MOORE’S  RURAL-  ?9EW-YOR!C£R. 
SEPT.  30 
-Jr~ 
I'fj 
In  my  power.  As  I  hope  for  salvation,  1  will  blow 
your  brains  out!” 
“  Sir,  I  am  not  lo  bo  doton’od  from  doing  what 
1  consider  pmpor  by  any  fear  of  your  pistol.  Hut 
what  do  you  di-.slrc  ?  \Vh.at  am  I  (ixpoctod  to  do  V  " 
“  You  must  cut  my  right  leg  oil,” 
“With  nil  my  heart,” iitiswercd  tho  surgeon, 
thinking  that  (Ids  wa.s  n  charaeterlsUc  speeltneu 
of  those  mad  Krigllsh;  "and  your  hand  also.  If 
neeossary  or  desirable.  However,  unless  I  am 
greatly  mistaken,  your  log  Is  perfectly  sound.  1 
BMW  you  walk  down  stairs  with  llio  greatest  ac¬ 
tivity.  W  hat  can  be  the  matta^r  with  your  log  7” 
"  Nothing;  but  It  must  come  oil.” 
"  fhr,  yoii  arc  mad.” 
‘•'I’hMt  is  no  concern  of  youi’s.  Monsieur  Lc- 
fcbvro.” 
“  What  harm  can  that  liandsome  limb  have 
done?” 
“None  at  .all;  still,  you  must  make  up  your 
mind  to  amputate  It.” 
“Sir,  I  have  uoaciiualiitance  with  you ;  give  me 
same  proof  Unit  you  are  lu  sound  mind,”  naturally 
demanded  the  doctor. 
“  W'lll  you  consent  to  iny  wishes.  Monsieur  Lo- 
fcbvre  7” 
"  As  soon  as  I’ou  can  assign  any  ndciiuato  or 
reasonable  moUve  for  so  unneces.sary  an  opera¬ 
tion.” 
“  J  cannot  at  present  enter  Into  any  explana¬ 
tions— In  a  year,  perhaps,  I  will  do  so.  but  1  will 
hoi  you,  sir,  that  then  you  will  acknowledge  that 
my  iTa.sons  for  my  proBont  seemly  extiavagant 
conduct  are  most  pure,  manly  and  nohle,  and 
even  rational.” 
"It  Is  quite  Imimslhle  for  me,"  remonstrated 
thi>  surgeon,  “  tx)  comply  until  you  tell  me  your 
name,  place  of  residence,  position  and  family.” 
“  You  shall  be  made  mliiualldod  with  all  these 
particulars  at  some  ful.iire  time,  hut  notatprc.s- 
enU  I  beg  you  to  comilder  me  a  ma  n  of  honor.” 
"A  man  of  honor  tloe.s  not  utter  unjustifiable 
thrtaits  iigajnvst  Ilia  doctor.  1  have  to  pei’fonn  a 
duty  even  towards  you,  who  aro  a  stranger  to  me. 
My  reasons  lor  i-efuslng  to  accialo  to  your  absurd 
request  arc,  ns  you  must  admit,  sound  and  Just. 
1)0  you  wish  to  he  the  murderer  of  an  innocent 
father  of  a  large  fatally  7” 
“  Woll,  Monsieur  l-ctebvrc,”  replied  the  Kiigllsh- 
man,  taklog  up  the  plsiol,  "  I  "'ill  not  nre  ui)on 
you,  and  yet  I  will  compel  you  to  cut  off  t  Ida  leg. 
What  you  refuse  to  do  to  oblige  me,  thi  ough  love 
of  gain  or  fear  of  a  bullet,  you  shall  do  through 
humanity.” 
“  How  so,  sir?” 
"  i  intend  to  shatter  my  leg  with  this  pistol  and 
that,  too,  before  your  eye.s,”  answered  the  Kii- 
gltshman  who  twiordlngly  seated  himself,  cocked 
tho  plstxil  and  then  took  deliberate  aim  at  his 
kuoe-Jolnt. 
belehvre  rushed  forward  to  prevent  him,  but 
tho  Englishman  coolly  exclaimed : 
■*  Ho  not  come  near ;  It  you  do,  I  lire.  Now  only 
answer  mo  this  (|ucsHon Ho  you  wish  lo  pro¬ 
long  my  suffering  ueedles.sly  7” 
"Sir,  you  are  mid !”  answered  the  doctor  In 
despair;  “but  have  your  own  way— I  am  ready 
to  do  as  yon  wl.sh.” 
Every  thing  was  ready  for  the  operation.  As 
soon  as  the  surgeon  bJOk  up  Ids  lustruinonUH  tho 
Englishman  lighted  Ids  cigar  and  declared  that 
he  would  smoke  until  the  operation  was  concluded 
Ho  kept  his  word.  'I’Uo  lifeless  leg  rested  upon 
the  door,  but  the  KngUshimi  n  sl  id  smoked  on.  'J'hc 
openiHon  had  been  performed  In  a  most  masterly 
manner  and,  thanks  to  Hr.  Lefcbvre’a  skill  iind 
att.mtlon,  the  patient  soon  became  perfectly  re¬ 
covered  although,  of  course,  he  had  to  be  supplied 
with  a  wooden  leg.  Ho  rewarded  the  surgeon, 
whom  ho  had  learned  to  esteem  more  and  more 
everyday;  thanked  him  with  tears  In  Ids  eyes 
for  the  great  obligation  under  which  ho  had  laid 
him,  and  In  a  short  time  starlxsd  for  England. 
About  two  montlis  atujr  ids  pat  ient’s  departure 
tho  smxeon  received  the  following  letter  from 
England : 
"  Inclosed  you  tvlll  receive  a  token  of  my  bound- 
1C.SS  gratitude— a  bill  of  exchange  on  my  bunker 
In  Paris  for  0,500  francs.  Vouliavo  rendered  mo 
the  happiest  ol  men  by  ridding  me  of  a’.lmb  which 
was  an  obstacle  Hi  the  w’uy  of  my  bnpptness. 
Hearn,  then,  the  reason  of  what  you  ternicd  niy 
madness.  Vou  assured  me  that,  t  here  could  be  no 
justltiablo  motive  for  so  singular  a  mutilation.  1 
ollored  you  a  wager  and  1  think  .you  were  right 
lu  refusing  it.  After  my  second  return  from  the 
East  Tndle.s.  I  became  acquainted  with  Susan 
JM.ock,  the  most  ucconipltshed  and  f.ascHiallng  ot 
women.  1  sought  her  hand  lu  marH.age.  Her 
fortune  and  family  were  such  as  met  with  tho 
entire  approbullou  of  my  parents.  As  for  mo,  t 
thought  only  of  her  charms.  1  was  soon  liapjiy 
enough  to  gain  her  afTecHons— a  fact  which  she 
did  not  attempt  Ui  deny ;  but,  she,  at  the  same 
time,  ilrmly  refused  to  become  nij  wife.  In  vain 
did  1  beseech  her  to  do  an ;  In  vain  did  hei-  rola- 
itons  all  second  toy  desire.  81iC  was  Intloxlhle, 
For  a  long  time  I  could  not,  illscover  the  reason  of 
her  opposition  to  a  marriage  which  she  herself 
conrossod  would  make  her  happy ;  unHl,  at  l.MSH 
one  of  her  sisters  revealed  the  fatal  seercl  lo  me. 
Husan  w.a8  a  marvel  of  beauty,  but  she  w;is  .so 
unfortunate  as  to  have  lost  a  leg,  and  she  had 
consequently  condemned  herself  Lo  eternal  ce¬ 
libacy,  My  resolution  was  quickly  formed,  luid  I 
dcterailnod  to  become  like  her.  Thanks  to  you, 
Diy  dear  I,erel)vro,  my  wishes  were  soon  aoccun- 
pllshed.  1  returned  with  my  woodcu  leg  to  Lon¬ 
don.  1  hasUmed  to  g.aln  Information  of  Mias  black. 
The  report  had  been  spread,  and  I  myself  had 
taken  care  to  wrlic  to  my  frlendii  In  England  to 
the  .same  en  act,  that  I  iiacl  had  the  mlsiorume  to 
fracture  my  leg,  and  that  amputation  had  been 
found  absolutely  necessary.  Evei'y  one exi)res.sed 
tho  greatest  concern  at  my  misfortune.  .Susan 
fnlntod  on  the  Ilrst  occasion  of  prc.sentlng  myself. 
She  was  for  a  long  time  Inconsolable;  but  at 
length  she  consented  to  become  my  wife,  it  was 
only  on  the  morning  after  our  marriage  that  I 
confessed  to  her  the  sacrltleo  by  means  of  which 
I  had  at  length  been  enabled  to  g.aln  her  consent 
to  be  mine.  The  avowal  lucre  used  her  love.  Hh! 
my  excellent  friend,  had  I  ten  legs  to  lose,  I 
would  give  them  all  up  for  the  sake  of  ray  beloved 
Susan.  So  long  as  1  live,  rely  on  my  grutltudo. 
If  ever  you  visit  England,  do  not  fall  to  come  here 
80  that  1  may  make  you  acqualnlod  with  my  wife ; 
and  then  tell  mo  whether  or  not  I  was  out  of  my 
senses.  Yours  faithful l.v, 
"AltTlirK  OXt.KV," 
Monsieur  Lefehvre  an-swered  the  letter  of  hts 
English  friend  In  the  follow'lng  tonna: 
"Sm:— .\ocept  my  best  thanks  for  your  very 
generous  jirescut— for  so  I  must  term  what  you 
have  scut  me— having  been  pfevlously  magiiin- 
cently  remunerated  for  my  Double,  a.s  you  were 
plc.ased  to  term  It,.  I  5vl.sh  you,  as  well  as  your 
charming  wife,  all  irn-iglnablo  happiness.  True 
It  Is  that  to  give  a  leg  In  exchange  for  a  beatjtlful, 
tender,  loving  and  vlrtuouH  wlfo.  Is  not  too  much, 
l)r<n'ldcd  the  h.'ipplae38eiidure.s.  Adam sacrlfiocd 
one  of  his  rlhs  to  become  possessed  of  our  common 
mother.  Eve,  and  more  than  ono  man  has  laid 
down  hts  life  for  the  sake  of  hts  beloved.  Not^ 
witlistanding  all  this,  allow  me  to  adhere  Lo  my 
former  opinion,  leorthe  pre.sent  you  are  doubU 
less  rlgUU  for  you  are  now  In  the  honeymoon  ;  but 
at  some  future  time  you  win  aoknowlcdgo  tho 
t,ruth  of  what  I  advanced.  1  beg  your  atlxmllon 
to  what  I  am  about  to  say.  I  icur  that  In  two 
years  you  will  repent  of  having  had  your  leg  am¬ 
putated  above  the  knee  joint.  Vou  will  think 
that  to  have  It  cut  off  lower  down  would  have 
been  quite  Rullioient.  in  three  years  you  Mill  be 
persuaded  that  l.ho  Baeruflco  of  a  foot  would  have 
answered  all  j*uri»oses;  m  four,  that  of  the  big 
toe;  In  live,  the  little  one;  and  at  last,  you  will 
have  con fo.s.sed  to  have  parted  with  a  nail,  with¬ 
out  necessit>%  would  have  been  a  ploco  of  egre¬ 
gious  folly.  All  this  I  assert,  wltbout  lu  the  Rllght- 
e.st degree  Impugning  the  merllof  your  admlrahlc 
hclpmete.  Ill  my  own  youthlul  days  l  would 
have,  at  any  time,  given  my  life  for  my  mistress ; 
hut  never  my  leg.  fori  should  have  feareil  reiient- 
anof-'i  for  the  rest  of  my  days.  Had  1  really  done 
80, 1  should  have  every  moincni.  said  (o  myself, 
‘Lefebvre,  you  are  a  mxdiiian.’  With  highest eon- 
slderatlon,  yours  very  obediently, 
“  EriK.NSK  I.Kl-KItVUK.” 
In  tho  year  1703,  during  the  Kelgnof  Terror, 
tho  .surgeon  of  Boulogne,  having  bwm  :iecu.wd  of 
being  an  aiistxicrat  by  one  of  hts  younger  profes¬ 
sional  brethren  who  envied  him  Ids  practice,  was 
obllgetl  lx>  take  refugo  in  London,  in  order  to  save 
hlH  neck  from  the  guillotine.  Being  wlthom,  (un- 
ployment  or  aeipialutince,  ho  Inquired  for  the 
rosldenco  ot  ids  former  patient,  Mr,  o.vlt\v.  Ho 
w.as  directed  H)  It  and,  on  arriving  at  the  house, 
lie  sunt  up  Ids  name  and  was  Immediately  admit¬ 
ted.  In  a  huge  anu-ehair,  scaicxl  bofore  th< 
with  a  bottle  of  wine  beside  him,  sat  a  portJy  pt'ir- 
Honage,  whose  size  w.aa  so  groat  that  It  was  with 
dinioultY  that  he  could  rise  Ui  widconiehls  vdsltor. 
"  Weleome,  Monsieur  l-efehvrc !”  cxelalmed  the 
huge  Engllshinan.  “Ho  not  ho  offended  at  my 
receiving  you  in  this  manner,  but  my  cursed  wood¬ 
en  leg  won't  allow  me  to  do  anything.  You  have 
come  DO  doubt,  tny  friend,  tx>  ace  It  In  tho  long  run 
you  were  not  right.” 
“  I  am  a  fugitive  seeking  an  asylum  among 
you.” 
“You  shall  stay  with  me,  for  you  areroallyn, 
wise  man.  You  will  console  me.  Do  you  know, 
my  dear  Lefobvre,  that,  had  It  not  been  for  this 
aboralnuble  wooden  log  rendering  me  useless,  I 
should  by  this  time  have  been  Admiral  of  the 
Blue.  I  spend  my  time  in  reading  tho  newspapers, 
anil  In  curses  that  I  am  Med  heiM  when  everybody 
ts  up  and  doing.  Komaln  hero ;  you  shall  comfort 
me." 
“  Your  charming  w'lfc  Can  doubtless  do  tbat bet¬ 
ter  than  1  can.” 
“  Oh,  as  for  that,  no.  Her  wooden  leg  prevents 
her  from  g.iddtng  about  and  dancing;  so  she  has, 
a.s  a  resource,  given  herself  up  to  cards  and  scan¬ 
dal.  There  Is  no  possibility  ot  living  alone  with 
her;  In  other  respects,  she  is  a  good -enough 
Avomari.” 
“What!  was  I  right,  then  ?’v;cxclalmed  the 
surgeon  7” 
“oh,  a  thousand  times,  my  dear  Lefebvre ;  but 
say  no  more  on  that  subject.  I  wars  an  unutter¬ 
able  fool.  If  1  had  my  log  back  again  I  would  not 
part,  with  tho  paring  ot  a  single  nail.  Between 
ourselves,  I  mus(,  have  been  crazy ;  but  keep  that 
to  youinclt/’—KtiylLih  .i/a(jmine. 
■  ■  -  - 
THE  POETRY  OF  THE  THROTTLE. 
Not  long  ago  .an  engineer  hrouglit  Uls  train  to 
a  stand  at  a  llltla  .Massachusetts  vlllag>i  where 
the  pa.ssengers  have  five  mluutos  for  lunch.  A 
lady  c.'un0  along  tho  platform  and  said The 
conductor  tolls  mo  tho  train  at  the  Junction  In 
p — leaves  llfiocn  minutes  before  our  arrival,  it 
Is  Saturday  night,  ami  ts  the  last  train.  I  have  a 
very  sick  child  In  the  cur  and  no  money  tor  a 
hotP.l,Aml  none  for  a  private  oonveyanee  a  long, 
long  way  into  the  country.  What  shall  1  do  ?” 
“  Well,''siUd  the  engineer,  “1  wish  1  could  tell 
you." 
“  Would  It  be  possible  for  yon  to  hurry  a  little  7” 
said  tho  anxious,  i, earful  mother. 
“No,  madam;  I  have  tho  time-table,  and  the 
rules  say  i  mu.strun  by  it.” 
8he  turned  son-owfully  aw'.ay,  leaving  the  bronz¬ 
ed  face  of  t  lie  engineer  wet  with  tear.s.  I'resently 
she  returned  and  said : 
“  Are  you  a  t’hrlstlan  7” 
“  1  trust  1  am,”  was  the  reply. 
“  will  you  pray  with  me  that  the  Lord  may  In 
some  way  delay  tho  train  at  the  Junction  7” 
“  Why,  yes,  I  will  pray  w  ith  you,  but  I  have  not 
much  faith." 
.Tuhttlien  tho  conductor  cried,  “All  aboard!” 
Tho  poor  woman  hurried  back  to  the  deformed 
and  sick  child,  and  away  went  the  train  climbing 
the  grade. 
“Somehow,”  said  the  engineer,  “everything 
workiwl  like  a  cliarm.  As  T  jirayod,  I  Couldn't  help 
letting  my  engine  out  Ju.Ht  a  little.  We  hardly 
Klxipped  at  the  first  station,  people  got  on  and  off 
with  wonderful  alaertly,  the  conductors  lantern 
was  In  tho  air  a  half  minute  and  then  away  again. 
Once  over  the  summit,  it  was  dreaarui  easy  to 
give  her  a  little  more,  as  I  prayed,  till  she  seemed 
to  shoot  through  the  air  like  an  arrow.  Somehow 
I  ouldn’t  hold  her,  knowing  I  had  i  ho  road;  and 
so  wo  (lashed  up  to  the  Junction  six  mlnuua  ahead 
of  time.” 
There  sbiod  the  oilier  train  and  tho  conductor 
with  the  lantern  on  hts  arm.  “  Well,”  said  ho, 
“will  you  tell  me  what  I  waltxid  here  for  7  .Some¬ 
how  1  felt  1  must  await  your  coming  to-ntght,  hut 
I  didn’t  know  why.” 
“  I  gue9.s,”  said  the  brother  conductor,  “It  la  for 
this  poor  woman,  with  her  siuk  and  deformed 
child,  dreadful  anxious  to  get  home  this  Saturday 
night.”  But  the  man  on  the  engine  and  the  grate¬ 
ful  mother  think  they  can  tell  why  the  tralu 
walled. 
- - 
WHAT  A  CORRESPONDENT  FOUND. 
TiiK  Hartford  Times  has  one  of  the  best  hits  on 
tills  peculiar  class  of  Bohemians  that  has  apjiear- 
ed  In  .some  time,  so  rich  Is  t  he  Joke  and  so  well 
known  arc  the  parties  meuLlonod  that  It  will  hear 
repetition : 
It  Is  some  time  gone  by  since  Adam  Badoiui, 
lira  tit’s  pupil,  married  ono  of  two  very  charming 
slstxirs -l)oth  petite,  iirelty  and  wonderfully  alike 
In  fonn  and  feature,  though  there  are  three  ye.'irs’ 
dllTereaec  In  tliolr  ages.  Two  cliaps  1  wot  of  laid 
It  out  ai.  lunch  one  day  to  sell  another  chap  who 
iHthat  not  uncommon  man  who  knows  everything 
and  to  whom  no  news  whatever  can  bo  told,  fio 
tho  confederates  approached  the  omniscient  Jen¬ 
kins. 
“  Hid  you  know  that  Badftati  had  married  a  very 
Tiretty  girl,  w1io  Iss&irecly  dlstlagulsliablc  from 
her  equally  pretty  slater?” 
“Oh,  aw,  yaas,”  says  Jenkins,  “It’s  tho  princi¬ 
pal  talk  In  fuslilouablo  clrclcB”j(Jcnlclns  frccpient- 
Ing  the  “  fashlonaiiio  circles”  about  as  freely  a.s  l 
visit  tho  .Sultan’s  .seraglio.) 
“But,”  continued  tho  confederates,  “did  you 
know  Mint  the  two  sisters  were  nieces  of  Eugene 
Hue  and  that  they  wore  the  origlnalsof  the  orphan 
tw  Ins  In  ’  The  Wandering  Jew,’  Itosc  and  Blanche  2’ 
“  Oh,  yo-o-s,  I  knew  that,  though  I  forgot  how 
they  are  Hue’s  nloeefl— whether  his  brolher  mar¬ 
ried  their  mother,  or  their  mother— confound  ItJ 
I’ll  nnd  out;"  and  he  actually  did— that  Is.  came 
down  next  morning  with  a  clear  account  of  the 
precise  relationship.  Ho  never  “  thouglit  txj 
think”  that  Hue’s  .story  opens  Hi  October,  isai ;  so, 
sujiposlng  Badeau’s  bride  to  have  been  only  ilf- 
teen  at  the  dal,e  of  the.  story,  tho, sc  lovely  twin 
orphans  “  who  by  a  sweet  matornnl  eaprleo  had 
been  called  Bose  and  Blanche,”  would  be  a  round 
sixty  years  old  now.  Worse  yet,  Jenkins,  being 
the  New  A'ork  correspondent  of  a  T’arls  journal, 
put  Badeau’s  wife  and  her  sister  Into  good  Freiieh 
as  the  genuine  Uose  and  Blanche  ot  Hue’s  ro- 
maticc;  and,  worser.  It  hiv-S  Conic  buck  and  Is  now 
going  the  I’oumlK^of  the  press  In  good  English  In 
Mils  count  ry.  1  tell  you  the  Htory  that  you  may 
“  think  to  think”  before  you  jirlnt  and  help  to 
pass  arouud.thls  particular  sell. 
, - 
MARVELS  OF  SKILL. 
Home  marvels  of  human  Ingenuity  may  be  seen 
at  the  lotidon  Scientific  ExIUbltlnn.  Thus,  a  ma¬ 
chine  loaned  by  Sir  Wm.  Armstrong,  the  gre.U 
guumaker,  measures  thtekae,ss  up  to  the  one  thou¬ 
sandth  part  of  an  inch;  another,  on  tho  same 
pri  11(1  iile,  to  the  one- millionth  part.  The  delicate 
balance  of  Mr.  Ocrtliig  currlus  3,000  grains  and 
t  urns  distinctly  with  the  one-lhousandlU  part  ot 
a  single  grain.  Among  the  liLstorh'al  ImplemciJls 
Is  the  clironomeler,  sent  by  tho  Uoyal  I'nlted 
Service  Inslltuilon,  wlikdi  wa.s  twice c.arrled  out 
by  (!:ipt..  Hooke  and  .again  by  Oapt.  Dsligh  In  iTst. 
^Vlu■n  the  crew  of  the  Bounty  mutinied,  this  vet¬ 
eran  1,1  mckcci  ter  wa.s  carried  to  Plicuirri's  Island 
by  the  muVHie(3rs  and  sold  by  Adams  tn  IsOS  to  an 
American  captain  w  ho  touched  there.  Ho  sold  It 
In  chill,  and  Hi  1,S40  It  was  bought  at  Valparaiso 
by  Sir  Thomas  Herbert,  taken  lo  China  by  him 
and  Ilnally  brought  back  to  England  In  the  Bleii- 
liclra. 
- ♦■*■» 
‘■'riiKiiK  must  be  cla.sses!’’  V’ory  true;  but 
think  how  m,v.srorlou.s  and  oftxin  imaccountahle  It 
13,  the  lottery  of  life  which  gives  this  man  tho 
purple  and  line  linen,  ami  sends  LO  the  other  rags 
for  garmeuts  and  dogs  for  comforters.- run fiy 
Filii’, 
BOOKS  RECEIVED. 
From  E  P.  Dutton  &  Co.,  Now  York ; 
The  Echo  Club,  by  Pciyard  'raylor.  James  U. 
Osgood  &  CO.,  Boston,  (cioth;  12mo.— pp.  189, 
Magazines  for  Octorhir; 
Scribner’s,  Ht.  Nicholas,  Atlantic  Monthly, 
M'ldo  Awake. 
- - 
AoKiooLTrRAi,  Con.BOEs.  —  What  They  Have 
Hone  and  What  'Hiey  Propose  to  Ho— In  This 
Country.  ThU  question,  which  Is  of  National  In¬ 
terest,  will  bo  ably  treated  by  E.  II.  Libby,  In  an 
article  on  the  MassachusetLs  Agricultural  College 
In  the  Octxjber  Scribner,  Issued  September. 
A  BATTLE  CRY. 
Brotheun!  up  to  tho  breach. 
For  t^hrlBt’a  freedom  and  truth, 
I/cl  u*  net  n«  wo  leach. 
With  the  wisdom  of  air>!  «nd  tho  vliror  of  youth. 
Hood  not  their  oannou  balls, 
ArOc  not  who  sUnrls  or  falls, 
Cl  rasp  the  swf.'rd 
Of  tho  Lord 
And  f()rwar(l  1 
Brothers  I  slnui.if  in  faith 
That  *'  the  riifht  will  come  riixht .” 
N((vcr  troiuhle  at  death. 
Never  think  of  tliysidf  'mid  th((  roar  of  tho  lig-ht. 
Hark  to  the  baftlo  cry  ! 
SonndliiK'  from  yonder  sky  ! 
(irusp  the  sword 
Of  the  Isird, 
And  forward ! 
Brothers!  sIhk' a  loud  psalm. 
Our  hope's  not  forlorn  ! 
After  sbjriii  comes  tho  calm, 
After  darkness  and  twllhrhl  break  forth  the  new  morn. 
IjOt  tho  mad  f(«'  irct  madder, 
Novor  (jiuiil  1  up  the  ladder  f 
Orasp  Ibo  sword 
Of  tho  Lord, 
And  forward ! 
Brothers  !  up  to  tho  broach,  ‘ 
For  Ohrlst’s  freedom  and  truth. 
If  wo  Uve  wo  shall  teach, 
With  tho  stronir  f.altb  of  oro  and  tho  bright  hope  of 
youUi. 
Jf  wc  perish,  Oion  o’er  iia 
Will  riiiR  the  loud  chorus; 
Orasp  the  sword 
Of  the  Jyjrd, 
And  follow !  r Dr.  Norman  McLeod. 
- *-*-* - — 
NOTHING  TO  DO, 
ity  lIKbLE  WAKKI.K, 
“Hoiv  bUHy  you  girls  always  arc  nnd  I  hat'e 
nothing  to  do ;  I  wish  I  had  sonmthlng,  though,” 
and  the  beautiful  head  w'.as  leanwl  upon  tho  small 
white  hand  In  n  way  that  told  plainly  of  weariness 
and  disgust.  'We.arlnosH  of  <;on's  hiist  gifts,  of 
wealth,  beauty,  talent ;  of  homo,  friends,  the  pleas- 
iire-s  of  social  life ;  and  “  nothing  lo  do.” 
Ah  I  how  many  there  are  in  t  ho  world  with 
means  ami  ability,  with  hearts  over  longing  for  a 
srimethlng  to  fill  and  to  satisfy,  and—"  nothing  to 
do  I”  Thousand.s  or  their  ulsters 
"  tVork.  work,  work. 
Till  the  brain  bcirms  to  swim; 
And  work.  work,  work. 
Till  their  ey  es  arc  heavy  and  dini.” 
For  bread  to  keep  their  souls  within  their  bodies 
and  clothes  for  a  scanty  covering.  Ytd  they,  lu 
their  luxury  .and  finery,  hiivc  “  nothing  to  do.”’ 
Millions  of  lutlo  chllxl-hatids  are  reaching  out 
tx)  ho  lifted  above  want  and  il(*gr4datlon,  vice  and 
wretctKylness.  .M  llllon»  of  human  souls  are  grop- 
liig  Hi  darkuess;  are  striiggllug,  slngle-handod, 
agalimt  Igmiraiice,  wrong  and  toinpUtlon;  are 
crying  out  tor  Help  ami  guidance  Into  the  light. 
Into  tlio  straight  paths  of  truth  and  wisdom,  and 
—•‘Nothing  to  do.” 
"  Nothing  Ix)  do,"  when,  work  long  and  hard  ns 
wo  may,  there  Is  still  so  much  waiting  to  be  done, 
but  txi  fritter  away  tho  I,oiu)'8  time  arid  bury  His 
Uilent  III  the  earth;  living  a  libel  against  Ills 
grand  law  of  activity  and  usefulness;  rusting  and 
decaying  In  nothlngne.ss  wlien  croatxxl  to  be  pol¬ 
ished  and  perfected  by  w’ork,  ot  hand,  heart  and 
soul. 
Plthiblels  the  eomlltlori  of  those  who  strain 
every  nerve  In  the  race  and  yet  over  see  Work  far 
ahead  of  them ;  ot  those  upon  whom  burdens  and 
dutJes  cxime  so  tlxlck  and  fast  Ih.at  the  human 
machinery  must  give  w.ay  beneath  t  hem ;  of  those 
whose  oodles  cannot  keep  pace  with  their  souls 
In  life’s  coiinict;  but,  may  the  Lord  havo  mercy 
upon  those  who  have  “Nothing  tx)  do!" 
- 
THE  LORD’S  POCKET-BOOK. 
“  TtjrinsE  pockel-book  Is  that  which  j'ou carry  ?” 
8.al(l  a  Mend  to  a  busliioss  man,  as  he  drew  a  well- 
oiled  wallet  from  his  pocket. 
“MHiy,  my  own,  of  course.  Whose  else  could 
It  bo  7”  was  the  prompt  reply. 
“To  whom  the  pocket-book  belongs  depends  on 
another  question.  If  you  belong  to  the  Lord,  I 
gues-s  the  purse  is  ills  jilso.” 
“  M’pll,”  said  the  man,  thoughtfully,  “  l  hope  I 
do  belong  to  the  t/)rd  ;  but  your  remark  throws  a 
new  light  on  this  subject..  It  never  Impressed  me 
before,  as  It  dees  Jnst  now,  that  1  am  lo  carry  and 
ii.se  thts  ]iocket-book,  ‘My  pocket-book,’  as  the 
Ixird  dlrecLs.  1  must  think  this  mutter  out,  for  1 
confess  honestly  I  never  havo  looked  at  It  In  the 
light  In  which  j'ou  place  It.”— r’AnsHon  Give}-. 
PEortE  have  ’generally  three  epochs  In  their 
coiifldence  in  man.  In  the  flrst,  they  believe  him 
to  be  everything  that  is  good,  and  they  are  lavish 
with  their  friendship  and  confidence,  fn  the  next, 
they  have  had  f.\perlence,  which  has  smitten 
downtlielr  confideuce,  and  they  then  havo  to  bo 
careful  not  to  mlstriLst  every  ono,  and  lo  put  tho 
worst  construction  on  everything.  Later  in  life 
they  learn  that  the  greater  number  of  men  have 
much  more  good  In  them  than  bad,  and  that  when 
even  there  Is  cause  to  blame,  there  is  more  reason 
to  pity  t  han  condemn ;  and  tlien  a  siilrtt  of  conll- 
dence  again  awakens  within  them.— F/-ec«eri*a 
hrerner. 
-  4  ♦  » - 
It  is  only  by  labor  that  thought  can  be  made 
healthy  and  only  by  thought  that  labor  can  be 
made  happy,  and  the  two  cannot  be  separat(3d 
with  Impunity.— /(JwA-fn. 
