.V 
7a 
MOORE’S  RURAL  REW-YORKER. 
JULY  29 
You  are  niaklnij  yourself  special  pleader  In  a  rery 
pad  cause,  Mr,  Dude.  Pray  let  us  drop  the  sub¬ 
ject.  You  forifct’’ up  her  head  like  an 
offended  queen)  “that  my  father  died  before 
Lucknow  and  therefore  it  la  not  likely  that  his 
daughter  should  have  any  sympathy  for  a  cow¬ 
ard.” 
“  1  am  sorry  for  it,”  he  said,  gravely.  “  1  should 
have  thought  the  fact  carried  Its  own  punishment 
heavily  enough  wllhouU  MIm  Curtis,  It  wants 
ten  minutes  yet  to  the  dresHlng-bell.  May  1  tax 
your  patience  for  half  that  time  while  1  tell  you  a 
story  7” 
“  Certainly.”  she  said,  and  sal  down  again  with 
a  little  air  of  offended  surprise. 
“  Two  years  ago,”  Ducle  said,  '*  a  friend  of  mine 
and  hl8  servant  wore  traveling  In  South  Amorlch. 
The  former  went  abroad  for  his  health— not  that 
lie  was  111  when  the  anacdoto  l  am  going  to  tell 
you  took  place.  You  will  please  not  make  that 
excuse  for  idm— he  was  perfectly  well  and  he  took 
Ills  servant  fvlth  him  hecamse  the  lad  was  so  at¬ 
tached  to  him,  such  a  faithful,  true-hearted  fel¬ 
low,  that  he  could  not  make  up  his  mind  to  leave 
him  belUnd.  It  was  scorching  hot  weather ;  such 
boat  as  you  m.ay  expect  In  a  country  which  lies 
on  tho  southern  border  of  brazil ;  and  my  friend 
used  to  go  every  morning  to  bathe  at  the  Plaza 
Uaralrez,  a  large,  unsheltered  bay  about  a  mile 
and  a  halt  from  the  town.  A  beautiful  stretch  of 
sand  It  was;  the  Post  bathWig  place  lo  the  neigh¬ 
borhood,  and  yet  a  very  dangerous  one,  for  If  you 
went  outside  a  certain  number  of  yards  you  were 
liable  to  get  entangled  la  one  of  two  or  three  con¬ 
flicting  curretiis  which.  In  a  dead  calm,  you  could 
see  curling  about  within  each  other  like  harmless 
sea  serpents  but  which,  if  they  caught  you  In 
their  strong  ornUraco,  would  assuredly  carry  you 
out  Into  the  Atlantic  unless  you  happened  to  ho  a 
strong  and  clever  swimmer. 
“  Well,  one  morning  my  friend  and  John  Bar¬ 
ton,  Ids  servant,  went  to  batUo  as  usual  about 
seven  o’clock— a  late  hour  In  those  tdlmate.s,  Mias 
Curtis,  where  most  people  start  at  live  and  where 
the  sun  is  almost  strong  enough  to  roast  the  brains 
In  your  head  by  eight.  As  a  natural  consequence, 
they  found  ihemselve.s  alone  at  tlie  plaza,  having 
met  most  of  the  .MonU*v1cleans  returning. 
“My  Irlcnd  went  In  llrst,  leaving  Barton  to 
watch  his  clothes,  lest  any  of  the  small  fry  from 
the  negro  hamlet  of  washerwomen  above  the  bay 
should  come  down  and  appropriate  tho  articles ; 
and  when  ho  had  wiinicleatly  refreshed  himself 
and  emerged  on  to  the  samis  again,  Barton 
went  in  for  a  simitar  enjoyment.  It  eould  not 
possibly  have  been  five  minutes  later.  Ue  had 
barely  got  Into  his  clothes  when  ho  heard  a  pierc¬ 
ing  shriek  from  tho  water  and  turning,  saw  that 
Barton  had  disappeared.  The  next  moment,  how¬ 
ever,  the  lad's  head  rose  to  the  surface  about  a 
dozen  yards  from  the  shore  andhe  erted  out, '  Ma.s- 
tor,  help !  The  cramp  1  Help !’  before  going  down 
again  like  a  stone, 
“  Of  course  you  think  the  masUvr  da.sUed  In  and 
dragged  him  out.  It  w.as  not  much  to  do  for  this 
faithful  fellow  who  served  him  so  well  and  left 
hl.s  home  and  friends  rather  than  le.ave  him.  He 
did  no  such  thing.  Ho  hesllaled  and  his  limbs 
turned  to  Ice  and  cveo'  drop  of  blood  In  his  body 
hj  water.  Like  a  wave  there  rushed  over  him  the 
t  hought  that  he  c<iuld  not  swim  a  stroke— that  he 
was  encumbered  with  his  clothes— that  Barton 
was  a  stronger  man  than  himself— xhat  once  In 
the  current,  with  a  drowning  man’s  clutch  at  his 
neck,  they  must  both  Inevitably  be  swept  out  to 
sea  and  perish.  It  was  only  a  moment;  then  the 
lad's  head  rose  again.  For  one  second  his  eyes 
caught  his  m.asier’H  face  in  a  look  of  wild,  despair¬ 
ing  appeal,  and  rnaddenod  by  the  situation  ray 
friend  rushed— not  luio  the  water,  but  tip  the 
b.mk,  shrieking  for  help  to  the  men  who  drive  the 
sand  carts  along  tho  brow  of  tho  bay.  Before  he 
had  gone  two  yards- before  they  even  heard  him 
— Barton  sank  for  the  third  time  and~all  was 
over. 
“  Sheer  physical  fear,  a  spasm  of  unconquerable 
cowardice  which  ho  had  never  felt  before  In  his 
whole  lUeand  which,  nndlag  him  utterly  unpre¬ 
pared  for  It,  completely  overmastered  the  man’s 
entire  nature,  had  In  that  one  mlser.able  minute 
cost  the  life  of  his  faithful  servant  and  darkened 
his  own  forever. 
“There's  not  much  more  to  tell  you.  It  was 
just  the  turn  or  the  tide.  Within  twenty  minutes 
of  tho  affair  the  waves  flung  poor  Barton’s  dead 
body  within  reach  of  the  man  who  might  have 
tried  to  save  his  life  and  did  not.  The  •  peons’ 
helped  him  to  carry  It  up  the  bank  and  lay  It  on 
tho  sand  cart  to  bring  It  Into  town.  1  believe  It 
was  burletl  decently  next  day.  They  told  me  so ; 
but  before  then  1  was  lU,  raving  with  a  sun-stroke 
which - ” 
“  You  I”  The  word  leaped  from  my  Ups  In  a  cry 
of  horror.  “  Diicie!  You  don't  mean  that  you 
have  told  us  of— that  you  wore  that - " 
Ho  turned  and  looked  me  In  Che  face. 
"  Yes,  Fred,  I  was  that  mon;  1,  whoso  ‘pluck’ 
people  are  so  fond  of  praising,” 
There  was  a  dead  silence. 
CHAPTER  II. 
“  That  Is  all.  I  never  told  any  one  before.  I 
don’t  think  I  could  act  In  the  same  way  again ; 
hut  God  knows.  Only  you  see  I  cannot  hear  other 
men  coudemnod  when  1  remember - ”  lie  broke 
off  with  a  sort  of  gasp  and  added,  hurnedly,  “  I 
wish  to  heaven  I  hod  never  needed  to  tell  you,  for 
of  course  I  know  what  you  think  of  me  now.” 
He  looked  at  Helen ;  but  she  never  raised  her 
eyes,  and  I  answered  quickly “  I  wish  you  had 
not,  Ducle.  There  was  no  occasion  for  It.  But  1 
am  very  sony  for  you— from  my  soul  I  am,  old 
fellow.” 
1  would  have  given  him  my  hand;  hut  though 
he  said,  “  Thank  you,  Fred,”  as  If  he  meant  It,  his 
eyes  never  left  Helen’s  face.  She  had  never 
moved  or  looked  up  once,  since  he  began.  1  foel 
sure  DOW,  that  she  knew,  from  the  commence¬ 
ment,  that  he  was  speaking  of  himself ;  but  if.  was 
only  when  ho  said  “  1  was  tho  man,”  that  her 
face,  which  had  been  white  to  the  Ups,  nu3he<l 
scarlot,  as  though  the  titreatened  blow  had  fallen ; 
and  such  a  look  came  over  U^-a  look  of  pain  unut¬ 
terable,  of  bitter  shame-  of  unconquerable  dis¬ 
gust— a  look  which,  hut  to  boo  once  in  tho  taco  of 
tho  woman  wc  love,  might  well  make  the  voice 
break  and  the  heart  sink,  as  Ducle’.H  did  then. 
We  all  met  at  timner  as  If  nothing  w  as  amiss. 
Mary  Jackson  and  1  were,  I  Uilnk.  raUier  )nore 
llvel}'  than  usual ;  and  even  Tom  made  blniHClf  so 
pleasant  to  Cls  Dcvercaux  that  my  dear  old  father 
said  It  did  him  good  to  hear  such  a  clatwr  of 
voices.  Ducle  was  very  silent,  It  Is  true,  and 
Helen’s  face  was  colorless  aa  a  Guernsey 
daisy;  but  she  sivoke  and  even  smiled  whenever 
appealed  to  and  none  but  myself  remarked  that 
when  Ducle  hold  tho  door  open  for  the  ladles  after 
dinner,  she  tirevv  tho  silken  folds  of  her  drcs.s  to¬ 
gether  and  passed  him  without  a  glance,  a-s  some¬ 
thing  too  foul  for  noUcc.  His  face  was  whiter 
than  hers  when  he  sat  down  again. 
Next  day  vve  parted.  I  was  busy  all  the  morn¬ 
ing  over  farming  accounts  and  did  not  know  Ducle 
was  going  UU  the  dog-cart  was  at  the  door  and  he 
came  in  to  bid  mo  good-by.  Then  I  saw  he  was 
much  agitated  and  urged  him  to  stay,  using  Hel¬ 
en’s  bame. 
Ills  Ups  quivered,  hut  ho  only  said “  I  have 
already  soon  your  cousin.  Good-h.v,  Fred,  and 
thank  you  for  all  your  kindness.” 
Five  minutes  later  he  was  gone.  I  said  nothing 
but  1  went  to  look  for  Helen,  and  found  her  mop¬ 
ing  Di  the  library,  with  a  face  like  a  ghost  aad  red 
rims  to  her  eyes.  Hhe  mumbled  Bomething  about 
a  headache.  1  waived  the  remark  loftily  and  taxed 
her  with  having  refused  my  irlend.  She  rcddi-ucd 
like  a  rose  and  said,  haughtily,  that  she  had  done 
no  such  tiring.  He  had  not  had  the  presumption 
to  ask  her. 
“  iTesumptlon  I”  quoth  I ;  “  and  to  ask  a  little 
vixen  1  Ah,  well,  you  have  sent  him  away;  and, 
what's  more,  will  never  see  him  again  i” 
At  this  she  paled  and  panted  a  little.  Then 
flushed  up  again  and  answered : 
“Gh  yes,  wc  Bhall,  and  quite  as  soon  as  we  want 
him,  1  dare  say.  oh !  how  can  you  care  for  him, 
the  cruel,  (la.stardly—  Oh !” 
This  made  me  angry,  lor  l  don’t  like  hitting  a 
man  when  he’s  down ;  and  tho  vision  of  poor  Du¬ 
de’s  handsome  face,  with  the  itaggard,  beaten 
look  on  It,  as  ho  shook  hlH  head  to  all  my  hospit¬ 
able  hopes  of  soon  seeing  him  again,  rather  hauntr- 
ed  me.  So  1  set  mysedt  to  bully  Helen  by  way  of 
retaliation;  told  her  she  was  a  proud,  eelf-righl- 
eousglii,  wlio  didn’t  deserve  to  bo  loved  at  all ; 
that  site  had,  probably,  sent  a  flue  young  fellow 
to  tho  bad;  that  she  hod  no  right  to  judge  i\ny- 
body;  that  U  Ducle.  had  acted  a  coward’s  part 
two  years  .ago  he  had  taken  a  Uenv'a  last  nl^'Iit; 
that  I  doubted  very  much  whether  she  would 
have  the  courage  to  stand  up  juid  blacken  herself 
forever  In  the  eyes  of  any  one  she  loved ;  that  l 
couldn’t,  and  that  It  was  a  braver  and  nobler  deed 
than  saving  ten  men’s  lives. 
Would  you  believe  It?  In  tho  middle  <5T  my 
abuse  she  .suddenly  burst  loto  tears  and,  Iiistejwi 
of  quaiTehng  with  me,  throws  herself  Into  mj' 
arms  and  sobs  out: 
“  Oh.  Fred so  It  was.  Oh  I  I  never  thought  of 
that;  and  I  told  him— I  told  him -  Oh,  dear! 
oh,  dear!” 
“  What  did  you  tell  him?” 
“  1  told  him  1  never  wished  to  see  lilm  again, 
because  he  could  never  do  anything  bravo  enough 
to  blot  out  the  memoiy  or  that  dreadful,  dreadful 
day.” 
“  And  what  did  he  say  7” 
“He  said,  ‘You  never  shall.’  Oh,  Fred,  Fred, 
what  shall  I  do  7” 
“Do  7  Write  and  tell  him  you  are  very  sorrj' 
and  ask  him  to  come  back  again a  piece  of  sen¬ 
sible  advice  at  which  Helen  springs  up,  dashes 
away  her  tears  and  says.  Indignantly :— *•  Thank 
you,  Fred,  I  have  not  quite  lost  my  self  respect 
yet,  even  If  yoUr  friend  has  lost  his,"  and  m.arches 
off  to  her  own  room. 
Was  It  the  day  before  Christmas  Eve  that  tho 
Governor  told  me  Lord  de  Lalno  had  proposed  to 
Helen  and  heon  refused?  I  think  so— I’m  not 
sure.  A  nyway,  It  was  that  day  that  1  n  rst  noticed 
the  girl's  white  face  and  spoke  to  her  of  Ducle. 
Her  sweet  eyes  flushed  up  Instantlj*  and  slie  an¬ 
swered  : 
“  Would  you  like  to  have  him  here  this  Christ¬ 
mas?” 
“My  dear,  you  told  him  never  to  come  again.” 
“  Then  I  was  wrong,  tor  it  Is  not  my  house" 
(hypocritically). 
“  You  are  mistress  of  It  and  I’ll  have  no  friends 
here  whom  the  mistress  cannot  welcome.” 
She  blushed  up  high,  put  lier  hand  on  my  arm 
and  said  enthtialosUcalCv : 
“All  your  friends  are  welcome  to  me,  Fred. 
Please  write  and  ask  him  at  once.” 
I  did  BO.  Shall  I  ever  forget  her  face  when  the 
answer  came  ?  Mr.  Ducle  had  sailed  for  tho  Cape 
three  days  before  In  the  royal  mall  steamship 
Tamar.  ^ 
We  all  know  the  end  of  that  gocgl  vessel ;  how 
she  encountered  hard  AveatUer  off  the  Azores; 
how  she  sprung  a  leak,  M'hlch  no  pumping  day 
and  night  could  bring  under;  lijw  the  boats  were 
hoisted  out  Avlth  Just  enough  seamen  to  work  the 
oara ;  the  passengers  lowered  into  them  one  by 
one,  women  and  children  first,  men  afterward,  In 
perfect  discipline  and  order;  and  how,  when  all 
were  full,  the  captain,  slandlng  on  the  j)Oop-deck, 
gave  the  last  command  to  pull  away  o\it  of  the 
vortex  of  the  sinking  ship ;  and  tho  men  In  the 
boats,  obojing,  saw  the  gallant  vessel,  wltu  cap¬ 
tain,  crew  and  officers  standing  hand  In  hand, 
brave  and  resolute  to  thola.st,  settle  heaAlly  down 
In  the  deep  trough  of  the  waves  and  disappear 
forever  from  mortal  ken. 
Ah,  me :  all  English  hearts  were  thrilling  with 
the  story  tn  those  days.  It  makes  mine  ache  now 
to  recall  It. 
The  boats  reached  the  Azores  In  safety  two  days 
later,  without  haATng  lost  a  soul  hut  it  waa  not 
for  month-s,  not  till  every  Inquiry  had  been  made, 
not  till  I  had  gone  down  to  Southampton  myself 
and  Interrogated  the  rescued  passengers  one  by 
one  that  wo  heard  how,  when  the  boats  were  all 
but  full  and  there  was  only  one  passenger  to  de¬ 
scend,  uno  of  the  crew  cried  out  In  despair,  “  oh, 
my  Utile  wife  and  chOd !”  and  the  passenger,  a 
tall,  dark-eyed  young  man,  tumod  to  him  and 
said,  “  Tako  my  place ;  there  Is  no  one  belonging 
to  me  at  homo,’’  and  had  stood  by  the  captain’s 
side  at  the  last  moment  and  waved  his  hat  to  Ills 
irleiids  In  Uie  boats  In  a  cheery  good-by. 
I  round  out  that  sailor  and  he  gave  me  a  scrap 
of  paper  tvhlch  he  said  the  gentleman  had  torn 
from  Ills  pocket-book  and  given  him  aa  he  went 
over  the  side.  It  wa.s  to  Helen  and  contained 
these  words : 
“  God  bless  you !  1  have  earned  my  right  to 
meet  you  again— Ju  heaven  at  least. 
“  A,  P.  DOCIB.” 
Two  years  later  Helen  left  us  to  keep  that  meet¬ 
ing  ;  and  when  she  was  dead  I  saw  tho  flrst  smile 
on  her  pale  Ups  which  had  ever  shown  there  since 
she  sent  her  lover  away  to  prove  that  a  man  may 
die  a  hero’s  death,  though  In  life  he  has  once  been 
a  coward. 
- »»»-  -  — 
DIFFERENT  KINDS  OF  ENGRAVING. 
"  LIXK”  engraving  is  of  the  highest  order.  All 
groat  engravings  are  done  In  “line”— simply 
straight  lines.  Next  comes  "  lino  and  sUpple.” 
“  Stipple"  means  dots— small  dots,  like  this . 
Those  small  dots  are  u.sed  to  lighten  up  the  high 
parts  of  the  face  or  drapery.  It  is  x’ery  hard  to 
engrave  a  face  in  Hues  simply,  and  only  master 
engravers  have  ever  underGiken  It.  The  masters 
understand  and  practice  both  “  line  and  silppplc.” 
Claude  MeUan  engraved,  in  ITOO,  a  full  head  of 
t.'lirlst  with  one  unbroken  line.  This  line  com¬ 
menced  at  the  apex  of  the  nose  and  wound  out- 
and-out,  like  a  watch-spring,  until  It  ended  In  tho 
border  of  the  picture.  Mezzotint  engravings  are 
produced  thus:  — The  steel  or  copper  Is  made 
rough,  like  lino  sand-paper.  To  produce  soft 
effects,  tills  rough  surface  is  scraped  off.  If  you 
want  a  white  place  or  “  high  light,”  m  your  en¬ 
graving,  scrape  the  surface  smooth  and  then  tho 
ink  will  not  touch  It.  If  you  want  taint  color, 
scrape  off  a  little.  Such  engravlDgs  look  like  lith¬ 
ographs. 
Etching  Is  adapted  to  homely  and  familiar 
sketches.  Almost  all  tho  great  painters  were 
etchers.  Ktolilng  Is  done  thus.— The  copper  or 
steel  plate  Is  heated  and  covertMl  with  black  var- 
nlsh.  The  engraver  scratehea  off  this  varnish 
with  sharp  needles,  working  on  the  surface  as  he 
would  on  paper  with  a  pencil.  Nitric  acid  is  then 
poured  over  the  plate  and  It  eats  away  at  Uie  steel 
and  copper  wherever  the  needle  h.ts  scraped  oir 
the  varnish.  Whenever  the  varnish  Is  removed 
with  spirits  of  turpentine  the  engraving  is  seenln 
sunken  lines  on  the  plate. 
DANGER  OF  STIMULANTS. 
That  man  la  nothing  less  than  a  deliberate  sui¬ 
cide  who  drinks  tea,  coffee  or  ardent  spirits  of  any 
kind,  to  Induce  him  to  perform  a  work  in  hand 
wuen  he  feels  too  weaJe  logo  through  with  it  with¬ 
out  such  aid.  This  is  the  reason  tliat  tlio  majority 
of  great  orators  and  public  favorites  die  drunk¬ 
ards.  The  piBplt,  the  bench,  the  bar,  the  foiiun, 
have  contributed  their  legions  to  drunken  habits. 
The  beautiful  woman,  t  he  sw'eot  singer,  the  con¬ 
versationalist,  the  pertodlcal  writer,  has  niled  but 
too  often  a  drunkard’s  grave.  The  best  possible 
thing  for  a  man  to  do  when  he  feels  too  Ured  to 
perform  a  tusk  or  too  weak  to  carry  It  through,  Is 
to  go  to  bod  and  sleep  a  week  if  he  can ;  this  la  the 
only  true  recuperation  of  brain  power;  the  only 
actual  renewal  of  brain  forces,  because  during 
sleep  the  brain  is,  tn  a  sense,  at  rest— In  a  condi¬ 
tion  to  receive  and  appropriate  particles  of  nutri¬ 
ment  from  the  blood  which  take  the  place  of  those 
which  have  been  consumed  In  previous  labor. 
Mere  fctlmulajits  BUiiply  nothing;  they  only  goad 
the  brain,  force  It  to  a  greater  consumption  of  its 
substance,  until  that  substance  has  been  so  fully 
exhausted  that  there  Is  not  enough  left  to  receive 
a  supply ;  Just  iis  men  are  sometlmcaso  near  death 
by  thirst  and  .starvation,  thattherelsnotstrength 
enough  left  to  swallow  anything,  and  all  is  over. 
The  cajiaclly  of  the  brain  for  receUlng  recuper¬ 
ative  particles  soraeiimes  comes  on  with  the  ra¬ 
pidity  of  light  ning  and  the  man  becomes  mad  in 
an  Instant;  In  an  Instant  fails  Into  convulsions; 
La  an  Insiunt  loses  all  sense  and  he  is  an  idiot.  We 
repeat,  that  there  Is  renewed  force  for  the  brain 
only  In  early  and  abundant  sleep. 
- - - 
BOOKS  RECEIVED. 
Fkom  Harper,  Bros.  &  Co.,  NervYork: 
The  Intellectual  Development  of  Europe.  By 
Jno.  W.  Draper.  Kevised;  2  volumes.  [Cloth.— 
pp.  4S8.J 
8.  Beainaro's  Sons,  Cleveland,  O. : 
The  Musical  World  for  July. 
New  Mtraic  prom  F.  W.  Hklmjck,  Cincinnati,  O.: 
Tlldeu's  Grand  .March,  by  C.  A.  Noel,  If  Wash¬ 
ington  was  LI  ring  Now;  song;  tvord-s  by  S. 
N.  Mltehell;  music  by  C.  B.  I’lior.  All  Tied 
Back;  serio-comic  song.  Mardl-Gras March, 
hy  F.  Hard  way. 
MAGAzrxsa  for  court ; 
Harjier’s,  St.  Nicholas,  Scribner’s,  Atlantic' 
Demoresfs  Fa-shlon  Monthly,  Phrenologi¬ 
cal  Journal,  Heeord  of  the  Year. 
YOU  AND  I. 
SwivTLx  o’er  Ufe’a  troubled  current 
We  will  fly, 
Bearinir  all  Ita  toUa  and  dang-ers. 
You  and  1. 
Stonua  may  gather.  tempeatB  lower 
O’er  our  eky ; 
Steady,  firm,  we’U  (fuide  our  life-bariiue. 
You  and  I. 
Heaven’s  broad  bay  we’ll  safely  enter, 
By-and-by ; 
In  its  port  we’ll  cast  our  anchor. 
Yon  and  I. 
And  within  that  Golden  City, 
BiUlt  on  hlRh, 
Hand  in  hand  we’ll  walk  together. 
You  and  1. 
-  - - 
SOMETHING  ABOUT  THE  GENUINENESS 
OF  THE  BIBLE. 
We  find  the  Bible  as  the  Inspired  writers  l#ft  It 
—as  much  so  aa  any  ancient  writings  that  have 
come  down  to  us  from  the  distant  pa.'it.  The  pres¬ 
ent  Bible  Is  the  aamo  as  the  Bible  of  tho  prlmltlvo 
church.  This  Is  an  Interesting  subject  and  ought 
to  gain  tho  attention  of  all.  In  the  words  of  a 
great  author,  “The  Integrity  of  tho  records  of  tho 
Christian  faith  Is  substantiated  hy  evlilonce  in  a 
tenfold  proportion  more  various,  coplou.s  and  con¬ 
clusive  than  that  which  cun  be  adduced  In  support 
of  any  other  ancient  WTl tings.” 
There  are  more  printed  copies,  and  a  greater 
number  of  manuscripts  that  have  come  down  the 
stream  of  lime,  and  there  are  more  versions  of  the 
Scriptures  than  any  book  In  the  world. 
It  waa  a  noble  omen  for  the  future  progress  of 
printing  that  the  first  book  over  Issued  from  the 
press  waa  the  Bible,  The  Vulgate  Latin  Bible  was 
published  In  Hs.’i,  and  (If  T  mistake  not)  It  stands 
unsurpassed  by  the  latest  efforts  of  typography. 
The  wonderful,  useful  and  honorable  art  of  print¬ 
ing  effectually  prevents  the  cornipUon  of  the 
text.  A  nd  the  MSS.  of  all  ancient  writings,  sacred 
and  profane,  are  now  lit  the  safe  custody  of  tho 
press.  Since  the  invention  of  prtnUng  about  one 
hundred  different  editions  of  the  Hebrew  Bible 
and  three  hundred  and  fifty  of  the  Greek  Testa¬ 
ment  have  been  publlsht'd,  and  millions  of  copies 
tn  all  languages  multlpllrtd. 
When  the  Bible  was  first  printed  there  were 
manuscript  copies  In  most  of  the  public  llbrarlea 
of  Europe.  Nearly  ii.ooo  of  these  MSS.  have  been 
collated  In  forming  Hie  i.i\xt  of  tho  Bible.  In  the 
case  of  the  Greek  and  Latin  cla.sRlcs  ten  or  twenty 
MSS.  are  deemed  sufficlont  to  form  an  accurate 
text.  The  most  ancient  MS.  of  “  The  Father  of 
History,"  as  Herodotus  la  called,  dates  back  only 
to  the  tenth  century,  and  onlj'  fifteen  >1  ss,  of  this 
ancient  author  have  been  collated,  and  yet  tho 
genuineness  of  the  wrlUngs  of  Herodotus  is  estab¬ 
lished.  some  .M8S.  of  the  Hebrew  Bible  date  back 
to  the  eighth  centurj'.  The  .\loxandiian  MS.  of 
the  Old  and  New 'Teste men ta  dates  back  to  tho 
eighth  century,  and  the  Vatican  MS.  to  the  fourth 
ceutu  ry ;  also  tho  slanJtleus  to  the  fourth  century. 
The  Coden  IleglUH  belongs  to  the  fifth  centurj'. 
One  MS.  of  Virgil  dates  back  to  tho  fourth  century. 
But  the  MSS.  of  the  ancient  classics  date  from  the 
fifteenth  to  the  tenth  centurj',  so  tliat  in  antiquity 
as  well  as  numbera  they  arc*  greaily  inferior  to 
the  MSS.  of  the  Bible. 
iVhen  we  reach  the  time  of  the  earliest  MSS.  we 
come  up  with  the  quotations  from  the  Bible  by 
different  writers,  some  friendly  to  and  some  op¬ 
posed  to  lt.  The  quotations  are  made  in  the  very 
words  of  the  Scripture.  And  in  one  hundred  and 
eighty  writers  (whose  works  are  still  extant)  we 
have  quouitlons  from  the  New  Testament  so  nu¬ 
merous  that  Dr.  Bontly  has  collected  nearly  all 
the  New  Testament  from  authors  who  flourished 
before  the  seventh  centurj'.  The  Old  Testament 
text  In  like  manner  can  be  gathered  out  of  the 
Targums  (tea  In  number),  running  back  to  the 
flrst  century.  Those  Targums  are  translations  of 
ancient  Hebrew  Into  Chaldee-Ilehrcw,  the  orig¬ 
inal  Hebrew  having  ceased  te  be  the  spoken  lan¬ 
guage  of  the  Jews  alter  the  Captivity  of  Babylon. 
The  ancient  versions  also  establish  the  genuine¬ 
ness  of  the  Bible.  A  version  of  tlie  Bible  was 
made  Into  Slavonic  or  old  Russian  In  the  ninth 
century.  In  the  fourth  century  Into  Gothic,  Ethl- 
oplcand  Egyptian.  Also  the  Vulgate  by  Jerome 
between  38»  and  406.  'The  Perllcto  Syriac  version 
was  made  early  In  the  second  centm-y.  Still  more 
ancient  are  the  versions  of  ibe  Old  Testament 
made  hy  AquUa,  Sym:uachus  and  Theodotlan,  and 
the  version  of  the  Seventy  or  Septuaglnt  made  In 
Egypt  under  the  Ptolomles,  begun  ’ZSZ  and  ended 
160  B.  C. 
- ♦  ■ -  ■  . 
THOUGHTS  FOE  THINKERS. 
A  FIRM  religious  belief  creates  new  hopes  when 
all  earthly  ones  have  vanished. 
■W'HAT  God  effects  through  the  powers  with 
which  he  has  eudo'ved  man  Is  no  less  his  work 
than  the  heavens  and  eartn  are. 
A  HOUSE  uninhabited  soon  conies  to  ruin,  and  a 
soul  uninhabited  by  the  Holy  Spirit  of  God  verges 
faster  and  faster  to  destructloiu 
If  thy  conscience  blame,  though  ever  so  little, 
despise  It  not,  nor  neglect  the  secret  check ;  ’tls  a 
messenger  from  heaven  sent  to  summon  thee  to 
thy  duty. 
Pride  Is  an  extravagant  opinion  of  our  own 
worthiness;  vanity  Is  an  Inordinate  desire  that 
others  should  share  that  opinion. 
