Chapter VII: Part 7

“My heart ached for the child as he finished, and I thought, let the consequence be what it would, he should not leave my house that night. I asked him his name.

“‘Orrin Thorndyke,’ was the reply.

“I told him he was to remain overnight with me, and that to-morrow I would investigate his story. This he readily did. He seemed to be satisfied to do exactly as he was told; he had evidently not yet gotten away from the manner of obeying his father. I think I told you he was prematurely old; his strange life had made him so. That night I scarcely slept, so full of plans was I for the future. As you know, I have always been a bachelor with plenty of money and no relatives who will ever need help through me. Before morning I decided that, if on investigation I found the bootblack’s story correct, I would at once adopt him and do for him as I would for an only son. This I have conscientiously tried to do, and, coming in and out of this house as the friend you are, I trust you think I have done right.”

“You certainly have.”

“I have noticed your admiration for my boy, and I have been very glad of it; and how well I remember the first time you saw him! You said I was to be congratulated in having for my protégé such a manly little fellow, and then you added, ‘Blood is sure, Adams, and I give up judging forever after, if good blood is not in this boy’s veins.’ Of course, when the child became mine, I wanted him to bear my name, but you never knew before that the Orrin Thorndyke part was his own. Some way, I could not ask him to part with it altogether, and so I had mine simply added.”

“Oh, what a man you are; it takes time to know you, Adams. And at last, I have found out why you so suddenly gave up smoking.”

“That is a fact. How could I smoke with that child’s story running not only in my ears, but through my heart? But what do you think of Orrin smoking three cigars every day!”

“Surely, you are joking!”

“No; I will tell you how he does it. When he was fourteen years of age, I gave him a monthly allowance, because I wished him to early learn the management of money. One day, shortly after, he came to me with the question, would I permit him to set aside the value of three five-cent cigars a day, and when the amount would reach five dollars he desired to put it in the bank and so open a smoking account. He also said he would regularly add to this amount as he could accumulate five dollars, and that he would not withdraw the money, but allow it to increase both principal and interest until he was thirty years of age, at which time he and I could decide what would be done with it. This I readily agreed to do. And now that he has been ‘smoking,’ as he puts it, three five-cent cigars every day for eight years, the amount already in the bank, at four per cent. interest, is not a small one. Why, in the first year, without interest, he saved nearly fifty-five dollars!”

“If only I had tried that scheme when I was fourteen years old, I would be a rich man now,” replied the President; “however, it is not yet too late to start the plan with my grandchildren.”

BREAKFAST-TABLE DECORATION.

“Mabel!”

“Well, mamma!”

“Come to breakfast, dearie.” The call was given through the wide lattice which opened on the garden. And at once the little girl obeyed the summons.

And what a charming picture was given when the child presented herself in the half-open doorway, with her big blue eyes, the blue of the sky overhead, cheeks that rivalled the peach blossom’s rich redness, and lips wide parted, with the merry laugh that rippled over and over the upturned face; for at that moment she was bubbling beyond control with mischief and sparkle, partly on account of the buoyancy of the early morning atmosphere, but mostly because of the raid she had made on the morning-glory vines, as her laden hands and arms could testify.

“I haven’t struck the right combination yet,” were her mother’s words, at the same time touching a majolica dish of flowers that served as ornament for the breakfast-table.

“Well, _I have_! An idea has just sprung on me, seized me, as it were! Stand still where you are, little sister, until Tom comes back again,” and then away the boy flew, in his clumsy energy tripping over an ottoman that was always at Mabel’s place at table, because she was not yet tall enough to put her feet on the floor.

It seemed but a second when he returned with a cut-glass bowl in his hands, filled within one-third of the top with fresh, cold water; and with an air of triumph he removed the majolica dish, depositing the bowl in its stead.

Then, going to the little girl, who had stood motionless in obedience to her big brother’s command, and with the words, “Let Tom have some of your pretty flowers,” he took first one and then another. The color values, as she held the morning-glories, appealed to him, there was such richness of reds, purples, lavenders and white, with their many intermediate shades, which blended softly with the green leaves, vines and tendrils. When he had taken enough to fill, not crowd the bowl, there were many exclamations of satisfaction, for all was harmony. The white tablecloth was a fitting background to the variety of color, and the delicate, graceful flowers gave such a pleasant welcome at this first meal of the new day.

Morning-glories should be oftener used for the breakfast-table. Try what you can do with them, boys and girls, and thus give a pleasant surprise to your mother. Another pretty table decoration would be to plant woodland vines, and also ferns, oxalis, and pretty wild grasses in an ornamental piece of earthenware, one that would add beauty to the dinner-table.

Take such a piece to the country with you, and remember to fill it with forest mould before you put in the woodland plants; it will be most pleasing, and prove a joy all winter if you will properly water it; that is, keep it wet, not soggy.

HOW THEY PLANTED THE NASTURTIUMS.

Such a clamor of voices reached grandma’s ears that her first thought was that the children must have the garden, at the very least, half filled with their schoolmates. But when the old lady rose from her big armchair to take a sharp look around from the window, she was amazed to learn that all the confusion was made by her two happy, healthy grandchildren Margaret and Marshall, and they were as busy as could be, planting and fussing over nasturtium plants.

“See us, grandma,” were the pleasant if imperative words when they saw their grandmother with her head stretched out as far as possible, looking first one way and then another.

“See you? Well, I should say I did, and what are you doing with that old umbrella frame, Marshall?” was the questioning response.

“Getting ready for our nasturtiums,” and the boy tossed his head laughingly towards a large quantity of the golden brown blossoms, digging energetically all the while, though, as if moments were more precious than he could tell.

As grandma was anxious to learn all about the planting, first Marshall and then Margaret told her just what they were about to do. The gardener at the Jenkins place explained what he did. “And I never saw nasturtiums look as pretty before,” said Margaret, with a sedate shake of her head. “Besides, it is an altogether new idea, not the old sort of a thing that everybody knows. It commences by planting an umbrella frame, putting the handle deep enough down not to break off with the first strong wind, or with the weight of vines, either, in case they should grow a trifle heavier on one side than the other, though, of course, this we will try to prevent. The umbrella should not be put in a corner, but in an open bed, where people can walk all around it. This frame of ours has eight sticks, and at each one we will plant a root. And we are going to plant two at the handle, one on either side, and not close enough to crowd each other. As the vines grow, they will be trained up the handle and along the sticks, making the effect of a diminutive tent, and while this old frame is rather an ungainly sight at present, in a few weeks the bed will be simply gorgeous.

“Oh, they are so pretty!” Margaret continued, lightly and fondly touching the bright flowers, “such a variety of shades, yellow, orange, even to a deep brown, and the vine is willing to wind any way we will; it is naturally graceful, with just enough foliage and not too much. Why, the old frame will be the prettiest thing in all the country around.”

“I only hope our neighbors will not watch and try the same thing for themselves,” was Marshall’s interjection.

“They probably will not before next summer,” was grandma’s assuring comment, “and then your nasturtium umbrella would be one year old.”

A GARDEN PARTY.

Dinners, receptions, and concerts have been attended through the winter until everybody is tired of the old routine; but entertainment which is associated with trees, flowers, gorgeous sunsets, out-of-door life, touches the heart and makes of every such occasion a real joy.

How shall we give a _fête champêtre_?

A lawn is a necessity, and should the trees not prove sufficiently exclusive, surround the grounds with canvas. The canvas may be concealed with boughs of green, running vines, flags, banners, or anything that will lessen its ugliness. The entire grounds must be decorated. Japanese lanterns might be used freely; several hundreds of them will be required, as they should be liberally scattered everywhere—not only in the grounds, on the trees or canvas serving as fence, but on the piazzas of the house.

A good orchestra should be hidden behind a clump of balsam or other bushy trees. The leader should be untiring in his efforts to give enough and desirable music. If ballads are sung, the orchestra leader is responsible for the accompaniment, and he is equally responsible for the dances, should such be given. The air should be filled with music, but to the pleasure and not the annoyance of guests.

Conversation and music are always important factors of entertainment; but to these an extravaganza may be added, or a play—for example, the whole or part of _As You Like It_, or _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_.

Should _As You Like It_ be given, screen a section of the lawn to represent the Duke’s palace. A conversation-room may readily be arranged. Remove one or more screens and see a room, the ceiling of which would be the sky; the side walls folding screens, which may be adjusted to any shape and size; the floor would be the grass covered with rugs. On these rugs stand a few chairs, a couch, and a small table. With such surroundings, altogether at home would Celia seem, while she would say:

“Why, cousin; why Rosalind;—
Cupid have mercy!—Not a word?”

The many songs, especially “Under the Greenwood tree” and “What shall He have that killed the Deer?” would prove very appropriate in the forest of Arden environment, and the trees would be quite in place for the love-verses of Orlando.

Or the guests might be served with a literary salad. Paste or draw pictures on cards to illustrate the title of a book, and give one to each person. Whoever shall make a correct guess without assistance within fifteen minutes may be presented with a wreath of laurel. This may be worn on the head or carried on the arm.

Sometimes a _fête champêtre_ is given for sweet charity. It then assumes a different phase, as booths, chalets, or tents are erected, within which saleable articles are offered. An effective fête might be given in athletic grounds, which should be noticeably gay with streamers of bunting and little and big flags. At such a fête a large orchestra should play the entire afternoon.

It would be very attractive if those in charge of the chalets would represent milkmaids, as this allows picturesque apparel. The young ladies might go bareheaded, or wear a gay handkerchief coquettishly knotted under their braids or curls, or cover their heads altogether by donning the new lawn sunbonnet, which is such a dainty feature of this summer’s outing.

The chalets should be small lean-tos, their roofs tilting towards the back and resting on four poles, one at each corner. These chalets should be festively trimmed, and contain such products as milk, cream, cheese, and eggs. As these are all necessities in housekeeping, the financial result should be quite large.

Gowns and hats, flounces and ribbons, form a conspicuous part of a _fête champêtre_. Sheer grenadines, nets, and gauzes, clouds of Valenciennes lace, beflowered organdies, any of the effective summer costumes, the more fetching the combination the more satisfactory the attire. The color contrasts are allowed to a greater extreme than for street apparel, and brilliant colors produce a smart effect on the lawn; and yet the dainty white, yellow, pink, or blue fabrics may be always afterwards worn to advantage, they are so fresh and youthful.

The smart costume requires the broad-brimmed hat coquettishly rolled, and massed with lilacs, morning-glories, sweet-pease, roses, or carnations, and the often added long ribbon streamers. But the flower toque, and the parasol of white mousseline de soie trimmed with flowers and a flounce of lace, and the pretty or quaint fan, aid the charming gown in producing an artistic effect.

The guests arrive in pony carriages, high carts, or victorias, and the closed brougham, like an old friend, is always admissible. The host and the hostess seem especially cordial, standing, as they do, under the broad branches of a tall tree. Indeed, stern Madam Propriety would deem such warmth of welcome scarcely permissible under a lighted chandelier. But if, as it has been known to happen, the day of the fête should also be the day of the worst storm of the entire season, the guests are received, if possible, on the piazza, and all aid in making merry and helping the hostess to such an extent that people forget that a _fête champêtre_ was ever considered, and that it was not meant to be a house party from the beginning. Of course no one should allude to the weather; that would be decidedly out of form, and be very unkind to the hostess, who certainly cannot stop the storm.

In such a shaping of events refreshments are served in-doors, if possible using the same little tables intended for the lawn, the cloths, which are edged about with ferns and field-flowers in variety, added to the pretty china and cut glass used in serving the menu, lend the charm of beauty.

The menu for such a function may be the same as that given at an evening reception, or it may be the simple refreshment provided for an afternoon tea, with an added salad or ice. But as an afternoon spent in the open air gives good appetite, liberal refreshment will be in order.

THE KING’S CHILDREN.

“Pearly! Pearly!”

It was a woman’s shrill voice that fiercely shrieked the name out into the morning air.

We were homeward bound from the Old Red Spring in Saratoga, when we were arrested by her screams. The sun shone brightly, the robins and other song birds were trilling out their sweetest melodies, the air was heavily scented with white clover blossoms and sweetbrier. It was a rarely beautiful July morning. All the world to us was melody, save the jar made by this thin, haggard, unkempt woman. In her effort to be heard she travelled along the road in the direction she thought Pearly must have gone, crushing the daisies and buttercups down before her.

Two Sabbaths before we had sat at the communion table, and then felt a kinship to all, that our brothers and sisters were not only those of our very own by ties of blood, but were close to us the round world over. The Sabbath before, as the clergyman said, “freely ye have received, freely give,” we thought more of the giving of ourselves than of our money, more of letting others have a share of the good gifts that had been our lot, joy, music, loving-kindness generally, than of offering our filthy lucre. Indeed, it seemed a great descent, for we had been taken up on the moment by our pastor’s tender words, and now must remember Vanity Fair and the necessity for money in this worldly world. And so thinking, this woman with the wild, disagreeable voice, stopped us; and should we not do something to help her, was the question put to ourselves.

She was one of the resident Saratogians. Cross, possibly, because she was tired; haggard, because she had no time for rest. To her the Spring waters were as a myth, and the dry, bracing air little considered in her work-a-day existence. We, therefore, turning in the direction in which this woman went, commenced our search for the little girl, for such we decided she was, but all in vain. Whether Pearly, familiar to the harsh voice and recognizing extra work or disagreeable duty as a result of coming to the front, had hidden behind the large clumps of elderberry bushes which grew thickly around, or had run off to the woods for protection, we know not; we only know that we had to leave the woman to conclude her search alone. But the words, “Pearly! Pearly!” now and again caught our ear, though indistinctly, as the distance widened between us, and later we lost the sound altogether. Then it was that another Pearly came into our thought.

She had been baptized Margaret; but the old-fashioned long name had been shortened during her babyhood to the beautiful name, “Pearl.” She has always been loving and lovable, and always seemed consecrated, even from her cradle. Many of the wise people have often gravely said of her, “That child can never live to grow up. She is too good.” But she has lived to grow up, and, nothing happening, in a year or two more she will be graduated from one of our most respected women’s colleges. She, even as a little child, never had to be punished. “Pearl, that is wrong; you should not act or speak that way,” was the most serious chiding she ever needed to receive; for when told she had done wrong, she would immediately say, “I will try never to do that again.” And she invariably would keep her promise.

As a schoolgirl she is a general favorite, being popular enough to receive the unanimous vote for class president, for Pearl is a sunny, bright, sympathetic girl. The truly good are always the truly happy. Her religion is of the character to attract, not to repel. And possibly there are nowhere to be found keener or more severe critics than schoolgirls are of one another. The long-faced piety, as it is sometimes called, would receive from them only ridicule and contempt. The abandon of youth is not slow in exposing what they consider trustless and wrong.

But my story would be too long to tell many incidents in the life of Pearl; to tell the many ways she has helped all with whom her short life of eighteen years has brought her in contact; to tell of her sympathetic words, helpful handclasp, feet swift to run on deeds of kindness, voice raised in song, thus aiding others in the schoolroom, the prayer-meeting or the home. Indeed, Pearl was constantly forming new ties, thus binding the hearts of all who met her to herself.

The incident of which I would particularly write is her work as a King’s Daughter. She was one of the earliest to join this organization, and the first band she formed was to pay for the education of a young girl in the same school as herself. This young girl was the only child of a rich father, but it was the old story—a dishonest partner used the firm’s money for speculating purposes, and in an evil hour all was gone; not only money, but reputation also, and Elsie, the only child, must now leave school, it seemed, forever. Then it was Pearl came to the rescue; and first binding her ten to secrecy, because it would wound Elsie to ever know, it was arranged with the President and officers of the school that this band should pay for Elsie’s schooling; and she will graduate with Pearl, all unconscious of the one to whom she is indebted.

Elsie’s father was notified by the school President that his daughter was too much beloved not to have an opportunity to finish her education. If he was ever able to refund the money, all right, if not, it was still all right; and this is all Elsie or her father know.

Since then Pearl has started nine other bands, each doing noble work for Christ and humanity. With only one of these is she herself connected. It every year supports ten poor, aged women, who otherwise would be obliged to go to the almshouse. By the help of this King’s Daughters’ Band these women remain in their own little homes, passing the hours as their desires dictate, and not feeling the pain which Will Carleton so vividly describes in his poem, “Over the Hills to the Poorhouse.” No wonder that these poor old women frequently ask God’s blessing on these young girls, for they are so comfortable and happy as they thus quietly wait for the summons to the other home whose builder and maker is God. And no wonder that Pearl wears a happy face, for the face indicates the heart within. The good she has done, and may yet do, will never be known here, nor is it necessary. Sufficient for Pearl will be the words which we hope will also be ours some day, “Enter thou into the joy of thy Lord.”

FOR THE BOYS.

Why should not the boys be as busy and helpful as the girls?

Why should not the boys form their “Try Bands,” “Working Circles” and “King’s Sons’ Societies?”

There is no reason. Will not, therefore, the willing, manly boys who read this enlist their friends to help at least one of their heathen brothers to a Christian education? It is work that will give abundant reward.

American boys know how much care is taken for their education. Not only are their teachers, but their mothers, fathers, brothers sisters and other relatives, their constant instructors. The greatest culture and opportunity surround them; valuable libraries are ever at their disposal. There are numberless free schools, art rooms and museums. Beside the private academies, institutes, and colleges, there are Young Men’s Christian Association rooms, Christian Endeavor Societies, churches and Sunday-schools, all open and giving hearty welcome. Not so are the privileges of the boys in India, China and Japan. For though the Bible and our missionaries have done a great deal to help the heathen boy, his surroundings are dark indeed, in contrast with those of children in Christian lands. Indeed, it is rare that a heathen boy is not a castaway by his family when he confesses Christ. Instead of relatives being a help to his life, they are among his greatest sorrows.

Boys ought to be willing to give other boys a chance, especially when they stand alone. If ten boys would form a band, they could easily collect thirty dollars a year, and thirty dollars would pay all the yearly expenses of a boy in a mission school or academy. This academy prepares boys for the theological seminary, and the seminary fits them for the ministry. Indeed, when in the academy, boys often go out to talk and sing to those who do not know of Christ. They feel sure that their heathen friends are missing so much in not knowing Jesus, that they cannot wait until they have completed their studies; but as soon as they know about Jesus themselves they are impatient to tell others. They can talk to their friends with greater effect than missionaries from this country, because they understand their customs and ways. Besides, the terrible heat in India does not affect them as it does people who go from this country. Very often our missionaries and their families have to return to America on account of their health.

Some of the boys in India are very bright. I will tell you of one who is about fifteen years of age, and is a student in the Arcot Academy, India. His name is Joseph, son of the catechist Israel; his mother’s name is Rachel. You will notice they are all Bible names. This family were once heathen, but now all know and love Christ, and are happy in working for Him. I lately had the pleasure of reading a letter written and composed by Joseph, without any aid from his instructors. I wish it were possible for my boy readers to see his penmanship; it seemed nearly as perfect as copperplate. Each letter was very distinct and prettily shaded. Every word was spelled correctly, and while his composition had not the exact style we would use, it was very direct and intelligible. I doubt if many American boys of Joseph’s age could do better with a French or German letter, or in writing in any other language than their own. Thinking you might be interested in hearing from Joseph, particularly as he tells of what he does on the Sabbath, and of his school life, I will quote directly from his letter:

“MADRAS PRESIDENCY, Ranipet, India.

“MOST RESPECTED AND KIND MADAM:

“My superiors, teachers and fellow-students are doing
well up to this time by the grace of our Almighty,
hoping the same for you....

“I solicit you, dear madam, pray for me that I may obey
my superiors; I don’t like to have the name of our Lord
Jesus Christ in vain. But I want to publish His name.

“Every Sunday we all go over the country and preach
about the Gospel. Many of the heathen become Christians.

“There are eight bands in the school. When we are going
to preach, each band will take three or four lyrics,
some tracts, a cymbal, and a jalar or tambourine. When
we are singing many men and women and children will
come to hear us.

“After our preaching is over we take account of the
men, women and children who come to hear our preaching.
Most of them will ask questions, and we will answer
them. Many of them will abuse the name of our Lord
Jesus Christ. Though they abused Him, we won’t leave
these men, since they don’t understand what Christ
has done for the world. We have meeting every Friday
evening, and in that meeting we will give our reports
of the men who heard the Word of Christ.”

Referring to his studies, he writes:

“Now there are four classes, viz., matriculation class,
the fifth class, the lower secondary class, and the
lower fourth class. There are five teachers, including
our manager. Each class changes its lessons after
one hour. Our manager teaches general English for the
four classes, and also takes English history for the
fifth class, and science, physics and chemistry for
the sixth class. He shows many good examples and gives
us good games. He is very kind toward us. We have many
sorts of games. Tennis and football and cricket and
gymnasium exercises. Our manager teaches us cricket
every evening.”

As this boy is writing to the one who supports him, he closes in the following manner:

“I thank the Lord for having given me a supporter. I
render my warm and delightful obeisance to respected
and dear madam. I remain your most obedient

“PONNOR ISAAC JOSEPH.”

After reading this letter, which is not a fancy sketch, picture in your mind Joseph, his surroundings, a young Hindoo boy, whose dark-skinned face glows enthusiastically with his love for Christ and with his ardent desire to tell others of his love, writing in a strange tongue to a lady whom he has never seen. He has her photograph, and has received letters from her, but her voice and manner are only conjectures in his mind. He is writing to this lady, who has been the means of his salvation, of freeing him from his yoke borne by his countrymen. Try to picture this, and then see if in your own heart there is not a strong desire to free more than one boy in that dark land. In freeing one, you free others: do not forget that.

“I WISH I WERE A GENERAL.”

“If wishes were horses,
Beggars might ride.”

“Have you ever heard that, Jo?”

“_Heard_ it, what kind of a bringing up has a fellow had, do you think? You know well enough that ever since I was in knickerbockers, that immortal rhyme has been drilled into me. I’m sick and tired of sermonizing, and all I have to say is, if you don’t wish for something grand, something beyond you, you never will amount to anything.”

“That is true, Jo, but wishing without action will not accomplish much. I’ve heard you make at least twenty wishes this morning. One, ‘I wish I was rich!’ just as though that were anything new; all boys wish that. Then you wished you were somebody great, somebody famous, like Cæsar or the Czar of Russia, or the President of the United States. Then you wished your father could only let you have a college education so that you might be a lawyer. And then, to go on to smaller matters, you wished it was Christmas, so that you might have vacation. And lastly, you wished you were a fine bicycle rider, so that you might win the prize in the coming race. I tell you, old fellow, I long ago learned such a wholesome lesson on the wishing point, that it made me over new, so to speak.”

“How so, John? now I am interested, for I thought you had been perfect from your youth up.”

“Well, to begin with the beginning and make an out-and-out confession, I’ll have to introduce you to my Uncle Charles. I wish you knew General Journay; I know you would like him even if he is an odd-looking man; he was once very handsome. He is too sensible to think he is handsome now, though, for there is no denying that he’s fat. He says it is constitutional, and maybe it is. I notice he is very uncomfortable, short of breath, you know; gets a red face in climbing up the stairs to the elevated road, and all that, but he’s jolly and good, and says he wants me to be a manly man, and I am going to try my best to please him. You know I am not as rich in relations as you are, for my parents died when I was a baby, and I never had either brothers or sisters; perhaps that’s one reason I think so much of you, Jo. Well, to go on with my story, when I was about twelve years old I went to visit for a week at my Uncle Charles’ home. He was delighted to have me with him, and I never tired of his companionship, or of looking at his soldier’s uniform, his sword and his medals. One day I said to him, ‘Oh, Uncle, I wish I were a General,’ and he replied, ‘There is no reason why you cannot be one, my boy, if the right material is only in you.’”

“‘What do you mean by right material, Uncle?’ I inquired.

“‘Why, humility, obedience, courage, honesty, truthfulness.’

“‘I did not know that soldiers were ever humble.’

“‘You must be humble enough to enter the lowest ranks, obedient enough to follow orders, courageous enough to face any emergency, honest enough to submit to pain rather than to steal, and truthful enough never to soil your lips or conscience with a lie.’

“Then my uncle told me of his own boyhood, of his poverty, his hindrances, his temptations; and I saw that the rank of General did not come by wishing, but by the greatest endurance, study, and hard work. I tell you what, Jo, as I listened to his story I felt so ashamed, and so small, I thought I would like to crawl away in a hole, anywhere almost, if I could only hide, for you know my uncle is such a noble, grand man. Then, too, my uncle told me of our great inventors, officers, rulers, whom the world is delighted to honor, and I saw that wishing had but little to do with their achievements and successes. I saw I had to buckle on my own armor and go to work.

“That night I could scarcely sleep; I kept thinking how insignificant uncle must think me, for I knew I had often wished for this, that and the other thing in his presence, and so when I did sleep I dreamed that I was in the woods, and I thought that all the bushes and trees were waving, and one big branch seemed like a long, bare arm beckoning to me. I felt an awesome, queer, uncanny feeling, and I was sure I was losing my way. I saw one and another path, but which one to take I knew not, when suddenly I heard a laugh; this frightened me so much that I jumped; then a voice said, ‘You little goosey-gander, what a brave soldier you would make, to be sure, afraid of a little laugh;’ and then I heard ha! ha! ha! and what seemed to me to be the most uproarious laughter, the shout of a hundred fairies. Soon a tiny old woman approached me saying, ‘I am a fairy queen. Ask for whatever you may wish while you are in my domain?’

“At once I exclaimed: ‘I wish to be the oldest General living.’ And there I was, a general in very truth, but so old I could scarcely see, so deaf I could scarcely hear; and I was dressed in a costume similar to my uncle’s. My hands were wrinkled, a long beard hung over my breast, but it was as white as snow. My mouth felt so queer that I lifted my hand to discover the reason, and alas! my teeth were all gone. I tried to walk, but I was so stiff I could scarcely place one foot before the other. ‘Oh, what a fool I have been,’ I thought. ‘If only I were a boy again? Oh, Uncle Charles, Uncle Charles!’ I screamed.

“‘Why, my boy, what is the matter, you were groaning and moaning so in your sleep, I thought something must be wrong?’ were his words.

“Wasn’t I grateful, though, to find it was only a dream. It seemed too good to be true, to learn that I was really a boy again, that life was before, and not behind, me. I tell you, Jo, I could scarcely wait for day to come, to get at positive work. And since that horrible nightmare, which taught me the silliness of wishing, I have been a changed boy, and I do not think I will ever fall into that purposeless talk again. But you don’t like sermons, excuse me, Jo.”

“You are a good fellow, John; I should not be worthy of friendship such as yours, if I did not benefit by what you have told me. I will try to follow your example. What do you say to our both being manly men?”

“Those words have the right ring.” And so saying the two friends walked off arm in arm.

A HEBREW CHRISTIAN.

Sydney Arnheim was a Jew. I say was, because he has thrown off the yoke of the Jewish faith, and this little story will tell you how it all came about.

Sydney is an only child; his parents are rich; his father, a famous Wall Street broker, is a power among his kind; his mother also belongs to a wealthy Hebrew family, and her refined taste and education show clearly in her surroundings. Anything that appeals to her exquisite judgment is purchased, so that Sydney’s home shows everywhere the touch of elegance, as well as the fitness of perfection. Sydney’s own room bears the print of her careful taste, and yet prominent among the rich hangings and delicate furnishing you see a Winchester rifle, a trout pole, also a buck’s antlers, a blue crane, a kingfisher, and several other well-known birds, all so skilfully prepared by the taxidermist that you could scarcely be blamed if you thought them yet alive. Yes, Sydney is a regular boy, and loves to keep trophies of his sport in sight, as well as his gun and trout pole. He says at times, “It makes it seem as if I’m in the Adirondack woods whenever I look at them, and simply lifting my rod recalls some experiences with papa in the boat with our guide, or else wading the streams with my tutor and drawing out big fish.” So Sydney’s mother, knowing the comfort these recollections bring, allows her son to place his sporting equipments just where and as he pleases. Thus the room has an odd, menagerie style of appearance. And thus the home of this Israelitish family everywhere tells of comfort and luxury.

Sydney, from his babyhood, was carefully trained in the customs and belief of his people. His mother, so frequently his companion, constantly talked about the greatness of his lineage, and told him of the patriarchs, legislators, warriors, singers and prophets which were among the Hebrew people. She also told him of Abraham and Moses, and of the covenant with Abraham at Jehovah-jireh, “In thy seed shall all the nations of the earth be blessed,” and also what the Lord said to Jacob at Bethel, “The land whereon thou liest, to thee will I give it, and to thy seed.” And she daily urged her son to walk in the footsteps and keep the covenants of his people, and always to serve the Lord God of Israel. The rabbi also would frequently visit their home, and Sydney was accustomed to talk to him, as well as to receive the old man’s instruction and blessing. Sydney loved to hear from him the stories of Moses, Aaron and Joshua; of the Tishbite and his servant Elisha; of Solomon and the temple; of the son of Jesse, David, the sweet singer, and of the promise of the Messiah to come.

And so it was when Sydney had attained his seventeenth year that when asked what he would most like for his birthday-gift he replied, “The education that will fit me the most thoroughly to preach, not alone to my people, but to win many erring ones, believers in the ‘false Christ’ to turn to the true faith.” He was at this time, therefore, and for seven anxious, wearisome months afterwards, the _Jewest_ of all Jews, a devoted follower of Moses, but not of the Lamb.

About the time of the birthday above alluded to, there came for a visit of three months a cousin of Sydney, a little girl about three years his junior. She, young as she was, however, was a Christian, and had the Easter previous publicly confessed Christ, and united with the same church her parents had long attended.

The question might readily be asked, “Since she was Sydney’s cousin, how was it that she was not also a believer in the Hebrew faith?” The reason is this. Her mother was Sydney’s father’s sister, and when very young, only seventeen years of age, had surprised and grieved her family by stating she was about to marry a gentleman who was not of her religion. Many words regarding the matter were exchanged at the time, but they were useless in preventing the marriage, and a year later she saddened her parents yet more by renouncing her Hebrew faith, and connecting herself with the church of her husband. He was a most exemplary gentleman, however, and, notwithstanding his religion, his wife’s people could not fail to have a most profound respect for him. So, in time, the families visited back and forth, but the topic of religion was never introduced. Sydney’s father would sometimes sigh wearily, when talking of his sister, and say his hope was that she would yet return to the belief of her forefathers, and that in time all must be well.

So now the little Edith was to spend many weeks with her Jewish relations, but she had been told to be careful about her attendance at church, and ever watchful of her conduct, indeed to act in every way as the child of the dear Christ whom she loved so well. Her mother, however, before consigning her to her brother’s care, simply said to her, “I will pray for you, dear, that your faith fail not,” and “Have no fear, mamma,” was the sweet reply. “Jesus will be with me in Uncle Nathan’s home, as well as in my own. Perhaps He will even have work for me to do there. You know Dr. M—— last Sabbath morning talked to us on the subject of missions, and said there were many kinds, and while we should pray and work for the foreign and domestic fields, we must also remember those of our own household, indeed, all everywhere, who do not love the Saviour.” So Edith’s mother had no fear for her child, and into the uncle’s home there came a blessing, the measure of which cannot be counted by any earthly rule or computation, for who can measure the joy of even one soul turned to the Saviour?

Edith and Sydney were now great friends, for while they had known each other always, the constant companionship led to the warmest friendship, and they were therefore as good comrades as a boy and girl cousin could well be. Neither religion nor any topic bearing on it was ever discussed before Edith. She never attended their church, nor they hers. When the Sabbath came she would always be accompanied to the church door, and when the service was out some member of the family would be found without waiting to walk home with her, and during her entire visit neither by word or action was she allowed to feel she stood apart from her Jewish relations, and therefore the time passed all too rapidly onward. She remembered her promise to her mother, and most earnestly she prayed to God to direct and help her. She also prayed for her uncle and aunt, imploring the Father in heaven to lead them into the light; but particularly she prayed for her cousin Sydney. They were such comrades, so nearly of an age, and yet she felt there was a great gulf fixed, and therefore she constantly plead that he might learn of the Christ, the Saviour.

One day, just after a most fervent prayer for Sydney, her cousin approached her unobserved while she was reading from the New Testament. He exclaimed, on seeing the title, “Why, Edith, I never had a copy of that book in my hands. I should like to read yours sometime, if you don’t mind.”

“Mind! why no, Sydney. Take it along with you now.”

And he did. When her cousin left, Edith prayed as she never had before, beseeching the Father to let the scales drop from his eyes and show unto him the Christ. And God did open the boy’s eyes. He did not read through a glass darkly, but with clearest vision. The brightest light fell on the divine Word, the light which later led to his giving up his old Hebrew faith, and his acceptance of Jesus.

All did not come at once. At the first reading he was troubled, anxious, but not satisfied. He had many old questions to settle; he had much pride to put aside; he spent many hours, and at times away into the night in prayer. But peace at last came, the peace which he feels will endure until the day when he will see the King in His beauty.

And now Sydney longs for the conversion of his parents, and of all of his people. His wish is to preach Christ, and so do all in his power to lead his brethren, the Jews, unto the everlasting joy of the New Jerusalem.

THE BABY’S LESSON.

It was blossom-time, and in the quiet of the early May morning the church bells rung out their loving call. “Come, come, come!” they seemed to say, and, accepting the invitation, we shortly found ourselves sitting, with other strangers, in the Episcopal church of a favorite resort.

It was during the Scripture lesson that a little maiden of about four years of age quietly walked up the long aisle, looking to right and left, scanning the faces in every pew, until she had reached the chancel. The clergyman’s voice was no doubt familiar to her, for she showed no timidity. Not seeing the one she sought, she turned and tripped down the aisle again. But on nearing the door she put out her hands and extended her arms in a pleading baby fashion, as if to say, “I do not want to go away. I cannot find my papa or mamma, but will not some one lift me up? I came to church to stay.” And a kind-hearted man, seeing the gesture, took up the baby beside him.

The little one reverently entered into the worship of the hour. As prayer followed prayer, the blue eyes closed tight, and the wavy golden hair fell forward over the bent head. At the time of singing she rose with others, and her voice carolled out the tune, though her words were those of her own devising. One little hand tightly clasped a penny, and as the collection-plate was passed she eagerly dropped in her contribution.

It was time to go home, and as nearly all present were strangers, many watched to see what the baby girl would do. A mother by my side said to her, “I have a little girl at home, about as big as you. I would not want her to be lost, and if you will tell me where you live I will take you home.” Then a quiet dignity seemed to possess the wee maiden, as with courteous action she pointed to a large white house about one hundred feet away. Lifting the blue eyes to the lady’s face, she replied, “I live there. I love to come to church, and I thought I should find papa; he always goes, but”—gravely shaking her curls—“I couldn’t find him this morning. But I can go home by my own self.” And then, child fashion, she ran on, as though to satisfy us that she knew the way.

Walking under the apple boughs back to the hotel, we thought of the sermon this child’s presence had preached. And the question came, Why do not all parents so train their little ones that they love God’s house? This little girl had given the congregation a lesson which should make a children’s day of every Sabbath the year around. The Bible says, “Their angels do always behold the face of the Father,” and “Unless ye become as a little child, ye cannot enter the kingdom.”

Where young children sit side by side with their parents in church, and so learn to “remember the Sabbath day,” they will early wish to consecrate their lives to Christ. They will not enter heaven “so as by fire,” but “as kings crowned,” for they will not wait to work for the Master until the time when the “grinders shall cease because they are few, and those that look out of the windows be darkened,” but will use the hours of every day as in God’s sight, and in the companionship of Him who is invisible.

PARLOR FORTUNE-TELLING.

Nothing so much lends enchantment to the hours or wings them to merry flight as fortune-telling. And particularly fascinating is the art of foretelling the future through the medium of palm-reading. When a bright girl who has the faculty of revealing character and prophesying the future by inspecting the hand is in a drawing-room, the hostess need not fear for the pleasure of her guests, for the fair magician will take care of beaux and belles alike, leading them on to happy marriages and boundless wealth (for no real fortune-teller ever forgets matrimony and money). Nor will the young people alone be anxious to learn what is written in the palms of their hands, for more or less superstition lingers with us all. And what if there has been a small error regarding character-reading, or a trifling discrepancy relative to past events, one happy guess will cause all such mistakes to be forgotten: and besides, the necessity for verification is seldom urgent. Palmistry is not altogether pastime, any more than divination is altogether jugglery, for no hand is exactly like another hand; the intersection of the lines, the stars, the mounts, the texture, really do supply a guide to the character of the owner. And if, added to the knowledge of hand-reading, you are a student of the face—and every one is more or less a physiognomist—you will arrive at fairly correct conclusions.

Palmistry is linked with astrology: the first finger belongs to Jupiter, the middle to Saturn, the third to the Sun, the small finger to Mercury; Venus is in the thick part below the thumb, the plain of Mars is directly under the mount of Mercury, the moon controls all beneath the kingdom of Mars. This link between the planets and the hand was arbitrary; astronomers distributed deities among the planets, and the planets were supposed to partake of the nature of the gods and to influence life.

Palmistry also depends on analogy and symbolism. Every mark on the hand has some mystical meaning. A star denotes success, barred lines indicate obstacles; where several parallel lines are formed instead of one, they show a variety of pursuits, instead of force only in one direction. If lines are long, gently curved, and red, they indicate a gentle disposition; if you have a special talent, there will surely be a perpendicular line from the base of the hand toward the fingers; this line is sometimes doubled. Long tapering fingers indicate high mental qualities, a love of the arts, a thirst for knowledge, and strength of memory, while the contrary shows a tendency to rapid progress at first, only to be followed by failure in all intellectual undertakings. People with short fingers are apt to be impulsive, if they are very short, they indicate lack of tact. Long-fingered people go into detail, and are punctiliously careful about trifles. Twisted fingers with short nails show tyranny and a worrying temperament. If the fingers fit closely together, their owner is apt to be avaricious; if smooth, they indicate indiscretion and talkativeness. But if twisted and showing spaces between, the person is sympathetic and generous. Sensitiveness is shown by the small fleshy protuberances, which stand out from the curved surface of the finger-tips. If your fingers are broad, you will love things for their practical uses; your taste will be for industries, mechanics, commerce. If your finger-tips are square, you will be fond of literature, logic, language, you will be inclined to theorize, and you will have respect for authority. The joints of the fingers have an importance, so they too must be carefully examined. Indeed, no one part of the hand can be taken alone; a joint or a line or a mount may so change the meaning of what you have already observed, as to greatly modify your conclusions. Conic fingers show a love for the beautiful, the ideal and romantic, but the well-developed joints may add moral force, as also does a large thumb. Hands that are always white, regardless of temperature, tell of selfishness and conceit, lack of sympathy for the sorrows of others. Soft hands tell of a lazy, lethargic temperament; hard hands show a love of exercise and labor. Soft hands indicate tenderness rather than fidelity, while hard hands indicate true love, but not much tenderness or passion. Smoothness of the hands shows delicacy of mind. A wrinkled hand, if soft, shows sensitiveness; if hard, irritability. Pale lines in a hand show a phlegmatic disposition, in a man amounting to effeminacy.

Each mount is of as much import as are the indications found on the fingers. On the mount of Jupiter you will learn of honor, ambition, religion. If it is very large it shows tyranny and ostentation; if small, idleness, egoism, vulgarity. A cross found on this mount will tell of a happy marriage; if a star is found as well, the marriage will be wealthy and satisfactory to the highest degree. A spot on this mount shows ignominy and dishonor.