scqmlcher, is it sacrilege if we, too, glance down ? 
Here are two glimpses. One is a lady moving 
gracefully back am] forth over her Wilton car¬ 
pets, glancing admiringly over her shoulder at 
the clumsy camels* hair shawl draped about her. 
“ W1 W." she exclaimed, “ it was bought in Paris 
for a mere song—that is, compared with New 
\ ork prices. Ilero it would have cost two thou¬ 
sand at least. Oh, dear!" sighing, "Parts is 
lovely: and here we are shut out from It by this 
provoking war! Do look at these folds and the 
fineness of the thing! Was ever anything so 
elegant?" * 
Just through the folding-doors is another 
lady. The firelight glows across her earnest face 
live little fists to their five little hearts' content 
the great, burly man watched them in amused 
silence ; and then drew a paper from his pocket 
and settled himself to read. I hoped It wouldn’t 
prove a “ Police Gazette," No, it was a religious 
newspaper. 
One day I wasreading “John Halifax,” which 
had somehow fallen into my hands from a public 
library I was absorbed In the story until, sud¬ 
denly. I came upon traces of other minds that 
hud traveled the same way. Never did " Robin¬ 
son Crusoe” more eagerly examine footprints in 
the sand than I these pencil marks, 
"Who has been here?" I demanded. After 
these words of Phine. 
one peculiar situation, etches on my mind a 
glimpse of the within. Some of them are broad 
and startling; others are simple enough —mere 
straws telling the way the wind blows. 
Here is a sunny, Summer afternoon In the 
country. A group of girls Is gathered about a 
tea-table, at. which a pleasant - faced elderly 
woman presides. The tea-cups are drained, and 
spatted, and turned, and wished over by the 
girls, and passed to the hostess t.o road their fu¬ 
ture in them. She tells what she knows of the 
love affairs of each, and finally turns to one 
with: ’ Here s a little fellow who likes you 
real well — would give all he’s worth for a little 
GLIMPSES WITHIN 
BY EMMA BUTST. 
We all delight to linger over a picture that Is 
faithfully rendered, and drink In its spirit; 
whether that spirit be simply humorous; or gro¬ 
tesque ; or one of tna rvclous beauty, or of sweet,, 
quaint homeliness: or a bit of pathos; or a wall 
nf passion; or a commingling of many spirits— 
as the strong sweetness that reproaches not, 
the boundless sorrow, the 
physical agony, and the awful 
grandeur of an " Ecoe Homo.” ~ - _ M | II 
But, pleasurablo as are these 
pictures, they do not satisfy. 
After wo have drunk thorn 
we desire the wells 
whence 
f demanded 
as : Thee hast found the 
curse of man’s life—woman,” 
I wna written: —“Ton true!'' 
While underneath It, In other 
1111 was written: — 
1 ** Poor * Pitiful cynic! Where 
| are you?” I queried. "What 
[I are you doing on God’s Earth 
il l without faith In woman? Do 
|| you not. find it a Sahara with¬ 
out oases? — only deadly sl- 
I "loons sweeping across your 
I I 1 way,withering the ffowers and 
III sapping tho Juices from your 
I And you, man, who gives 
I the “ Lie” to that ‘‘Tootrue,” 
I i what makes you so Jealous of 
the honor of woman ? Have 
you a mother, a sister, a wife 
who has enriched your life? I 
| know there are sweet growths 
about your pathway. 
Oh. Woman! Thou art like Man 
amt "gold," 
“Good and bad a thousand fold.” 
n If iMl fl A child had been scrubbing 
1 | I || tho flagging. Her fadod cot- 
||i | | ton skirt was drabbled; her 
M l) | | twine- laced, gaping-toed 
III shoes were soaked. Tho day 
I IJ || |! was cold, so her hands and 
> ! i 11080 wore red. Sho leaned 
h I ; l upon her broom, and looked 
Wl | absently away with her great, 
I | sorry eyes. 
|“ What are you thinking, 
j j " 1 am wishing r was sick.” 
I “ ’Cause, ftn tired, and have 
|J to keep a-going every day. I 
|ys|g|\ wish I couldn’t earn ponnies I 
I wish I was sick an’ they’d 
| dark tho room, and walk soft, 
gH ^Sa l and tell me I was good, and 
never say 
” ‘ Cross patch 
ggggggjfB Draw the latch.’ ” 
s|||||||jy Poor little soul crying out 
HP for repose and love. All your 
| life long with water and 
xli 1 lj ,i broom, waging a war with dirt, 
it I !! Ill I /i J By-and-by you will bo pro- 
P»L,| jP'1 || moted to the wash-tub—still 
iH| ) waging the war with dirt. But 
1 1 you are nut alone. Others arc 
f|A | sweeping away cobwebs and 
bIh clearing away rubldsh from 
||reM , highway and byway ; ami are 
I splashing and scrubbing to 
, J I cleanse. They are often weary 
.e-Ht I 1 ! I "' 1 - may never lie down 
. I® 11 and bo sick, l’or "the night 
H ] eometh.” They may never 
B lean upon tho broom, for tho 
iy , air is full of dust and it, (scon- 
B&j stantly and insidiously falling, 
falling, ever falling upon all. 
' God rests not. lie is forever 
Uln willing soil from souls for Die 
K||| sake of Jksus. Cannot wo 
wipe away soil all the day 
Jong for Jesus' sake? 
Ss|*3 Riding in a street car through 
; a low thoroughfare, passing a 
great, silent building, tho 
shutters of a window vio- 
lently rattled, and behind 
^^§Kss1skS| them appears a young face— 
||!|i|Hfl^H an eager, evil, painted face— 
with eyes gleaming and 
searching for a victim. A 
shuddering, shadowy glimpse, 
this I 
Here, is a person, graceful 
and insinuating In manner; charitable in word 
and deed; ianguago spotless. One day an acci¬ 
dent reveals him. 8o small a thing as tho fall¬ 
ing of a photograph from the pocket gives a 
glimpse into that undercurrent of obscenity 
that flows around our world. 
Here is a reckless, mad-cap, laughter-loving 
girl, whom most persons pronounco superficial; 
but one day she is caught giving, with faith and 
simplicity, tho cup of “cold water” to "one of 
these little ones’* fort lie sake of Him who bade 
her do it. 
Wo apeak of Heaven, wo hear of It, we sing of 
It. Yet how little do wo really know about it. 
It is compared to gold, and jasper, and crystal, 
and many precious stones—which are the purest, 
choicest, and most beautiful things nature af¬ 
fords. But this material imagery, which might 
be agreeable to ati oriental Imagination, duos 
not satisfy us. We rest in tho thought that 
what is infinite cannot ho expressed in the 
language of the finite. And wo cherish these 
words: —"Wc shall be satisfied.’* And theso: 
up 
from 
they were drawn. 
They do not grow; 
; they do not 
surge with human passion— 
tears and laughter chasing, 
and flashing athwart each 
other. 
Life Is a word that draws us 
away from dead canvas. It 
fascinates. It is as changeful 
as the Aurora Borealis that 
moves in ghostly procession 
about the horizon, and flames 
Up like tho spirit of the Celes¬ 
tial City and I hon transmutes 
itself into tissue-like, star- 
strewn draperies gathered at 
the zenith in a hand of flume. 
Life Is as evanescent as the 
rainbow, which appears with 
Its grace of form and exquisite 
combination of color — then 
fades into the nothingness 
from whence It came. 
Life is cold as an Alp; hot 
as a volcano; terrible as a 
tidal wave, and blessed as a 
soft, silent stream of Buniight. 
Yet the earnest student 
never rests in these phenome¬ 
na. He seeks more that ka¬ 
leidoscopic change than mar¬ 
velous beauty — some thing 
beside the mere Incident of 
human existence; something 
truer than the counterfeit 
passions or the drama and the 
conventional movements of 
society; something under¬ 
neath the idiosyncrasies of 
individual character. 
Mind goes beyond. It asks, 
"Why? Whence? To what 
purpose?” This Is not idle 
curiosity, ft is God-given in¬ 
quiry ; and I believe, to truth- 
seeking souls, a part of the 
blessedness of the hereafter 
will be revelation. 
Mind also advances. This is 
nvliy ail sorts of religious In¬ 
quiry is aired and road with 
avidity. This is why fiction, 
portraying character and an¬ 
alysing human life, is growing 
in favor, and, in a measure, 
superseding the romances of 
they do 
not palpitate 
that took strong hold of the 
hearts of men, that they were 
not curious concerning the 
personal life of the author? 
We are never satisfied to drink 
the healing waters and be 
blessed. We must go to work 
with our prunhig-hooks and 
remorselessly cut away the 
beautiful wild growths of privacy and trace the 
stream to Its spring among tho rocks. 
Truth, however, is not revealed for the mere 
asking. We must ever listen, and search, and 
reflect. “ To know another perfectly costs the 
® udy of a lifetime; ’’ so we judge, and err, arid 
correct, and re-correct our judgment. 
Indeed, we do not know ourselves any too 
well No person, until he is tried, discovers the 
possibilities of weukneux or power that lie within 
as she sits, with a newspaper In her lap, and is 
saying:—"All wars make me sick at heart. Think 
of the suffering and the crime; think of the 
starving, and freezing, and homeless multitudes. 
We cannot grasp even tho hideous thought In all 
its length and breadth. When these sad things 
come sweeping Into my consciousness, I think 
how much suffering half these things we use so 
lightly might cure.” And she glanced at the 
rich surroundings of the room aud then at the 
diamond on her Unger. 
There was a poorly-clad woman In the cars, 
with five little, poorly-clad children. Evidently 
they had been traveling a long way. Every one 
of them was t easing, arid crying, and dragging 
upon the skirts of the weary-faced woman. 
Presently a man entered. He had a full, flushed 
face, brimming over with vitality and good 
humor. He flung himself for a moment into a 
seat behind this group, then rushed out, and 
soon returned and filled the children’s hands 
with candy. A surprised and grateful look 
came into the woman’s face. While the chil¬ 
dren were besmearing their live little faces and 
