WHEN, in dawning childhood and in

youth, were we without the overawing sense of the idea of God, or some dim thought of the religious significance of things, as they lay out before us in earth and air and sky? Scarcely had intelligence budded, when a whisper came to us from the dense forest, or the vapors stretching along the valleys, the sunlight blushing on the evening hills, and the awful majesty, at night, of the moon and stars-a whisper, saying, Get down on your knees and adore. I can recall being carried in my mother's arms to the verge of a clearing in the sweet hours of an early summer morning, when the mists were creeping along the mountain side, down the grassy slopes to the water's edge. It was a picture of peace, and always, in after years, I recalled it as God's first revelation of himself to my childish soul. There was something more in it than sunlight and quiet; more than the blue sky and the greensward; more than the solemn march of the stately trees down the mountain side. It is literally true, that "heaven lies about us in our infancy," spite the obscuration of the vision that comes to us in our after years. But against this, also, our good angels are faithful to provide. The rollicking boy and the giddy girl, let loose for a time among the spontaneity of the senses, that they may know their uses and have the discipline of their pains, in due course of their growing years, will come to the "little wicker gate" that will be for them the dividing of the ways. The youth of your house

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hold, the great crowds that swarm in your public schools-look you to it, they must all come to this. Adolescence is Raphael's cherubs peering over the walls of the world. For every one of these there is this epoch in reserve-the eternities will seem to light up suddenly every roadside object and touch into splendor the very earth and the sky. The trivial grows serious. The mystery of human life and love's awful and overmastering secret leaps up from ambush and takes captive the strongest, the most wayward, the most resentful of any other control than their own, and leads them off submissively to the altars of God.-W. H. Wynn, in Lutheran Observer.

THOSE Who have read Bulwer Lytton's "Strange Story" will recall the principal subject thereof, a man blessed with superb physique and a high order of mentality, but cursed with an absolute lack of moral sense. This creation of Bulwer's had no conscience whatever, and was susceptible of physical pain alone. The end of that man was death, and, comfortable as a conscienceless condition might be as seen from the viewpoint of the stoic, it is greatly to be doubted whether any one of us would accept the penalties, in order to be relieved from the pains consequent upon such condition. To keep the conscience in good working order it must be heeded in all the matters of life. To keep it from being an awful nuisance it must be consulted carefully on questions of grave moment. To prevent its becoming an

hourly accuser and inexorable judge, even a despairing demon, we must not persistently run counter to its plain mandates. In business or private life if we lie and cheat and steal we are going to have a very hard time of it when conscience gets a chance to talk to us, for it may as well be acknowledged that remorse (another name for the same thing) can never be absolutely stupefied, certainly never completely killed.

A FRENCH tourist relates that some time ago he set out to cross St. Bernard's Pass by himself, and was caught in the fog near the top. He sat on a rock and waited for one of the dogs to come and attend to him, but in vain, and when the fog cleared away he managed to reach the hospice. On arrival he observed that he thought the dog a rather overrated animal. "There I was," he said, "for at least six hours, and not one came near me." "But why," exclaimed one of the monks, "why did you not ring us up on the telephone?" To the astonished tourist it was explained that the whole of the pass is provided with shelters at short distances from each other, all in direct telephonic communication with the hospice. When the bell rings the monks send off a hound loaded with bread and wine and other comforts. The dog on duty is told what number has rung, and he goes straight to that shelter. This system saves the hounds their old duty of patrolling the pass on the chance of a stray traveler being found, and as the pass is for about eight months of the year under snow, it entailed hard and often fruitless labor.

ONE of the aims of modern education is to make men and women adjustable to their environment without destroying their power to originate and to create. The number of non-adjustable, nonadaptable men and women in every community is fearful to contemplate. Men and women whose training has not developed sufficient flexibility to enable them to adapt themselves to the evervarying conditions of life, sooner or later are forced to one side and ignored. Their presence in the world is known only by their grumbling and fault finding. No matter what position they get, they cannot long hold it, because the prejudices and mental bias acquired in their childhood have crystallized into

inflexible mental habits which dominate all their relations in life. We call them "cranks" or "fanatics." They are largely the products of extreme individualism in education.

THERE is a pretty story told of Edward Irving, the great Scotch preacher, when he was the star of Glasgow and co-pastor of Dr. Chalmers. When he was on his way to some great presbytery meeting in the country, a number of the brethren poured in in carriages. But the tall, remarkable figure of Irving was seen coming along with a heavy burden upon his back, and a poor, worn out Irishman wearisomely limping along by his side. This excited great laughter among those who knew him, but he could see no occasion for laughter. He had found the poor creature broken down and sick of heart on the way, so had shouldered the pack to help the poor fellow along. "His countrymen were kind to me, was the only explanation the great, noble, simple-hearted and child-like man of God deigned to give to his ridiculers.

GOD keeps a school for his children here on earth, and one of His best teachers is named Disappointment. He is a rough teacher, severe in tone and harsh in his handling sometimes; but hts tuition is worth all it costs. Many of our best lessons through life have been taught us by that same stern old schoolmaster, Disappointment.-—Cuyler.

A PRIVATE letter from Supt. John G. Embree, of the public schools of San Jacinto, Mesbate, Philippine Islands, says: "The children are getting enough of English to be of use to them and talk it freely. They enjoy it and are crazy for advancement. Whenever they think it safe to risk it, a whole class will clamor for advanced books. Last vacation, when we called in the books, several of the boys looked wistfully at the pile and said, 'Good-bye, my book.'"

He expresses regret at being unable to send any photographs of his home, saying that at the close of vacation two cameras were sent down from Manila, but both were lost in a wreck. At that time he was teaching in a summer normal school. In the same wreck were 150 pounds of army hard-tack, which had been collected for use in his household. This was lost, with the exception of about

twenty pounds, which was eaten, after being soaked in sea water. "Now we are eating rice three times a day," he says. "We are getting along pretty well, though, as we have a fair supply of canned fruit and meat. I have a pretty good garden. Radishes are the only things we have eaten yet, but tomatoes, cantaloupes and lima beans are looking fine. The best garden tool I have is an American pick. It serves to spade up the ground and also to hoe it. The people are beginning to look at my garden as they go by. Our fence is made of stakes about three inches apart, tied to poles running lengthwise.'

THE only responsibility that a man cannot evade in this life is the one he thinks of least-his personal influence. Man's conscious influence, when he is on dress-parade, when he is posing to impress those around him, is wofully small. But his unconscious influence, the silent, subtle radiation of his personality, the effect of his words and acts, the trifles he never considers, is tremendous. Every moment of life he is changing to a degree the life of those about him. Every Every man has an atmosphere which is affecting every other. So silently and unconsciously is this influence working that man may forget that it exists.-Jordan.

I MAY not live a little, petty, selfcentered life, because the love of Christ constraineth me to reach out and realize in my being all that he calls me to be. I may not dwell at ease in my narrow tent, for the love of Christ constraineth me to care for all who feel the weight of sin, the power of temptation, the press of struggle, the pain and bitterness of losses. I may not seek to perfect my own soul just for the joys of a timeless heaven, for the love of Christ constraineth me to find my joy in helping to bring the heavenly life into as many lives as possible. I may not wear a gloomy face or lose heart over the trials or evil of this present world, for the love of Christ constraineth me to enter into the joy of service, the victory of faith and the grandeur of life.-American Friend.

YEARS ago I found that the teaching of Grammar in the grades lent but little assistance to the child in his every-day English; that he still continued to use two negatives, to mix his tenses, and

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twist the agreement between pronoun and antecedent, subject and verb. knew that the true way to teach children to use the correct form in English was to have them talk frequently and write. daily, so I hailed The Little Chronicle with delight. It has for two years been my constant, able and willing assistant in English. Daily I have conversationals from five to seven minutes in length. The class of forty-eight is divided into six groups; each group has a host, and the children chat among themselves about the news and affairs of national interest. I visit each group and frequently join iu the conversation. The mistakes in English are corrected by the children themselves. These conversationals give rest and profit. They promote good fellowship, culture and ease.-H. E. Treadwell.

THE Rev. Mr. H. was a good man, but very fond of chewing tobacco. One day he was caught in a shower in Illinois, and going to a cabin near by knocked at the door. A sharp-looking old lady answered his summons. He asked for shelter. "I don't know you," she replied, suspiciously. "Remember the Scriptures," said the dominie, 'Be not forgetful to entertain strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.'"' ''Angels don't come round with cuds of tobacco in their mouths,' she replied, and slammed the door in his face.

MIRTH is like a flash of lightning that breaks through a gloom of clouds and glitters for a moment. Cheerfulness

keeps up a kind of daylight in the mind and fills it with a steady and perpetual serenity.-Addison.

SOME one says a crank is a person whose views are the opposite of our own; an egotist one who thinks as much of himself as others do of themselves; that honor is that which people talk about when they want to get out of doing something they don't want to do; and society is that on which we lay the blame when anything goes wrong.

If you want to be beloved: Don't contradict people, even if you're sure you are right. Don't be inquisitive about the affairs of even your most intimate friend. Don't underrate anything because you don't possess it. Don't be