TALMAGE'S SERMON.

•Crises in Life" the Subject of An Eloquent Discourse,

Delivered at the First Congregational Church oi Columbus, Ohio — The

Young Man of the Present, Like Absalom or Old, Not Safis

Rev. T. DeWitt Talmage visited Colum­bus, 0., recently and delivered a sermon in the First Congregational Church of that city frsfore an audience that completely filled every available portion o£ the edi­fice, and many hundrods were unable to gain admittance. The subject of the dis­course was "Crises in Life," Mr. Talmage taking for his text:

J* man Absal°'n safe?—II. Sam-

• P'' two great character­istics of Absalom were worldly ambition and splendid hair. By the one he was de­based, by the other hung. He was a bad boj and broke his father's heart. He wanted to get his father's throne before the decease of the father. He wanted to get it immediately. He got an army. He stai ted out in a great insurrection. David, the father, sits at the palace waiting for the news of the battle to come, not so anxious about whether Absalom's hosts x* on the day, or whether his own hosts

on the day, as he is anxious about the safety of his boy. The father in him mightier than the King.

While he sits there waiting for the com­ing of the messenger from the battlefield, he sees the dust rising inthe highway, and long before the messenger comes up, bringing the swift dispatch, David cries out to him: "Is Absalom alive? Is Absa­lom dead? Is the boy wounded? Tell me quickly—is the young man Absalom safe.' But as the messenger had no very decisive intelligence to give he stood aside. There David sat waiting for another messenger, and after a while he saw the dust rising on the highway, and long befoie the messenger had come up, David shouted to him again—shouts to this one as he had to the others: "Have you heard anything from my boy? Is he wound­ed ! Is he alive? Is he dead? Is the youn" man Absalom safe?" °

Alas! He was not safe. Absalom, riding oil a mule—the meanest animal in all the world on which to ride, the hardest at the bit and the stiffest at the neck—Absalom riding on a mule, had gone under a tree branch, and his hair had caught on the tree branch, and the mule, true to his char­acteristics, had gone on, he not able to stop it, and Absalom was suspended, and so he died. With an awful negative the words of my text were answered: "Is the young man Absalom safe?" No, he was not safe. Destroyed for this life; destroyed for the life to come.

I want to utter a few words this morning in regard to the safety of young men; in­deed, of all men. While men may get along tolerably well without the reiigion of Christ in somo circumstances of life, there are three or four turning points where a mail must have God or perish, or if he does not come to such a crisis as that, to such an extreme as that, ho must hnve God or make a mistake that will last for­ever. I propose this morning to speak to you of throe or four of these turning points in life.

The first turning point is the choice of an occupation or profession. It is a very seri­ous time when a young man comes from the school or the college, and has com­pleted his education, or has received all the education from the schools he will re­ceive, and says: "But what shall it be? For what occupation, for what profession am I prepared?" Mechanism will spread before him a hundred different occupa­tions. Professional life will spread before him seven or eight different callings. In­deed, perhaps, in all there may be 500 (.lif­erent callings and occupations. For only one of those 500 is he fitted and prepared. If lie does not have divine direction, 4(19 chances to one he will get in the wrong business. In other words, the most tre­mendous crisis in a man's life, or one of the most tremendous, is the time when he chooses his occupation or profession, and he needs God to tell him how to choose.

I knew a man who started in commercial life with bright prcspccts. He crossed over from commercial life into the medical profession. He went from the general medical profession into specific surgery. Be went from surgery into the ministry. Then he passed from the ministry into surgery, and so his life has been a com­plete vacillation, llow much better it would have been if that man could liavo got the right profession or occupation at the start. lie was particularly qualified for surgery, and I believe u he had gone before God and asked for his direction he would have received it, and instead of going from one occupation to another, making his life a mistake, he would have gone on to great usefulness and success.

I meet many young men in this house this morning who have not perhaps thor­oughly decided upon the work or occu­pation for which the J.ord fitted him. Before you leave the house to-day ask God's direction, that you may make no mistake. Blunder here and blunder for-i'ver. You know a great many men who l)i;ve been ruined for two worlds because they got i* the wrong business.

Another important pass in one s life, a turning point in one's history, is the time v.'lu'ii he establishes his own home. When a man builds his home he builds loi eternity. Is it not amazing that alliancing in life is so often a matter ol' merriment and of jo'ie, when it decides so much for this world and the world to come? I do not put the ease too strongly when say that when a man marries he marries fx Heaven or for hell. Oh, build not your home oil earth upon the sparkle oi a bright eye or the color of a fair cheek. T e time will come in your histoij w ien you will want in vour home not a pet or a toy, but a heroine, and you will find that lite is not a gay romance,.but a tremendous re­ality; and coming home from your stoie, or office, or shop, or factory, oi s i most of all you will need some one w your home with a face chearful, but sjiupa tlietic.

There is an aged man who looks back to a crisis in life when his fortune v en and reason almost left the throne. He knew not what to do. He remembers'a

particular evening when he came ''° from the store. Ho hardly ̂ dare tile news to the wife. He cou ' j.i,at to tell he had suspended in busl"e . ' he had stopped payment, tlia b

had gone. He went into the hoia*, he closed the door upon the world, an

mesjfcie peace found a foretaste of that Heaven where panics never come. Ah! if it had not been for that help that you had, what would have been the result when you told her of your financial embarrassment and misfortune? She was cheerful, she was sympathetic, sho was helpful, she helped you all through those dark days of trial, and after the piano went, she could sing without the accompaniment just as well as ever she sang with the accompani­ment. There have been Christian women who have so had their domestic troubles sanctified that they could get more music out of a Wheeler & Wilson sewing-ma­chine than ever in the days of their pros­perity they got out of a Chickering Grand or a Steinway.

Walter Scott wrote something, half of which I do not like, for it U sarcastic, but the other half I do like, for it is so true:

Oh, woman! in our hours of case, Uncertain, coy and luud to please; When pain and anguish wring the brow, A ministering angel thou. Blessed that home in which the newly

married couple dedicate their souls to Christ. Blessed the family Bible in which their names have just been written. Blessed the hour of morning and evening prayer. Blessed the angels of God who join wing-tip to wing-tip over that home, making a canopy of light and love and blessedness. It may be only yesterday that they clasped hands forever. The or­ange blossoms may fall and the fragrance may die on the air, but they ivho marry in Christ shall walk together on that day when the Church, which is the Lamb's wife, shall take the hand of her Lord and king amid the swinging of the golden cen­sers.

Again, I remark: It is a tremendous pass in life when a man comes to his first great success. You get in the cars some even­ing. Everybody that looks at you knows there has something glad happened. You sit down in the car, your face illuminated, and a lady comes in. There is no place for her to sit, and you get up in great cheer and insist on her taking your place, and with great courtesy she says, "Thank you," and sits down. You say nothing to anybody, but it is evident from your man­ner and appearance that great good for­tune has happened unto you. Now, that is a crisis in your life. At such a time the questions will arise: "In what enterprise shall I invest? What shall be the house I will live in? What shall be the library? What shall be my wardrobe? What shall I do with my money?"

At that point hundrods of men make a final mistake. Some go into dissipation. Some take on great arrogance, try tj make everybody feel how ' small they are; whole caravans of camels going through the needle's eye of their mean­ness. They walk through the street with an air, as much as to say: "Get out of the way! here comes $300,000!" That is the crisis in life where so many fail, because they have no God to direct them.

There are men who before their suc­cess are kind and amiable, and genial and useful, who after t' eir success are ar­rogant and unbearable and unchristian. Here is a man who was once very useful in society, but great success comes, and he gets in his equipage and he drives on; he lashes the fiery steeds: he goes faster and faster, eight miles the hour, twenty miles the hour, 100 miles the hour, faster and faster, until in his last moments he rouses up to find that he is drawn by the fiery hoofs of eternal disaster as they come racketing down on the pavements of hell. O, young man or man in mid­life! you want God in jyour great suc<c;,.3, your first great success.

Another tremendous pass in our life is when we get our first sorrow. It would be foolish for me to talk to the young men of this day as though their life was go­ing to bo smooth all the way. You might as well start a sea Captain in a vessel without a carpenter, and without any tools, and without any cordage. That would do very well while the sea was smooth, but when the ship gets caught in the teeth of a northeaster, and the waves dash clear over the hur-cane deck, when the Captain cries out: " Where's the carpenter? Where are the tools? Where are the ropes?" the young men of this day would understand that I misrepresented the mat­ter, if I told them that their life was al­ways to be smooth. They know better. They know from what they see of the life of others that life can not always be smooth. Many men came home from the late war without a scratch or a bruise, but in the conflict of life it is not so, we all get wounded—wounded in the head, in the hands, in the feet, in the heart. Life is a conflict. The Bible over and over again states that. Paul states it, and he writes himself as in a war with the world, a war with the flesh, and a war with the devil, and war all the way through. Now, how are you going to meet the first trouble? That is the question. Show mo how you are to meet your first trouble and I will show you how you meet all the othor troubles. It is the first blow that sends a man to drinking to drown his troubles, that knocks the fire out of him, so he sjieiuls the rest of his life cowed down.

Who is that weigher in that large com­mercial establishment? Ho once owned the store. Who is that underling in a large manufacturing establishment, get­ting 41,000 or $2,000. a year. He once owned the factory; but misfortune came. The first blow brought him to the dust and he never had the courage to rise. Oh, how important is the manner in which we re­ceive the first sorrow!

Perhaps the first trouble is bereavement. I suppose you know—I suppose you have recognized the fact, that so often the fust born°is taken. I have sevou brothers and sisters. Each one lost the first born, and I suppose that in hundreds of cases in this house it was the first born that ^ as taken. Some people give what is to me a very ab­surd reason for that. They say it is be­cause the child is loved too much. I do not think that is possible. I do not believe any father or mother loved a child too much. You can not love your child too much. God did not take your child because you loved it too much. 1 think this is the rea­son why God so often takes tho first born. It is to transfer your affections to Heaven and make that place the more grand and blessed; at the beginning of your life make Heaven blessed, so that you keep thinking of that place and so be elevated and lifted on toward it. I think that is the reason. Perhaps I am wrong. I am sure the other reason is wrong, that so many people give vhen thoy say it Is because you love your child too mueli.

How, suppose the first trial comes and yon have no God. What then? Have you ever tried to see one go through bereave-ment without any God? I have witnessed feat sad spectacle. But we want grace,

we want divine grace, when bereavement comes into the house, which erst was full •f sunny locks and greetings at the door, and kisses flung by little hands from the window as you went down the front steps, and the doves in the nest cry because the hawk swoops, and tho heart stops. Oh, to put away garments that never will be worn again, to gather up from tho floor toys that never again will strew tho carp<>t, and to go with a sense of suffocation through the desolated household that once rang with childish merriment! Oh, my God™ who can stand that without thy grace to help, without thy grace to smooth, with­out thy grace to comfort? Oh, you will want Christ in your first trouble, and so I beg of you this morning to take him as yours.

You say you are strong and well. So am I. You say that life is buoyant and beau-ful. So it is to me. But sickness will come to you and it will come to me. We shall be told we can not go out, the door will be closed against the world, there will be twe watches, and some will order silence on the stairs, saying, "Hush, hush!" and in your dream you will hear the dash oi water, which you will take to be the beat­ing of the wave of the Jordan against your pillow, and you will hear a sound at the gate which you will take to be the pawing of tho pale horse. Oh! then you and I will want a physician; we will want Chrisl to come in and put his arms around us and say: "Fear not; all is well, all is well."

But there is one more pass of great im­portance, of which I must speak—one tre­mendous crisis, when we will want God. 1 say that not more to you than I do to my­self. We will want God in that crisis. And that pass is the last hour.

I suppose we all would like to expire at home. We want our friends in the room, some to recite the promise, some to sing, one to hold the hand. We want to look up in faces that have been familiar to us a good while and we will have messages to give. If we are parents, we will want to tell our children how they ought to act when we are gone, what principles they ought to adopt, how near they ought tc live to God.

And if we have aged parents living, wt will want to tell our children how they ought to act toward the old people—how they ought to care for them after we are gone. I think when we leave this world we will all have a message to give to somebody. When thai hour comes we will want Christ, we will want a divine friend to stand by us, and to-say that all shall be well in the future. "When thou passest through the waters I will be with thee, and through the rivers they shall not overflow thee." But you know very well that if we go out of this world, my brother, without Christ, we tak< a leap into the dark.

Who would want to go out of the world like that when he can go in triumph inde­scribable? like Paul, saying: "I have fought the good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept tho faith; henceforth there is laid up for me a crown of right­eousness which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will give me." Or that other battle shout: "O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory? Thanks be unto God who giveth me the victory through my Lord Jesus Christ."

Well, there are a good many men in this house who say: "What you have declared this morning is the truth, but I am so far gone in sin that there is no hope for me." Oh, my brothers! there you mako a great mistake. I stand here this morning to de­clare there is hope for any man who ivants to come to God. "Lot tho wicked forsake his way, and the unrighteous man his thought, and let him return unto the LorA, who will have mercy, and unto our God, who will abundantly pardon." Come this morning. "Oh," you say, "if you knew my history you wouldn't invite me." I do not care what your history is; come to God to-day. "Whosoever will." That word "whosoever" covers all cases of wander­ings of iniquity. "Whosoever will, let him come."

"But," says some one in the house, "I have started in the lino of iniquity and I am going ou; I will risk the future; I haven't much faith in Christianity; I am going to have an easy time in this world, get all out of it I can, go into all kinds of sin, taking the risk for the future." Oh, will you not be diverted from that course? Will you not now realize the fact that you want God? Oh, how much you need him! It may take a great struggle to bring you back, but come back you may and you will, this morning some of you will. May God by his holy spirit move upon your heart!

I have •sometimes heard people say it is as easy for them to become Christians as to turn their hands. Oh, what a misrepre­sentation that is! It takes tho Ijlood. It i3 tho mightiest struggle in all tho world when a man who has been doing wrong tries to do right. It is a mightier struggle than I would ask any man to go into un­less he lays hold of the strong arm of God, who will help him and who will deliver him.

Some years ago there was an excursion steamer some miles above Niagara Palls. There were many on the excursion, many passengers, and tho boat floated on down toward the rapids; but the Captain ex­pected to return in time to avoid all danger and they were laughing ou the deck, whe ono said to the Captain: "Are you not going too far down?" He said: "No, I know what I am about." After awhile he told the engineer to turn and go up stream; but the Captain found they were farther dowA the rapids than he thought for. He cried to tho engineer: "Put on moro steam!" More steam was applied. But still tho steamer, with its freight of life, kept going on toward the rapids. The Captain cried out to the engineer: •'Put on more steam." More steam was applied, but still tho vessel made no headway up-stream. The Captain cried out: "Put on more steam, or we are lost!" The engineer said: "Wo can't put on any more steam; if we do we'll blow the boat to atoms." "Put on more steam," cried the Captain. More steam was applied, and tho vessel floated up and out into safety, and some fainted and all were thankful that God had rescued them from so great peril. Oh, are there not some hereto-day who are floating on down toward the rapids; aye, they are in the rapids going on toward the eternal plunge? Put back! In God's name, put back. You say it takes a greater struggle. Y au hold the oars with both hands, and pull, pull, if need be, until the blood starts Pull for heaven. Now or never.

" ORDER SLATE " is the injudicious ad­vice suspended before certain conl office*.— Hon ton Transcript

DRAINAGE.

A Blanch of the Art of Cultivation Not Generally Understood.

A writer in the book "Cassell's Popu­lar Gardening," discourses very sensi­bly upon the importance of drainage, a discovery, he says, in the art of culti­vation wlio.se theory and practice are as yet most, imperfectly understood. Most that is known on the subject, not only bv the general public, but even by those who live upon and by the land, is that drainage is a short and easy method of laying wet land dry. This is far less than half the truth. Other portions of it may be stated thus: drainage keeps land moist and warm, and by setting or keeping the water it contains, or receives, in motion, invests it with solvent powers and nutritive functions of the most valuable char­acter: Water at rest—that is, stagnant —kills, by drowning out all the pro­ductive force of even the best land. Water in motion develops and aug­ments the fertility of the very poorest soils, while it unlocks and adds to tho food stores already existing in the -•ichest and best.

Cultivators of fields and gardens alike have been too much in the habit of looking upon water as a nuisance to be rid a at any cost. Grasping the broad fact that drainage had trans­formed some of the worst lands into the be.st, they have run their drains where they were not needed, and have been vastly astonished at their failures. Water that was in the process of being gradually, but surely, drained off by nature, through her myriad outlets into the subsoil, carrying enrichment with it at every stage of its journey, was hurried off through new channels—the drains— into the nearest ditch or river, and nature's machinery for the amelio­ration and enrichment of the land thus rudely stopped. Almost the first step to the comprehension of the true theo­ry and practice of drainage is recogni­tion of the fact that water in motion, the free gift of nature, is the most powerful and beneficent of all natural forces, to be utilized to the uttermost. It is the cultivator's capital—sinews o! war—iij the liberation and utilization of the natural force of the soil, and should, therefore, be skilfully used. Like other capital, it is apt to run into aggregates, accumulate into masses, and the land drainer's object and aim should lie to effect its more equal distribution. In very few localities in this country 'is there really much excess of water for cultural purposes. The evil lies in its condition, not its amount. _ Give it mo­tion, and in not a few "gardens, es­pecially those devoted to the cultured vegetables, tho more water the bettor. Nor is this to be wondered at, for water is not only the builder u\> of vegetation, but it also constitutes from eighty tc ninety per cent, of the materials—being to a very large extent not only water but stone and mortar as well.' But a; reasonably expect a house or mansion to arise in the night—when the .build­ers are fast asleep—as vegetation to thrive on water-logged land. Inthe latter case the active agent is not only asleep, but dead, and only drainage can restore it to life, by setting it in motion and marrying the water to its better half, that other great natural life-giving, constructive and solvent force, the air. Link these together through our drains, and self them out on their endless jour­ney of : discovery and production, and our gardens can hardly fail to be cov-rcd with plenty, filled with fragrance nd adorned with beauty. If all this be true, and it is, then the

true theory and practice of drainage may be stated thus: It lays land dry: it keeps it moist; it makes it warm; it frees, distributes and adds to its wealth or richness; it improves its texture; it adds to its depth, anil makes its cultiva­tion more easy and pleasant, as well as more profitable.—-V. Y. Tribune.

» .0 «)|. DRESSMAKING IN COURT.

Ail Issue of Lively Interest to Dressmakers ancl their l'ati*ons.

A recent ease in one of the Liverpool courts raised an issue of lively interest to dressmakers and their Customers the world over. A lady refused to take a dress which she had ordered to be made. She complained that it w»; "too short and too much padded. The dressmaker answered that it was made in the latest style and so as to im­prove the appearance of the customer's figure. "Bodices," she'or he explained —the report does not disclose whether the dressmaker was a man or a woman —" are now cut short in the hips, and tiie padding was necessary on account of the lady being deficient in the place where the padding was placed." The lady replied that she did not want her figure "improved" by any such de­vices.

At last the dressmaker insisted that, in order to determine whether the gar­ment was a lit or a mis/it, it should be tried on. Thereupon an adjournment was ordered, and soon after the lady appeared in court with the dress on. Alter surveying it with a critical eye the Judge suggested that ''surely tiie fault of the bodice being too short might be remedied by bringing the dress higher up," but he evidently overlooked the effect which this remedy would very naturally have on the lower end of the gown. It would be enter­taining to know what view of the law in a e;ise of this kind a court would take. But to all who are interested in the question it must be a disappoint­ment to learn that the suit was com­promised and settled without a judicial decision.—N. Y. Herald.

—An exchange says; "It is now time, before our dialects are quite swept away by the school ma1 am and the the dictionary—and they are fast going in the North—for our philosophical society to enter upon a systematic plan for preserving the record of back coun­try speech. Let us have lists of local v>*ords and expressions actually heard, made out carefully for special localities, and let these be published and dis­tributed and comments solicited from other parts of the couutry, so that we .nay learn what is common among common people all over the country, what is peculiar to a section, and what may bo absolutely local to a country."

ABD-UL-HAMID. The Busiest and Itfost Careworn Man In

tho Ottoman Empire*

His Majesty the Sultan of the Otto­man Empire is a most high and puis-saint monarch. His will is law and his nod is death. He has many palaces; he rules despotically over a vast em­pire; he makes quantities of Pashas cross their fawning hands whenever he looks at them; he has the power to do anything to any one of his faithful sub­jects—except recall him to life after ho has killed him. But social power he has n.one. Hi« life is passed in an end­less round of official drudgery. nay, positive servitude. Each minutest de­tail,of business, from the highest vis­ions of diplomacy down to the opening of a new coffee house on the shores of the Bosphorus, passes through his au­gust hands; and each incident of every transaction forms a focus of intrigues which, in their conglomerate mass, it would take twenty Sultan's with a hun­dred times Abd-ul-Hamid's power to disarm and defeat: What time, there­fore, can he Ivive to spare for society? The commander of the Faithful may be seen any week as he goes to his Fri­day's prayer. Then, before the gaze of an adoring populace, through lines of splendid troops, crowds of brilliant aides-de-camp and Pashas, fair veiled ladies, braying brass bands and screaming dogs there passes a thin-faced, long-nosed, grizzled-beard-ed pale man in a half-closed carriage, nervously fluttering his hand before his face by way of salute, and receiving the low salaams of all in return. He hur­ries into the mosque, scarce giving him­self time to throw a half-frightened glance round, and so is lost to view be­fore he can well be seen. When one considers why that face is so worn and pale, why those hands are so nervous, how the heart behind that blue military coat must be beating like a roll of drums, one feels grateful that one is but a private individual, and not his Imperial Majesty, the Sultan Abd-ul-Hamid II., living as he does in perpet­ual fear of assassination. The head of the State neither caring nor daring to assume his position in society, no other Turk essays the role of social leader­ship. Not only might such an attempt cause him to be unfavorably regarded by his sovereign, but the Turk has neither by temperament nor custom any inclinatibn to mix in European so­ciety. It is, to say, too animated for him. He is a quiet, sober, reflective creature, who, after his day's work, likes to return to his house, put on his old slippers and his old coat, and, after his evening meal, devote himself to con­templative smoking among his women folk and children. Or, if be is in a more social mood, he will perhaps in­vite some of his intimates to smoke, and chuckle over childish stories with them in the outer chamber. Again, he can not return hospitality; the harem sys­tem puts that out of the question. Finally, he likes to go to bed and to rise early—habits incompatible with social duties.—Fortnightly Reuicvj.

Iron Telegraph Poles.

A metallic telegraph pole has be®u adopted by the Canadian Government for its telegraph lines on the North­western prairies. The pole is con­structed of malleable galvanized iron and is 11 inc'hes in diameter at the top and 2} inches in diameter at- the bot­tom, and weighs less than fifty pounds. The bottom of the pole is set into a claw-plate, upon which the earth is closely packed to a height of a'bout two feet. Then another plate is put into place around the pole and the earth packed upon it to tho level of the ground. The claw-plates take a hold in the ground at once, so that the pole becomes solidly fixed immediately after beine set, which desideratum is only obtained by the ordinary wooden pole after it has been in the ground for at least a year. A recent test is said to have shown the great strength of the pole, as a heavy No. 6 government wire was strung and the poles subjected to the greatest possible strain, but without moving them in the least.—N. Y. Post.

How "Mister" Originated.

At a time when men were generally called by their Christian names and aurnames only, the word "Mister" was probably applied as a sort of title to those who had learned a mystery or trade, and who would perhaps be looked upon as of higher rank or posi-ti an tiian mere laborers or husband­men. The question s'o often met with in old writers: "What mister wight is that?" meaning, what is that man's employment and consequent condition in life? seems to favor this view. Smart, however, seems to think that Mister was adopted, or . at least pro­moted, for the sake of analogy with "mistress;" "for mistress, among old English writers.'' s;ivs Smart, "often had the form of mastress in order to suit with master, which was then used where we now find 'mister.'" Walker says, likewise, that "the same process of change which has corrupted master into mister, lias, when it is a title of civility only, contracted mistress into missus.'' —Toledo Blade.

Cattle Lice.

All kinds of farm animals are more liable to attacks of lice in winter than in summer, because during the cold weather they are usually crowded^ in stables or yards that are not kept as clean and well ventilated as they should be. Colonel F. I). Curtis recommends the following for killing lice on cattle, lind it is probably as good as any of the ointments made especially for this pur­pose. Melt hog's lard, and in it dis­solve salt one-third of the bulk of 'the grease; take as much of this grease as will be required to smear the auiinal all over, and into the mixture pour kero­sene oil and stir it up. Two gills of the kerosene would be sufficient for a cow of ordinary size. One application will be sufficient to destroy the lice and leave the skin smooth and soft.—N. Y. Sun.

—A Chinese bunker, Han -Qua, of Canton, is said to be the wealthiest man in the world. He pays taxes upon an estate of $4-50,000,000, and is esti­mated to be worth $ 1.100,000,000.

WENT TO SHOOT. How a Voting African Came Naar Murder­

ing: His Step-Father. We were sitting in the office at a

hotel in a town on the Tennessee River, and a colored man came along with a revolver in bis hand. One of the men called him into the hotel and asked:

"Sam, what are you doing with that thing?"

"Gwine ober to hab a riot with Bill Peters, de barber," was the prompt reply.

"What's he been doing?" "Talkin' 'bout my mudder, sah.

Yes, sah, het's bin blander in' her- all ober town. He's dun got to take it-back or I'll bore him."

"I guess we'll go over." "All right, sah." Five or six of us followed him into

the barber shop. Peters was shaving a white man, and he looked up and said:

"Boy, what you doin' wid dat ole shootin'-iroa?"

"Gwine ter bore ye!" replied Sam. "What fur?" "Kase you has bin lyin' 'bout de ole

Mioman." "Shoo! You jist wait!" "O, I'll wait! I ain't de pusson to

put a white gem'lan out. Art'er that gcm'lan leaves de cha'r you want to look out fur me!"

Mr. Peters finished shaving the man, who did not even turn his eyes toward Sam, and then powdered his face and combed his hair. Sam sat there with the revolver on his leg, cool as ice, but jus? before Bill removed the towel from tke man's throat he said:

"Boy! you go home!" "Who you talking to?" asked Sam. "To you, sah! I'ze got a right to talk

to you." "How?" "Kase I'ze yer step-fadder. I mar'd

yer mudder two hours ago. Dat makes you my step-son, sah, an' if you don't pat up" dat shooter an' git out o' dis I'll wollop ye widin two inches of yer life!"

"Hoo! You'ze dun mar'd ma?" "Yes, sah." "An' you'ze niy step-fadder?" "'Cose lis. Now you make tracks

fur dat wood pile behind the house, an' when dinner am ready you come down heah an' call yer pa!"

Sam laid the revolver on a chair and walked out without another word, so humbled that his feet dragged on the gravel as he went off down the walk.

"Come around heah to shoot his step-fadder!" growled Peters. "Wljy, dai boy hadn't got no sense 'tall. Next.— Detroit Free Press.

ABOUT CHILD-WIVES.

A Pernicious Custom Which Must be Abol­ished at All Hazards.

A very young girl is eertainly not capable of choosing a husband. She takes it for granted that men are al­ways as she sees them in society—po­lite, friendly and on their good behav­ior. If she marries early in life the man who happens to please her fancy, she learns to her sorrow that in nine cases out of ten a man at home and a man in society are widely different be­ings. Five years at that period of life produces a great change in opinions and feelings. We frequently come tc detest at twenty-five what we admired at sixteen. We advance from the tafiy-candy and peanut age to the era of gum-drops marron glaces, arid even in later years to lose our yearnings for those dainties. Similar changes take place in the moral and spiritual nature. Why should we feel the same toward persons in after life, when we have • learned to distinguish between the false and the true, the bad and good, any more than we should like dime novels after we have become acquainted with Dickens, Thackeray and Shakespeare? How few, comparatively, of the school-girt friendships extend into later life. How few of our com­panions in society do we love as well after twenty years have passed. How few even of our own brothers and sisters in whom we do not see faults we could wish eradicated. Con­sidering all this, how is it possible for one to feel surprise when a couple who marry in their teens grow to love each other less as years toll by? When both grow alike, whether it be rapidly or slowly, backward or forward, ther* is some hope of their ever seeing each' other with the same eyes, but when one progresses and the other retrogrades, a difference springs up between them, and in time one, looks down upon the other with a feeling of superiority, perhaps unconfessed, but still there, while the other, unable to perceive the real cause of the trouble, grows at length to dislike what was once loved. And thus it happens that those who; loved at sixteen are indifferent at twenty-five, and sometimes divorced at thirty. One great cause of early mar­riages is the pernicious habit of calling a girl whe remains unmarked until twenty-live an "old maid." This is done by well-meaning but thougfitless persons, who would be sorry to think that any act or expression of theirs had caused one an hour of misery; yet this very dread of being called an "old maid" has driven more women into marriage and life-long misery than any other thiog, excepting, pechaps, poverty. It is a mistake to think that single life is any less noble than mar­riage, especially if the spirit of discord is permitted to inflict Its horrors upon a whole household.—London Tidbits.

A Mean Bostonian.

The champion mean man has turned up in the shape of a Bostonian. A South Boston man recently built twfl houses, side by side—one for himself and one to sell. In the house sold he had placed a furnace against the party wall of the cellar, and from its hot air chamber he had constructed flues to heat his own domicile. The owner of the other house found it very hard to keep his house warm, and was aston­ished at she amount of coal required to keep his family comfortable, while the dishonest builder kept himself warm at his neighbor's expense nearly a whole winter before tho trick was diecoveredv —Sanilarv j\Y»v'.

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