Pike County Democrat, Volume 30, Number 36, Petersburg, Pike County, 12 January 1900 — Page 3

ike&outttgljemfltra McC. 8X001*8, Editor and Ftupriotoi FETEftSBUEG, : INDIANA Prefect’s Dinner AAAAAAAAAU^iAi

I. THE maneuvers that year had been particularly successful. The movements had been regular, no errors committed jand the-enemy effectively worsted. The review which (brought the operations tjo a close had reunited all the notabilities of the department. The weather was superb, thereb^ enabling the women to make a second showing of their finest toilets, some of which had had their initial appearance at the opening of the racing season. Society filled every corner of the spectator*' grfllei Aftef the final defile, which was accomplished amid unanimous applause, the throng scattered in all directions, and the officers—those at least who were not compelled to lead the troops to their quarters—fastened -to present •their respects to the wives and daughters of I the functionaries. The prefect, who had been conversing for some little time with the registrar, suddenly quitted him upon seeing Col. Verdelin pass and speedily overtook him. “Good-day, mj- dear colonel,” he exclaimed. “I am glad ta be able to shake you by the hand.” “Well, Duclosoy!” the officer replied, “how ;ire you, and your wife?” “Both in good health, thank you,” the prefect answered. “Glorious day, hey, for the review.” “Deuced fine day,” his companion observed. •; “You l6 cuirassiers wet* resplendent in the su:iliglit.” Duclosoy then continued. “Do you know, you have a mighty smart-looking regiment!” the colonel commented, “that remains to fee seen. But let me, in turn, congi&tulate youjoYou htfve a fine io't of citizens.” • * . 1 “%Yeu are too kind,” the prefect returned; “They are worthy. Do you contemplate making'any stay in our city?” “Unfortunately, it is impossible,” the officer responded. “I must leave for Paris t>-morrow* morning. I am due at the war-office.” , * , “That is to be regretted,” Duclosoy replied “But do give us the pleasure of dining with us this evening at the prefecture. What do you say?” ’ “Oh! thanks, ever so much, my good fellow, * Verdelin exclaimed, “but I might intrude.” • ' . j “ “Not at all, not at alf,” liis companion said, “^e will be charmed to have you.” “No, really, but I am not presentable,” ;he officer protested. “I am literally covered with dust.” • - “It will be nothing formal, I assure you,” t lie prefect interposed. “My wife, land 1 are quite alone. You n£ed only brush. uj> a bit at th# hotel. I shall count on seeing ydu now without fail.” “Very well, then, since you insist,” the colonel added.

IL Ihe prefect, upon leaving' Col.fVerdelin. had_the iil-iuck to encounter the registrar again, who detained him for another quarter of an hour. Then he met thi president of the general council, who held hitn some moments discussing a local question of but mediocfe interest. The mayor was next in order, who joined him the instant he" was disengaged, and related a passably curious t-ise pf municipal statistics. The president of the civil tribunal followed the may or. who'made a point of relating every clever thing he thought he had said dv ring the day, and Duclosoy had still to face the school directors before he readied the prefecture. Jt was seven when he entered. Mme. Duclosoy had been impatiently awaiting his coming. _ “Emi le!” she cried, upon seeing him. “1 have such an appetite. Do come to table.” “Jus: let me wash my hands, dear,” he ans wered, “and I shall bq with you. Dinner can be served.” The prefect and his wife duly enjoyed the repast, and the latter repaired to the smoking room, where M. Duclosoy reveled in the aroma of his Havana cigars, and madame busied herself with her needlework. Thej were thus employed when at eight o’clock the5bell resounded at the main entrance., “Here’s a caller,” Mme. Duclosoy observed! “You must have some light refreshment for them.” her husband retorted. As he littered the above words the footman opened the door and said: “If you please, sir, there is a gentleman it the salon.” “Well, what does he want?” his master demanded. “I do not knew,« sir. He has on a frock <H>at and his mustache is well waxed. He looks like an officer.” “Zounds!” the prefect cried, changing countenance. “Well, I have done a fine thing.”’ - ‘ “Whnt is the matter?” his wife asked. “Why, I met Col. Verdelin at the review,” tier husband began, “and %vited him to dine with us. It entirely escaped my memory, as you saw. Also, the fattp that people do not think of coming before eight o’clock unless requested to do -so.” «. “They never dine before that hour In Paris,” his wife commented. “Well, what is to be done now?” he asked. . *• “He must be received, to be snre; ther is no way of getting out of it,” the woman replied. “Jean teT the ohef I want to see him.”

t A few minutes later the chef appeered. “Francois,” his mistress said, "job b must get up another dinner for us.n “Very good, madame,” he responded. ■ “And an excellent one, Francois,** K. Duclosoy observed. < ' i “Very good, sir.” ^ “For three persons,” his mistress inI terposed. . ’■* “As you wish, m|jamt.N “And speedily, Francois; you must be very quick about it,” the prefect urged. “I understand, sir,” the chef deferentially added.

The prefect and his wife repaired to the salon and Col. Verdelin, his face flushed and very much out of breath, hastily began by saying: “Accept my apologies, madame; a. thousand apblogies, .my dear Duclosoy” “But why, colonel?” the prefect’s wife relumed. “\Ve are not provincials. It is just eight o’clock.” “fomr ashamed, but—” “We are awfcre,” the prefect interrupted, “that in Baris you a*re not in the habit of going to table before that hour.” “Oh, Duclosoy!” the officer exclaimed. “That is true,” the prefect’s wife insisted. “When my husband told me that we were to have the pleasure of your company at dinner he repeatedly mentioned that it should not be served before eight o’clock. Am I not right, Emile?” “Absolutely, my dear, and I am sure, colonel, that as it is we wilU>e late, and that we may have to wait Aull quarter of an hour yet.” “What is a quarter of an hour?” the colonel observed, with a smile On his lips. * 1 A conversation then ensued between the prefect, his wife and their guest. M. Duclosoy was witty, Mme. Duelosoy agreeable and the colonel courteous. At half past eight the “maitre d’hoj tel” appeared at the door and said: “Madame is served.*^* , y ;. The colonel promjjgy/offered his aim to his hostess and they passed into the diningroom, where the dinner began

>r “ GOOD DAY, MY DEAB COLONEL,** s silently, as do all in good society. Only the sound of ..the spoons was heard striking against the porcelain of the plates, which contained a savory soup. The chef, moreover, had worked wonders. ’ In half an hour he had composed and executedT'a menu both dainty and copious, to which the colonel, ,who enjoyed good diving, would not have failed to do due honor if he had not been restrained, perchance", through timidity and discretion." “Come, colonel, have a little more trout,” the prefect urged. “No, really, Duclosoy, I have partaken so freely of the hors d'oevure,” the guest, protested. I “Colonel, you are a hypocrite,” Mme. Duclosoy exclaimed. “You scarcely touched the radishes. Must I, in turn, urge you to accept? You see how we have finished ours.” “Madame, it shall be jwfyou desire,” he said, “but you will~TTear me company” “Look, I -am beings equally served,” she returned. “And Duclosoy alsb,” their visilbr insisted. “My good fellow! You have eaten nothing. Come, just a little more trout; it will not hurt you!” The poor prefect was therefore compelled to follow suit. The dinner continued gayly enough, but not, however, without some inconvenience. The colonel was pressed to partake of every dish, but after the first attack on some pate de foie gras* he retreated in good order, but began anothei assault, and, notwithstandingwhat he had undergone, made quite a gap in some of the crust. As soqn as they had finished coffee the colonel,, looking both red and uncomfortable and visibly uneasy, made his adieus, pleading the fatigue of the day as the excise for his speedy withdrawal. He had scarcely disappeared when the prefect and his wife, their features contracted, rang and sank back on a couch, simultaneously demanding a cup of camomile. IV. . . A short time afterward the prefect was- forced go to Paris. The day following his arrival he encountered Col. Verdelin on the boulevard. “Good day, my dear colonel,” he cried, as soon as he perceived him. “Well! How have you been since we last had the pleasure of seeing you?” “Ah, Duclosoy,” the officer retorted* “do not speak of it. I have been as sick as a dog! You invited me to dine, you remember? Well, I entirely forgot the fact and dined at my hotel.' At eight o’clock, my good iriend, I hastened to the prefectm% to make my apologies, thinking you would then have left the table. But I saw that I was sTill expected, and therefore dared not explain. You understand*—two dinners in succession. I still have the second!” “Well, I never!” the prefect cried fn j astonishment. “That was just our i ease!”—From the French of Adrien I VeU * /

PITH AND POINT. Visitor—“Hare you ever seen ths ■ea serpent?” Boatman—“No, air; I’m a temperance man.”—Punch. . One loses his breath by running, and catches it quickest by standing still.—Elliott’s Magazine. * Ethel—“Mamma, aren’t those m»1diers delicate?" Mamma—“Delicate, indeed! No, dear.” Ethel—“Then why do so many of them hare nurses with them?"—Sketchy Bits. Hattie—“So you really think George is in love with you?” Edith—“Oh, 1 am sure of it. You should hear some of the mean things he says about you and the rest of the girls in our set.” —Boston Transcript. Visitor—“What was the matter with the man they just brought in?” Doctor—“Stuck his head through a pane of glass.” Visitor—“How did he look?” Doctor—“His- face wore an injured expression.”—Baltimore News. Deacon Saintly (to wife, as congregation assembles)—4 Where is Mrs. Fashuns this morning? She is usually among the early comers.” Mrs. Saintly—“She will be late to-day. I saw her buying a new hat last week.” —Baltimore American. ,, “One word, Emilie! Would you mind if I tell'you that I love you to distraction, that I can’t live without you and that I’ll kill myself if you refuse to listen to me?” “Yes' I should mind, for I can never care for jiau!” “Then I won’t say it!”—LustLje Blaetter. !|he—“To think that you once declared that you would love me as lojfg as you lived! And now*, hardly *Aea‘r married, and you care nothing al all about me!” He—“But you see frhen I told you I would love you as u>ag as I lived I wasn’t feeling very ,Ayell, and I really didn’t think I would -live long.”—Boston Transcript. BOERS GOING TO WAR. AJTectinsr Scenes Were Enacted When the Men Left Pretoria for the Front.

Last Sunday night I- found myself slowly crawling toward the front from Pretoria in a commandeered train crammed full of armed Boers and their horses, says a correspondent of the Chronicle. I had rushed from the Cape to quiet little Bloemfontein, the center of one of the best administered states in the world, where the heads oj the nation, inyfne intervals of discussing war, projadly showed me their pianos, their ftiile gardens, little libraries of English books, little museums, of African beasts and Greek coins, a?d all their other evidences of advancing culture. Then, on to Pretoria, the same kind of town, on a larger and richer scale—trim bungalowhouses, for the most part, spread out among gardens full of roses, honeysuckles and syringa. But at the station all day and night the scene was not idyllic. Every hour train after train moved away—stores and firewood in front, horses next, and luggage vans for the men behind. The parting from lovers and wives and children must be imagined} They are bad enough to witness when our own soldiers go to the front. But these men^ are not soldiers at all. Each of them came direct from his home in the town or on some isolated'farm. They rode up, dressed jiist in their ordinary clothes, but- foXthe slung mauser and the full cartridge belt over the shoulder or round the waist. Except for f ,|ew gunners, thqre is no uniform in the J^ser armi-. lEven the officers can hardly be dis tinguished from ordinaryfarmers. Thi only thing that could be called uni form is the broad-rimmed hat of gray and brown. But all Boers wear it. It is generally very stained and dirty and Invariably a rusty crape bqjid is wound about the crown. For the Boers, like the English poorer classes, has large quantities of relations and one of them it always dying. By the courtesy of the Pretorian government I had secured room in the guard’s van for myself anti companion who was equally anxious to cross the Natal frontier before the firing began and that—yyas expected at every mo ment. In the van with us were about a score of farmers from Middleburg way, their contingent occupying font trains with about 800 men and horses For the most part they were fine tal) men, with shaggy light beards, reminding one of Yorkshire farmers, but rougher and not so well dressed. Most of them could speak English and many had Scotch or English relatives. They lay on the floor or sat on the edge ot the van, talking 0quietly and smoking enormous pipes. All deeply regretted the war, regretted the farm lq|t behind just when spring and rain are coming and were full of foreboding for the women and children left at the mercy of the Kaffirs. There was no excitement or shouting or bravado of any kind. So we traveled into the night, the monotony only broken by one violent collision which shook ns all flat on the floor, while arms and stores fell crashing unon us. In the silent pause which followed, while we wondered if we were dead. I could hear the Kaffirs chattering in their mud huts close by and in the distance a cornet was playing “Home, Sweet Home,” with variations. —London Chronicle,

A Tale of Chivalry. Sir Launcelat on- his mailed steed rode up to the great gate of the castle and hit it a resounding thwack with the hilt of this sv^ord. “What, ho, within there,” he shouted. , *' “What, ho, without there,” came the answering cry. “I want to come in,* thundered the knight. “Well, you can’t do it,now,” called the same voice, “we've just opened a Jack pot.”—Detroit Free Press.

FOB THE SLEEPLESS. Dr. Talmage Speaks on the Subject of Insomnia. **••* til* Tacalloa at t|e Soal . A Dlrlae Rareofle—Words at Cn* solatloa tar Sa^erera->Tfca Last Sleet.

(Copyright. 1100. by Loots Klopscb.] Washington. J&n. L In this discourse Or. Talmage treats of a style of disorder not much discoursed upon and unfolds what must be a consolation to many people. Text. Psalms 77:4: “Thou boldest mine eyes waking.” Sleep is the vacation of the soul. It is the mind gone into the playground of dreams; it is the relaxation of muscles and the solace of the nerves; it is the hush of activities; it ip the soft curtaining of the eyes; it is a trance of eight hours; it is a calming of the pulses; it is a breathing much slower, though far deeper; it is a temporary oblivion of ail caching cares; it is the doctor recognized by all schools of medicine; it is a divine narcotic; it is a complete anaesthetic; it is an angel of the night; it is a great mercy of God for the human race. Lack of it puts patients on the rack of torture or in the madhouse or in the grave. Oh, blessed sleep! No wonder the Bible makes much of it. Through sleep so ^>und that a surgical incision of the side of Adam did not waken him came the best temporal blessing ever offered to man —wifely companionship. While in sleep on a pillow of rock Jacob saw a ladder set up, with angels coming down and climbing. So “He giveth His beloved al$p,” soliloquized the psalmist. Solomon, listens at the door of a tired workpaan and eulogizes his pillow by saying^ “The sleep of a laboring man is^syrefct^* Peter was calmly sleeping between the two constables the night before his expected assassina ion. Christ was asleep in a boat on Galilee when tossed in the euroclydon. Tb “ annunciation was made to Joseph in sleep, and death is described as oi ly a sleep and the resurrection as a glorious wakening out of sleep. On the other hand, insomnia, or s] eeplessness, is an old disorder spoke a of again and again in the Bible. Ahasu;rus suffered from it, and we read: “In hit night could not the king sleep.” Joseph Hall said of that ruler; “He that could command a hundred and seven and twenty provinces could not command sleep.” Nebuchadnezzar had insomnia, and the record is: “His sleep brake from him.” Solomon descHftes this trouble and says: “Neither day nor night seeth he sleep with his eyes.” Asaph was its victim, for he complains in iny text that his eyes are wide open at midnight, some mystefipus power keeping the upper and lower lids from joining: “Thou holdest mine eyes waking.” ^ Insomnia, which has troubled aH notions and all ages, and its widest swing in our land, because of the push and speed of all styles of activities, as in no other land. Where there is one man or woman with equipoise of nerves there are a dozen with overwrought and tan- ; gled ganglion. At spe time in life j almost everyone has had a touch of it. I it has been called “Americanitis.” Last | night there were, as there will be tonight, millions of people to whom the words of the text are appropriate utter- ! ance: “Thou holdest mine eyes wak-. I *nS'* 1 ( Wonderful is that law which Ralph Waldo Emerson called the “law of compensation,” and it has been so arranged . thait, while the hard-working populations of the earth are denied many of the luxuries, they have at least one luxury which many of the affluent of the earth are denied and for which some of them would give millions of dollars in cash down—namely, capacity to sleep. The most of those who toil with hand and foot do not have to send out invitations to sleep. They require no bromide or valerian or sulphonal or triavol to put them tQ nightly unconsciousness, In five minutes after their heads touch their pillows they are as far off from the wall they were building, or the ditch they were digging, or the anvil they were pounding, or the wheels they were controlling, as heaven is from earth. About three o’clock in the morning, the body at lowest temperature and its furnaces nearly out, what a complete quietude for the entire physical and mental structure! All night lon^, for such sleep is busy with its enchanted anointing of every corpuscle of the arteries and every molecule of the entire physical organism, and the morning finds tke subjects of such sleep rebuilt, reconstructed and touched of God into a new life.

or course tnere is an unrighteous sleep, as when Jonah, trying to escape from duty, slept in the sides of the ship while the Mediterranean was in wrath because of that prophetic passenger; as when Colnmbus in his first voyage, exhausted from being up many nights, gave the ship in charge of the steersman and the crew, who, leaving the management of the vessel to boys, went asleep and allowed the ship to strike on the sand banks of St. Thomas; as when the sentinel goes to sleep at his ■ post, endangering the whole army; as when the sluggard, who accomplishes nothing the day before he went to sleep and will accomplish nothing .the day after he wakes, fills up Solomon’s picture of him as he yawns out.: “A little sleep and a little slumber and a little folding of the hands to sleep,” But sleep at the right time and amid the right circumstauces—can you imagine anything more blessed? If sleep, according to sacred and profane literature, is an emblem of death, the motiving to all refreshed slumbers is a resurrection. IT^rou have escaped the insomnia spoken of in the text, thank God. Here and there one can command sleep, and

It comes the minute be orders it and departs st the minute he wish • t to go. ss Napoleon when he wrote; * Different affairs are arranged in try . ead as in drawers. When 1 wish t< i: terrupt one train of thought. I cl ite the drawer which contains that subj :<:t and open that which contains a i;« at Ser. They do not mis together or ins ai' ?nience me. 1 hare never been kept i \ ake by an involuntary preoccupatus of mind. When 1 wish'for repose ■'} ; hut up all the drawers, and 1 am as it x 1 have always slept when .1 want <L rest and almost at will,” But I tl int in most cases we feel that sleep is t>; the result of a resolution, but a dirut t gift from trod. You cannot purchasl i . A great French financier cried out: '‘/las! -Why is there no sleep to be sold?* : Do not take tins divine gift as a : ratter of course. Your seven or e ght hours of healthful unconscious, ie s !is a blessing worthy of continuoi and emphatic recognition. Praise tl< i . jord for 365 resurrections in a year! . artificial slumber can be made-up the apothecaries, but natural slee s a balm, a panacea, a oatholicon the l no one but God can mix. With it 4he bathes your eyes and brain an< tWve and bone. It is a soft robe wo u in Heaven, with which He wraps our body, mind and soul. The mortj si ientists explore this mystery of si k-j the p, more profound it seems. God \ us many, things, but that is a set re- He keeps to Himself. We phiiosoph and guess about this phenomenon, l ta will never know just what sleep i. until we are told about it when * e get through the last sleep. Than : God morning, noon and night fo| this strange quietude, this refreshi dismissal. this recuperating absent«, this reenforcement of energies, this : ai| bty benediction. J

Consider among the worst cr mes the robbery of ourselves or ot. iei t of the mercy of slumber. Much i uirous doctrine has been inculcated (t hi» subject. Thomas Aloore gave p »o; ad* vice when he said: “The best vai • to lengthen our days is to steal a few hours from the night." Vie ate told that, though they did their w :>r;! at night, Copernicus lived to l>e T. y ars of age and Galilei 73 years and II n ;hel 84 years. 'Yes, but the reason w; s bey were all star hunters, aad'theoniy timefor hunting stars is at night. P obably they slept by day. The nig it was made for slumber. , The worst ,airp a student can have is “the mi le ght lamp.” Lord . Brougham never ja >sed more than foul hours of the nigh % a >ed, and Justinian* after one houro »iWpj would rise from his couch. But yc i are neither a. Justinian nor a i,ord Brougham. Let not the absurd a pc theosis of early rising induce voti to ,li. abbreviation of sleep. Get up wh«jn you are slfpt out, unless eir^unis: i ces compei otherwise. Have no a burn c ock making its nerve-tearing racket ak our o’clock in the morning, unless e,p< ciai reasons demand the forsaking of j our pillow at that hour. Most of ti o theories about early rising we inherited from times when people retired a e ght or nine o’clock in the evening. ^ Jjjach early retirement is impossible a our own limes for those who are ai ing part in the great activities o iife., There is no virtue in the mere tu t of early rising. It all depends upo i > hat you do after you get up. It wcaij be better for the world if some pe pie never wakened at all. , k ff’

l>ut most Americans do not gets eep enough. The sjn of iaje retiring is most widespread and ruinous. V‘%Uis much needed is that in all ou c tier* those who are leaders -in social .life turn* back the hour of drawing-r om assemblage from ten and elev ;a to eight or half-past seven, so thijt the guests at ten or half-past ten ma * i Jeet sleep at the right hou[r in their Jwn dormitories. Two or three social heroines could do that in all the tti^vns and cities. Thousands of men ant .vjmen are slain each year by late bears. Five years is more than the a ravage of endurance. The vitality of men and women is cjepleted, and they g> Into chronie ailnients, if they do not die of dyspepsia or consumption or nen ous prostration, and the beauty goes out of the cheek beyond all restoration of cosmetics. Late retiring is the .utouber of premature wrinkles. Lack of s eep assassinates social life. A reforms ion is needed, and if the customs m the world could be changed in this roa ter and the curtains of social life co alt be rung down at a reasonable hour of the night 20 per cent, would be added to the world’s longevity. 3 \ All those ought to be comforted v ho by overwork in right directions hive come to insomnia. In all occupoit ms and professions there are times w ten a special draft is made upon the nt rv »us energy. There are thousands o ? men and women who cannot sleep bee a sse they were injured by overworks® sc me time of domestic or political or re igious exigency. Mothers who. after t iking a whole family of children throigh the disorders that are sure to strike the nursery, have been left phys eal wrecks, and one entire night of sh Briber is to them a rarity, if not at mpossibility. The attorney at law * ho through a long trial in poorly ?e dilated courtroom has stood for we -ks battling for the rights of widows i nd orphans or for the life of a elk in in whose innocence he is confident, tl ot gh all the circumstances are unfavo:*^ le. 1b his room he tries the case all e,i -ht long, and every night, when he uo tld like to be slumbering. The physic; in, in time of epidemics, worn out in s iving the lives of whole families and f tiling In his attempts to sleep at to >ht between the jangliogs of his door t>11. The merchant who has experien ed panics, when the banks went down j nd Wall street became a pandemonium, and there was a possibility that most day he would be penniless—that itf -bt with no more possibility of gain ng sleep than if such a blessing had it* ter touched opr planet. Ministers o\: he Gospel, in time of great revival, all tl eir powers of endurance drawn upon ay day and week by week and in a tth ' ■ ■ ’ -4

I IIMItlWg by month — sermonic preparaltbo, neighborhood visitation, heart breathing obsequies, sympiribetie heip for the anxious, the despairing and the dying. It is a wonder that ministers of the Gospel hare any nerves left and that the angel of sleep does not quit their presence forever. But I here and now pronounce high* est consolation for all those who in any department have sacrificed their health to duty. Your sleeplessness is as much a wound as you can find on any battle* field and is an honorable wound. W« ail look with reverence and admiration upon one who has lost an eye or an arm in the service of bis country, and «< ought to look with admiration upon those who. through extreme fidelity to their life work, have lost tbeir capacity for slumber. Remember glorious Albert Barnes going along the streets oI Philadelphia at four o’clock In the morning for many years to his char eh study, writing ail his commentaries before breakfast, and keeping on until he was stone blind. Will not the Lord reward such sacrifices?/ And if through your fidelity you have lost capacity t® sleep. God, who never slumbers ot sleeps, will loqk after you. When yoo hear the clock strike twelve and one and two and three and four without: your going to your slumber, let it remind you that you have not been a sluggard or a do-nothing. You are'suffering is a good cause. Paul got sore eyes ip the Lord's service, and had many a scar, but >o far from complaining about it, hr ►xtilts in those scars, saying—in the only inspired letter we know that fee wrote with his own hand, for the other letters were dictated to amanuensc-e— in that letter to the Galatians: “I bear in my body the marks of the Lord Jesus.** . ■ ' -

Aii^/tne victims of insomnia oupht to be consoled with the fact that they ' will have a good long sleep after awhile. Sacred and profane literature again and again speak of that iast sleep. God knew that the human race would be disposed to make a great ado about exit from this world, and so he inspires Job and David and Daniel and John and Paul to.call that condition “sleep.” When at Bethany the brother who waa the support of his sisters after tbeis father and mother were gone had himself expired, Christ cried out in regard to him: “He is not dead, but sleepeth.” Cheering thought to all poor sleepers, for that will be a pleasant sleep, induced by no narpdtic, disturbed by no frightful dream, interrupted by no harsh sound. Better than any sleep ever took, O child of Uod, will be the last sleep. In your other slumbers your home may be invaded by burglars > and your treasures carried off, but while here and there, in one case out of millions* the resurrectionist may disturb the pillow of dust, the last sleep4 is almost sure to be kept from invasion. There will be no burglary of the tomb. . And it wilt be a refreshing sleep. You have sometimes risen in the morning more weary, than when you laid down at nigut, but waking from the sleep of which 1 speak, the iast fatigue, the iast ache, the last worriment, will S be forever gone. Oh, what a refreshing sleep!

Most people are .tired. The nights do not repair the day. Scientists, by minute calculation, say that every night, conies a little short of restoring /the body to where it was the day bef^pre, and so every seventh day was |>ut in for entire rest, to make up in [/reparation for what the nights could !?not do. But so restful/will be the last ; sleep that you will rj/e from it withone sore nerve,/without one tired limb—rested, forever rested, as only God can rest you. 0 ye tired folks all up and down the world, tired with work, or tired wilh persecutions, or tired with ailments, or tired with bereavements, or tired in the struggle against temptation, clap your bunds with eternal gie* in expectation cf that sleep from which you will wake up so rested that you will never need another sleep or ^ven another night. “There shall be no night there,”* because there will be no need rof its quieting influences. No lengthening of the shadows ot tower and. wall and gate. No evening mist rising from the river. No sundown. “Thy sun shall no more go down, neither shall thy moon withdraw itself, for the Lord shall be thine everlasting light and the days of thy mourn*ag shall be euded.*’ o • So, my hearer, my reader, “Good night.” May God give you such sleep, to-night as is best for you, and if you wake too soon may He fill your soul with reminiscences and. expectations that will bp better than slumber. Good night! Having in prayer, kneeling at the bedside, committed yourself andi all yours to the- keeping of the slumberless God, fear nothing. The pestilence that walketh in darkness will net cross your doorsill, and you need not be afraid of evil tidings. Good nightl May you have no such experience as Job had when he said; "Thou scares! me with dreams and terrifiest me through visions.” Ifyou dream at all, may it be a vision of reunions and congratulations, and, waking, may you find some ,of them true. Good night! And when you come to the best sleep, the blissful sleep, the last sleep, may you be able to turn and say to all the cares and fatigues and bereavements and pangs of a lifetime: “Good night!” and your kindred, standing around jaur illumined pillow, give you hopeful though- sorrowful farewell as you movb out from their loving embrace into the house of a welcoming God, Good night! Good nightl Hard to Believe. “1 wouldn’t have , Blinded being whipped so much,” said the young eulprit, “if the teacher hadn’t said thnt my punishment hurt him more than it did me.” “That oughtn’t to make you feed any worse.” ° V W/ .“Well, it did. What he punished rae for w«a tellin^storiea.”- WeshijMrtoa Star* -