TME WAGES OF SIN. REV. DE WITT TALMAGE ON "AFTER THE BATTLE." Stripping the Slain--The Mercilessness of Sin--A Tragedy on the Street Corner. The Temptation, the Choice and the Outcome.

NEW YORK, April 21.--There is no diminution in the vast numbers that assemble from Sunday to Sunday to listen to the eloquent sermons of Rev. Dr. Talmage. Today he chose for his subject "After the Battle," the text selected being I Samuel xxxi, 8, "And it came to pass on the morrow, when the Philistines came to strip the slain, that they found Saul and his three sons fallen in

Mount Gilboa."

Some of you were at South Mountain or Shiloh or Ball's Bluff or Gettysburg on northern or southern side, and I ask you if there is any sadder sight than a battlefield after the guns have stopped firing? I walked across the field of Antietam just after the conflict. The scene was so sickening I shall not describe it. Every valuable thing had been taken from the bodies of the dead, for there are always vultures hovering over and around about an army, and they pick up the watches, and the memorandum books, and the letters, and the daguerreotypes, and the hats, and the coats, applying them to their own uses. The dead make no resistance. So there are always camp followers going on and after an army, as when Scott went down into Mexico, as when Napoleon marched up toward Moscow, as when Von Moltke went to Sedan. There is

a similar scene in my text.

Saul and his army had been horribly cut to pieces. Mount Gilboa was ghastly with the dead. On the morrow the stragglers came on to the field, and they lifted the latchet of the helmet from under the chin of the dead, and they picked up the swords and bent them on their knee to test the temper of the metal, and they opened the wallets and counted the coin. Saul lay dead along the ground, 8 or 9 feet in length, and I suppose the cowardly Philistines, to show their bravery, leaped upon the trunk of his carcass and jeered at the fallen slain and whistled through the mouth of his helmet. Before night those cormorants had taken everything valuable from the field. "And it came to pass on the morrow, when the Philistines came to strip the slain, that they found Saul and his three sons fallen in

Mount Gilboa."

Satan and His Work.

Before I get through today I will show you that the same process is going on all the world over, and every day, and that when men have fallen satan and the world, so far from pitying them or helping them, go to work remorselessly to take what little there is left,

thus stripping the sain.

There are tens of thousands of young men every year coming from the country to our great cities. They come with brave hearts and grand expectations. The country lads sit down in the village grocery, with their feet on the iron rod around the redhot stove, in the evening, talking over the prospects of the young man who has gone off to the city. Two or three of them think that perhaps he may get along very well and succeed, but the most of them prophesy failure, for it is very hard to think that those whom we know in boyhood will ever make any great success in the world. But our young man has a fine position in a dry goods store. The month is over. He gets his wages. He is not accustomed to have so much money belonging to himself. He is a little excited and does not know exactly what to do with it, and he spends it in some places where he ought not. Soon there come up new companions and acquaintances from the barrooms and the saloons of the city. Soon that young man begins to waver in the battle of temptation, and soon his soul goes down. In a few months or few years he has fallen. He is morally dead. He is a mere corpse of what he once was. The harpies of sin snuff up the taint and come on the field. His garments gradually give out. He has pawned his watch. His health is failing him. His credit perishes. He is too poor to stay in the city, and he is too poor to pay his way home to the country. Down, down! Why do the low fellows of the city now stick to him so closely? Is it to help him back to a moral and spiritual life? Oh, no. I will tell you why they stay. They are Philistines

stripping the slain.

Do not look where I point, but yonder stands a man who once had a beautiful home in this city. His house had elegant furniture, his children were beautifully clad, his name was synonymous with honor and usefulness, but evil habit knocked at his front door, knocked at his back door, knocked at his parlor door, knocked at his bedroom door. Where is the piano? Sold to pay the rent. Where is the hatrack? Sold to meet the butcher's bill. Where are the carpets? Sold to get bread. Where is the wardrobe? Sold to get rum. Where are the daughters? Working their fingers off in trying to keep the family together. Worse and worse until everything is gone. Who is that going up the front steps of that house? That is a creditor hoping to find some chair or bed that has not been levied upon. Who are those two gentlemen now going up the front steps? The one is a constable; the other is the sheriff. Why do they go there? The unfortunate is morally dead, socially dead, financially dead. Why do they go there? I will tell you why the creditors and the constables and the sheriffs go there. They are, some on their own account and some on account of the law, stripping the slain.

A Pathetic Request. An ex-member of congress, one of the most eloquent men that ever stood in the house of representatives, said in his last moments: "This is the end. I am dying--dying on a borrowed bed, covered by a borrowed sheet, in a house built by public charity. Bury me under that tree in the middle of the field, where I shall not be crowded, for I have been crowded all my life." Where were the jolly politicians and the dissipating comrades who had been with him, laughing at his jokes, applauding his eloquence and plunging him into sin? They have left. Why? His money is gone, his reputation is gone, his wit is gone, his clothes are gone--everything is gone. Why should they stay any longer? They have completed their work. They have stripped the slain. There is another way, however, of doing that same work. Here is a man who, through his sin, is prostrate. He acknowledges now that he has done wrong. Now is the time for you to go to that man and say, "Thousands of people have been as far astray as you are and

got back." Now is the time for you

to go to that man and tell him of the

omnipotent grace of God, that is sufficient for any poor soul. Now is the time to go and tell how swearing John Bunyan, through the grace of God, afterward came to the Celestial City. Now is the time to go to that man and tell him how profligate Newton came, through conversion, to be a world renowned preacher of righteousness. Now is the time to tell that man that multitudes who have been pounded with all the flails of sin and dragged through all the sewers of pollution at last have risen to positive dominion of moral power.

You do not tell him that, do you? No.

You say to him: "Loan you money? No.

You are down. You will have to go to the dogs. Lend you a dollar? I would not lend you 5 cents to keep you from the gallows. You are debauched! Get

out of my sight now! Down! You will

have to stay down!" And thus those bruised and battered men are some-

times accosted by those who ought to lift them up. Thus the last vestige of

hope is taken from them. Thus those

who ought to go and lift and save them

are guilty of stripping the slain. The point I want to make is this: Sin is hard, cruel and merciless. Instead of helping a man up, it helps him down,

and when, like Saul and his comrades, you lie on the field it will come and steal your sword and helmet and shield, leaving you to the jackal and the crows.

Deceived. But the world and satan do not do all

their work with the outcast and abandoned. A respectable impenitent man comes to die. He is flat on his back. He could not get up if the house was on fire. Adroitest medical skill and gentlest nursing have been a failure. He

has come to his last hour. What does satan do for such a man? Why, he

fetches up all the inapt, disagreeable and harrowing things in his life. He

says: "Do you remember those chances

you had for heaven and missed them?

Do you remember all those lapses in conduct? Do you remember all those op-

probrious words and thoughts and ac-

tions? Don't remember them, eh? I'll make you remember them." And then he takes all the past and empties it on that deathbed, as the mailbags are emp-

tied on the post office floor. The man is sick. He cannot get away from them.

Then the man says to satan: "You

have deceived me. You told me that all would be well. You said there would be no trouble at the last. You told me if I did so and so you would do so and so. Now you corner me and hedge me up and submerge me in everything evil." "Ha, ha!" says satan. "I was only fooling you. It is mirth for me to see you suffer. I have been for 30 years plotting to get you just where you are. It is hard for you now; it will be worse for you after awhile. It pleases me. Lie still, sir. Don't flinch or shudder. Come, now, I will tear off from you the last rag of expectation. I will rend away from your soul the last hope. I will leave you bare for the beating of the storm. It is my business to strip the

slain."

While men are in robust health and their digestion is good and their nerves are strong they think their physical strength will get them safely through the last exigency. They say it is only cowardly women who are afraid at the last and cry out for God. "Wait till I come to die. I will show you. You won't hear me pray, nor call a minister, nor want a chapter read me from the Bible." But after the man has been three weeks in a sickroom his nerves are not so steady, and his worldly companions are not anywhere near to cheer him up, and he is persuaded that he must quit life. His physical courage is all gone. He jumps at the fall of a teaspoon in a saucer. He shivers at the idea of going away. He says: "Wife, I don't think my infidelity is going to take me through. For God's sake don't bring up the children to do as I have done. If you feel like it, I wish you would read a verse or two out of Fannie's Sabbath school hymnbook or New Testament." But satan breaks in and says: "You have always thought religion trash and a lie. Don't give up at the last. Besides that, you cannot, in the hour you have to live, get off on that track. Die as you lived. With my great black wings I shut out that light. Die in darkness. I rend away from you that last vestige of hope. It is my business to strip the slain."

Too Late.

A man who had rejected Christianity and thought it all trash came to die. He was in the sweat of a great agony, and his wife said, "We had better have some prayer." "Mary, not a breath of that," he said. "The lightest word of prayer would roll back on me like rocks on a drowning man. I have come to the hour of test. I had a chance, but I forfeited it. I believed in a liar, and he has left me in the lurch. Mary, bring me Tom Payne--that book that I swore by and lived by--and pitch it into the fire, and let it burn and burn as I myself shall soon burn." And then, with the foam on his lip and his hands tossing wildly in the air, he cried out: "Blackness of darkness! Oh, my God, too late!" And the spirits of darkness whistled up from the depth and wheeled around and around him, stripping the slain. Sin is a luxury now; it is exhilaration now; it is victory now. But after awhile it is collision; it is defeat; it is extermination; it is jackalism; it is robbing the dead; it is stripping the slain. Give it up today--give it up! Oh, how you have been cheated on, my brother, from one thing to another! All these years you have been under an evil mastery that you understand not. What have your companions done for you? What have they done for your health? Nearly ruined it by carousal. What have they done for your fortune? Almost scattered it by spendthrift behavior. What have they done for your reputation? Almost ruined it with good men. What have they done for your immortal soul? Almost insured its overthrow. You are hastening on toward the consummation of all that is sad. Today you stop and think, but it is only for a moment, and then you will tramp on, and at the close of this service you will go out, and the question will be, "How did you like the sermon?" And one man will say, "I liked it very well," and another man will say, "I didn't like it at all," but neither of the answers will touch the tremendous fact that if impenitent you are going at 60 knots an hour toward shipwreck. Yea, you are in a battle where you will fall, and while your surviving relatives will take your remaining estate and the cemetery will take your body and the messengers of darkness will take your soul and come and go about you, stripping the slain.

Brought to Life. Many are crying out: "I admit I am slain, I admit it!" On what battle-field, my brothers? By what weapon? "Polluted imagination," says one man; "Intoxicating liquor," says another man; "My own hard heart," says another man. Do you realize this? Then I come to tell you that the omnipotent Christ is ready to walk across this battle-field, and revive, and resuscitate, and resurrect your dead soul. Let Him take your hand and rub away the numbness; your head, and bathe off the aching; your heart, and stop its wild throb. He brought Lazarus to life; He brought Jairus' daughter to life; He brought the young man of Nain to life, and these are three proofs anyhow that he can bring you to life. When the Philistines came down on the field, they stepped between the corpses, and they rolled over the dead, and they took away everything that was valuable; and so it was with the people that followed after our army at Chancellorsville, and at Pittsburg Landing, and at Stone River, and at Atlanta, stripping the slain; but the Northern and Southern women—God bless them!—came on the field with basins, and pads, and towels, and lint, and cordials, and Christian encouragement; and the poor fellows that lay there lifted up their arms and said: "Oh, how good that does feel since you dressed it!" and others looked up and said: "Oh, how you make me think of my mother!" and others said: "Tell the folks at home I died thinking about them;" and another looked up and said: "Miss, won't you sing me a verse of 'Home, Sweet Home,' before I die?" And then the tattoo was sounded, and the hats were off, and the service was read: "I am the resurrection and the life;" and in honor of the departed the muskets were loaded, and the command given: "Take aim--fire!" And there was a shingle set up at the head of the grave, with the epitaph of "Lieutenant ---- in the Fourteenth Massachusetts Regulars," or "Captain ---- in the Fifteenth Regiment of South Carolina volunteers."

And so now, across this great field of moral and spiritual battle, the angels of God come walking among the slain, and there are voices of comfort, and voices of hope, and voices of resurrection, and voices of heaven.

A Tragedy Recalled.

One night I saw a tragedy on the corner of Broadway and Houston street. A young man, evidently doubting as to which direction he had better take, his hat lifted high enough so that you could see he had an intelligent forehead, stout chest; he had a robust development. Splendid young man. Cultured young man. Honored young man. Why did he stop there while so many were going up and down? The fact is that every

man has a good angel and a bad angel contending for the mastery of his spirit, and there were a good angel and a bad angel struggling with that young man's soul at the corner of Broadway and Houston street. "Come with me," said the good angel; "I will take you home; I will spread your pillow; I will lovingly escort you all through life under supernatural protection; I will bless every cup you drink out of, every couch you rest on, every doorway you enter; I will consecrate your tears when you weep, your sweat when you toil, and at the last I will hand over your grave into the hand of the bright angel of a Christian resurrection. In answer to your father's petition and your mother's prayer I have been sent of the Lord out of heaven to be your guardian spirit. Come with me," said the good angel in a voice of unearthly symphony. It was music like that which drops from a lute of heaven when a seraph breaths on it. "No, no," said the bad angel; "come with me; I have something better to offer. The wines I pour are from chalices of bewitching carousal; the dance I lead is over floor tessellated with unrestrained indulgences; there is no God to frown on the temples of sin where I worship. The skies are Italian. The paths I tread are through meadows, daisied and primrosed. Come with me." The young man hesitated at a time when hesitation was ruin, and the bad angel smote the good angel until it departed, spreading wings through the starlight upward and away until a door flashed open in the sky and forever the wings vanished. That was the turning point in that young man's history, for, the good angel flown, he hesitated no longer, but started on a pathway which is beautiful at the opening, but blasted at the last. The bad angel, leading the way, opened gate after gate, and at such gate the road became rougher and the sky more lurid, and, what was peculiar, as the gate slammed shut it came to with a jar that indicated that I would never open.

A Decision Called For.

Passed each portal, there was a grinding of locks and a shoving of bolts, and the scenery on either side of the road changed from gardens to deserts, and the June air became a cutting December blast, and the bright wings of the bad angel turned to sackcloth, and the eyes of light became hollow with hopeless grief, and the fountains, that at the start had tossed with wine, poured forth bubbling tears and foaming blood, and on the right side of the road there was a serpent, and the man said to the bad angel, "What is that serpent?" and the answer was, "That is the serpent of stinging remorse." On the left side the road there was a lion, and the man asked the bad angel, "What is that lion?" and the answer was, "That is the lion of all devouring despair." A vulture flew through the sky, and the man asked the bad angel, "What is that vulture?" and the answer was, "That is the vulture waiting for the carcasses of the slain."

And then the man began to try to pull off him the folds of something that had wound him round and round, and he said to the bad angel, "What is it that twists me in this awful convolution?" and the answer was, "That is the worm that never dies." And then the man said to the bad angel: "What does all this mean? I trusted in what you said at the corner of Broadway and Houston street; I trusted it all, and why have you thus deceived me?" Then the last deception fell off the charmer, and it said: "I was sent forth from the pit to destroy your soul. I watched my chance for many a long year. When you hesitated that night on Broadway, I gained my triumph. Now you are here. Ha, ha! You are here. Come, let us fill these two chalices of fire and drink together to darkness and woe and death. Hail, hail!" Oh, young man! will the good angel sent forth by Christ, or the bad angel sent forth by sin, get the victory over your soul? Their wings are interlocked this moment above you, contending for your destiny, as above the Apennines, eagle and condor fight mid-sky. This hour may decide your destiny.

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A CURIOUS PROPHECY. Partly Fulfilled It Predicts a Dark Future For the United States. Over 40 years ago an old German hermit published in a Bavarian paper a curious prophecy. In it he foretold the Austrian Russian and the Franco-Prussians wars, the death of Pope Pius and the Turco-Russian debate at arms. He said that Germany would have three emperors in one year before the end of the century and indicated the death of two United States presidents by assassination. All things have come to pass. In the same article he said that when the twentieth century opens great seismic disturbances will take place which will cause the submersion of New York city and the western half of the city of Havana. Cuba is to break in two, while Florida and Lower California are to suffer total extinction. The shock of these earthquakes will raze buildings to the ground in almost every city on the continent. Millions of lives and billions of dollars' worth of property will be lost. There is to be a change in the economic conditions of almost every civilized nation. He foretells the growth of a democratic spirit in England which will result in a revolution that will overthrow the present form of government and make the country a republic. He says the last ruler of England will be the best the country ever had, and the first president of the new nation will be one of the royal family. Queen Victoria is by long odds the best ruler England has ever had, and in a recent speech the Prince of Wales said it is his desire to see England a republic. According to the hermit, Russia, France and Italy will form an alliance and will enter into war with Turkey. This war is to be the outgrowth of Turkish persecution of Christian subjects. This triple alliance will conquer the domain of the sick man of the east. At the expiration of the war complications will arise which will plunge Italy and France into war with Russia. The result will be that the two countries will be gobbled up by the northern power and will cease to exist as independent nations. While war is being waged between them the pope will move the seat of Catholicism from Rome to some town in southern Ireland. A rebellion will take place in the land of the shamrock, in which the country will become independent of England. Then a conflict will arise between the ultra Catholics of the south of Ireland and the ultra Protestants of the north, in which the southrons will be the victors. A kingdom will be established, and it is predicted that the reign of the first potentate will become historic for its tyranny.

The prophet paints a dark future for the United States. He says at the close of the century a feeling of unrest will seize the people. This feeling will be the outgrowth of unequal social and economic conditions. He predicts that the twenty-fifth president will be the last executive head of the United States. During his administration the discontented masses will break into open rebellion and the established form of government will be overthrown. The United States will be rent asunder, and for a year or more anarchy will prevail. When order shall be brought out of chaos, six republics will be formed, with capitals at the following cities: San Francisco, Denver, New Orleans, St. Louis, Washington and Boston.--Topeka Press.

Senator Call's "Pants." Senator Call is very popular with the lower classes, the cracker element, who consider him the greatest man on earth, and will not vote for a legislative candidate unless he agrees to support the senator for re-election whenever his term runs out. When congress adjourns, Mr. Call comes home, puts on a gray hickory shirt, a pair of ragged breeches, a coat with large holes at the elbows, an old tan colored, perspiration stained slouch hat and gets into his sulky for an electioneering tour through the state. He travels over the sand hills and through the pine forests, stopping at every cabin "to pass the time of day." He kisses all the children, asks for a "snack" to eat, and when the farmer's wife offers him butter he always perfers sorghum on his bread. When night overtakes him, he "puts up" at the nearest farmhouse, no matter how uninviting it may be, and when he goes to bed holds out his ragged trousers to his host and says: "I snagged my pants in the brush to-day, and I'd be under everlasting obligations if your good wife would mend them for me."

Of course the woman would sit up all night to patch the garments of a United States senator, and she puts in her prettiest stitches, but he rips off the patch in a day or two and plays the same game in the next county. The name of the women in Florida who have mended Senator Call's pants is legion, and it is the proudest event in their lives.--Cor. Chicago Record.

Mrs. Huntington's Bath.

Mrs. C. P. Huntington recently got a new maid. She instructed her about the arrangement of her bath. "You will prepare my bath every morning and every night," she began. "Mon [?]!" exclaimed the maid, "two baths a day! Why, my last lady took one in a week, and the little children only took one a week too." "Poor little wretches!" exclaimed [?] mistress. And she tells the story in [?] spirit, but she does not tell [?] her maid lived with before she got her. The two baths a day are supposed to have an effect in keeping down her [?].--Philadelphia Press.

Old Embroideries.

In a wardrobe account, in the time of Richard II, two embroiderers, William Sanston and Robert de Asshecombe, are written down as 'Broudatores Domini Regis.' In another place Stephen Vyne is mentioned as being appointed chief embroiderer to Richard II and his queen, and as having a pension granted him by Henry VI. Those who have gone over these numerous account systematically have noted entries relating to needlework which mention the following persons:

Adam de Bakering, who was paid 6s. 8d. for silk and fringe to embroider a 'chesable' made by Mabilia of St. Edmunds; Adam de Basinges, who made a cope for the king to give to the Bishop of Hereford; Thomas Cheiner, who was paid £140 for a vest of velvet embroidered with divers work for the chaplain of Edward III; William Courtenay, who embroidered a garment for the same monarch with pelicans and tabernacles of gold; John de Colonia, who made two vests of green velvet embroidered with gold sea-sirens and the arms of England and Hainault, and a white robe worked with pearls, and a velvet robe embroidered with gold, for Queen Philippa; Rose Bureford, who received fifty marks from Queen Isabella in part payment of a hundred, for an embroidered cope; and John de Sumercote and Roger the tailor, who were ordered to make four robes of the best brocade, two for King Henry III and two for his queen, with gold-fringe and gems, with special directions to make the tunics of softer brocade than that of the mantles and supertunics.

In one of the earliest books preserved by the Corporation of London, there is a transcript of a quit claim in which there is mention of a piece of cloth eight ells long and six ells wide that Aleyse Darcy embroidered with divers works in gold and silk for the Earl of Richmond, grandson of Henry III.--Exchange.

Autocrat of the Kitchen. Mrs. Faintheart (at the front window)--Officer? Policeman--Yes, ma'am. What's wrong, ma'am? Mrs. F.--Nothing's wrong, but I wish you'd step into the kitchen and fill the [?] burn the meat, as he did last night. I'm afraid to.--Pick Me Up.

Seeking Safety. Fraulein Mabel (to her young man)--But now you must ask papa for his consent. Young Man (very shy)--Oh, certainly! Your papa--has--I hope--a--tele-phone--at his--office?--Ueber Land und Meer. The Best Policy. Old Gentleman ([?])--Let [?], I believe you are the boy I bought a paper of yesterday when I didn't have the change. I owe you a [?]. Here it is. Newsboy ([?])--Never mind, mister. Keep it for yer honesty.--Pick Me Up.

The Greeks, when traveling, wore hats in winter of cloth or felt; in summer of [?], with [?].

To [?] Barn. Grubber--What a well-bred man. Mix[?] D[?]--He ought to be [?].--[?]

Traditions and Solomon.

Solomon far eclipses his father in rabbinical fame. In agreement with most eastern nations the Jews credit him with power over demons and genii.

Well might he be called the wise king, but of the traditional examples of his

wisdom we can only give a few. When about to build the temple, he sent to

Pharaoh to lend him the services of some skilled artificers. The Egyptian

king, with rather niggardly kingcraft,

only sent those who were doomed to die within the year. Solomon sent them back, each man with a shroud, and with the taunting message to his brother

monarch, "Hast thou no shrouds to bury thine own dead?"

When the queen of Sheba visited

him, among the "questions" that she

put to him was one which seriously

puzzled the king. In each hand she

held a wreath of flowers, one of which

was natural and one artificial, but so

exquisite was the workmanship of the

latter that, at the distance the queen stood from the throne, no difference

could be detected. Could the wise Solo-

mon, who knew all horticulture "from the cedar that is in Lebanon to the hyssop that springeth out of the wall," tell

his visitor which was the true and which the false? The king was nonplused for a moment, but only for a moment. He commanded that the doors and windows should be thrown open, and the bees, entering in, answered for him the question of the queen of the south.--All the Year Round.

A Meerschaum Pipe Cinch.

"Talk about luck," said an actor who is at liberty. "I am the luckiest man you ever saw. I was in a joint in Monreal last year, and the barkeeper showed me a meerschaum pipe--a beauty, worth $7.

"'You see,' said the barkeeper, 'there was a drummer in here from Buffalo, and he went broke and put up 13 pipes of this kind for his bill out of his sample case. I've got seven of them

left, and if you'll give me $7 I'll give you the lot.'

"So he showed me the others, and I thought it was a snap, so I borrowed $7 and took the pipes. I put up the best one for raffle with our company the

first day the ghost walked for $12, and one of the girls won it. As she didn't need a pipe she put it up again and got $10 out of it, and I won the pipe back

on a 50 cent chance. I raffled it off again the same day for $6 and had six pipes left. Well, sir, you'd never believe it, but I cleared $37 off of those pipes the first two weeks out and kept this one."

He took out a dark and grimy meerschaum, with a broken stem and an amber mouthpiece, that smelled worse than a dead mackerel. "Got any smoking tobacco about you?" he inquired.--Pittsburg Dispatch.

CHANDLER WROTE IT. THE OLD DOCTOR WANTED AN ORDER RELEASING HIS SON. The Secretary of the Navy and President Arthur Were Going Fishing and Didn't Want to Be Bothered, but Changed Their Minds When They Heard the Argument.

In the southern part of Orleans county lives a doctor who is known far and wide among the country folk, and whose fame extends likewise into cities far from his home. The doctor is a gentleman of the old school, courteous, with a southern accent when he becomes excited, for he was born in Virginia. The worst thing that can be said about [?] that he is an extremely hard swearer. He swears a little when he is calm, but when he is excited his vocabulary of invectives is almost without a rival. Many stories are told about this infamous old doctor, and this is one of them: The doctor had a son, and all his affections seemed centered in him. He resolved that this son should become a doctor, and that the father's mantle should fall upon the son's shoulders. But the boy disappointed him. When he grew up, he didn't wish to study medicine. He said he had no taste that way. No plane of life seemed to fit his ideals exactly. He tried this and he tried that, and nothing satisfied him. At last he decided he would go to West Point. The doctor yielded, and the son tried the preliminary examinations, passed them and was appointed a cadet. He tried the entrance examinations, passed them and at last became a real cadet at West Point. Even the old doctor was proud and happy now. But the son did not do as well as he expected at West Point. He found that things military in reality were not as things military in ideality. He tried the January examinations and failed. His heart was broken. Like many another youth before him, he could never bear the disgrace of going home. So he made as large a fool of himself as he could and enlisted in the navy, at the Brooklyn navy yard. His father received notice of his son's rash act and said nothing. His heart was too full. But he threw a few necessities into his grip and that very night started for Brooklyn. There he found the admiral. He told him the story. He begged him to do something for him, but the admiral could do nothing. His heart seemed broken. Was there no hope? The admiral told him he could go to the secretary of the navy, state his case, and perhaps something might be done. He could promise nothing, but at least it might be tried. The old doctor clutched at this slight hope, and without waiting to eat anything he took the very first train for Washington. All these things happened during the first year of Arthur's administration, and, as every one knows, William E. Chandler was secretary of the navy. Arthur and Chandler were sportsmen, and whenever they had the chance they would set out on little fishing excursions of their own. Now, it happened that they were just ready to go forth upon one of these little jaunts when the old doctor arrived in Washington. He drove straight to the home of the secretary of the navy and found he was at the White House, so to the White House went the doctor post haste. He inquired for Chandler and was told that he and the president were just starting for a fishing trip and could not be seen. "But I must see him, suh! It is very important, suh!" exclaimed the doctor. He was using his soft southern accent now, for he was very excited. "But you can't, sir," said the servant. "I can, suh, and I will, suh!" and with no more words he pushed the astonished servant out of his way and strode through the hall. "Where is the secretary of the navy, suh?" he asked the first person he met. "In that room, sir," said the man, pointing. The doctor rapped and walked in. There stood the president and the secretary, getting their things together.

"I am Dr. ----, and I've come to get my son back, suh!" said the doctor, and then he told the story of his son's mistake. The secretary looked at him and then at the president. "I'm sorry, sir," he said, "but you have come at the wrong time. We can't bother with such things now. We are going on a trip, President Arthur and I, and we do not like to be interrupted." Here he bowed and stopped.

The old doctor drew himself up, looked down at him, for Mr. Chandler is

not a large man. His old eyes fairly

blazed. he seemed choking. Suddenly

he burst forth in a voice of passion:

"Do you think that I am going to let

my son stay in that ship, suh, to give you the chance to kill a few measly no

account fish? Do you think I am going to break my heart so that you can have yoh pleasure? Look at me, suh! I have not eaten a thing since last night, suh! See the dust of travel upon my clo's! Do you think that I have traveled night and day, and now I am going to be put off because you are going fishing? Who are you, suh? You are my servant, suh! Who pays yoh salary? I do, suh! Who pays yoh rent? I do, suh! Who owns the boat you go off fishing in? I do, and now, when I come to ask you to get my son out of my navy, you have not time because you are going fishing! By ----, suh, if you don't get my son off that ship, old as I am, I'll thrash yoh ---- haid right off yoh body!"

The old doctor stopped, breathless. His two hearers looked at him aghast. For a minute no word was spoken. At last President Arthur said, "Chandler, I guess you'd better write that order." Chandler wrote it, and a little later three men might have been seen engaged in discussing three bottles of claret. They were all smiling, but one of them had a look of great happiness on his grand old face. It was the old doctor.--Rochester Post-Express.

The Peculiarity of the "R."

A little feature to be seen in some writings, perhaps only to be distin-

guished as a separate gesture by the aid of a magnifying glass, is the tiny stroke

which is separately placed above the

small r in order to show that it is an r and to thus distinguish it from another letter, or part of a letter, which resembles the r when the latter is made without this little top stroke. At the first glance how insignificant does this detail appear! But is it really without meaning as a human action? I think not.

A man who habitually takes the trouble to make clearer the meeting of one of his symbols at the cost of a little separate action is a man who takes pains with his work, and who desires to do his work well. This action, trivial as it appears, could scarcely be done by a slovenly or careless person. It is a gesture of minute care and attention--qualities that in one way or another have been of vast service to individuals and to mankind. Thomas Carlyle, for example, showed his minute carefulness by an attention to punctuation that I have never seen excelled, and which has rarely been equaled.--Nineteenth Century.

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