Greek prowess have done for me. I will pay all I can in installments of evangelism. I am insolvent to the Greeks.” Hellaa as the

inhabitants call it. or Greece, as we call it, is insignificant in size, about a third as large as the state of New York; but what it lacks in breadth i►makes up in height, with its mountains Cylene, and Eta, and Taygetus, and Tymphrestus, each over 7,000 feet in elevation, and its Parnassus, over 8,000. Just the country for mighty men to be bom in, for in all lands the most of the intellectual and moral giants were not born on the plain, but had for cradle the valley between two mountains. That country, no part of which is more than 40 miles from the sea, has made its impress upon the world, as no other nation, and it to-day holds a first mortgage of obligation upon all civilized people. While we must leave to statesmanship and diplomacy* the settlement of the intricate questions which now ' involve all Europe, and indirectly all nations, it is time for all churches, all schools, all universities, all arts, all literatures to sound out in the most emphatic way the declaration: “I am debtor to the Greeks.” In the first place, we owe to their language our New Testament. All of it was first written in Greek, except the Book of Matthew, and that, written in the Aramean language, was soon put into Greek by our Saviours brother, James. To the Greek language we owe the best sermon ever preached, the best letters ever written, the best visions ever kindled. All the parables in Greek. All the miracles in Greek. The sermon on the mount in Greek. The story of Bethlehem and Golgotha and Olivet and Jordan banks and Galilean beaches and Pauline embarkation and Pentecostal tongues and seven trumpets that sounded over Patinos, have come to the world in liquid, symmetric, picturesque, philosophic. unrivaled Greek, instead of the gibberish language in which many of the nations of the earth at that time jabbered. Who can forget it and who can exaggerate its thrilling importance, that Christ and Heaven were introduced to us in the language of the Greeks? the language in which Homer had sung and Sophocles dramatized and Plato dialogued and Socrates discoursed and Lvcurgus legislated and Demosthenes thundred his oration on 4*The ! Crown?” Everlasting thanks to God that the waters of life were not handed to the world in the unwashed cup of corrupt languages from which nations had been drinking, but in the clean, bright, golden-lipped, emerald-handled chalice of the Hellenes. Learned Curtius wrote a whole volume about the Greek verb. Philologists century after century have been measuring the symmetry of that language, laden with elegy and philippic. drama and comedy, Odyssey and Iliad; but the grandest thing that Greek language ever accomplished was to give to the world the benediction, the comfort, the irraditation, the salvation of the Gospel of the .Son of God. For that we are debtors to the Greeks. And while speaking of our philological obligation, let me call your attention to the fact that many of the intellectual and moral and theological leaders of the ages got much of their discipline and effectiveness from Greek literature. It is popular to scoff at the dead languages, bat 50 per cent, of the world's intellectuality would have been takeu off if, through learned in stitutions, our young men had not, under competent professors, been drilled in Greek masterpieces. Hesiod’s “Week's and Days.” or the eulogium by Simonides of the slain in war, or Pindar's “Odes of Victory,” or the ‘'Recollections of Socrates,” or “The Art of Words,” by Corax, or Xenophon's

'“Anabasis. From the Greeks the world learned how to make history. Had there been no Herodotus and Thucydides, there would hare been no Maeauley or Bancroft. Had there been no Sophocles in tragedy, there would hare been no Shakespeare. Had there been no Homer, there would hare been no Milton. The' modem wits, who are now or hare been out on the divine mission of making1 the world laugh at the right time, can be traced back to Aristophai es, the Athenian, and many of the jocosities that are now taken as new had their suggestions 3,300 years ago in the H of that master of

merriment. Grecian mythology ha»‘ been the richest mine from which omtors and essayists hare drawn their illustrations and painters the themes for their canvas, and although now an exhausted mine, Grecian mythology has done a work that nothing else could have accomplished; Boreas, represent* ing the north wind; Sisyphus, rolling the stone up the hill, only to have the same thing to do over again; Tantalus, with fruits above him that he could not reach; Achilles, with his arrows; Icarus, with his waxen wings, flying too near the sun; the Centaurs, half man and half beast; Orpheus, with his lyre; Atlas, with the world on his back, all these and more have helped literature, from the graduate’s speech on commencement day to Rufus Coate’s eulogium on Daniel Webster at Dartmouth. Tragedy and comedy were bom in the festivals of Dionysius at Athens. The lyric and elegiac and epic poetry of Greece 500 years before Christ has its echoes in the Tennysons, Longfellows, and Bryants of 1800 and 1900 years after Christ. There is not an effective pulpit or editorial chair or professor’s room or cultured parlor or intelligent farm house to-day in America or Europe that could not appropriately employ Paul’s ejaculation and say: “I am debtor to the Greeks.” The fact is this, Paul had got much of his oratorical power of expression from the Greeks. That he had studied their literature was evident, when standing in the presence of an audience - of Greek scholars on Mars’ hill, which overlooks Athens, he dared to quote from one of their own Greek poets, either Cteanthus or Aratus, declaring: “As certain also of your own poets have said, ‘for we are also His offspring.’” And he made accurate quotation, Cleanthus, one of the poets, having written: For we Thine offspring are. All things that creep Are but the echo of the voice Divine. And Aratus. one of their own poets,

had written: Doth care perplex * Is lowering danger nigh ? We are His offspring, and to Jove we fly. It was rather a risky thing- for Paul to attempt to quote extemporaneously from a poem in a language foreign to his, and before Greek scholars, but Paul did it without stammering, and then acknowledged before the most distinguished audience on the planet his indebetness to the Greeks, crying out in his oration: “As one of your own poets has said.” Furthermore, all the civilized world, like Paul, is indebted to the Greeks for architecture. The world before the time of the Greeks had built monoliths, obelisks, cromlechs, sphinxes and pyramids, but they were mostly monumental to the dead whom they failed to memorialize. We are not certain even of the names of those in whose commemoration the pyramids were built. But Greek architure did most for the living. Ignoring Egyptian precedents, and borrowing nothing from other nations, Greek architecture carved its own columns, sets its own pediments, adjusted its own entablatures, rounded its own moldings, and carried out as never before the | three qualities of right building, called by an old author “firmitas, utilitas, venustas,” namely, firmness, usefulness, beauty. Although the Parthenon on the Acropolis of Athens is only a wreck of the storms and earthquakes and bombardments of many centuries, and although Lord Elgin took from one side of that building, at an expense of 8250,000, two ship loads of sculpture. one ship load going down iru the Mediterranean and the other ship load now to be found in the British museum, the Parthenon, though in comparative ruins, has been ap inspiration to all architects for centuries past, and will be an inspiration all the time from now until the world itself is a temple ruin. Oh, that Parthenon! One never gets over having once seen it. But what must it have been when it stood as its architects, Ikitnos and Killikrates, built it out of Pentelican marble, white as Mount Blanc at noonday, and as overwhelming? Height above height. Overtopping the august and majestic pile, and rising from its roof ^ as a statue of Pallas Promachus in bronze, so tall and flashing that sailors far out at sea beheld the plume of her helmet. Without the aid of the Eternal God it never would have been planned, and without the aid of God the chisels and trowels never could have constructed it. There is not a fine church building in all the world, or a properly-con-structed courthouse, or a beautiful art gallery, or an appropriate auditorium, or a tasteful home, which, because of that Parthenon, whether its style or some other style be adopted, is not directly or indirectly a debtor to the Greeks. But there is another art in my mind —the most fascinating, elevating and inspiring of all arts, and the nearest to the divine—for which all the world owes a debt to the Hellenes that will never be paid. 1 mean sculpture. At least 650 years before Christ the Greeks perpetuated the human face and form in terra cotta and marble. What a blessing to the human family that men and women, mightily useful, who could live only within a century may be perpetuated for five or six or ten centuries. How I wish that some sculptor, contemporaneous with Christ, could have put His matchless form in marble! But for every grand and equisite statue of Martin Luther, of John Knox, of William Penn, of Thomas Chalmers, of Wellington, of Lafayette, of any of the great states

men or emancipators or conquerors who adorn yoor parks or fill the niches of your academies, you are debtors to the Greeks. They covered the Acropolis. they glorified the temples, they adorned the cemetaries with statues, some in cedar, some in ivory, some in silver, some in gold, some in size diminutive and some iq size colossal. Thanks to Phidias, who worked in stone; to Clearchns, who worked in bronae; to Dontas, who worked in gold, and to all ancient chisels of commemoration! Do you not realize that for maj»y of the wonders of scnlpture we are indebted to the Greeks? Yea! For the science of medicine.

the great art of healing, we mnstthanfi the Greeks. There is the immortal Greek doctor, Hippocrates, who first opened the door for disease to go out and health to oome in. He first set forth the importance of cleanliness and sleep, making the patient before treatment to be washed and take slumber on the hide of a sacrificed beast. Ha first discovered the importance of thorough prognosis and diagnosis. Ha formulated the famous oath of Hippocrates which is taken by physicians of our day. He emancipated medicine from superstition, empiricism and priestcraft. He was the father of all the infirmaries, hospitals and medical colleges of the last 28 centuries. Ancient medicament and surgery had before that been anatomical and physiological assault and battery, and long after the time of Hippocrates the Greek doctor, where, his theories were not known, the Bible speaks of fatal medical treatment, when it says: “In his disease he sought not to the Lord, but to the physicians, and Asa slept with his fathers.” And we read in the New Testament of the poor woman . who had been treated by incompetent doctors who asked large large fees, where it says: “She had suffered many things of many physicians, and had spent all that she had, and was nothing better, hut rather grew worse.” For our glorious science of medicine and surgery, more sublime than astronomy, for we have more to do with disease than with the stars; more beautiful than botany, for bloom of health in the cheek of wife and child is worth more' to us than all the roses of the garden—for this grandest of all sciences, the science of healing, every pillow of recovered invalid, every ward of American and European hospital may well cry out: “Thank God for old Dr. Hippocrates! I, like Panl, am indebted to the Greeks.” Furthermore, all the world is obligated to Hellas more than it can ever pay for its heroics in the cause of liberty and right. United Europe to-day had not better think that the Greeks will not fight. There may he fallings back and vacillations and temporary defeat, but if Greece is right all Europe cannot pin her down. The other nations, before they open the portholes of their men-of-war against that small kingdom, had better read of the battle of Merathop, where 10,000 Athenians, led on by Miltiads, triumphed over 100,000 of their enemies. At that time in Greek council of war five generals were for beginning the battle an<T-five against it. Callimachus, presided at the council of war, had the deciding vote, and Miltiades addressed him, say

mg: „ *‘It now rests with you, Callimachus, either to enslave Athens, or by insur* ing her freedom, to win yourself an immortality of fame, for never since the Athenians were a people were they in such danger as they are in at this moment. If they bow the knee to these Medes, they are to be given up to Hippias, and you know what they will then have to suffer; but if Athens comes victorious out of this contest, she has it in her power to become the first city of Greece. Your vote is to decide whether we are to join in battle or not. If we do not bring on a battle presently, some factious intrigue will disunite the Athenians, and the city will be betrayed to the Medes, bnt if we fight before there is anything rotten in the state of Athens, I believe that, provided the gods will give fair field and no favor, we are able to get the best of it in the engagement.’* But now comes the practical question. How can we pay that debt, or a a part of it? For we can not pay more that ten per cent, of that debt in which Paul acknowledged himself a bankrupt. By praying AlmightyGod that He will help Greece in its present with Mohammedanism and the concerted empires of Europe. I know her queen, a noble, Christian woman, her faoe the throne of all beneficence and loveliness, her life an example of noble wifehood and motherhood. God help those palaces in these days of awful exigency! Our American senate did well the other day, when, in that capital building which owes to Greece its columnar impressiveness, they passed a hearty resolution of sympathy for that nation. Would that all who have potent words that can be heard in Europe would utter them now, when they are so much needed! Let us repeat to them in English what they centuries ago declared to the world in Grfeek: “Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake, for theirs is the

kingdom of Heaven." Then if your illustration of Christ’s self-sacrifice, drawn from some scene of to-day, and your story of what Christ has done for yon does not quite fetch him into the right way, just say to him: “Professor—Doctor—Judget Why was it that Paul declared he was a debtor to the Greeks?" And ask your learned friend to take his Greek Testa* ment and translate for you, in his own way, from Greek into English, the splendid peroration of Paul’s sermonon Mars hill, under the power of which the scholarly Dionysius surrendered, namely: “The times of this ignorance God winked at; but now commandeth all everywhere to repent; because He hath appointed a day in which He will judge the world in righteousness, by that man whom He hath ordained; whereof He hath given assurance unto all men, “in that He hath raised from the dead.* By the time he has got through the translation from the Greek I think you will see hia lip tremble and there will be a pallor cm His face like the pallor on the shy at daybreak. By the eternal salvation ot that scholar, that great thinker, that splendid man you will have done something to help pay your indebtedness to the Greeks. And now to God the Father, God the Son and God the Hedy Ghost, be honor and glory, and dominion and victory and song world without end. Amen.

The people have the promise blest Of an approaching calm; The orators will take the real And so will Uncle Sam. —Washington Star.