PART II. WORTHY SUBSTITUTES.

"Get the spindle and thy distaff ready, and God will send

thee flax."

VI. BOOKS AND READING.

MANY BOOKS, MUCH READING.

TO-DAY every one reads. Go where you may, you will find the paper, the

magazine, the journal; printed letters, official reports, exhaustive

cyclopedias, universal histories; the ingenuous advertisement, the

voluminous calendar, the decorated symphony; printed ideals, elaborate

gaming rules, flaming bulletins; and latest of all, we have begun to

publish our communications on the waves of the air. In this hurly-burly

of many books and much reading, it is no mean problem to know why one

should read; and what, and how, and when. Especially does this problem

of general reading confront the student, the lover of books, and

those of the professions. Essays are to be read, the historical, the

philosophical, and the scientific; novels, the historical and the

religious; books of devotion, books of biography, of travel, of

criticism, and of art. What principles are to guide one in his choice of

reading, that he may select only the wisest, purest, and helpfulest from

all these classes of books?

WHY READ.

Read to acquire knowledge. Knowledge is the perception of truth. One

arrives at knowledge by the assimilation of facts and principles, or

by the assimilation of truth itself. Three sources of knowledge are

experience, conversation, and reading. Experience leads one slowly to

knowledge, is limited entirely to the path over which one has passed,

and is a "dear teacher." To acquire knowledge by conversation is to put

one at the mercy of his associates, making him dependent upon their

good favor, truthfulness, and learning. But reading places one in direct

communication with the wisest and best persons of all time. To

acquire knowledge by reading is to defy time and space, persons and

circumstances, at least, in our day of many and inexpensive books.

Through books facts live, principles operate, justice acts, the light of

philosophy gleams, wit flashes, God speaks. Every book-lover agrees with

Channing: "No matter how poor I am..if the sacred writers will enter and

take up their abode under my roof, if Milton will cross my threshold

to sing to me of Paradise, and Shakespeare to open to me the words of

imagination and the workings of the human heart, and Franklin to enrich

me with his practical wisdom, I shall not pine for want of intellectual

companionship, and I may become a cultivated man, though excluded from

what is called the best society in the place where I live." Kingsley

says: "Except a living man, there is nothing more wonderful Than a

book!--a message to us from the dead,--from human souls whom we never

saw, who lived, perhaps, thousands of miles away; and yet these, in

those little sheets of paper, speak to us, amuse us, terrify us, teach

us, comfort us, open their hearts to us as brothers..If they are good

and true, whether they are about religion or politics, farming, trade,

or medicine, they are the message of Christ, the Maker of all things,

the Teacher of all truth." The wide range of truth secured through

reading acts in two ways upon the reader. It spiritualizes his

character, and it makes him mighty in action. Knowledge on almost any

subject has a marked tendency to sharpen one's wits, to refine his

tastes, to ennoble his spirit, to improve his judgement, to strengthen

his will, to subdue his baser passions, and to fill his soul with the

breath of life. It is only upon truth that the soul feeds, and by means

of knowledge that the character grows. "It cannot be that people should

grow in grace," writes John Wesley, "unless they give themselves to

reading. A reading people will always be a knowing people." Reading

makes one mighty in action when it gives one knowledge, since "knowledge

is power," and since power has but one way of showing itself, and that

is, in action. Knowledge takes no note of hardships, ignores fatigue,

laughs at disappointment, and frowns upon despair. It delves into the

earth, rides upon the air, defies the cold of the north, the heat of the

south; it stands upon the brink of the spitting volcano, circumnavigates

the globe, examines the heavens, and tries to understand God. With but

few exceptions, master-minds and men of affairs have been incessant

readers. Cicero, chief of Roman orators, whether at home or abroad, in

town or in the country, by day or by night, in youth or in old age, in

sorrow or in joy, was not without his books. "Petrarch, when his friend

the bishop, thinking that he was overworked, took away the key of his

library, was restless and miserable the first day, had a bad headache

the second, and was so ill by the third day that the bishop, in alarm,

returned the key and let his friend read as much as he liked." Writes

Frederick the Great, "My latest passion will be for literature." The

poet, Milton, while a child, read and studied until midnight. John

Ruskin read at four years of age, was a book-worm at five, and wrote

numerous poems and dramas before he was ten. Lord Macaulay read at three

and began a compendium of universal history at seven. Although not a

lover of books, George Washington early read Matthew Hale and became

a master in thought. Benjamin Franklin would sit up all night at his

books. Thomas Jefferson read fifteen hour a day. Patrick Henry read for

employment, and kept store for pastime. Daniel Webster was a devouring

reader, and retained all that he read. At the age of fourteen he could

repeat from memory all of Watt's Hymns and Pope's "Essay on Man." When

but a youth, Henry Clay read books of history and science and practiced

giving their contents before the trees, birds, and horses. Says a

biographer of Lincoln, "A book was almost always his inseparable

companion."

Then, read for enjoyment. Fortunately, a habit so valuable as reading

may grow to become a pleasure. So that as one is gathering useful

information and increasing in knowledge, he may have the keenest

enjoyment. Such an one sings as he works. He has learned to convert

drudgery into joy; duty has become delight. But even for such an one a

portion of his reading should be purely for rest and recreation. If

one has taught school all day, or set type, or managed a home, or read

history, or labored in the field, or been shopping, heavy, solid reading

may be out of the question, while under such circumstances one would

really enjoy a striking allegory or a well-written novel. Or, if one is

limited in knowledge, or deficient in literary taste so that he may find

no interest in history, science, philosophy, or religion, still he may

enjoy thrilling books of travel, of biography, or of entertaining story.

In this way all may enjoy reading. "Of all the amusements which can

possibly be imagined for a hard-working man, after his daily toil, or

in its intervals, there is nothing," says Herschel, "like reading an

interesting book. It calls for no bodily exercise, of which he has had

enough or too much. It relieves his home of its dullness and sameness,

which, in nine cases out of ten, is what drives him out to the alehouse,

to his own ruin and his family's. It accompanies him to his next day's

work, and, if the book he has been reading be any thing above the very

idlest and lightest, gives him something to think of besides the mere

mechanical drudgery of his every-day occupation, something he can enjoy

while absent, and look forward with pleasure to return to."

WHAT TO READ.

First of all read something. "Southey tells us that, in his walk one

stormy day, he met an old woman, to whom, by way of greeting, he made

the rather obvious remark that it was dreadful weather. She answered,

philosophically, that in her opinion, 'any weather was better than

none.'" And so we would say, excluding corrupt literature, any reading

is better than none! In this day of multiplicity of books who who never

reads may not be an ignoramus nor a fool, but certainly he robs the

world of much that is useful in character, and deprives himself of much

that enriches his own soul. Then one should select his books, as he does

his associates, and not attempt to read everything that comes in his

way. No longer may one know even a little about every thing. It might be

a mark of credit rather than an embarrassment for one to answer, "No,"

to the question, "Have you read the latest book?" when the fact is

recalled that 30,000 novels have been published within the past eighty

years, and that five new ones are added to the list daily.

READ HISTORY.

One has characterized history as both the background and the key to

all knowledge. No other class of reading so much as this helps one to

appreciate his own country, his own age, his own surroundings. Extensive

reading of history is a sure remedy for pessimism, prejudice, and

fanaticism. In so far as history is an accurate account of the past, it

is a true prophecy of the future for the nation and for the individual.

Who reads history knows that men always have displayed folly, Weakness,

and cruelty, and that they always will, even to their own obvious ruin.

Also he knows that every time and place have had their few good men and

women who have honored God, and whom God has honored. Nothing so teaches

a person his own insignificance and the small part that he plays in the

world as does the reading of history. Nor is history to be found only in

the book called history. If you want to know the life of the ancients,

as you know the life of your own community, read Josephus. Do you want a

glimpse of early apostolic times, read "The Life and Times of Jesus," by

Edersheim. Do you want to see the battlefield of Waterloo, visit Paris

in the beginning of the nineteenth century, stop over night with Louis

Philippe, see the English through French spectacles, and the Frenchman

through his own; do you want a glimpse of the political despotism, court

intrigue, and ecclesiastical tyranny in France a hundred years ago; do

you want to hear the crash of the bastile, and see Notre Dame converted

into a horse-stable; do you want a picture of the "bread riots" and mob

violence that terminated in the French revolution of 1848; in short

do you want a tale of French life and character in its brightest,

gloomiest, and intensest period, read "Les Miserables," by Victor Hugo.

To-day one must read current history. It is not enough to plan, work,

and economize, one must make and seize opportunities. And this he can

do only as he is alive to passing events. In a few years one may outgrow

his usefulness through losing touch with advancing ideas and methods of

work. To keep abreast of the times one must read the newspaper and the

magazine. The newspaper is the history of the hour, the magazine is the

history of the day. The magazine corrects the newspaper, and "sums up in

clear and noble phrase those fundamental facts which are only dimly seen

in the newspaper." A serious and growing tendency is that the newspaper

and magazine shall take the place of the best books. A few minutes a day

is enough for any newspaper, and a few hours a month is enough for any

magazine. The greatest part of one's reading should be that of books.

Who gormandizes on current events will pay the price with a morbid mind

and with false conclusions in his reasoning.

READ BIOGRAPHY.

The life of a great man is a continual inspiration. No other exercise so

fires a soul with noble ambition as the study of a great life. Real

life is not only stranger than fiction, but it is more interesting than

fiction. No boy should be without the life of Washington, of Lincoln, of

Webster, of Franklin. Every girl should know by heart brave Pocahontas,

sympathetic Mrs. Stowe, queenly Frances Willard, and kind-hearted

Victoria. No private library is complete without Plutarch's "Lives," the

"Life of Alfred the Great," of Napoleon, Grant, and Gladstone.

READ SCIENCE.

The fourteen-year-old child may master the practical principles of

natural philosophy, and yet how many intelligent persons remain ignorant

of the most commonplace truths in this branch of learning! With a little

attention to the natural and mechanical sciences, a new world of beauty

and truth opens up before one. He sees objects that once were hid to

him; he hears sounds that once were silent; he enjoys odors that once

retained their fragrance. His whole being becomes a part of the living

musical world about him, when he has his senses opened to appreciate it

and to become attuned to it. One should read some science throughout his

life, in order to remain at the source of all true knowledge. Here he

learns to appreciate the language of nature. When expressed by man, this

is poetry.

THEREFORE, READ POETRY.

Ten minutes a day with Tennyson, Browning, Emerson, or Lowell, will

teach one a new language, by which he may converse with the wind, talk

with the birds, chat with the brook, speak with the flowers, and hold

discourse with the sun, moon, and stars. The deepest and mightiest

thoughts of all ages have been expressed in poetry, the language of

nature. "Poetry," says Coleridge, "is the blossom and fragrance of all

human knowledge, human thoughts, passions, emotions, languages."

READ BOOKS OF RELIGION.

"Religion," says Lyman Abbott, "is the life of God in the soul." Every

truly religious book treats of this life. The only purely religious book

is the Bible. It is the source and inspiration of every other religious

book. The Bible is a "letter from God to man, handed down from heaven

and written by inspired men." Its message is free salvation for all

men through Jesus Christ; its spirit is divine love. No wise person is

without this letter, and every thoughtful and devout person reads it

daily. One may never find time to follow a course of study, nor to

pursue a plan of daily reading; he may never know the wealth of Dante,

the grandeur of Milton, nor the genius of Shakespeare, but every one may

make the Bible his daily companion and guide.

HOW TO READ.

Enter into what you read. No book can thrill and move one unless he

gives himself up to it. Lack of fixed attention is the cause of the

half-informed mind, the faulty reason, and the ever-failing memory. The

cause of this lack of attention may be an historical allusion of which

one is ignorant, or a new word that he fails to look up, or an overtaxed

mind, or unfavorable surroundings. Whatever may be this hindrance it

must be removed or overcome before one can enter into what he reads. A

thought is of no value until it registers itself and takes a room in the

mind. This is why we are told on every hand, that a few books well

read are worth more than many books poorly read. The secret of Abraham

Lincoln's power as a public speaker lay in his clear reasoning, simple

statement, and apt illustration. This secret was secured by Lincoln

through his habit of mastering whatever he heard in conversation or

reading. "When a mere child," says Lincoln, "I used to get irritated

when anybody talked to me in a way I could not understand. I don't think

I ever got angry at anything else in my life. But that always disturbed

my temper, and has ever since. I can remember going to my little

bedroom, after hearing the neighbors talk of an evening with my father,

and spending no small part of the night walking up and down, trying

to make out what was the exact meaning of some of their, to me, dark

sayings. I could not sleep, though I often tried to, when I got on such

a hunt after an idea, until I had caught it, and when I thought I had

got it, I was not satisfied until I had repeated it over and over; until

I had put it in language plain enough, as I thought, for any boy I knew

to comprehend. This was a kind of passion with me, and it has stuck by

me; for I am never easy now when I am handling a thought until I have

bounded it north, and bounded it south, and bounded it east, and bounded

it west." And so to enter into what one reads, means that he will master

the thought. The most that a university can do for one is to teach him

to read. Who has learned how to read has secured a liberal education,

however or wherever he may have learned it.

Then, one should learn to scan an author. This means to take a rapid

observation of his thoughts. Much of one's common reading matter should

be scanned. All local news, much magazine literature, and many books

should be used in this way. It is mental sloth and waste of time to pore

over a newspaper or a book of light fiction, as one would a philosophy

of history or a work of science. As Bacon aptly puts it, "Some books

are to be tasted, others to be swallowed, and some few to be chewed and

digested; that is, some books are to be read only in parts; others to

be read, but not curiously; and some few to be read wholly, and with

diligence and attention. Some books also may be read by deputy, and

extracts made of them by others." One's mind is like a horse, it soon

learns its master. Feed it well, groom it well, treat it gently, you may

expect much from it. It is reported of Dr. Newell Dwight Hillis that he

has read a book a day for over twenty years. He has learned to squeeze

the thought out of a book at a grasp, as one of us would squeeze the

juice from an orange. Take a glimpse into his library. Five hundred

volumes of sociological literature, four hundred volumes of history,

two hundred of cyclopedias, gazetteers, books of reference; four hundred

volumes of pure science, one hundred volumes of travels, two hundred and

fifty volumes of biography; one hundred volumes of art and art history;

a section on psychology, ethics, philosophy, and the relation between

science and religion, and a thousand volumes of literature, pure and

simple.

WHEN TO READ.

First, read at regular hours. This is for those who follow literary

pursuits. No professional person should respect himself in his work

who has no special time for reading and study, and who does not

conscientiously adhere to it. The pulpit, the law-office, the doctor's

office, the teacher, and the editor's desk, each clamors for the man,

the woman, who can think. To appreciate God and to sympathize with the

human heart; to know law and the intricate special case; to understand

disease and relief for the suffering patient; to have something to teach

and to know how to teach it even to the dullest pupil; to know human

character and to be able to enlighten the public mind and the public

conscience; all this requires in the one who serves a deep and growing

knowledge and experience which may be realized only in the grasp of

truth contained in the up-to-date and best authorized books. The use

of books with this class of persons is not optional. They must buy and

master them, or a few years at longest will relegate them with their old

books and ideas to the dusty garret where they belong.

Then, many must read on economized time. The farmer, the mechanic, the

merchant, the shopkeeper, each may find a little time for daily reading.

Ten minutes saved in the morning, ten minutes in the afternoon, and ten

minutes in the evening, this is half hour a day. In a week this gives

one three hours and a half, in a month fourteen hours of solid reading,

and in a year one will have read seven days of twenty-four hours each.

Think of what may be accomplished in an average lifetime in common

reading by the busiest person, who really wants to read. "Schliemann,"

the noted German scholar and author, "as a boy, standing in line at the

post-office waiting his turn for the mail, utilized the time by studying

Greek from a little pocket grammar." "Mary Somerfield, the astronomer,

while busy with her children in the nursery, wrote her 'Mechanism of the

Heavens,' without neglecting her duties as a mother." "Julius Caesar,

while a military officer and politician found time to write his

Commentaries known throughout the world." William Cobbett says: "I

learned grammar when I was a private soldier on a six-pence a day.

The edge of my guard-bed was my seat to study in, my knapsack was my

bookcase, and a board lying on my lap was my desk. I had no moment at

that time that I could call my own; and I had to read and write among

the talking, singing, whistling, and bawling of at least half a score

of the most thoughtless of men." Among those whom we all know who have

risen out of obscurity to eminence through a wise economy of time which

they have used in reading and study, are, Patrick Henry, Benjamin

West, Eli Whitney, James Watt, Richard Baxter, Roger Sherman, Sir Isaac

Newton, and Benjamin Franklin.

VII. SOCIAL RECREATION.

DEFINED.

The normal young person who does not dissipate is bursting with life.

The natural child is activity embodied. The healthful old person craves

exercise. Life, activity, exercise, each must have some method of

spending itself. Some normal method, some right method, some attractive

method must be chosen. By normal method we mean that which calls into

use the varied faculties and powers of the entire being, body, mind, and

heart. By right method we mean that which does not crush out a part of

one's being, while another part is being developed. By attractive method

in the use of life, activity, exercise, we mean that which appeals to

one's peculiar desires, tastes, and circumstances, so long as these are

normal and right. Some chosen profession, trade, or work is the rightful

heritage of every person. Each man, woman, and child should know when

he gets up of a morning, what his work is for that day. Consciously, or

unconsciously, he should have some outline of work, some end in view,

some goal toward which he is stretching himself. Dr. J. M. Buckley asks:

"Have you a purpose and a plan?" And answers, "Life is worth nothing

till then." The child is in the hands of his parent, his teacher, his

guardian. These must answer to Destiny for his beginning and growth.

"Satan finds something for idle hands to do." Hence the necessity of

vigilance on the part of those who hold the young. But "all work and no

play, makes Jack a dull boy." This rule is good whether "Jack" be a

puny girl, a feeble grandfather, a hustling, responsible father, a busy

mother, or even a mischievous lad. Every person who rises each morning,

dresses himself and goes about his work as if he knew what he were

about; who has some useful work to do, and does it, sooner or later,

needs rest. True, night comes and one may rest. And sweet is the rest of

sleep; a third of one's life is passed in this way. Sancho Panza has it

right when he says:

"Now blessing light on him that first invented sleep! It covers a man

all over, thoughts and all, like a cloak; it is meat for the hungry,

drink for the thirsty, heat for the cold, and cold for the hot." But

one craves a recreation, a rest which work nor sleep can give. Man has

a social nature, a longing to mingle with his acquaintances and friends.

Let one be shut in with work, or sickness, or weather, for whole days

at a time, and see how hungry he gets to see some one. A recreation at

a social gathering literally makes a new being out of him. He is

recreated. It is this form of recreation that we consider here, social

recreation.

A NECESSITY.

Social recreation is a necessity in a well-ordered life. As with many

other common blessings we forget its benefits. Nor are these benefits

so evident until we see the blighting result in the life of the one who,

for any reason whatsoever, has become a social recluse. We have known

a few persons who have once been in society, but who have allowed

themselves to remain away from all sorts of gatherings, for a number of

years. In every case, the result has been openly noticeable. They have

become boorish in manners, unsympathetic in nature, and suspicious in

spirit. Thus they have grown out of harmony with the ideas and ways of

those about them, have come to take distorted and erroneous views of

affairs and of men. Man is a composite being. Many factors enter into

his make-up. He lives not only in the physical and intellectual, in the

religious and social, in a local and limited sense, but his life expands

until it touches and molds many other characters and communities besides

his own. In all of these spheres of his influence and work on needs to

be sobered down, corrected, stimulated. In no other way is this better

accomplished than through one's very contact with his fellows in the

religious gathering, among his workmen, in the political meeting, at the

assembly, in the social gathering whenever and wherever persons may see

one another and talk over common interests.

A SPECIFIC SENSE.

In a specific sense, by social recreation, we mean those pastimes and

pleasures which all persons, except the social recluse, enjoy as they

meet to spend an afternoon or an evening together. Now, how may we

get the largest amount of pleasure, of rest, of recreation from such

gatherings? How may we best benefit ourselves, inspire one another, and

in it all, honor God? It is no small task to accomplish these three ends

in all things, in one's life. We have agreed that some social practices

are positively bad. And we have tried to show why the "tobacco club,"

the "social glass," the "card-party," the "dancing-party," and the

play-house reveries should be avoided. We have left these forms of

so-called "questionable amusements" out of our practice and let our of

our lives. To what may we turn? Where may we go? We turn to the social

gathering.

BUT IT MUST BE PLANNED.

No social gathering can successfully run itself. See what forethought

and expenditure are given to make successful the "smoking-club," the

"wine-social," the "card and dancing parties," and the "theater." Not

one of these institutions thrive without thought and cost in their

management. Put the same thought and expense into the gathering

for social recreation, and you will find all of the merits of the

questionable institution and none of its demerits. No company has larger

capabilities than the mixed company at the social gathering. Nor may

any purpose be more perfectly served than the purpose of true social

recreation. Here we find those skilled in music, versed in literature,

adept at conversation; we find the practical joker, the proficient

at games, and last, but not least, those "born to serve" tables. This

variety of genius, of wit, of skill, of willingness to serve, is laid

at the altar of pleasure for the worthy purpose of making new again

the weary body, the languishing spirit, the lonely heart. Let the right

management and stimulus be given to this resourceful company, and the

hours will pass as moments, the surest sign of a good time.

SOME ESSENTIALS.

DINING, SOCIAL HOUR, GAMES.

No social recreation is complete without dining. And yet the least

important part of this meal should be the taking of food. It is a

serious fault with the modern social that too much attention is given to

the variety and quantity of food, and not enough to merriment in taking

it. To be successful, the social company should gather as early as

possible; the first hour-and-a-half should be given to greetings and to

social levity of the brightest and wittiest sort. If one has an ache or

a pain, a care or a loss, let it be forgotten now. It is weakness and

folly continually to be under any burden. Here every one should take

a genuine release from seriousness and earnestness in weighty and

responsible affairs. Let all, except the serving committee for this

evening, take part in this strictly social hour-and-a-half. When the

late-comers have arrived and have been introduced, and the people have

moved about and met one another, almost before the company are aware of

it they are invited by the serving committee to dine. Usually all may

not be served at once. Now that the company has been thinned out, the

older persons having gone to the tables, short, spirited games should

be introduced in which every person not at luncheon, should be given

a place and a part. At this juncture it is not best to introduce

sitting-games, such as checkers, authors, caroms, or flinch, for the

contestants might be called to take refreshments at a critical moment

in the contest. With a little attention to it, appropriate games may

be introduced here that need not interfere with luncheon. Fully half an

hour should be spent at each set of tables, where at the close of

the meal, some humorous subject or subjects should be introduced and

responded to be those best fitted for such a task. Almost any person

can say something bright as well as sensible, if he will give a little

attention to it beforehand. While the second and third tables are being

served, let those retiring contest at games of skill, converse, or take

up other appropriate entertainment directed by the everywhere present

entertainment committee. By this time half-past ten or eleven o'clock,

some who are old, or who have pressing duties on the next day may want

to retire. If the serving committee have been skillful in adjusting

the time spent at each table to the number of tables, etc., by eleven

o'clock the serving shall have been completed. Now, the young in spirit,

whether old or young, expect, and should have an hour at the

newest, liveliest, and most recreative games. No part of the evening

entertainment should be allowed to drag. To insure this a frequent

change of social games is needed.

AVOID LATE HOURS.

As late hours tend to produce irregularity in sleep, in meals, and in

work; and since the object of the social is recreation, the company

should retire about midnight. Oftentimes people stay and stay at such a

gathering, until the hostess, the entertaining committee, and the people

themselves are worn out. And yet, who is at fault? This is a critical

point in the modern popular social. How shall the company disband in due

season? In his "Autocrat of the Breakfast Table," Oliver Wendell Holmes

gives a suggestion on this point for the private visitor, who does not

know how to go. Says Holmes: "Do n't you know how hard it is for some

people to get out of a room when their visit is really over? They want

to be off, and you want to have them off, but they do n't know how to

manage it. One would think they had been built in your parlor or study

and were waiting to be launched. I have contrived a sort of ceremonial

inclined plane for such visitors, which being lubricated with

certain smooth phrases, I back them down, metaphorically speaking,

stern-foremost, into their 'native element,' the great ocean of

outdoors." There are social companies as hard to get rid of as this.

They want to go, and every one wants them to go, but just how to make

the start, no one seems to know. Dr. Holmes and his "inclined plane"

may have been successful with the private caller, but who will be the

"contriver of a ceremonial," one sufficient to land the social company

into its "native element, the great ocean of outdoors?" No, this most

delicate of the problems involved in a successful modern social must be

left to a tactful hint from the entertainment committee, and to the wise

choice of a few recognized leaders in the company.

NEW COMMITTEES.

Special committees should have charge of the serving and of the

entertainment. As far as possible these should vary with each successive

social. It is an erroneous notion, prevalent in nearly every community,

that only "certain ones" can do this or that; the consequence is that

these "certain ones" do all the work, are deprived of the true rest and

relief which the social is meant to give, while others who should

take their turn, grow unappreciative, and weak in their serving and

entertaining ability.

THE AVERAGE SOCIAL A FAILURE.

As it is conducted to-day, the average social is a failure. Late at

arriving, want of introductions, lack of arranged entertainment, late

hours,--all go to weaken and to dull the average young person in place

of to cultivate his wits, his special genius at music, reading, and

conversation, and to recreate him in body, mind, and spirit. To make a

success of the social gathering some one must keep in mind the personal

convenience and happiness of every person present. When this is done

and the social gathering becomes notable for the real pleasure that it

gives, then we shall be able to drive out the "questionable amusements,"

because we have taken nothing from the person, and have given him new

life and interest.

VIII. FRIENDSHIP.

BONDS OF ATTACHMENT.

Each person is connected with every other person by some bond of

attachment. It may be by the steel bond of brotherhood, by the silvern

chain of religious fellowship, by the golden band of conjugal affection,

by the flaxen cord of parental or filial love, or by the silken tie of

friendship. One or more of these bonds of attachment may encircle

each person, and each bond has its varying strength, and is capable of

endless lengthening and contracting. Brotherhood is a general term, and

as it is used here, comprises the fellow-feeling that one human being

has for another, this is universal brotherhood. Brotherhood comprises

the fellow-feeling that attracts persons of the same race, nation, or

community, this is racial, national, or community brotherhood; also,

it comprises the fellow-feeling that exists between persons of the same

avocation, calling, or work, this is the brotherhood of profession; it

comprises the fellow-feeling that joins persons of the same order or

party, this is the brotherhood of order; it comprises the fellow-feeling

that joins brothers and sisters of the same home, this is the

brotherhood of family. Religious fellowship includes that spiritual

intercourse which is held between persons of the same religious faith

and practice. Conjugal affection comprises that feeling of mind and

heart which unites husband and wife. Filial and parental love exists

between parent and child. While friendship comprises that soul union

which exists between persons because of similar desires, tastes, and

sentiments. Each of these bonds of attachment has its characteristic

mark, its essential feature. The essential feature of universal

brotherhood is common origin, present struggle, and future hope; the

essential feature of racial, national, or community brotherhood is

patriotism; the essential feature of brotherhood of the order is mutual

helpfulness; the essential feature in brotherhood of the profession

is common pursuit; in brotherhood of the family, common parentage; in

conjugal affection, attraction for opposite sex; in parental and filial

love, love of offspring and love of parent; while in friendship the

essential feature is harmony of natures.

WHAT IS FRIENDSHIP?

No human relationship can be more beautiful, nor more abiding than true

friendship. It is a spiritual thing, a communion of souls, virtuously

exercised. How one is impressed and pleased to see another horse just

like his own, to see another dog exactly resembling his own, to meet a

person who speaks, looks, and acts like some one he has known. It is

a surprise, mingled with mystery and delight. But with what increased

surprise and delight does one meet with a "person after his own heart."

All men have recognized the strength and beauty of right self-love.

The second great law of Christ's kingdom is declared in terms of true

self-love. "Love thy neighbor as thyself." Every one loves himself,

because one's self is the truest and best of other lives filtered

through his own soul. When one finds in another that which perfectly

answers to his own soul-likings and longings, he has found another

self, he has found a friend. Friendship is the communion of such souls,

although they may be absent from one another. The highest friendship may

grow more perfectly when friends are separated, then it is unmixed with

the alloy of imperfect thought and action. Then it is nourished by

the past, for only the past buries all faults; it is encouraged by the

future, for only the future veils the awkwardness and shortcomings of

the present. The character of friendship is determined by the character

of friends. Negative personalities wanting in taste, conviction, and

virtue produce only a negative friendship. Intense personalities

produce intense friendships; noble personalities, noble friendships, and

spiritual personalities, spiritual friendship. In the true, spiritual

sense, before one can become a friend, he must become an individual. He

must stand for something in thought and purpose. If this is not true,

friendship becomes a flimsy affair. For souls to commune with one

another there must be harmony; unity, agreement of desires, sentiments,

and tastes. Not the harmony of indifference, nor a forced agreement,

but a beautiful and natural response of soul to soul. Such equipment for

friendship finds its basis only in individual character. Character is

conduct become habitual. If one spurns reason, and follows his impulse

and passion, he becomes unreliable, and does not know the issues of his

own heart and life. Who knows what such an one will do next? To make it

soar well or sail well, friendship must have ballast. This ballast is

worthy, individual character. It would be more exact to say there can be

no true friendship without individual character. Although many elements

constitute the character of the true friend, yet two elements are

essential--sincerity and tenderness. Sincerity is the soul of every

virtue, while true words, simple manners, and right actions make up the

body. If the soul of virtue is present one does not always demand the

presence of the body, but if the body of virtue is absent, one had

better take a search after the soul. If sincerity is unquestioned,

words, manners, actions have great liberty; but if words, manners and

actions are lacking in straight-forwardness, it is time to question

sincerity. This is true in all human affairs involving motive and

conduct. Especially is it true in friendship. Sincerity knows its own.

By a glance it penetrates the very heart of its true friend, and leaves

translucent and transparent its own. Sincerity gives steadfastness and

constancy to friendship. Insincerity mars and breaks friendship. Who

has not seen a soul spring into life through the love of a radiant

friendship; and then following a series of hollow pretenses,

insincerities, that friendship fails, and the beautiful creature

stifles and dies. As one tells us, "such a death is frightful, it is the

asphyxia of the soul!" Then, tenderness is an essential element in

the character of a friend. Says Emerson: "Notwithstanding all the

selfishness that chills like east winds the world, the whole human

family is bathed with an element of love, like a fine ether." With

Emerson, we believe that every person carries about with him a certain

circle of sympathy within which he, and at least one friend, may temper

and sweeten life. Much of the kindness of the world is simply breathed,

and yet what an aroma of good cheer it sheds in grateful lives.

Tenderness possesses a sensitiveness of sympathy to an extreme

degree. It shrinks from the sight of suffering. It treats others

with "gentleness, delicacy, thought-fulness, and care. It enters into

feelings, anticipates wants, supplies the smallest pleasure, and studies

every comfort." Says one: "It belongs to natures, refined as well as

loving, and possesses that consideration of which finer dispositions

only are capable." Tenderness is a heart quality. It is the luxury of a

pure and intense friendship. It tempers one's entire nature, making

his whole being sympathetic with grace and favor. It is manifest in the

relaxing feature, in the penetrating glance, in the mellowing voice,

in the engracing manners, and in the complete obliteration of time and

distance, while with one's friend. We recall the friendly visits spend

with our friend, Lawrence W. Rowell, during his medical course in

Rush College, Chicago, while we were in attendance at the Northwestern

University, in Evanston, Illinois. Rowell was intellectual, spirited,

gifted in conversation, highly sympathetic, informed, critical, yet

charitable, a close student of human nature, a love of philosophy, of

musical temperament, of noble heart, of exalted purpose. Our visits were

kept up bimonthly throughout one year. We would spent Saturday evening

and Sunday together. Those visits revealed to me the magnetism,

intensity, and tenderness of a friend. Truly, with us time and distance

were almost completely obliterated from our consciousness. I say

distance, for we would walk together. Tenderness suits the amiable

and gentle in disposition, but it comes with a peculiar charm from

the austere nature. It is one of the stalwart virtues, and is often

concealed behind a crusty exterior. Severity and tenderness adorn the

greatest lives.

THE TEST OF FRIENDSHIP.

What is the uncertain mark of a friend? Have I a friend? How many

friends have I? I can invoice my stock, my goods, my land, my money,

can I invoice my friends? One may not always know the actual worth of a

friend, but he knows who are his friends, quite as well as he knows

who are his nephews and cousins. "A friend is one whom you need and who

needs you." Has one a bit of good news, he flies to his friend, he wants

to share it. Has one a sorrow, he seeks his friend who will gladly share

that. Does one meet with a defeat or victory, instantly he thinks of his

friend and of how it will effect him. Friends need one another, as truly

as the child needs its mother, or the mother her child. Is one tempted

to commit a wrong in thought or action, his friend, though absent,

appears at his side and begs him not to do it. If one is in doubt or

uncertainty, he summons his friend, who become a patient reasoner, and

an impartial judge. Who does not find himself, daily, looking through

other people's glasses, weighing on other people's scales, sounding

other people's voices? It is a habit that friends have with one another.

You can not deprive friends of one another, any more than you can

lovers. Ah, true friends are lovers of the heaven-born sort; for

their agreement is grounded in nature. They are not chosen, they are

discovered. Or, as Emerson says, they are "self-elected."

"Friendship's an abstract of love's noble flame,

'Tis love refined, and purged from all its dross,

'Tis next to angel's love, if not the same,

As strong as passion in, though not so gross."

Thus writes Catherine Phillips.

FRUITS OF FRIENDSHIP.

True friendship gives ease to the heart, light to the mind, and aid to

the carrying out of one's life-purposes. First, ease to the heart. The

presence of a friend is a beam of genial sunshine which lights up the

house by his very appearance. He warms the atmosphere and dispels the

gloom. The presence of a true friend for a day, a night, a week, lifts

one out of himself, links him with new purposes, and immerses him in

new joys. Friends breathe free with one another. They inspire sighs of

relief. Embarrassment disappears; liberty reigns supreme. Hearts are

like steam boilers, occasionally, they must give vent to what is in

them, or they will burst. This is the true mission of friends, to

become to one another reserve reservoirs of "griefs, joys, fears, hopes,

suspicions, counsels, and whatever lieth upon the heart to oppress

it," or elate it. You recall those familiar lines of Bacon: "This

communicating of a man's self to his friends works two contrary effects;

for it redoubles joys and cutteth griefs in halves; for there is no man

that imparteth his joys to his friend, but he joyeth the more; and no

man that imparteth his griefs to his friends, but he grieveth the less."

The following selected lines, slightly changed, set forth this first

fruit of friendship.

"A true friend is an atmosphere

Warm with all inspirations dear,

Wherein we breathe the large free breath

Of life that hath no taint of death.

A true friend's an unconscious part

Of every true beat of our heart;

A strength, a growth, whence we derive

Soul-rest, that keeps the world alive."

Then, friendship sheds light in the mind. "He who has made the

acquisition of a judicious and sympathetic friend," says Robert Hall,

"may be said to have doubled his mental resources." No man is wise

enough to be his own counselor, for he inclineth too much to leniency

toward himself. "It is a well-known rule that flattery is food for the

fool." Therefore no man should be his own counselor since no one is

so apt to flatter another as he is himself. A wise man never flatters

himself, neither does a friend flatter. As a wise man sees his own

faults and seeks to correct them, so a true friend sees the faults of

his friend and labors faithfully to banish them. The one who flatters

you despises you, and degrades both you and himself. An enemy will tell

you the whole truth about yourself, especially your faults, and at times

that both weaken and hurt you. A friend will tell you the whole truth

about yourself, especially your neglected virtues, but at a time to both

strengthen and help you. The highest service a friend can render is that

of giving counsel. The highest honor one can bestow upon his friend

is to make him his counselor. It is no mark of weakness to rely upon

counsel. God, Himself, needed a counselor, so he chose His Son.

"His name shall be called Wonderful, Counselor, the Mighty God, the

Everlasting Father, the Prince of Peace." Isa. ix, 6. Counsel, says

Solomon, is the key to stability. "Every purpose is established by

Counsel." Prov. Xx, 18. Who despiseth counsel shall reap the reward

of folly. A friend is safe in counsel, according to his wisdom, for he

never seeks his own good, but the good of his friend. It is a saying,

"If some one asks you for advice, if you would be followed, first find

out what kind of advice is wanted, then give that." But this is not the

way of a friend. He has in mind the welfare of the friend and the cause

his friend serves. Honor does not require that one shall follow the

advise of his friend, rather liberty in this is a mark of freedom and

trust between friends.

A friend aids one in the carrying out of his life purposes. Who is it

that helps one to places of honor and usefulness? It is his friend. Who

is it that recognizes one's true worth, extols his virtues, and gives

tone and quality to the diligent services of months and years? It is his

friend. Who is it, when one ends his life in the midst of an unfinished

book, or with loose ends of continued research in philosophy or science

all about him; who is it that gathers up these loose ends and puts in

order the unfinished work? It is his friend. Who is it that stands by

the open tomb of that fallen saint or hero and relates to the world his

deeds of sacrifice and courage which spurn others on to nobler living

and thereby perpetuates his goodness and valor? Who does this, if it is

done? It is his friend. A friend thus becomes not only a completion of

one's soul as he is by virtue of being a friend, but also he becomes

a completion of one's life. Then, one's relation to his fellowmen is

a limited relationship. He may speak, but upon certain subjects, on

certain occasions, and to certain persons. As Francis Bacon says, "A man

can not speak to his son but as a father; to his wife but as a husband;

to his enemy but upon terms; whereas a friend may speak as the case

requires, and not as it sorteth with the person....I have given the

rule," says he, "where a man can not fitly play his own part, if he have

not a friend, he may quit the stage."

HOW TO GET AND KEEP A FRIEND.

A real friend is discovered, or made. First, discovered. Two persons

notice an attraction for one another. They see that their desires are

similar, they have the same sentiments, they agree in tastes. A feeling

of attachment becomes conscious with each of them, slight association

fosters this feeling, it increases. New associations but reveal a

broader agreement, a closer union, a perfecter harmony. The signs of

friendship appear. Heart and mind of each respond to the other, they are

friends. This is the noblest friendship. It has its origin in nature.

It is, as H. Clay Trumbull says: "Love without compact or condition;

it never pivots on an equivalent return of service or of affection. Its

whole sweep is away from self and toward the loved one. Its desire is

for the friend's welfare; its joy is in the friend's prosperity; its

sorrows and trials are in the friend's misfortunes and griefs; its pride

is in the friend's attainments and successes; its constant purpose is in

doing and enduring for the friend."

Then, friends are made. Two persons do not especially attract one

another. But, through growth of character, modification of nature, or

change in desires, sentiments, and tastes, they become attracted to each

other. Or in spite of natural disagreements or differences, through

the force of circumstances they become welded together in friendship.

Montaigne describes such an attachment, in which the souls mix and work

themselves into one piece with so perfect a mixture that there is no

more sign of a seam by which they were first conjoined. Says Euripedes:

"A friend

Wedded into our life is more to us

Than twice five thousand kinsman one in blood."

Such was the friendship of Ruth and Naomi. Orpha loved Naomi, kissed

her, and returned satisfied to her early home; but Ruth cleaved unto

her, saying:

"Entreat me not to leave thee,

And to return from following after thee:

For whither thou goest, I will go;

Where thou lodgest, I will lodge:

Thy people shall be my people,

And thy God my God:

Where thou diest, will I die,

And there will I be buried:

The Lord do so to me, and more also,

If aught but death part thee and me."

The keeping of a friend like the keeping of a fortune, lies in the

getting, although in friendship much depends upon circumstances of

association. However subtle may be the circumstances which bring friends

together, or whatever natural agreement may exist between their natures,

still there is always a conscious choosing of friends. In this choosing

lies the secret of abiding friendship. Young says:

"First on thy friend deliberate with thyself;

Pause, ponder, sift: not eager in the choice,

Nor jealous of the chosen; fixing fix;

Judge before friendship, then confide till death."

Steadfastness and constancy such as this seldom loses a friend.

Last of all, abiding friendship is grounded in virtue. Says a famed

writer on Friendship: "There is a pernicious error in those who think

that a free indulgence in all lusts and sins is extended in friendship.

Friendship was given us by nature as the handmaid of virtues and not as

the companion of our vices. It is virtue, virtue I say... that both wins

friendship and preserves it." And closing his remarks on this immortal

subject, Cicero causes Laelius to say: "I exhort you to lay the

foundations of virtue, without which friendship can not exist, in such

a manner, that with this one exception, you may consider that nothing in

the world is more excellent than friendship."

IX. TRAVEL. A PERSONAL EXPERIENCE.

We have set in order some facts, incidents, and lessons gathered from a

hasty trip to the old country during the summer of 1899. The journey was

made in company with Rev. C.F. Juvinall, for four years my room-mate

and fellow-student, and my estimable friend. On Wednesday, June 21st, we

sailed from Boston Harbor; reached Liverpool, England, Saturday morning

the 1st of July; visited this second town in the British kingdom;

stopped over at the old town of Chester; took a run out to Hawarden

Estate, the home of Gladstone; changed cars at Stratford-on-Avon and

visited the tomb of Shakespeare; staid a half day and a night in the

old university town of Oxford, and reached London on the evening of July

4th. Having spent a week in London, we crossed the English Channel

to Paris; remained there two days, then made brief visits to the

battlefield of Waterloo, to Brussels, Amsterdam, Hull, Sheffield,

Dublin, and back to Liverpool. We sailed to Boston and returned

to Chicago by way of Montreal and Detroit, having spent forty-nine

days--the intensest and delightfullest of our lives. At first, we

hesitated to treat this subject from a point of view of personal

experience, but since it is our purpose to incite in others the love

for and the right us of all helpful resources of happiness and power, it

seemed to us that we could no better accomplish our purpose with respect

to this subject than to recount our own observations from this one

limited, imperfect journey.

AN EYE-OPEN AND EAR-OPEN EXPERIENCE.

One is always at a disadvantage in relating the faults of others, for he

seems to himself and to his friends to be telling his own experience.

We were about to speak of the superficial way in which Americans travel.

One who has traveled much says that "the average company of American

tourists goes through the Art Galleries of Europe like a drove of cattle

through the lanes of a stock-market." Nor is it the art gallery and

museum alone that is done superficially. How many persons before

entering grand old Notre Dame, or the British Houses of Parliament,

pause to admire the elaborate and expansive beauty of the great archways

and outer walls? It is possible to live in this world, to travel around

it, to touch at every great port and city, and yet fail to see what is

of value or of interest. A man on our boat going to Liverpool, said that

he had traveled over the world, had been in London many a time, but had

not taken the pains to go into St. Paul's, nor to visit the Tower of

London. A wise man, a seer, is one who sees. It is possible to live in

this world, and not to leave one's own dooryard, and yet to possess the

knowledge of the world, and to tell others how to see. Louis Agassiz,

the scientist, was invited by a friend to spend the summer with him

abroad. Mr. Agassiz declined the gracious offer on the ground that he

had just Planned a summer's tour through his own back yard. What

did Agassiz find on that tour? Instruction for the children of many

generations, a treatise on animal life, and later a text-book of

Zoology. Kant, the philosopher, the greatest mind since Socrates, was

never forty miles from his birthplace. On the other hand, Grant Allen,

author, scholar, and traveler, says: "One year in the great university

we call Europe, will teach one more than three at Yale or Columbia. And

what it teaches one will be real, vivid, practical, abiding... ingrained

in the very fiber of one's brain and thought.... He will read deeper

meaning thenceforward in every picture, every building, every book,

every newspaper.... If you want to know the origin of the art of

building, the art of painting, the art of sculpture, as you find them

to-day in contemporary America, you must look them up in the churches,

and the galleries of early Europe. If you want to know the origin of

American institutions, American law, American thought, and American

language, you must go to England; you must go farther still to France,

Italy, Hellas, and the Orient. Our whole life is bound up with Greece

and Rome, with Egypt and Assyria." But whatever advantage travel may

afford for broad and intense study, whatever be its superior processes

of refinement and learning, yet it is well to remember this, that at any

place and at any time one may open his eyes and his ears, his heart and

his reason, and find more than he is able to understand and a heart to

feel! You can not limit God to the land nor to the sea, to one country

nor to one hemisphere. Thus the kind of travel of which we speak is the

eye-open and ear-open sort.

Let us note first, then, that travel is a study of history at the spot

where the event took place. The history of a nation is a record of its

great men. You tell a faithful story of Columbus, John Cabot, and Henry

Hudson; of Winthrop, John Smith, and Melendez; of General Wolfe, General

Washington, Patrick Henry, and Franklin; of Jefferson, Adams, Jackson,

and Webster; of Abraham Lincoln, Wendell Phillips, John Brown, and

General Grant; of John Sherman, Grover Cleveland, and William

McKinley, and you an up-to-date history of the young American Republic,

acknowledged by every country to have the greatest future of all

nations. So, if one reads with understanding the inscriptions on the

monuments of Gough, O'Connell, and Parnell, he will get the story of the

struggles of the Irish. Enter London Tower, "the most historical spot in

England," and recount the bloody tragedies of the English people since

the time of William the Conqueror, 1066 A.D. Here we have a "series of

equestrian figures in full equipment, as well as many figures on foot,

affording a faithful picture, in approximate chronological order, of

English war-array from the time of Edward I, 1272, down to that of James

II, 1688." In glass cases, and in forms of trophies on the walls, we

find arms and armor of the old Romans, of the early Greeks, and Britons,

and of the Anglo-Saxons. Maces and axes, long and cross bows and leaden

missile weapons and shields, highly adorned with metal figures, all tend

to make more vivid the word-pictures of the historian. Of the small

burial-ground in this Tower, Macaulay writes: "In truth there is

no sadder spot on earth than this little cemetery. Death is there

associated, not, as in Westminster Abbey and St. Paul's, with genius and

virtue, with public veneration, and with imperishable renown; not, as

in our humblest churches and church-yards, with every thing that is most

endearing in social and domestic charities; but with whatever is

darkest in human nature and in human destiny, with the savage triumph of

implacable enemies, with the inconstancy, the ingratitude, the cowardice

of friends, with all the miseries of fallen greatness and of blighted

fame." We note a few names chiseled here: Sir Thomas More, beheaded

1535; Anne Boleyn, beheaded in this tower, 1536; Thomas Cromwell,

beheaded, 1540; Margaret Pole, beheaded here, 1541; Queen Catharine

Howard, beheaded, 1542; Lady Jane Grey and her husband, beheaded here,

1544; Sir Thomas Overbudy, poisoned in this tower, 1613. Since travel is

a study of history at the spot where the event took place, let us cross

the rough and famed English Channel to visit one of the many noted spots

of France. We select the site of the Hotel de Ville or the town-hall of

Paris. "The construction of the old hall was begun in 1533, and was over

seventy years in its completion. Additions were made, and the building

was reconstructed in 1841. This has been the usual rallying site of

the Democratic party for centuries. Here occurred the tragedy of St.

Bartholomew in 1572; here mob-posts, gallows, and guillotines did the

work of a despotic misrule until 1789. (As we left for Brussels on the

evening of the 13th of July, all Paris was gayly decorated with red,

white, and blue bunting, ready to celebrate the event of July 14, 1789,

the fall of the Bastile.) On this date, 110 years ago, the captors of

the Bastile marched into this noted hall. Three days later Louis XVI

came here in procession from Versailles, followed by a dense mob." Here

Robespierre attempted suicide to avoid arrest, when five battalions

under Barras forced entrance to assault the Commune party, of which

Robespierre was head. Here, in 1848, Louis Blanc proclaimed the

institution of the Republic of France. This was a central spot during

the revolution of 1871. The leaders of the Commune party place in this

building barrels of gunpowder, and heaps of combustibles steeped in

petroleum, and on May 25th they succeeded in destroying with it 600

human lives. A new Hotel de Ville, one of the most magnificent buildings

in Europe, has replaced the old hall. This is open to visitors at all

hours. To study history at the spot where the event took place means

work as well as pleasure, so we took our luncheon and sleep in our car

while the train carried us to Brussels, and out to Braine-l'Alleud,

where, on the beautiful rolling plain of Belgium, June 18, 1805,

Napoleon Bonaparte met his Waterloo, and Wellington became England's

idol.

A railway baggageman was on our train returning to his home in

Cleveland, Ohio. In conversation, he said: "I have been with this

company for twenty-two years; have drawn two dollars a day, 365 days in

the year for that time, and I haven't a dollar in the world, but one,

and I gave it yesterday for a dog. But," said he, "I have a good woman

and the greatest little girl in the world, so I am happy." This is one

of a large class of persons who receive fair wages all their lives, and

yet die paupers, because they plan to spend all they make as they go

along. In conversation with a gruff, old Dutch conductor between Albany

and New York City, I ventured to ask him if he had ever crossed the

ocean. "No," he said, "nopody eber crosses de ocean, bud emigrants, and

beoble vat hab more muney dan prains."

Travel is a study of religious institutions. Among the most interesting

in Europe, that we visited, are Wesley's Chapel, Westminster Abbey, St.

Paul's Cathedral, and Notre Dame. The Church of Notre Dame, situated

in the heart of Paris on the bank of the Seine, was founded 1163 on the

site of a church of the fourth century. The building has been altered a

number of times. In 1793 it was converted into a temple of reason.

The statue of the Virgin Mary was replaced by one of Liberty. Busts of

Robespierre, Voltaire, and Rosseau were erected. This church was closed

to worship 1794, but was reopened by Napoleon 1802. It was desecrated by

the Communards 1811, when the building was used as a military depot. The

large nave, 417 feet long, 156 feet wide, and 110 feet high, is the

most interesting portion of this massive structure. The vaulting of this

great nave is supported by seventy-five huge pillars. The pulpit is a

masterpiece of modern wood-carving. The choir and sanctuary are set off

by costly railings, and are beautifully adorned by reliefs in wood and

stone. The organ, with 6,000 pipes, is one of the finest in Europe. "The

choir has a reputation for plain song." On a small elevation, in the

center of London, stand the Cathedral of St. Paul's, the most prominent

building in the city. From remains found here it is believed that a

Christian Church occupied this spot in the times of the Romans, and that

it was rebuilt by King Ethelbert, 610 A.D. Three hundred years later

this building was burned, but soon it was rebuilt. Again it was

destroyed by fire, 1087, and a new edifice begun which was 200 years in

completion. This church, old St. Paul's, was 590 feet long, and had

a leaden-covered, timber spire, 460 feet high. In 1445 this spire was

injured by lightning, and in 1561 the building was again burned.

Says Mr. Baedeker, whose guidebook is indispensable in the hands of a

traveler, "Near the cathedral stood the celebrated Cross of St. Paul,

where sermons were preached, papal bulls promulgated, heretics made to

recant, and witches to confess, and where the pope's condemnation of

Luther was proclaimed in the presence of Woolsey." Here is the burial

place of a long list of noted persons. Here occurred Wyckiff's citation

for heresy, 1337; and here Tyndale's New Testament was burned, 1527. It

was opened for divine services, 1697, and was completed after thirteen

years of steady work, at a cost of three and a half millions of dollars.

This sum was raised by a tax on coal. The church is in the form of a

Latin cross, 500 feet long, with the transept 250 feet in length. "The

inner dome is 225 feet high, the outer, from the pavement to the top of

the cross, is 364 feet. The dome is 102 feet in diameter, thirty-seven

feet less than St. Peter's. St. Paul's is the third largest church

in Christendom, being surpassed only by St. Peter's at Rome." Three

services are held here daily. The religion of Notre Dame is Roman

Catholic, but that of St. Paul's and Westminster is of the Church of

England. What shall we say of Westminster Abbey, the most impressive

place of all our travel! As my friend and I entered here and took

our seats for divine worship, preparatory to visiting her halls, and

chapels, and tombs, I think I was never more deeply impressed. I said to

myself, "What does God mean to allow me to worship here?" and I seemed

to realize how little my past life had been. I felt that circumstances

and not I myself had thrust this new privilege, and thereby new

responsibility, upon me. Westminster Abbey! A church for the living,

a burial-place for the honored dead; a monument to genius, labor, and

virtue; England's "temple of fame;" the most solemn spot in Europe, if

not in the world! Here lie authors, benefactors, and poets; statesmen,

heroes, and rulers, the best of English blood since Edward the

Confessor, 1049 A.D. We must now leave this sacred spot to visit, if

possible for us, a more sacred one, the birthplace of Methodism, or

more accurately speaking, in the words of Bishop Warren, the "cradle of

Methodism."

On City Road, London, near Liverpool Street Station, is located the

house, chapel, burial-grounds, and tomb of John Wesley. Across the

street, in an old Nonconformist cemetery, are the graves of James Watt,

Daniel Defoe, and John Bunyan. Across the narrow street to the north

is the tabernacle of Whitefield. We learned that Friday, July 7th, was

reopening day for Wesley's Chapel. What a distinguished body of persons

we found at this meeting! Dr. Joseph Parker was the speaker of the day.

The Rev. Hugh Price Hughes, president of the Conference, presided at the

memorial services. Rev. Westerdale, present pastor, successfully managed

the program of the day, especially the collections, for he met the

expense of the rebuilding and past indebtedness with the sum of over

fifteen thousand dollars. He told those discouraged ministers with big

audiences to go and take courage from what the mother-church, with her

small number of poor parishioners, had done. In the evening, Bishop

Warren, on his return to America, called in and gave an interesting

talk. He was followed by Fletcher Moulton, member of Parliament. You

may not realize the feeling of gratitude with which we took part in this

eventful service of praise, prayer, and rededication! On the next day we

returned to see the books, furniture, and apartments of Wesley, himself.

We sat at his writing desk, stood in his death-chamber, and lingered

in the little room where he used to retire at four in the morning for

secret prayer. From here he would go directly to his preaching service

at five. Wesley put God first in his life, this is why men honor him so

much now that he is gone. We took a farewell view of the audience-room

from the very pulpit into which Wesley ascended to preach his Good News

of Christ. From the several inscriptions on Wesley's tomb, we copied

the following one: "After having languished a few days, he at length

finished his course and life together. Gloriously triumphing over death,

March the 2nd, Anno Domine, 1791, in the eighty-eight year of his age."

In Liverpool, on the day of our arrival, July 1st, an old, gray-haired

man was shining my shoes. He observed that I was from across the water,

and that an Englishman can readily tell a Yankee. He began to praise

America. He said that Uncle Sam was only a child yet, that America was

destined to be the greatest country in the world; that her trouble with

Spain was only a bickering; that the present engagement was only his

maiden warfare, and that he "walked along like a streak of lightning."

Saturday evening, July 8th, witnessed the greatest military parade

in London for thirty years. The Prince of Wales reviewed twenty-seven

thousand London volunteers. Early in the morning citizens from all over

England began to gather in front of the English barracks, and at the

east end of Hyde Park. By two o'clock in the afternoon hundreds of

thousands had packed the streets and dotted the parks and lawns, until,

in every direction one could witness a sea of faces. After the royal

and military procession began, the patient Johnnies, with their sisters,

sweethearts, wives, mothers, grandmothers, and great-grand-mothers,

stood for five hours to see it go by. The Englishman does not tire when

he is honoring his country. At the close of this parade we dropped into

a barbershop for a shave. The gentleman seemed to understand that I was

a long ways from home. "You fellows," I said, "can tell us as far as you

can see us." "Yes," said he, "by your shoes, your hat, your coat, your

tongue, and even by your face. We can tell you by the way you spit. A

spittoon here, pointing about ten feet away, give a Yankee two trials,

he will hit it every time."

Travel is a study of the genius of man as shown in architecture, in

sculpture, and in painting. Ninety-seven plans were submitted for the

Houses of Parliament, including Westminster Hall. That of Sir Charles

Barry was selected, and the present imposing structure was built,

covering eight acres, at a cost of $15,000,000. The style is

perpendicular (Gothic), with carvings, intricate in detail and highly

picturesque. The building faces the river with a 940 feet front, but her

three magnificent square-shaped towers rise over her street front. The

clock tower at the northwest corner is 318 feet high, the middle tower

is 300 feet, and the southwest, or Victorian tower, is 340 feet high.

The large clock with its four dials, each twenty-three feet in diameter,

requires five hours for winding the striking parts. The striking bell

of the clock tower is one of the largest known; it weighs thirteen tons,

and can be heard, in favorable weather, over the greater portion

of London. One never tires in looking at this noble building. It is

appropriately adorned inside and out with elaborate carvings, statuary,

and paintings. Here are located the Chamber of Peers, the House of

Commons, and numerous royal apartments, lavishly fitted up to be in

keeping with the office and dignity of the building.

Crystal Palace, situated about eight miles southeast of St. Paul's,

consists entirely of glass and iron. Its main hall, or nave, is 1,608

feet long, with great cross sections, two aisles, and numerous lateral

sections. The two water towers at the ends are each 282 feet high. If

you were at the World's Fair in Chicago, and visited the Transportation

Building, you may imagine something of the magnitude and beauty of

Crystal Palace, with her orchestra, concert hall, and opera-house; with

her fountains, library, and school of art; with her museums, gardens,

and arenas; with her parks, panoramas, and her numerous exhibits of

nature and art. Near the center of the palace "is the great Handel

Orchestra, which can accommodate 4,000 persons, and has a diameter twice

as great as the dome of St. Paul's. In the middle is the powerful organ

with 4,384 pipes, built at a cost of $30,000, and worked by hydraulic

machinery. An excellent orchestra plays here daily." The concert-hall

on the south side of the stage can accommodate an audience of 4,000. An

excellent orchestra plays here daily. "On each side of the great nave

are rows of courts, containing in chronological order, copies of the

architecture and sculpture of the most highly civilized nations, from

the earliest period to the present day." The gardens of Crystal Palace

cover two hundred acres, and are beautifully laid out "with flowerbeds,

shrubberies, fountains, cascades, and statuary." "Two of the fountain

basins have been converted into sport arenas, each about eight and

one-half acres in extent." Nine other fountains, with electric light

illuminations, play on fireworks nights and on other special occasions.

It is common for 15,000 visitors to attend these Thursday night firework

exhibits. Colored electric light jets deck the fountains, flower-beds,

and halls. Crystal Palace was designed by Sir Joseph Paxton, and cost

seven and a half million of dollars. Well may it be called London's

Paradise.

Shall we say that the greatest piece of constructive architecture of any

country is that of Eiffel Tower! Situated on the left bank of the Seine

River, it overlooks Paris and the country for fifty miles around.

In its construction, iron caissons were sunk to a depth of forty-six

feet on the river side, and twenty-nine and one-half on the other side.

When the water was forced out of these caissons by means of compressed

air, "concrete was poured in to form a bed for four massive foundation

piers of masonry, eighty-five feet thick, arranged in a square of 112

yards. Upon this base which covers about two and a half acres rises

the extraordinary, yet graceful structure of interlaced ironwork" to a

height of 984 feet. Eight hundred persons may be accommodated on the top

platform at once. It was completed within two years' time, and is the

highest monument in the world. Washington monument ranks second, being

555 feet high. From the summit of Eiffel Tower one may secure a good

view of Paris, her public buildings, chief hills, parks, and boulevards,

monuments, and embankments. An imitation of Trajan's column in Rome, is

142 feet in height, and thirteen feet in diameter. It is constructed of

masonry, encrusted with plates of bronze, forming a spiral band nearly

300 yards in length, on which are represented the "battle scenes

of Napoleon during his campaign of 1805, and down to the battle of

Austerlitz. The figures are three feet in height and many of them are

portraits. The metal was obtained by melting down 1,200 Russian and

Austrian cannons. At the top is a statue of Napoleon in his Imperial

robes. This column reflects the political history of France." The design

sculptor is Bergeret. For their antiquity the mummies and statues in

the Egyptian galleries of the British Museum are very interesting. They

embrace the period from 3600 years before Christ to 350 A.D. "The tomb

of Napoleon by Visconte," and "the twelve colossal victories surrounding

the sarcophagus by Pradier," are among the finest works of Parisian

sculpture. The sarcophagus, thirteen feet long, six and one-half feet

high, consists of a single huge block of reddish-brown granite, weighing

upwards of sixty-seven tons, brought as a gift from Finland at a cost of

$700,000. The Louvre, Paris, contains one of the finest art galleries in

Europe, and with the Tuilleries, covers about eight acres, "forming one

of the most magnificent places in the world."

In our limited experience at travel we have yet to find a single object

of beauty or utility that is not the product of skill, of genius, of

great labor. Every monument bears testimony of struggle, of bloodshed,

of hard-earned victory; beneath every tomb that honor has erected rests

the body of incarnate intelligence, fidelity, and courage. In the shadow

of every great cathedral lies collected the moth and rust from the

coppers of myriad-handed toilers of five and ten centuries. The towers

and domes of London, and Paris, and Amsterdam, and Dublin are monuments

to the genius of the architect and to the faithfulness of the common

toiler. The parks and gardens tell of centuries of wise and faithful

application of the laws of growth, of symmetry, of design in form and

color. The historic chapels of worship and learning breathe the very

incense of devotion and reverence for truth; while the conservatories

of sculpture and painting preserve what is divinest in human experience.

Age alone can produce a great man or a great nation. Decades for the man

and centuries for the nation; these are the measuring periods for real

achievement. But all this is on the human side. Correggio and Titian in

painting; Bacon and Bailey in sculpture; Raphael and Michael Angelo in

sculpture and painting; and Sir Christopher Wren in architecture,--the

works of art of such as these elevate and purify one's thought and

feeling. But the profoundest impressions that come to one from travel,

come alone from the works of nature. The Crystal Palace in London can

not compare in glory with the crystal ripples of a mid-ocean scene. The

botannical gardens of the Tuilleries in Paris do not stir the soul as

does the splendor of the Welsh mountains. The rockery plants of Phoenix

Park, Dublin, are insignificant compared with growths of ferns and moss

On the rock ledges of Bray's Head, south of Dublin. No panorama that man

has painted can equal the scene of Waterloo battle-field, observed from

the earthen mound near the fatal ravine. So, we shall always find it

true, that as the heavens are higher than the earth, so the thoughts of

God are higher than the thoughts of man, and his ways than man's ways.

X. HOME AND THE HOME-MAKER.

WHAT IS HOME?

"RECENTLY a London magazine sent out 1,000 inquiries on the question,

'What is home?' In selecting the classes to respond to the question it

was particular to see that every one was represented. The poorest and

the richest were given an equal opportunity to express their sentiment.

Out of eight hundred replies received, seven gems were selected as

follows:

"Home--A world of strife shut out, a world of love shut in.

"Home--The place where the small are great and the great are

small.

"Home--The father's kingdom, the mother's world, and the

child's paradise.

"Home--The place where we grumble the most and are treated

the best.

"Home--The center of our affection, round which our heart's

best wishes twine.

"Home--The place where our stomachs get three square meals

daily and our hearts a thousand.

"Home--The only place on earth where the faults and failings

of humanity are hidden under the sweet mantle of charity."

Dr. Talmage defines home, as "a church within a church, a republic

within a republic, a world within a world." Dr. Banks writes, "It is not

granite walls, or gaudy furniture, or splendid books, or soft carpets,

or delicious viands that can make a home. All of these may be present,

and yet it be only a dungeon, if the great simplicities are not there."

Sings one:

"Home's not merely roof and room,

Needs it something to endear it.

Home is where the heart can bloom,

Where there's some kind heart to cheer it.

Home's not merely four square walls,

Though with pictures hung and gilded,

Home is where affection calls,

Filled with charms the heart hath builded.

Home! Go watch the faithful dove

Sailing 'neath the heavens above us,

Home is where there's one to love,

Home is where there's one to love us."

We believe the five sweetest words in the English language to the

largest number of persons--words which carry with them intrinsic meaning

and blessing are these: "Jesus," "Mother," "Music," "Heaven," "Home."

"Twenty thousand people gathered in the old Castle Garden, New York, to

hear Jennie Lind sing. After singing some of the old masters, she began

to pour forth 'Home, Sweet Home.' The audience could not stand it. An

uproar of applause stopped the music. Tears gushed from thousands like

rain. The word 'home' touched the fiber of every soul in that immense

throng." In an early spring day, when the warm sun began to invite one

to bask in his rays, my wife, delicate in health, lay drowsing on some

boards near the house. The large garden spot spread out to the rear of

her; a beautiful grassy lawn carpeted round a deserted house, granary,

and shop-building in front of her. She was living over her girlhood

days. She thought she was in the old home orchard, where she used to

doze, dream, and play. The songs of the birds seemed the same; the same

gentle breezes played with her hair; the same passers-by jogged along

the roadside; the same family horse nibbled the tender grass in the

barnyard. How sad, and yet how sweet are the memories of early days! The

tender associations of home never leave one, however roughly the coarse

hand of time would tear them away. It is because home means love that

its associations and lessons remain.

ESSENTIALS TO A HAPPY HOME.

Although home means love, yet love alone may not insure happiness. In

addition to love, without which a true home can not exist, we select

four essential requisites to make home life useful and happy. These are

intelligence, unselfishness, attractiveness, and religion.

First, Intelligence. Much of the misery of the world in individual and

family life is due to gross ignorance. Once the father of a family said

to me, "We did not get our mail to-day, I miss my reading." Knowing the

man we were surprised at such a remark, and ventured to ask him what

papers he took. A list of ten or a dozen papers was named. All of them

were newspapers. One was a general daily, two were local dailies, and

the rest were local weekly papers. No intelligent person would have

carried over three of those papers from the post-office. This man spent

hours upon a class of reading that should be finished with a few minutes

each day. In this same family the mother told me that she had never

rode on a railway train, and that she had never been outside of her

own county. This is an exceptional case, but it illustrates how that

ignorance makes thrift and happiness impossible in a home, neither

of which belong to this family. Here every law of health is violated,

foresight in providing for the physical comforts of the home is

wanting; little attention is given to the education of the children;

no sacrifices to-day enrich to-morrow; life is a humdrum, a routine, a

dread, with no exuberance, joy, or hope. In time, such a life leads

to failure and gloom, to secret, then to open vice, and to a final

shipwreck of the home and of the individual. In a similar yet in a less

marked way, the career of many a home is ended. No one may be directly

to blame, but want of common knowledge and common wit have set a limit

beyond which such a family may not go. The intelligent family has some

sort of a history which it is their privilege and duty to perpetuate.

Members of the intelligent family are moral sponsors for one another,

the mother for the daughters, the father for the sons, the brothers

and sisters for one another. They find their own best interests in the

interests of one another. The intelligent family is not superstitious.

They act upon the wisdom of the ancient poet, "every one is the

architect of his own fortune." They look to cause and condition for

results. They spell "luck" with a "p" before it. The intelligent farmer

plants his crop in the ground, rather than in the moon, and looks for

his harvest to the seed and the toil. The intelligent merchant locates

his business on the street of largest travel and makes the buying of his

goods his best salesman. The intelligent man of letters thrives at first

by making friends of poverty and want, until one day his genius places

his name in the temple of honor. So it is with the artist, the musician,

the inventor, the architect. To be happy and useful in one's lot, one

must know something of the sphere in which he lives and works, of its

practical wisdom, and must be prepared to live, or glad to die for the

cause he serves. No indolent, superstitious, or ignorant family need

look for abiding happiness nor expect to be permanently useful.

Then unselfishness is essential to happy home life. It is a serious

matter for two persons, even when they are naturally mated, to undertake

to live together in peace and harmony. It is a more serious matter when

they are not naturally mated. It is more serious still when children

enter the home, for they bring with them conflicting tendencies,

dispositions, and wills. Often have we wondered how it is that families

get on as well together as they do when we have considered, what natural

differences exist between them, and what little teaching and discipline

have been used to harmonize these differences. An harmonious home is

truly begun in the parental homes of the husband and wife. Two persons

may be perfectly suited to one another, and yet they may be selfish in

wanting their own way. As one grows up, if he is allowed to have his

own way regardless of the rights and privileges of others, he becomes

a selfish person, and his parents are to blame. A selfish person in the

home plans for his own comfort, decides and acts as he wishes, and seeks

to satisfy his own desires. He does not take into consideration the

plans, wishes, and desires of other members of the family. It is

understood that his authority is supreme. Not one member of the family

dreams of expressing dissent to his dominion. A so-called peace of

this sort is not uncommon among families. This supreme authority may be

vested in husband, or wife, or in one or all of the children. A forced

peace of this kind is worse than rebellion and is as bad as open war.

How can any persons be so presumptuous as to think that any person, or

a number of persons, exist solely for his comfort and advantage! Let

two such selfish persons get together, a permanent riot is assured.

Unselfishness in the home means thoughtfulness, discipline,

self-control. Each child is taught the rights and privileges of others

as well as his own. When two unselfish persons join their lives there

begins a holy and beautiful rivalry in seeking the rights and privileges

of one another. The very atmosphere of such a home is deference,

respect, and love. As the stranger, the neighbor, the friend, comes and

goes, he catches the spirit of it and carries it with him into his own

and other homes. Children born into such a home early imbibe its spirit,

and, O, the inspiration one receives from going into that family circle!

No home-life can be an inspiration and a blessing where selfishness is

allowed to reign. Nor can it be useful and happy.

Ella Wheeler Wilcox describes a selfish, though a kind and loving

husband:

THEIR HOLIDAY.

THE WIFE:

Our house is like a garden--

The children are the flowers,

The gardener should come, methinks,

And walk among his bowers.

So lock the door of worry,

And shut your cares away,

Not time of year, but love and cheer,

Will make a holiday.

THE HUSBAND:

Impossible! You women do not know,

The toil it takes to make a business grow:

I can not join you until very late,

So hurry home, nor let the dinner wait.

THE WIFE:

The feast will be like Hamlet,

Without the Hamlet part;

The home is but a house, dear,

Till you supply the heart.

The Christmas gift I long for

You need not toil to buy;

O, give me back one thing I lack:

The love-light in your eye.

THE HUSBAND:

Of course I love you, and the children, too.

Be sensible, my dear. It is for you

I work so had to make my business pay;

There, now, run home, enjoy your holiday.

THE WIFE, TURNING AWAY:

He does not mean to wound me,

I know his heart is kind,

Alas, that men can love us,

And be so blind--so blind!

A little time for pleasure,

A little time for play,

A word to prove the life of love

And frighten care away--

Though poor my lot, in some small cot,

That were a holiday.

To preserve the family circle, the home must be made attractive.

No amount of practical wisdom, of Puritanic piety, nor mere kindly

treatment will hold a family of children together until they are strong

enough to resist the temptations of the world. The home must be made

more attractive than the street or places of amusement. The average boy

or girl who loses interest in home and uses it chiefly as an eating and

sleeping place, does so with good reasons. Home has lost its charm. No

provision is made for his pastime and pleasure. Not finding this at home

he will go elsewhere in search of it. "An unattractive home," says one,

"is like the frame of a harp that stands without strings. In form and

outline, it suggests music, but no melody arises from the empty spaces;

and thus it is an unattractive home, is dreary and dull." How may home

be made attractive? We have presupposed a certain amount of education

and culture in the home by maintaining for it intelligence and

unselfishness. Any home that is intelligent and unselfish is capable

of being made attractive. In the first place, in as far as it is

practicable, each member of the family should have a room of his own

and be taught how to make it attractive. Here, one will hang his first

pictures, start his own library, provide a writing desk, and learn to

spend his spare moments. Recently we visited a home in Chicago. The

rooms are few in number and hired. The family consists of father,

mother, and three children, now grown. During our short stay in the home

I was invited into the boys' room. The walls are literally covered with

original pencil designs, queer calendars, odd pictures; the dresser

and stand are lined with books and magazines, with worn-out musical

instruments, art gifts from other members of the family, and ball-team

pictures, while two lines of gorgeous decorations stretch from wall to

wall. This is still these young men's little world, their interests

have centered here. No less than five kinds of musical instruments were

visible in this home. The walls of the living room and parlor are made

beautiful with simple tasteful pictures made by the daughter, whose

natural gift in art was early cultivated. The table, shelves, and

mantelpiece are decorated with china bowls, plates, and vases, simply,

yet elegantly adorned. This work was done by the daughter and mother.

Not a large but a choice collection of flowering plants relieved the bay

window of its emptiness. This is an attractive home. The children

never have cared to spend their evenings on the street nor at places of

amusement. Games of skill, innocent, instructive, and entertaining, may

be used to make home life more attractive. Only let the amusements of

the home be under the direction of father and mother, and be practiced

by them. Here is a chance to teach shrewdness, honor, interest, and by

all means, moderation. To overdo at games and amusements is more harmful

than to overwork.

Religion is essential to happy home life. A family may get on for a time

very smoothly without prayer, Bible study, faith in God, and love for

Jesus Christ; but no family life is completed without a storm, many

storms of some sort. Years may pass as on a quiet sea, but one day at

high noon, or, perhaps, in the silent, early hour, a small cloud is seen

in the distance; it comes nearer; the wind begins to blow, the thunders

peal, the lightnings flash, the old home, for so long an ark of safety,

is being tossed on the billowy waves. A testing time is at hand.

Mother is gone, or father has ventured too far and lost all; or son has

disgraced the family name; or daughter is in shame; or the darling of

the home is no more! It makes a vast difference who is at the helm when

the storms of home life rage. It is a mark of highest wisdom to place

the family ship under the world's best Captain, Jesus Christ. He never

lost a life. He alone can arrest the lightning, quiet the waves, inspire

confidence, and restore peace and good will in any storm. But

religion is not only useful in trouble, it is an ornament in peace and

prosperity, in the making and building of the home. Tempers must be

controlled, dispositions cultivated, conduct improved, hearts softened,

and minds purified and disciplined. To accomplish all of this, no

substitute can be made for the spirit and faith of Jesus Christ.

"'Dear Moss,' said the thatch on an old ruin, 'I am so worn, so patched,

so ragged, really I am quite unsightly. I wish you would come and cheer

me up a little. You will hide all my infirmities and defects; and,

through your loving sympathy no finger of contempt or dislike will be

pointed at me.' 'I come,' said the moss; and it crept up and around,

and in and out, till every flaw was hidden, and all was smooth and fair.

Presently the sun shone out, and the old thatch looked bright and fair,

a picture of rare beauty, in the golden rays. 'How beautiful the thatch

looks!' cried one who saw it. 'How beautiful the thatch looks!' said

another. 'Ah!' said the old thatch, 'rather let them say, 'How beautiful

is the loving moss!'" So it is with the religion of Christ, it adorns

and beautifies the life who really wears it; so that the plainness of

that life is covered, its ruggedness softened, and its "pain transformed

into profit and its loss into gain."

Charles M. Sheldon gives as an essential for a permanent republic,

"A true home life where father, mother, and children spend much time

together; where family worship is preserved; where honesty, purity, and

mutual affection are developed."

J.R. Miller beautifully sums up the secret of happy home-making in

one word--"'Christ.' Christ at the marriage altar; Christ on the bridal

journey; Christ when the new home is set up; Christ when the baby is

born; Christ when the baby dies; Christ in the pinching times; Christ

in the days of plenty; Christ in the nursery, in the kitchen, in the

parlor; Christ in the toil and in the rest; Christ all along the years;

Christ when the wedded pair walk toward the sunset gates; Christ in the

sad hour when the farewells are spoken, and one goes on before and the

other stays, bearing the unshared grief. Christ is the secret of happy

home life."

THE HOME-MAKER.

Just as a surly husband, a dissipated father, or a reckless son may

blight a home and destroy its happiness, so may a thoughtful, virtuous,

and kind man in the home change its very atmosphere and help to make

it a heaven. As a home-maker man has the ruggeder part. It is his to

provide. The man who falls short of this in the home does not do his

part. No woman can respect a man much less love him, who places her, her

work, her life, her home, her world under constant embarrassment by a

scant and niggardly provision. She loses her ambition, ceases to make

her self and her home attractive; disorder, filth, unwholesome food,

lack of spirit on her part is the result. She can not be to him, most of

all, what he expects her to be, a companion, a counselor, a comfort--a

home-maker. Also, it is the part of the man in the home to shield the

woman from the heavier burdens and responsibilities. Let him count the

cost of his enterprises, secure himself against hazardous speculations,

and give his wife and children to realize that his shoulders, and

not theirs, are to bear the load of financial obligation and

material support. This leaves the woman with her finer instincts and

sensibilities to make the home the dearest spot on earth to husband,

children, and to all who cross her threshold. The house is her dominion.

There she is queen. What a tender and beautiful one she may become!

SOME PRACTICAL HINTS.

The true home-maker does not spend all of her time with her ducks,

chickens, pigs, and cows, nor yet with her neighbors, her club, nor her

Church. She finds some time to cultivate her intellectual nature and

the finer feelings of her children. She does not degenerate into a

mere household drudge. She is not the slave of her husband, but his

companion. If she has musical ability, she keeps up the practice of

her music; if she is inclined to literature, she reads some every day.

Whether literary or not, every woman should spend some time each day in

reading that she might keep abreast with the world, at least with her

companion, in the movements and thoughts of every-day life. The true

home-maker plans to have a few minutes each day which she calls her own,

in which she may do as she pleases regardless of call or duty, that she

might relax herself, remove the strain of intense effort, rest, give her

nature its free bent and inclination. It will pay her in every way. She

will accomplish more and better work in the busy hours. A spirit and

a force will characterize every effort. The women of to-day are

overworked. They can not do themselves, their families, not their homes

the true spiritual service that it is their part to do. Plan for a few

minutes rest with the daily routine of care. But how is one to do

this with so many demands made upon her? For she is expected to be

seamstress, laundress, maid, cook, hostess, a companion to her husband,

a trainer of her children, a social being, and a helper in the Church.

If it is impossible or impracticable for one to have a servant, she will

find these few minutes for daily recreation and study only in a wise

choice of more important duties, and will allow the less important ones

to go undone. Many housewives could well afford to keep a helper. It

becomes a question which is of greater importance, the life and health

of the wife and mother, or the paltry wages of a servant? We knew a

family in Illinois who were quite able to keep help in the home, but did

not do so. The mother made a slave of herself, in a few years broke in

health, and left a large family of small children to struggle alone in

the world. The stepmother, who soon came into the home, could afford one

servant girl and part of the time two. This is a common experience

in ill-managed homes. Or this question arises, Which is of greater

importance, to make more money or to improve the moral tone of the home;

to seek to gratify the outer senses, or to seek to elevate the spiritual

life of the children and the parents? In pleading for rest and study for

the mother in the home we plead for the highest interests of the entire

family. For how can a wife be a companion to a husband when she is made

irritable and nervous from overwork and worry. How can she be a true

mother to her children and neglect their mental and spiritual growth?

Napoleon once said: "What France wants is good mothers, and you may be

sure then that France will have good sons." Thomas McCrie, an eminent

Scotch preacher, used to tell, with great feeling, of how his mother,

when he was starting out for school in the city, accompanied him along

the road a little way, and then leading him into the field where she

could be alone, prayed with him, that he might be kept from sin in the

city, and become a very useful man. That moment was the turning point

in his life. A few minutes a day spent with the eager, susceptible child

mind, will bring everlasting blessing upon the father and mother.